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‘Ah, Lady Grayson, good evening, ma’am...’

      * * *

      Dominique did not know whether to be flattered or outraged by his comment, but she put it behind her and set about enjoying herself. She was happy for Gideon to go off to the card room and leave her to join her many acquaintances.

      * * *

      It was some time later that she was momentarily alone and heard an unmistakable voice in her ear.

      ‘So, Cousin, you have provided Albury with an heir. I congratulate you.’

      She swung around to find the Earl of Martlesham at her shoulder. His insolent gaze swept over her.

      ‘Marriage suits you, Cousin. You have blossomed. But then it is surprising what marriage to a wealthy man can do.’

      ‘We are very happy, I assure you.’

      ‘And how is my dear aunt?’

      ‘Much better now that she is away from Martlesham,’ retorted Dominique. ‘You tricked her into thinking you were franking her mail.’

      ‘What does that matter? By the time I became earl there had been no news of your father for years. Why should I humour a madwoman?’ He leaned closer, hissing, ‘And that is what she is, writing her interminable letters, hoping to find Rainault. Any sensible person would have given up long ago and accepted that he was dead.’

      Hot rage flooded her and she glared at him before turning away with a shrug of indifference,

      ‘It matters not. She is at Rotham now, where she is respected and valued. Neither of us need concern ourselves with you again.’

      He caught her wrist.

      ‘So you think yourself safe now, do you, Mrs Albury? Well, just be careful that this idyllic world you have created does not come crashing down about your ears!’

      With another fulminating look she wrenched herself free and stormed across the room towards Gwen, who saw her approaching and immediately sent her cicisbeo away.

      ‘Whatever has upset you?’ she murmured, linking her arm through Dominique’s and carrying her off to the supper room. Gwen procured two glasses of wine and a small table in one corner, where they could talk undisturbed. Gwen listened while Dominique described her encounter with Max.

      ‘It was not so very bad,’ ended Dominique, her anger fading. ‘He treated Mama abominably, but she is out of his reach now. Yet still he is not satisfied. He cannot bear the thought that Gideon and I could be happy.’

      ‘Then he must learn to live with it,’ replied Gwendoline stoutly. ‘No one who sees you and my brother together could doubt your felicity.’

      ‘And yet...’ Dominique bowed her head. She leaned across the table, lowering her voice. ‘And yet—oh, Gwen, he—he avoids my bed.’

      ‘Oh, my poor girl.’

      Dominique was obliged to blink away a tear.

      ‘I th-think he still yearns for his actress—’

      ‘No, no, this is my father’s doing,’ said Gwen. ‘He has convinced Gideon that—how would he phrase it?—“carnal knowledge” of one’s wife is detrimental to her health.’

      Dominique felt her face burning.

      ‘But Dr Bolton sees no harm—’

      Gwen squeezed her hand.

      ‘You must remember that Gideon was a witness to Mama’s protracted ill health and her early demise. That is a much stronger argument than any the good doctor can put forwards. Papa told Anthony the same thing—I had left the drawing room one evening, soon after we were married, and when I returned Father was giving his new son-in-law the benefit of his advice—keep your lust for your mistress, my boy.’ Gwen added, a little wistfully, ‘Not that Anthony had a mistress, apart from his politics.’

      ‘So, am I not alone?’ murmured Dominique, thinking of the poor French Queen and the salacious accusations against her. ‘Am I not w-wicked to have such strong feelings?’

      ‘Not wicked at all, love. But I have told you before— sometimes men need a little push to show them just what is under their nose. You should set up a flirt. There are any number of men here who would oblige you.’

      ‘But I do not want a lover!’

      ‘Not a lover, Dominique, merely someone to show you some attention and make Gideon realise how desirable you are.’

      ‘There was such a person in town last year,’ said Dominique miserably. ‘A Frenchman. I nearly made the most terrible mistake, but Gideon f-found me just in time, only he was not the least bit jealous.’

      ‘Well, that was last year. Gideon thinks a lot more of you now.’ Gwen looked up. ‘Hush now, he is coming.’ She cast a mischievous glance at Dominique and beckoned to Gideon. ‘So you have found us, Brother. What do you think of your wife tonight? Is she not exquisitely ravishable in that red gown?’

      ‘Gwendoline!’ Dominique’s protest was no more than an outraged squeak.

      ‘Exquisite, certainly,’ returned Gideon. He held out his hand. ‘The singing is about to start, my dear, and I think you would enjoy it.’

      ‘Yes, of course.’ She rose with alacrity. ‘Thank you, Gwen, for your advice.’

      ‘And what advice would that be?’ Gideon quizzed her as he bore Dominique away.

      ‘She says I should make you jealous,’ she offered, slanting a look up at him.

      Gideon laughed.

      ‘I am not the jealous type, so you would be wasting your time, my dear.’

      * * *

      No, thought Dominique as she accompanied Gideon to the music room. Jealousy argued a strong passion and, apart from their wedding night, so very long ago, Gideon had shown no passion for her at all.

      * * *

      By the time the singing had ended the evening was well advanced and Dominique was happy to agree when Gideon suggested they should go home. They sought out Lady Grayson to take their leave of her and found their hostess deep in conversation with Gwendoline.

      ‘My dears, Lady Ribblestone has been telling me of the delightful burletta that is playing at the Theatre Royal,’ said Lady Grayson, when they came up to her. ‘What is it called, my dear?’

      ‘Midas,’ Gwen replied. ‘We are all mad to see it, Gideon, and I am putting together a party for Friday night. Will you join us?’

      Dominique held her breath, but Gwen met her eyes for a moment before she handed Gideon a leaflet, saying innocently, ‘I obtained this playbill. You will see that the cast is quite unexceptionable.’

      Gideon unfolded the paper and Dominique peeped across as he read it. She wondered whether he was relieved or disappointed to find that Agnes Bennet’s name was not there.

      ‘Why, yes, I suppose we might go,’ he said at last. ‘Will Ribblestone be there?’

      Gwen replied with an elegant shrug, ‘No doubt he will be at the House until all hours, so I shall not wait for him. But you must all come and dine in Grosvenor Square first. What do you say?’

      ‘I should be delighted,’ responded Lady Grayson. ‘What about you, Mr Albury?’

      ‘Very well, unless my wife has any objections?’

      ‘No, sir, none.’

      ‘Then it is settled,’ cried Gwen, clapping her hands. ‘We shall all go to Drury Lane on Friday!’

      * * *

      The idea of the theatre party occupied Dominique’s thoughts all the way back to Chalcots. She was so lost in thought that when they reached the house and Gideon asked

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