A Secret Passion (5 page)

The reading done, he returned to his seat beside the rector’s wife and whispered in her ear all of one minute. The tightly coiled curls on that lady’s head bounced as she gave a backward glance toward Jane and her aunt. Jane felt the weight of the entire congregation’s eyes upon her as they filed out. Clarissa’s arm linked with her own as they nudged through the church doors into the bright sunlight. Without a word, they walked swiftly toward the cottage. But the high-pitched voice of the rector’s wife calling their names pierced the crisp air and shattered their purpose.

“Oh, Miss Fairchild, oh, dear me, Miss Clarissa and Mrs. Lovering…” trilled Mrs. Gurcher, out of breath. Her voluptuous frame trundled up to them. “My dears, would you be so kind as to attend our little gathering at the parsonage? The earl and his grandmother and friend have condescended to take tea with us.”

This was worse than Jane had anticipated. Much worse.

With as much hauteur as the two quaking plumes in her purple bonnet would allow, Mrs. Gurcher continued, “My dears, you have the singular honor of having had the earl ask particularly for your company. Upon my word, he has never asked such a thing before.”

“We would be delighted. However, we planned a picnic by the sea this very day, so I am inclined to refuse your very kind offer,” Clarissa responded.

“But I am not to let you get away! The gentleman with the earl insisted. See how they await your joining our small party?” Mrs. Gurcher motioned toward the group behind them. It was impossible to continue to refuse. With clutched hands and leaden footsteps, Jane and her aunt turned and walked to their fate of weak tea and uncomfortable conversation. Jane glanced at her aunt when Clarissa stumbled, only to read confused hesitation on her face, which was now devoid of color. She did not know what had caused the change in her aunt’s demeanor, but she did know it was up to her to do the proper. She looked toward the earl and the other gentleman and refused to be bullied. Jane straightened her spine, changed tactics, and faced the enemy with fortitude.

Upon the rector’s presentation of Lord Graystock to Jane, the earl bowed over her hand. “Mrs. Lovering, it is a distinct honor to meet you.” He raised his heavy-lidded eyes to her face.

“My lord, I must thank you for your kind offer to stable my horse while the inn’s stables are being repaired,” Jane said and lowered her gaze to the hem of her new mourning dress.

Tilting his head to examine her face, he replied, “Come, Mrs. Lovering, is it not a gentle-born person’s duty to aid another in distress?”

“Quite so, my lord.” She paused and looked up at him before adding under her breath, “Especially when the person in distress identifies himself.”

“Touché, Mrs. Lovering.”

His smile actually touched his silver eyes, but Jane was too distracted by Clarissa’s obvious discomfort to examine the phenomenon further. She noted that when introduced to the other gentleman, a Sir Thomas Gooding, Clarissa would not look at him. And he, in turn, barely seemed able to utter the required niceties. Neither claimed a prior acquaintance, but Jane thought he looked vaguely familiar. Perhaps they had met in town.

As they walked toward the parsonage, the earl’s grandmother addressed the two younger ladies. “I understand this little tea has interrupted a seaside picnic you planned for today. How I long to see the sea. But these old bones of mine make it difficult to go very often.”

“We would be delighted to have you join us on an outing to the shore, if your health allows it, any one of these days,” responded Clarissa, who seemed to have pulled herself together.

Mrs. Gurcher proudly herded the distinguished group into the front drawing room of the parsonage. At each moment her voice seemed to trill a bit higher and at times took on a warbling sound, especially when she learned that Cook’s little cakes were not quite ready. Clarissa and Jane, distressed to learn the requisite twenty-minute tea might stretch into forty minutes, hid their emotions. Strong constitutions and a thorough education in the fine art of stretching the topic of the weather fortified them.

The two gentlemen refrained from contributing to this portion of the conversation. Rolfe meditated on the delectable Mrs. Lovering. The severity of her black gown emphasized her delicate neck and the slenderness of her frame. His hands gripped the arms of the chair as he remembered the feel of her small waist. When she looked up at him, her creamy complexion showed the hint of a blush on her high cheekbones. Ah, and those divine aquamarine eyes of hers—so remote when she was ill at ease.

It soon became apparent that his grandmother had quite taken to heart the fine weather and proposed taking advantage of the folly of a picnic on the bluffs overlooking the sea that same day. Rolfe arranged the plan with alacrity, and now the two younger ladies were the ones found lacking a topic of conversation. A plan was therefore fixed with several modifications. Lady Graystock was to be attended in her carriage by Miss Fairchild and the good Reverend and Mrs. Gurcher. The two gentlemen and Mrs. Lovering were to ride. The dowager countess suggested the servants at Hesperides would prepare a large picnic. Finally, with varying degrees of reluctance, all parties agreed to meet at the Hall. The much-anticipated cakes were consumed and the party, blessedly, was at an end.

“Quite uncommonly good-looking chits, I say,” stated the grandmother during the return carriage ride to Hesperides.

Rolfe sighed. “Grandmamma, Miss Fairchild cannot be called a chit by any means. She cannot be younger than one and thirty.”

“Actually, she is four and thirty, to be exact. Her niece must be at least a decade younger,” said Gooding before pausing to look at Rolfe. “I’m surprised you did not recognize Jane Lovering. She was engaged to dear Mr. Billingsley less than a fortnight ago.” Gooding paused and then continued, “She was at some of the
ton
’s squeezes this spring.”

Grandmamma laughed. “How could he see the girl or anyone else, for that matter, if he don’t go to the squeezes?”

“She was married to Cuthguard Lovering for two years before he died,” offered Gooding as an afterthought.

Grandmamma sat upright. “Cutty Lovering? For goodness’ sake, he was quite ancient. He had a son from his first marriage whose age must match Mrs. Lovering’s. He was sixty if he was a day when I last heard of him “

Rolfe was too much of a gentleman to conclude aloud that the girl might have been after Cutty’s moneybags.

“It was considered an odd match at the time, as her family is quite well-to-do,” Gooding said. “Lord Fairchild never should have allowed it. But she always sat silently beside her husband at several small dinner parties I went to, attending his every need.”

Rolfe tapped the tips of his fingers on the carriage door as Gooding continued, “In fact, I was a bit surprised to hear she had accepted an offer before her year of mourning was properly up.”

Silence descended within the carriage, except for the clopping of the horses. Grandmamma gave up the fight to keep awake and drooped into her grandson’s shoulder. He sighed and pushed a pillow under her head.

“What is she doing here instead of gazing adoringly at Billingsley’s puppy face in town?” Rolfe asked a few minutes later.

“Which of us has the nerve to ask her directly?”

Rolfe looked at his friend. “I’ll ask her if you will tell me what precisely is the nature of your acquaintance with Miss Fairchild.” He paused when he received no answer. “You know, Gooding, you might try at a bit of conversation the next time you encounter her. Otherwise your feelings will be too obvious.” Gooding’s face grew darker by the second. Rolfe had never seen him except with an open expression. “Good God, man, you’re in love with her, aren’t you?”

Gooding opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out.

“Mrs. Lovering, may I be so bold as to inquire as to what brings you here to our small neighborhood this time of year?” asked Rolfe as he brought his chestnut gelding close to her mare. The two were riding ahead of the group on the lane leading to the bluffs.

“Why do you ask, my lord?” Jane responded.

“Well, you are newly engaged.”

Her heart sank. So word of her engagement had already made its way south. Arrived, no doubt, with Sir Thomas.

“And your fiancé is in London,” Rolfe continued. “So, one wonders what could possibly entice you to spend a few weeks during the season in our charming but smallish neighborhood.”

“Why, my aunt, of course.”

“Of course.” He lifted a brow.

His words were polite enough, but Jane, feeling needled, continued, “And may I ask you, then, my lord, what enticements have driven
you
from town during the height of the season?”

“Why, my grandmamma, of course.”

“Of course.” She echoed his words right down to the arrogantly lifted brow.

“Come now, Mrs. Lovering, surely we know each other well enough for you to confide in me.”

Jane refused to meet his gaze.

“I see I am not to have the pleasure of an answer from you. But then, that is a favored style of yours.”

“If you insist on playing the inquisitor, I will admit that I am not engaged, nor was I ever engaged, to Mr. Billingsley. There was an error, you see, in the newspapers,” she added with what she hoped was a carefree smile.

Graystock forced himself to listen to her words without interruption. The smallest dimple marred the smoothness of her cheek. It almost made him lose his train of thought.

“And I can never resist an invitation from my aunt for a visit. She is the dearest person in the world to me.”

“Ah, an error in the papers, you say? That is a fine mess. Your father, I would assume, has sent his solicitors to contend with this? A lady’s reputation would be beyond repair if the matter was not attended to immediately.”

“I thank you kindly, sir, for your concern,” she said, chewing on her lower lip. “The situation has been taken in hand. But now I feel we are neglecting your friend. Let us drop back.”

Her lips were quite kissable, and it was a shame the damage she was doing to them. He sought her gaze without success. “You have perfected the fine art of evading questions, I see.”

She pulled up her horse. “And you, sir, have perfected the fine art of interrogation.”

He stopped too and realized he would have to try a different tack, lest he win the proverbial battle but lose her company. “I do hope our stables have provided adequate care of your mare. She is a fine horse.”

Mrs. Lovering leaned down, patted the horse on the shoulder, and urged her forward again. “Yes, and again, I must thank you for offering to provide shelter for her.” She paused before adding, “I suppose I must also apologize for trespassing last week, and for any embarrassing comments I might have made.” Her brow furrowed in agitation. “If you had but told me who you were—”

He interrupted her. “Mrs. Lovering, most sincere apologies are not given with an excuse. However, I accept your apology and now that we have been introduced, I invite you to explore the grounds of Hesperides at your leisure. I simply ask you to refrain from passing through the unfortunate field where we met. I am in the process of training my new mount, and distractions do not bode well, as you saw for yourself.” He could see from the blush creeping up her neck that she was mortified by his rebuke in the middle of her apology.

“My lord, I do apologize most profusely. Please allow me to show how sincere I am.”

He was intrigued and wondered what trick she had up her sleeve now, the minx. “Yes, do continue.”

“May I offer my assistance with your stallion? Before you decline, please know that I have had no small experience in the training of horses. My family owns and breeds horses in Cornwall.”

He stared at her. No lady would offer such a thing, let alone discuss horse breeding. It was a blatant slap in the face to his ability as a horseman. He looked into her slanting eyes and perceived the smallest trace of a smile on her face. “You are too kind, but I’m afraid I must decline your offer.”

“Just as I thought. You can’t bear the thought that a female could possibly be of help to you.” She turned to go back toward Sir Thomas Gooding and the carriage.