“Because he will be able to describe this house, in detail, her bedroom, even to the decorations on her bed-”
“Which you know!” she said quickly. “He could have got it from some housemaid easily enough. There is nothing to that,” she felt a quick resurgence of hope.
His eyes were slow, moist, raking her over.
“She has a mole under her left breast,” he said distinctly, “and a scar on her buttock, also the left, as I remember. You will say I also knew that, but I doubt the housemaid does. Do you take my point, my lady?”
It took her the greatest effort of will she could remember not to shout at him, to let go of her temper, her rage and frustration, and scream, “Get out, out of my sight!” She took a deep breath, and summoned a lifetime of discipline.
“Yes, I take your point,” she said quietly, her voice very nearly steady. “You may go.”
He turned, then hesitated at the door.
“You will inform your relations in Stirlingshire that I shall not be coming, my lady?”
“I shall. Now go.”
He bowed very slightly, still smiling.
“Thank you, my lady.”
As soon as the door was closed she gave way. For nearly five minutes she sat and let the shudders of disgust and anger pass through her. To be bested by a servant, a footman with morals of the gutter! She would never forget his hot, familiar eyes on her. To think that Christina had voluntarily lain with this-creature! That she could even now be with his child. It was not to be endured. She must pull herself together. Something must be done. She could not now think how to get rid of Max, but she must at least make absolutely sure that he never touched Christina again. From this hour onward Christina’s behavior must be perfect. Max would not use his trump card unless forced, unless he had nothing to lose by it: because he had only the one play. In ruining her he would ruin himself, therefore he would not press Christina if she treated him with total disinterest from now on. And most certainly Augusta intended to see that she did!
She stood up and composed herself. There was no further purpose in Christina’s remaining in bed. She was perfectly recovered. She might as well get up and resume her normal life: in fact better that she should, before there was too much speculation as to what condition kept her out of society. If by some disaster she should prove to be with child, Augusta would have to see that she was married as soon as possible, and hope that the birth could be passed off as premature. Fortunately Christina was as dark as Max, so if the child were equally dark there would be no comment. In fact it might be as well if Christina were to be married at the earliest convenience anyway. She obviously had a weakness that required a solution, and there was only one satisfying one. Her mind began to consider possibilities as she crossed the hall and climbed the stairs. It would have to be someone who could be persuaded to marry at very short notice, and without causing a lot of raised eyebrows: therefore he would have to be someone she knew already, so a courtship could be presumed to have taken place. It was hardly feasible that someone of such devastating charm as to make a whirlwind romance believable would marry other than one of his own desire; and for such a man to cross Christina’s path in the next few weeks, and fall in love with her, was expecting too much of fate.
She enumerated the young men of suitable position in her mind, and came up with lamentably few. And among those most owed the Balantynes nothing, nor sought anything from them that would be worth marrying for, without the romantic inclination. Most men married of their wives’ or their mothers-in-law’s choosing, but preferred to think that it was of their own. In this case such a feat of self-deception might be difficult. Fortunately Christina was engaging enough, pretty, spirited, and of an excellent taste in fashion. And she had a sense of wit, and of enjoyment, which was peculiarly attractive to most men.
By the time she had reached Christina’s bedroom door she had whittled the choice down to three, of whom the best seemed to be Alan Ross. Of course everyone knew he had never entirely recovered from his infatuation with Helena Doran, but that also meant he had no attachment to anyone else, and therefore might be agreeable to the arrangement. He could be intractable if he were pressured-he was a man of strong will-but if approached with charm, if Christina exerted herself to attract him, delight him, woo him, he might well, with a tiny added pressure from the general, prove amenable. It was certainly worth trying. There were others who could be bought with military advancement, which of course could be arranged; but they would be far less likely to afford Christina any happiness.
She knocked on the door, and immediately went in. She was startled to find Christina up and in process of dressing. She opened her mouth to be angry at the disobeying of her instructions, then closed it again, realizing she was but spiting her own plans.
“I’m glad you are feeling better,” she said instead.
Christina swung round, surprise in her face. She really was a pretty creature, cloud of dark hair, white skin, tilted, wide blue eyes, pert nose, and rounded chin. And her manners were delightful when she chose. Yes, it should not prove an impossible task.
“Mama!”
“I see you have decided to get up. I’m glad, I think it is time.”
Christina’s surprise at the reaction showed for an instant in her face before she masked it.
“Yes. That Miss-whatever-her-name-is, that Papa has employed, made me realize how much I am missing. And people will begin to talk if I do not appear soon. There is no good giving them cause before it is necessary. Anyhow, I may well not be with child. I feel perfectly well now. I have not felt in the least sick or faint for days.” There was a slight edge of challenge to her voice.
“There is no reason why you should,” Augusta agreed. “Being with child is a perfectly natural process, not a disease. Women have been doing it since Eve.”
“I may not be with child,” Christina said firmly.
“No, and on the other hand, you may. It is too early to be certain.”
“If I am,” Christina raised her head a little higher, deliberately, “I shall go and see Freddie Bolsover.”
“You will not. Dr. Meredith will be perfectly adequate to attend you, when the time comes.”
“I do not intend to bear Max’s child, Mama. I have been giving the matter some thought, while I have been lying here. I shall see Freddie, I have heard he can arrange such things-”
For the first time since she had been a young woman herself, Augusta was quite genuinely shocked, both by her daughter, and by the piece of knowledge that Freddie Bolsover either performed abortions himself, or knew who did.
“You will do nothing of the kind,” she said almost softly. “That is a sin which I will not forgive. You can cease to consider it from this moment. I have no wish for any grandchild of mine to carry the blood of that unspeakable footman; but you have made your bed, and we must all lie in it-”
“Mama, I will not-you don’t seem to understand! I do not love Max, I never loved him-”
“I had not imagined you did,” Augusta said coldly. “I am equally sure he did not love you either. That is beside the point. You will not commit murder against your unborn child, if indeed it exists. You will marry someone who will care for you in a suitable manner and give your child a name-”
“I will not!” Christina’s face flamed. “If you think I am going to beg some respectable weakling to marry me just to give my child a father, you are gravely mistaken, Mama. It would be intolerable! He would make me pay for it the rest of my life! He would call me a-a whore-and he would hardly love the child, or give it a home with any-anything worth-”
“Control yourself, Christina. I have no intention that you should do anything of the sort. You will marry a man suitable to your station, and he will have no idea of your condition. You will say the child, if indeed there is one, is premature. Under no circumstances whatsoever will you go to Freddie Bolsover, or anyone else.”