For all Eternity

CHAPTER ONE 1818-1

CHAPTER ONE

1818“I am – sorry,” Lady Burnham said.

The Marquis of Stowe did not reply. He only stared ahead, not seeing the high stained glass window over the altar or the finely painted reredos.

Instead he was seeing the scandal and the humiliation that made him shrink in horror from the contemplation of what it would mean.

How, he asked himself, could he have been so foolish or so blind as not to realise that Lord Burnham, who had always disliked him, would if he had the opportunity, take his revenge.

They had, as two members of the same Club, insulted each other subtly and wittily on every possible occasion.

They had challenged each other with their racehorses on every Racecourse and, while it had amused him to have a secret affaire de coeur with Lord Burnham’s wife, his Lordship now had a weapon in his hand, which he would not hesitate to use.

“I don’t – know how it – could have – happened – how we can have been – watched without our being – aware of – it,” Leone Burnham murmured with tears in her voice.

She was very lovely and at any other time and place her distress and her broken little sobs would have made any man she was with want to comfort her.

But the Marquis’s lips were set in a tight line and his chin was square as he went on staring blindly ahead of him and made no reply.

“I have lain awake all night – wondering who George’s informant could be,” Lady Burnham went on. “I always – believed the servants were – loyal to me rather than to him as he is very sharp with them.”

Still the Marquis did not speak and she continued as if speaking to herself,

“I suppose he must have employed somebody to – follow us, but surely we should have – noticed him? Or perhaps it was – somebody in your employment?”

The Marquis thought that this might be the explanation. After all, however much he trusted his servants, there were always those who could be bribed if the money offered was large enough.

“What did your husband say he was going to do?” he asked, feeling as if the words were forced from between his lips.

They were both talking in lowered voices because of the place where they had met.

The Marquis had hardly been able to believe it when he received a note early this morning saying,

“Something terrible has happened. I must see you immediately! Meet me in the Grosvenor Chapel in one hour’s time.”

At first he thought it must be a joke, but he not only recognised Leone’s handwriting, he was also told by his valet that it had been brought to his house by a middle-aged woman who had been there before.

The Marquis knew this was Lady Burnham’s maid whom she trusted implicitly with the notes that passed between them and who was the only other person aware of the assignations they made and how often they saw each other.

Even though going to Grosvenor Chapel meant he would have to forgo his usual ride in the Park, the Marquis had obeyed Lady Burnham’s command and entered the Chapel somewhat apprehensively.

Situated in South Audley Street he was aware that it was almost directly behind the elegant house the Burnhams occupied in Park Street. It would therefore be possible for Lady Burnham to tell her household she was going to Church and she would be able to walk there without being escorted by a footman.

He glanced around thinking that perhaps the whole thing was a hoax, then saw her sitting in a dark corner wearing for her, very unobtrusive clothes which made her seem shadowy and insubstantial.

He walked towards her and knew by the expression in her eyes before she spoke that something terrible had indeed happened.

He had anticipated what this might be before she actually put it into words and now, almost as if he must cling to every straw of hope that might save them from destruction, he waited to hear exactly what had occurred.

“I knew as – soon as I saw George that he was in a bad – temper,” Lady Burnham was saying, “but that is nothing new and, as he did not kiss me, I was sure by the – expression in his eyes that – something was very wrong.”

She gave a little sob and wiped away a tear before she went on,

“He stood with his back to the fireplace – and said, ‘well, I have caught you out and you can tell that stuck-up swine that I am taking my case to Parliament!’” There was a moment’s pause before she added a little incoherently,

“I think I – screamed. I only know I – asked him what he was – talking about.

“‘You know damned well what I am saying,’ George replied, ‘and if you think I am going to be cuckolded by a man I have always hated, you are very much mistaken! I am divorcing you, Leone, and citing him as co-respondent’.”

The Marquis did not speak. In fact he sat completely immobile, almost as if he was turned to stone.

Only as Lady Burnham sobbed into her handkerchief and appeared to have nothing else to say did he ask,

“I presume you denied such charges?”

“Of course I did,” she replied, “I told George he was – mad to believe such – things against me – but he would – not listen. ‘I have irrefutable evidence,’ he said, ‘and there is nothing you or Stowe can say to deny it’.”

There was silence. Then she said again,

“I am sorry – Quintus, so very – very sorry!”

The Marquis was sorry too – for himself and for Leone Burnham.

He was well aware that if her husband insisted on a divorce, she would be ostracised by every Lady of Quality in the land.

If he married her, and there was no doubt he would have to behave honourably as a gentleman should, while he would be accepted in sporting and some Social circles, she would be completely and irrevocably barred.

It was unfair, but the Social code was very unbending where a woman was concerned, while it was generally accepted that a man might be promiscuous and get away with it.

“What evidence has your husband got?” he asked after a long silence and the only sound in the Chapel was Leone’s sobs.

“It can only be the – times we have – met and – where,” Lady Burnham replied in a broken voice. “You have never written me any – love-letters and your notes, which I always – complained were very – impersonal, I burned immediately I had – read them.”

“You are sure of that?”

“Absolutely – sure!”

The Marquis thought there was one thing in his favour, that he had not been such a fool as to put his feelings down on paper.

At the same time he was well aware that when the Earl had been away he had, on several occasions, taken Leone through the garden door into Stowe House late at night.

He had been quite sure at the time that nobody had seen them, but he had obviously been mistaken.

Because he had a rooted objection to making love in another man’s bed, he had never been so indiscreet as to go back to Burnham House.

But they had been fellow guests at house parties where it had been accepted that their bedrooms should be near to each other and on quite a number of occasions they had dined in a private room in places that offered accommodation for those who had no wish to be seen.

Leone had always worn a veil and they had slipped in surreptitiously through a conveniently placed side entrance. It was an unwritten rule that clients who patronised the restaurants in question never had their identities revealed.

But on the other hand, who could be sure that a waiter was not prepared to take a number of golden guineas to describe a lady and a gentleman he had served?

Or that a doorkeeper would not gossip with an ingratiating stranger who plied him with drink when he was off duty?

It would have been all too easy, the Marquis decided, if he had been doing the investigating rather than Lord Burnham, and he cursed himself for not being more astute and on his guard, especially when he was dealing with an avowed enemy.

“What can we – do?” Lady Burnham asked. “Is there anything we can – do?”

“I am trying to think,” the Marquis replied.

“Save me – please – save me, Quintus!” she begged. “You know I love you deeply – and you are the most attractive man I have ever met in the whole of my life. At the – same time how can I be – branded as – a ‘scarlet woman’?”

She choked over the words, then went on pathetically,

“It means I shall never be asked to balls and parties again and shall never be able to go to – Court – or be allowed in the – Royal Enclosure at Ascot.”

Her voice dropped to a whisper as she added,

“And you will soon grow bored with me as you always have with the others. Then I will want to – die! There would be – no point in going on – living!”

She was so distressed that at last the Marquis turned his head to look at her.

Despite her tear-stained face, she was still lovely and he understood her misery.

“Stop crying – Leone,” he suggested, “and let’s think of what we can do.”

“You mean we will be able to – save ourselves?”

“I hope I can find a way of escaping from this morass we have fallen into so foolishly.”

“Oh, Quintus! If you can only do that – I will thank you from the – bottom of my heart.”

“What did you finally say to your husband after he had told you he would divorce you?” the Marquis enquired. “I went on protesting my – innocence and said you were a – friend and that we had done – nothing wrong.” “He obviously did not believe you.”

“He is so – obsessed with the idea of revenge that he is determined to bring you down from your high perch, as he put it. ‘I will teach Stowe, who, with his airs and graces thinks he is better than anybody else,’ he said, ‘a lesson he will not forget!’”

“And what did you reply?” the Marquis asked.

“I said, ‘even if you wish to hurt the Marquis, George, why should you wish to hurt me? I have done nothing wrong?’”

“What did he reply to that?”

“He merely laughed a horrible vindictive laugh and went from the room.”

“Did you see him again last night?”

Leone Burnham shook her head.

“He left the house, so I went to bed and cried.”

There was another long silence. Then the Marquis said,

“I have an idea which might work.”

“What is – it?”

She raised her face to his, but there was not much hope in her eyes, which were still wet with tears.

She was one of the beauties of London who had swept triumphantly aside all other aspirants for the title of ‘Queen of Beauty’, but at the moment Lady Burnham looked crushed, miserable and insignificant.

The Marquis was still stiff as a ramrod, his head held high, his chin square, as if he defied his foe and was prepared to fight to the death.

“I think,” he said slowly, as if he was thinking aloud before he spoke, “the only chance we have of convincing your husband that he was mistaken is if I immediately announce I am to be married.”

Lady Burnham stared at him open-mouthed. Then she said,

“But, Quintus – I did not know you – intended to be married. In fact, you have – always said – ”

“Don’t be stupid, Leone,” the Marquis interrupted. “I am only telling you that, if I announce my engagement before your husband has time to file his petition for a divorce, it would be more difficult for him to prove that I was at the same time pursuing you.”

It took a second or two for Lady Burnham, who was not over-intelligent, to understand what the Marquis was saying.

Then, as she grasped it, she replied,

“Of course! I see – what you mean. I could say that, while we have been – together, you were asking my advice and I was – helping you to choose the girl who would make you a – suitable wife.”

“Exactly!” the Marquis said dryly.

“But do you know of one? And even if you do, there will be no time to woo her.”

The Marquis was well aware of that problem.

He had known Lord Burnham ever since they were at Eton together and knew him to be a fiery, impetuous, uncontrolled character who would, he was sure, if he had evidence that he considered conclusive, immediately rush ahead to bring his case before Parliament.