The Belle Dames Club by Melinda Hammond Page A

have to go without me. I am sure you will manage splendidly, whatever Dorothea has arranged, and you must tell me all about it when you return.’
    Clarissa frowned.
    ‘This has something to do with the letter you received last night, does is not?’
    Lady Wyckenham stood up.
    ‘I will not lie to you, Clarissa. Yes, it has. But as I told you last night, it is a mere inconvenience. I shall soon resolve it.’
    ‘Then let me help you!’
    ‘No; you are pledged to Julia Norwell this evening. Now, I hear someone at the door, most likely it is Dorothea Gaunt, so off you go now and do not keep her waiting.’ She smiled and came forward to give Clarissa a swift hug. ‘Go, Clarissa.’
     
    Lady Wyckenham stayed only until she heard Lady Gaunt’s carriage drawing away from the house before she sent for her own coach. When it pulled up at the door some twenty minutes later, she was ready, attired in a mannish riding outfit of dark brown camlet with a matching beaver hat set on top of her gleaming curls, and a heavy veil hiding her face. She directed her coachman to a house off Piccadilly and when it pulled up she alighted, saying, ‘Wait for me here, Jacob. I shall not be long.’
    A liveried footman bowed her into the house.
    ‘If madam would be pleased to wait in the drawing-room, his lordship will be with you directly.’
    With her hands tucked inside her swansdown muff, Lady Wyckenham followed the servant into a brightly lit apartment, richly decorated in red and gold. A good fire blazed in the hearth but although she felt a little faint, she did not unbutton her tight-fitting jacket, nor did she put up her veil. She wandered restlessly about the room, looking up at the dark portraits that seemed to stare down haughtily at her from the walls.
    ‘You are admiring my ancestors.’
    She jumped.
    ‘I did not hear you come in.’ She fought down her nerves as she turned to greet the Marquis of Ullenwood. ‘My lord.’
    He bowed, the light glistening on the silver streaks in his dark hair.
    ‘My lady. I did not expect such a prompt response to my letter.’
    She shrugged.
    ‘You wished to talk to me. I am here.’
    ‘Will you not sit down?’
    ‘No.’ The word was out before she knew it, and Lady Wyckenham cursed her nerves. ‘Ah.’ Lord Ullenwood smiled. Or, she temporized, his lips curled but there was no warmth in those dark eyes, no hint of gentleness. He continued, ‘Very well, madam, let us get to the point. I would trade with you.’
    She gave him a scornful glance.
    ‘There is nothing to trade.’
    ‘Oh but there is,’ he said softly. ‘We both know that I have certain … letters, written in your own fair hand.’
    She paled.
    ‘I thought you had destroyed them.’
    The marquis spread his hands.
    ‘You asked it of me, I know, but I could not bring myself to do so. They were such touching letters, you see.’
    ‘I was very unhappy at the time.’
    ‘I am aware – you sought solace in my arms, did you not?’
    ‘Elliot, I trusted you. I thought you were my friend.’
    ‘Friendship is such a fragile thing, Helen. When you spurned me—’
    ‘I found I could not love you and I told you so: it was not meant cruelly.’
    ‘Your passion cooled,’ he said. ‘Mine has never died.’
    ‘Then I am sorry for it, but there is nothing I can do.’
    ‘Oh but there is.’
    She shook her head.
    ‘Elliot, it is over. When Wyckenham died I was distraught; I turned to you for comfort, but that was a mistake.’
    ‘I cannot allow that.’
    ‘So what would you have me do?’
    ‘Come back to me, Helen.’
    ‘I cannot. I do not love you.’ She tilted her head to one side. ‘Surely that would make me a wretched mistress?’
    The marquis walked towards her.
    ‘I would have you on any terms. Helen—’
    As he reached for her, she retreated behind a chair.
    ‘Stay away, my lord. I have told you I am not for you.’
    ‘You might change your mind.’
    ‘Because of the letters?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘I think