The Forgotten Marriage Read online

  Barbara Barrington came into the parlor looking so vibrantly beautiful that she almost took Alicia’s breath away. Everything about her seemed to glow—hair, eyes, and complexion. Tall and willowy, her figure, in a riding habit that fitted her to perfection, was superb. If she had not already earned the encomium of “Incomparable,” she must surely have warranted it at this moment. Beside that incandescent presence, Alicia felt herself dwindling like a spent candle. And most surprising of all, Barbara was not looking upon her with anger or disdain. She was actually smiling and she almost caroled her greeting, “Good morning. Lady Morley.” Faced with this disarming attitude, Alicia tensed and figuratively girded herself for what, she realized, was a most formidable enemy and, alas, a most uneven contest. She could imagine that if Lucian were here, he would have no more interest in her than a fly on the wall. Yet, not so long ago he had reveled in her beauty, a beauty sadly diminished by her agony over his supposed demise. It was with considerable constraint that she said, “Good morning, Miss Barrington. Will you sit down?”

  “Thank you.” Barbara chose a leather chair, leaving the sofa for Alicia, who sat down in a comer, glad of the padded armrest that seemed to lend her strength.

  Meeting those glorious green eyes, Alicia said, “You wanted to speak to me?”

  “Yes, first I must apologize for my regrettable behavior last night. You see, I was taken unawares. I had not dreamed that dearest Lucian would be so cast-down by a slight altercation we had last spring. Never, never try to make a man jealous, Lady Morely, but I am sure you have much more sense than that. I did not.

  “Having known Lucian for such a long time—since we were children, in fact—I thought I knew him through and through, from his eyebrows to his toes. Indeed, I was far too confident of his reactions, and so, to tease him, I tried to make him jealous by encouraging the Duke of Pryde. It was all in fun but”—Barbara sighed and looked down—“I fear that my head was briefly turned by his solicitations. They were so ardent, you understand, and he was a duke. That excited me—and I admit that I was also a tiny bit flattered— but I soon found out that he was a dead bore. And meanwhile, Lucian had gone off in a huff. You can imagine my horror when I learned that he had left for Brussels without even attempting to see me!

  “I was devastated. I did not even know where to write to him, and I expect it was during this period that he met you.” She sighed. “Oh, my dear Lady Morley, I am so sorry for you. I do hate to see you suffer in this farrago, and, of course, you have. Lucian and I have loved each other for such a long time and many have tried to come between us, but they’ve never succeeded and, of course, they never will. I should have told you that last night instead of saying such horrid things to you, but it did come as such a shock. Here we were—so ecstatically happy and about to announce our engagement, something all our friends knew, and then to have you come and tell us that Lucian was already wed, something he could not remember, poor dear. You do understand, I hope?”

  Alicia nodded, the while her heart beat faster and little air bubbles rose in her throat, causing her to swallow convulsively. Barbara’s statement seemed terribly logical and yet there was something about the girl that gave her pause. She was so very self-assured, and while she was pleading for the man she loved, there was no softness about her. Indeed, she seemed to glitter like a many-faceted diamond, and last night, save for one last moment when that bright facade had seemed to crack, she had also glittered and her words had been cruel, taunting. Could Lucian really be happy with a woman like that?

  “I am glad you understand.” Barbara leaned forward. “Now last night, I know I was insulting, and in those circumstances, I cannot blame you for taking the stand you did. You could do no less with Lucian present. However, he is not here now, Lady Morley, and I will tell you that I am—or, rather, my family is wealthy and we are prepared to give you the sum of three thousand pounds to relinquish your claim on Lucian. He, no doubt, will also give you a substantial amount of money that will enable you to marry again, and marry well, to someone who, unlike Lucian, will want you. What do you say to that? Is that not a fair offer? I do hope that you will be sensible.”

  How might one answer an insult of that caliber? Words piled in Alicia’s throat and swept to her tongue, but resolutely, she swallowed them, saying only, “I do not wish to, er, sell Lucian to you, Miss Barrington. I want only to have him at my side once more.”

  Barbara had been smiling, but at the word “sell” her smile vanished and her eyes glittered with anger. “Does the fact that he loathes you mean nothing to you?” she inquired icily.

  “I do not believe that he loathes me, Miss Barrington.”

  “Do you not?” Barbara rose and walked to the mantelpiece and back, staring down at Alicia. “Well. Lady Morley, I had an opportunity to speak to him last night, late, when after walking the streets for several hours he came to me. And I might tell you that you are mistaken. Furthermore, he is sure that he married you to spite me. That is the conclusion he has reached, and I am in total agreement with him. You need only to look in this glass to prove my point.” She gestured at the mirror that hung over the mantelshelf.

  Cruel as that taunt had been, Alicia was glad of it. It suggested that her opponent was less confident than she appeared. She said calmly, “Neither you nor Lucian is in a position to reach any conclusions regarding the reason why he asked for my hand in marriage. Miss Barrington. You may think as you choose, if it makes you happy. However, have you given any thought to what would happen if Lucian were to regain his memory and found himself married to you rather than to me?”

  Barbara glared at Alicia. “I would think, my dear Lady Morley, that he must consider himself the happiest of men. Lucian and I, as you were assured last night, have been in love since we were children, and if he wed you, it was because he was desperately unhappy.”

  “He did not seem desperately unhappy,” Alicia retorted. “Quite the contrary, in fact. And I might add that he never mentioned your name, not once, Miss Barrington.”

  “That is totally understandable. The wound was too deep. Believe me. Lady Morley, I know him as you could never know him.”

  “I know that he loved me. Miss Barrington,” Alicia said gently.

  “When did he love you. Lady Morley? When he was about to go off to war and when he thought I was lost to him forever, that is when he turned to you—as a drowning man tries to clutch at any piece of flotsam that he might.”

  Her insults were succeeding only in giving Alicia further strength. “You hinted at something of that kind last night, Miss Barrington, and Lucian immediately denied it, if you will remember.”

  “He denied it because of his innate chivalry to all women, however undeserving, and not because he believed it to be true. You should have been a party to our conversation later in the evening.” Barbara moved toward the door. “And if you are determined to try to retain your hold on him, you will soon find out that I am right. I do not envy you that revelation, Lady Morley!” Whirling about, she pulled open the door and went out, nearly bumping into Timothy. With an extra glare for him, she hurried down the stairs.

  Timothy hurried into the parlor, and finding his sister standing by the door, he said, “She was in a fury!”

  Alicia nodded. “Yes, I know.”

  “You should not have seen her without me present.”

  “On the contrary, my dear, it was much more to the point that I did. As you know, I have been much exercised as to what I would say this afternoon—and she has helped frame my answer.”

  “I hope that you will consent to an annulment, my dear.”

  “No,” Alicia said firmly.

  “But, my love, in the circumstances—” he began gravely.

  “No,” she interrupted. “It is my duty to remain Lucian’s wife.”

  “But he has shown—”

  “Timothy,” Alicia said in a tone that brooked no argument, “I will not, cannot condemn the man I love to the maw of a tigress.”


  * * *

  Lucian had been up all night, pacing back and forth in his library, cudgeling his brain for memories that remained elusive. In his mind’s eye, he could envision all too clearly the unsettling events of the previous evening—above all, the face of the young woman who had, so shockingly, called herself

  Lady Morley and who had the ring he had never taken from his finger since his father had given it to him on the occasion of his eighteenth birthday.

  Late last night, facing an agonized and angry Barbara, he had heard her reiterate her theory that his “wife” had scoured the fields looking for what she could find. The allegation still shocked him as it had shocked the girl when Barbara had voiced it. He had not admired Barbara’s attitude toward the “interloper,” as she had called her when he had come to see her, but at the same time he could not blame her. She was grieving as he was grieving over his unaccountable lapse from virtue and honor.

  “How could I have married her?” he muttered out loud, and saw the pale face of the woman who called herself Lady Morley and ostensibly had every right to use that name. She was so small, a poor little dab of a creature. She barely reached Barbara’s shoulder. Her features were good but she never would have appealed to him—not in his right mind! His preference had always been for tall, stately women—or, rather, for one tall, stately woman, for Barbara, whom he had loved all his life. And unaccountably, he had turned from her, betrayed that love. Why? What had driven him to commit so shocking a deed? Barbara had said something about the Duke of Pryde. She had mentioned his jealousy. He had taken exception to the duke and gone off to Brussels without a word. He could imagine that, but the rest—to ignore the letters Barbara had written to him and to turn to this girl and to give her his signet ring, which, in addition to being a gift from his father, was a cherished family heirloom worn by every son of the house since ... he could not remember when. He swallowed convulsively as he thought of his father’s horror over that—over the entire terrible situation, his poor father who was dead, dead before he could even bid him a last farewell, another sorrow that had come upon him when he lay wounded. Yet, this latest tragedy, the loss of Barbara even eclipsed that! How could he have betrayed her, how? Again he shut his eyes, willing that those two years come back to him, but to no avail. The darkness remained!

  There was a tap on the library door.

  “Yes?” he called.

  Church appeared in the doorway. “Miss Barrington wishes to see you, my Lord. She be in the ’all.”

  “Oh, God,” Lucian groaned, and hurried into the hall, to find Barbara pacing up and down, her face a mask of despair.

  “Lucian, oh, Lucian.” Unmindful of the butler, she sped to him and threw her arms around him. “We are lost, utterly, utterly lost, my darling.”

  “My love,” he cried, “what can you mean? But come.” He led her into the drawing room, indicating a sofa.

  “No, I cannot sit down. Oh, my love, I have been to see her and I prostrated myself. Imagine, I fell on my knees before her and begged her to agree to an annulment, but I fear she will not! Oh, Lucian, I pray you, let us run away, far, far, far away. I do not care if you are wed. I wish only to be with you, my dearest, my love.”

  “Barbara,” he said brokenly, “you are talking foolishly, madly. I cannot do that. If she will not agree to the annulment, I have no choice but to accept her decision.”

  “She will have to agree to it if we are together!”

  “My shining angel,” he said gently. “I cannot accept such a sacrifice. We must think of your reputation and more than that, of your mother, your uncle, everyone. You would be disgraced. No, what you propose is out of the question.”

  “Then we are lost,” she moaned, “for she, I fear, will never give you up.”

  “Will she not?”

  Barbara shook her head. “I think I read her very well. She sees this mischance as her chance for advancement. Oh. if you could have heard how she spoke to me this morning.”

  “You ought not to have gone there.”

  “I felt I had no choice.” Barbara clutched his arm. "I was fighting for you, for us, for our love, and for my life, Lucian, but I lost. Underneath that meek exterior, there’s an iron will. I offered her money and you can imagine what she said. She said she would have more, married to you!”

  “She did not!” he exclaimed.

  “She did and talked of her own coach and going to Paris now that the war is at an end—and even to Rome. And, of course, she was delighted about having a house in town. 'Can you see me giving up all that?’ she asked me, and smiled. I longed to wipe that smile off her face,” Barbara sobbed.

  “Oh, my darling,” he groaned. “She must be the very soul of duplicity, for last night she did not seem so grasping.”

  “She was talking to me not to you, Lucian.”

  “Sure, she must have known that you would tell me.”

  “I am sure she did, but she has her marriage lines and she is also sure that you do not want to divorce her. I would you did. Why will you not?”

  “I have no grounds,” he said miserably.

  “Is not what I have just told you grounds enough? I will swear to it.”

  “I have not heard it from her own lips. Barbara.” Barbara’s eyes flashed. “Are you suggesting that I am not telling you the truth?”

  “Never, my love, but she can always deny anything you have said, and given her character or, rather, the lack of it, she will. And besides, I have no wish to involve you in this imbroglio."

  “But you cannot want to remain married to her,” Barbara cried. “She entrapped you, Lucian, I know not how—but there could have been no other reason for you to wed her. She’s not even pretty. Oh, God, if you could only remember!”

  “I cannot,” he groaned. “I have tried all this night but nothing came to me, nothing.”

  “Oh, my poor love.” Barbara expelled a caught breath, expertly turning it into a long sigh. “And so you will suffer in these unbreakable bonds?”

  “Unless she relents.”

  “I tell you she will not relent,” Barbara said fiercely. She looked about her and saw a small marble image of Psyche. Pointing to it, she cried, ‘‘That statue will crumble to dust before she changes her mind. She is an adventuress and totally without scruples. If you could have heard her . . . But”—Barbara’s eyes gleamed—‘‘I think . . . Oh, my dear love, I think I have happened upon a solution.”

  “A solution?” he said despairingly. ‘‘What manner of solution? I will not involve you in anything that would detract from your fair name, my dearest, so long as I shall live.”

  “And you are mine,” Barbara said in a tone as solemn as his had been. ‘‘But, Lucian, hear me. There is the abbey.” ‘‘The abbey?” he said blankly.

  ‘‘Yes, yes, yes,” she cried triumphantly. ‘‘Take her to the abbey or merely mention your intention of doing so. That might cause her to change her mind, and without further ado—but if she decides to hold out, think on the fact that it has not been occupied for a dozen years, not since your poor father decided to live in Sussex with your Aunt Margaret. He left because of the cold and the damp. Remember how he used to say that the climate chilled his very bones?”

  ‘‘I remember,” Lucian sighed.

  ‘‘Oh, my dear, I do not want to fill your head with unhappy memories, but heed me. She has been living in Brussels, which, while it is not warm, contains houses that are well-insulated against the cold. And in winter . . . But I need not remind you what the abbey is like in winter with the winds howling down from the moors and she quite likely to be snowbound. I know you have a fondness for the old place and so do I, since ’twas there that we met when we were children. However, she will have no sentimental attachments and I am sure that she will hate it. She’s been living in a large city. How will she respond to the loneliness of the abbey and its distance from London? How will she enjoy looking out of the windows at those shattered ruins? I used to find them beautiful. I loved to sketc
h them. Do you remember?”

  “I do,” he said. “I do remember that time, Barbara.”

  ‘‘I know, dear, and it is tragic that you cannot remember meeting her, but if our plan is successful, you’ll be rid of her very soon. And do not forget the legends attached to the abbey, the ghostly monks who walk through the broken corridors when the wind is high and, on occasion, chant—”

  “Ah, that is arrant superstition,” he exclaimed.

  “Yes, we know that, but will she? Living there, she is bound to hear about it from one or another person. And from my observation, she is rather a simple little women.” Her eyes widened. “Lucian, what if we were to hire someone to chant?”

  “No,” he protested quickly. “That is going too far.”

  “Perhaps so, but I am sure that the loneliness of the place will be enough—that and the fact that she is living with a man who knows her for an unscrupulous schemer and treats her accordingly. Sure that will bring out her true nature and you will have grounds for an annulment or a divorce. She will get what she deserves and we will finally be together, with no importunate stranger to separate us ever, ever again.”

  "Oh, my dearest Barbara,” Lucian groaned, “how can you want to be with a man who has so cruelly betrayed you?”

  “Lucian,” she said softly, “knowing you, I feel there must have been some extenuating circumstances. I feel that, rather than you having betrayed me, you were the one betrayed by that creature who has gained possession of your name—by what means we cannot yet know.”