she had been such a disappointment to her parents. How much more would it comfort her here in London, as an unwanted bride?
Her fingers were already itching to draw Madame Pichot, with her peculiar accent that would only pass for French in England. She reminded her of a drawing she had seen in the Louvre, of a creature whose eyes stood out on stalks and which was said to change colour to match whatever type of background it walked across.
Though how she was to locate a really good shop where she could buy pencils, paper and brushes without Charles finding out, leave alone how she would pay for her materials, would pose quite a problem.
It was very late when Charles came up to bid her goodnight, as he had warned her he would do.
‘Do you have everything you need?’ he enquired politely.
‘Yes, thank you,’ she replied in an equally polite tone, her fingers plucking listlessly at the quilt.
‘Then I will bid you goodnight,’ he said, barely brushing his lips across her forehead.
Heloise glared at his back as he left, barely suppressing the urge to fling some pillows at it. She was not a child for him to come and kiss goodnight in that insufferably condescending manner! She was surprised he did not tuck her in and pat her on the head while he was about it!
But the sad truth was she was as inexperienced as a child. She had no idea how to encourage her husband to regard her as a woman rather than a girl. And there was no female to advise her. Her worst fear was that if she did try to breach his reserve she might only succeed in alienating him completely. She heaved a sigh as she sank down under the covers. At least he appeared content with the present situation.
Several evenings passed in an equally unsatisfactory manner before Heloise discovered a chink in Charles’ armour.
When they met before dinner, and he enquired, as he always did, how she had spent her day, she told him that several outfits had arrived, and she had spent the afternoon trying them on.
‘Was the riding habit among them?’
‘Yes, and it is …’ She bit her tongue. The pale blue gown with its silver frogging had instantly put her in mind of his servants’ livery, and had made her crushingly aware that he only regarded her as just one more of his chattels. ‘It is very pretty,’ she finished in a subdued tone.
‘If you are still determined to learn to ride, I could arrange for you to begin lessons with Robert tomorrow morning.’ He frowned into his sherry glass for a few seconds, before saying softly, ‘I bought him a lovely bay mare, very soft about the mouth, for Christmas. He has never even been to look her over. I shall be for ever in your debt—’ he flicked her a glance ‘—if you could goad him into taking some form of exercise.’
‘Of course!’ she cried, immensely flattered that he had entrusted her with such an important mission. ‘He must not stay in those dark rooms and moulder away.’
The rigid formality of the dining room was completely unable to dampen her spirits that night. For now she had a plan.
If she could be the means to help poor Robert get out of his rooms, Charles would be pleased with her. Riding lessons would only be the start. He could take her shopping for art supplies. And, though he might be sensitive about his scars, surely she could get him to take her to Vauxhall Gardens to watch the fireworks one evening? Buoyed up by the prospect, she received her husband’s goodnight kiss with complaisance. Even though he was dressed in his evening clothes, and clearly on his way out.
One day, she vowed, snuggling down beneath the covers, he would take her with him on one of these forays into London’s night life from which he had so far excluded her. If all went well with Robert in the morning, it might be quite soon!
The sound of the outer door slamming, not once, but twice, roused Charles from the pile of invitations he had been poring over in his study early the next morning. As the season got under way, more and more people were expressing an interest in meeting his bride. But he had no intention of exposing her to this collection of rakes, cynics, and bitches, he vowed, tossing a handful of gilt-edged invitations into the fire. It said something about his social circle that he thought it unlikely he would ever find a house into which he could take his vulnerable young bride without risk of having her confidence ripped to shreds.
‘Stop right there!’ he heard Robert bellow, just as he emerged from the study. Heloise, the back of her powder-blue riding habit liberally stained with mud, was fleeing up the stairs.
She did not even pause, but ran along the corridor to her rooms, from whence echoed the sound of yet another slamming door.
Robert, red-faced, had stopped at the foot of the staircase, clutching the newel post.
‘Problems?’ Charles drawled softly.
Robert spun round so swiftly the heel of his false leg slipped on the marble floor and he nearly lost his balance.
‘Go on, then—order me to leave your house!’ he panted.
Charles leaned against the doorjamb, folding his arms across his chest. ‘Why do you suppose I should wish to do that?’
‘Because I have insulted your bride,’ Robert flung at him. ‘I swore at her. Comprehensively and at length! You must have seen that she was crying when she fled up the stairs!’
Frowning, Charles pushed himself from the doorframe and advanced on his brother. ‘If you have insulted her, it is for you to put right. This is your home. I shall not evict you from it.’
Glowering, Robert spat, ‘And just how do you propose I make the apology? Crawl up all those stairs?’
Charles regarded the false leg his brother had, for the first time to his knowledge, strapped onto his mangled knee joint. Heloise was amazing. She had only been here a matter of days, and already she’d cajoled Robert out of his rooms, into his false leg, and onto the back of a horse.
‘No,’ he mused. ‘Until she calms down, I dare say all that will happen is that she will inform you she hates you. Far better to wait until she has had time to reflect on her own part in your quarrel. I suggest you join us for dinner tonight, and make your apologies then.’
‘Dinner?’ Robert blustered. ‘I had as well crawl to her suite now as to attempt ascending to any other rooms on the upper floors!’
‘Then I will order dinner for the three of us in the little salon,’ he replied, indicating a room across the hall. His heart beating with uncomfortable rapidity, he waited for Robert to protest that nothing would make him sit down and eat with the man who had been instrumental in causing his mother’s death. Instead, he only glared mutinously before hobbling back to his own rooms and slamming the door behind him.
Upstairs, Heloise was blowing her nose vigorously. It was no good feeling sorry for herself. That her first riding lesson had been such a fiasco was not what upset her the most, though that had been bad enough. What really hurt was her failure to gain any ground with Robert at all. Charles would be so disappointed with her.
Startled by a tap on the door, she blew her nose again, annoyed to find her eyes were watering afresh.
‘May I come in?’
Charles stood in the doorway, ruefully regarding his wife’s crestfallen appearance. ‘Was it the horse, or my brother?’
Waving admittance to the footman who hovered behind him, bearing a tray of what looked like His Lordship’s finest brandy, Charles advanced into the room.
‘I thought you might feel in need of a little restorative,’ he explained, as the young man placed the silver salver on an elegant little table beside the sofa she had flung herself on when first she had come to her room. ‘And, since I know of your aversion to tea, I thought I would supply something more to your liking.’
‘You are m … most k … kind,’ Heloise half sobbed, as Charles stooped to pick her riding hat up from the floor, where she had flung it not five minutes before. The feather