The Black Moth by Georgette Heyer (famous ebook reader .TXT) 📖

RICHARD went slowly back to his chair. After a moment he sat down, staring blankly out of the window, his hands loosely clasped on the desk before him. So he remained for a long while, immobile. At last, with the faintest of sighs, he moved and picked up a quill. He dipped it in the ink, and, with his other hand, drew towards him a sheaf of papers. Presently he was writing steadily.

For perhaps twenty minutes the quill travelled to and fro across the pages; then it paused, and Richard looked up towards the door.

It opened to admit Lady Lavinia. She came rustling into the room with her embroidery in her hand. She dropped her husband a mock curtsey and went over to a high-backed armchair, stretching out a dimpled hand to draw it forward. But even as her fingers touched it she had changed her mind, and fluttered over to the couch, there to seat herself with much swirling of brocades and arrangement of skirts. She then proceeded to occupy herself with her work, plying her needle hurriedly and jerkily.

Richard watched her in silence, following each turn of the pretty hand and each movement of her fair head.

The silence was evidently not to my lady’s taste, for she presently began to beat an impatient tattoo on the floor with one slender foot. Still he said nothing, and she raised her pure china-blue eyes to his face.

“Why so glum, Dick? Why do you not talk to me?” Her voice was rather high-pitched and childish, and she had a curious way of ending each sentence with an upward lilt and a long drawn-out accent, very fascinating to listen to.

Richard smiled with an obvious effort.

“Am I, my dear? I crave your pardon. Warburton has just been.”

Her face clouded over instantly, and the full-lipped mouth drooped petulantly.

“He has seen him.”

“Oh?” She made the word twice its length, and filled it with disinterest.

“Yes. Jack will have none of it. He asks me to be his steward and to use Wyncham as I will. He is very generous.”

“Yes, oh yes. And you will, Richard?”

He ignored the question.

“He—Warburton—says he is not much changed.”

“Oh?” Again the long-drawn monosyllable, accompanied by a tiny yawn.

“He says he does not think—Jack—bears me ill-will—” He paused, as if expecting her to speak, but she was absorbed in arranging two flowers—culled from a bowl at her side—at her breast, and took no notice. Carstares turned his head away wearily.

“If it were not for you, my dear, I would tell the truth. I believe I shall go crazed an I do not.”

“Dick!”… She dropped the flowers on the floor and thought no more about them. “Dick!”

“Oh, you need have no fear! I do not suppose,” bitterly, “that I have the courage to face them all now—after six years.”

Lavinia moved restlessly, brushing her hand along the couch.

“You will not do it, Richard? Promise! You will not? I could not bear the disgrace of it; promise me you will never do it?”

“No,” he said slowly, not looking at her. “No, I cannot promise that.”

She sprang to her feet, flinging her broidery from her carelessly, and waved fierce, agitated little hands.

“That means you will do it. You want to disgrace me! You do not care how you hurt me by holding this threat over my head so cruelly! You—”

“Lavinia, for heaven’s sake!” he implored, pushing back his chair. “Calm yourself!” He knew she was about to fly into one of her sudden passions, and frowned with acute vexation.

“I will not! Oh yes, yes! You think me a shrew! I know! I know! But you need not frown on me, sir, for you are worse! No, I will not hush. I am a horrid woman, yes, but you are a cheat—a cheat—a cheat!”

Carstares strode over to her.

“Lavinia!”

“No—no! Leave me alone! You make me miserable! You refuse me everything that I want most, and then you threaten to disgrace me—”

“That is untrue!” cried Richard, goaded into replying. “I will not promise, that is all. What have I refused you that was within my means to give you? God knows you try your best to ruin me—”

“There! There! ‘Tis I who am to blame! Pray did you not induce my lord to leave his money to John when you knew he would have willed it all to you an you had kept silence? You took no thought to me—”

“For heaven’s sake, Lavinia, be still! You do not know what you are saying!”

She pressed her hands to her hot cheeks.

“No—I am unreasonable! I know it, but don’t tell me so, for I cannot bear it! And don’t look reproach at me, Richard! You drive me mad, I tell you! She was sweeping up and down the room like some caged animal, lashing herself to a worse fury.

“Say something, Richard! Do something! Don’t stand there so quietly! Oh, you should never have married me! I displease you, and you make me worse; and you do not see how ‘tis that I cannot live without pleasure, and money! I am despicable? Yes, yes, but what are you? Oh, why did you tell me you cheated after you had wedded me?” Angry sobs escaped her; her handkerchief was in shreds upon the floor.

Carstares turned his back to her, that she might not see how she had contrived to hurt him, and the movement drove her to fresh fury.

“Don’t do that! Don’t! Don’t! You make me worse by your dreadful silence! Oh, if you really loved me!”

“You cannot doubt that!” he cried out, wheeling suddenly round. “You know how I love you! Don’t you?” He gripped her by the shoulders and swung her to face him.

She trembled and gave a sobbing little laugh. As suddenly as it had come, her anger left her.

“Oh, yes, yes! You do love me, Dicky?” She twined her arms about his neck and shrank closer.

“God help me, yes!” he groaned, thrusting her away. “And you—you care for no one save yourself!”

“No! No!” she cried, pressing up to him again. “Do not say that, Dick. Indeed, I love you, but I cannot live without gaiety—you know I cannot. Oh, I do not doubt but what I am very selfish, but ‘tis the way I am fashioned, and I cannot change my nature. And now I have hurt you, and I did not mean to! I did not mean to!”

“My dear, I know you did not; but try to be less a child, I beg of you! You are so uncontrolled, so—”

“I knew you would say that,” she answered in a dead voice. “You do not understand me. You expect me to be good, and patient, and forbearing, and I tell you ‘tis not in my nature.”

“But, Lavinia, you can control your passions,” he said gently.

“No! I cannot! We Belmanoirs—as God made us, so we are—and He made us spendthrift, and pleasure-loving, and mad!” She walked slowly to the door. “But you do not understand, and you try to make me staid, and thoughtful, and a good mother, when I am dying for life, and excitement, and care not that for housewifery!” She opened the door slowly. “And now my head aches, and you look grave and say ‘tis my wicked temper, when I want you to be sorry, and to be ready to do anything to comfort me. Why can you not take me to London, when you know how I long to be there, instead of in this gloomy house with nought to do, save mind my child and my needle? I am so tired of it all! So very tired of it all!” She would have left the room then, but he detained her.

“Wait, Lavinia! You say you are unhappy?”

She released the door handle and fluttered her hands expressively.

“Unhappy? No, I am dull. I am ill-tempered. I am discontented. I am aught you please, so do not be sad, Richard. I cannot bear you to be solemn. Oh, why do we quarrel?” With one of her impulsive movements she was again at his side, with her beautiful face upturned. “Love me, Richard! Take me to London and never mind an I do squander your money. Say you do not care! Say that nothing matters so long as I am happy! Why do you not say it? Does anything matter? Don’t be prudent, Dicky! Be wild! Be reckless! Be anything rather than grave and old!” Her arms crept up to his coaxingly. “Take me to London!”

Carstares smoothed the soft hair back from her forehead, very tenderly, but his eyes were worried.

“My dear, I will take you, but not just yet. There