Brenda Hiatt (10 page)

“Goodness! All of that shopping for a single ring?”

The intimacy of the smile he sent her made Nessa catch her breath. “I had a few other things in mind, as well. You’ll want to be well outfitted for Paris, I doubt not. Besides, this will give me a chance to show you off to the fashionable world.”

Nessa bristled at once. “I am not a possession to be displayed for the envy of others, and then tucked safely away in a box,” she warned him.

“Who said anything about possessions or boxes?” He seemed genuinely startled by her response.

Realizing that she had overreacted, she tried, somewhat haltingly, to explain. “Forgive me. But it has been my experience that many husbands treat their wives so—as pretty baubles to wear on their arms in public, and to lock away when not in use. Not an enjoyable existence for the bauble, I assure you.”

Jack frowned. “I had never thought of it in that way, but you are right. Many men
do
behave so. I begin to per
ceive your reluctance to remarry.” His eyes searched her face, and she felt it grow warm under his examination. “Will it help if I promise never to regard you as a possession? For I do not, Nessa, truly.”

She met his eyes. “As what
do
you regard me?” She held her breath, waiting for his answer.

“A person in your own right,” he replied, “with a mind and will of your own. Rather a strong will, I might add.” His eyes were twinkling now, and she felt her own expression soften in response.

She had hoped he would say he regarded her as an equal, but of course that was absurd. No man ever considered his wife so, not even those who, like Philip, clearly loved their mates. And from what Nessa had seen of fashionable ladies, she could scarcely say they were in the wrong. She inclined her head. “Very well, my lord, that will do—for now.”

A few moments later the carriage pulled to a stop before one of the premier jewelers in London. The experience of selecting her own jewelry was a novel one for Nessa, and she enjoyed it thoroughly. As she tried on the third ring, a large rectangular diamond surrounded by tiny sapphires, she realized that she was the only woman in the shop. Jack was according her an honor—and freedom—very few enjoyed. Gratitude colored the smile she gave him.

“Is that the one, then?” He returned her look warmly.

“Oh!” She looked down again at the ring she wore. “No, ’tis still a bit flashy for my taste, I believe. Perhaps that one, there, with the smaller stone?”

“But my lady,” the jeweler protested, “a man of Lord Foxhaven’s consequence will surely wish—”

“That smaller one,” said Jack decisively, cutting him off. “She is the one who will wear it, not I. What have my wishes to do with it?”

Trying on the smaller diamond, Nessa felt an unexpected lightness of heart. Jack had passed his first test with flying colors.

Soon after, Nessa left the jeweler’s with a lovely but tasteful diamond solitaire on her finger. They progressed down Bond Street on foot, the coachman having been given instructions to pace them. A few shops down, Jack purchased a silk scarf for Nessa, again of her own choosing. She was finding him a far more pleasant shopping companion than her sister.

Upon leaving the drapers, they nearly walked into Lady Mountheath and her daughters. Jack bowed and tipped his hat, and Nessa greeted them as cordially as she could manage. The woman’s words to Prudence two nights since still rankled.

Lady Mountheath favored them both with a sour smile. “I understand that felicitations are in order. No doubt you will be very happy,” she said in a tone that implied just the opposite.

Miss Lucy tittered, while Miss Fanny’s small eyes raked over Nessa from head to toe, lingering meaningfully on her midsection. With a stern look, their mother called them to order, and they dutifully echoed her insincere well wishes.

“I have observed,” continued Lady Mountheath,
“that marriage often has a…stabilizing influence upon young people. I hope that it will be so for your sake, Lady Haughton. An unreformed rake can cause his wife both embarrassment and heartache.”

With a parting glare at Jack, she turned to go, but Nessa’s precarious hold on her temper snapped.

“No doubt Your Ladyship speaks from experience,” she said smoothly. From what Mr. Pottinger had told her, Lord Mountheath was not known for his discretion. “I shall endeavor to learn from your example and thereby avoid making the same mistakes.”

Taking Jack’s arm, she turned her back on the openmouthed trio and walked briskly down the street. Her face was flaming, she knew, but from anger rather than embarrassment. Suddenly realizing that Jack had said not a word, she glanced up in some trepidation only to see his face contorting comically.

Catching her eye, he relinquished the struggle and began to chortle. “Oh, my dear,” he gasped after a moment, “you were magnificent! You can’t imagine how many women—and men too, for that matter—have dreamed of dealing that gorgon such a setdown!”

Nessa’s own lips began to twitch, her anger subsiding in the face of his merriment. “No doubt she will find a way to repay me, but I cannot help but feel ’twas worth it. Did you see the look on her face?”

He nodded, and they were both obliged to lean on one another for support as they dissolved into laughter. After a moment, becoming aware of curious stares
from passersby, Nessa straightened. “Come, my lord, I believe we have a bit more shopping to do.”

Over the next hour, as they passed in and out of the shops, Nessa found herself enjoying his company more than ever. The incident with Lady Mountheath had somehow bound them more closely together, inspiring a camaraderie she found most pleasant.

Along the way they encountered several acquaintances, all of whom stopped to offer congratulations on their betrothal with varying degrees of sincerity. Mrs. Heatherton, one of Prudence’s close friends, seemed genuinely delighted, but her companion, a Mrs. Renfrew, regarded her with undisguised pity. This Nessa found more unsettling than spite or curiosity, but decided to credit it to ignorance.

Jack, meanwhile, congratulated himself on the progress he was making in winning Nessa’s trust, if not her affection. He could not recall ever having enjoyed a woman’s company and conversation the way he did hers. The prospect of spending a lifetime tied to just one woman was appearing less and less onerous with each passing moment. Really, he had been most fortunate.

They had just agreed to return to the Creamcrofts’ for some luncheon when they were accosted by a stunningly beautiful flame-haired woman, dressed in the absolute pinnacle of fashion. Jack stifled an oath, realizing that his luck had just run out.

“Why, Jack,” the woman cooed, with a smile that failed to soften the glitter in her emerald eyes, “I under
stand congratulations are in order. Do introduce me to your sweet little bride-to-be.”

Beside him, Nessa pulled herself to her full height—which still lacked several inches to that of the redhead. Jack felt her grip on his arm tighten slightly.

Resisting the urge to pat her hand, he bowed formally to the newcomer. “Nessa, my dear, this is Mrs. Dempsey. Mrs. Dempsey, my fiancée, Lady Haughton.”

His erstwhile paramour’s eyes narrowed, raking over every detail of Nessa’s appearance, though the smile never left her lips. “Ah, so it’s to be Mrs. Dempsey now, is it? But of course, we don’t want to offend the delicacy of the little wife.”

If anything, Nessa stood even taller. Despite his deucedly awkward situation, Jack could not help being proud of her. Then she spoke.

“Charmed to make your acquaintance, Mrs. Dempsey, and my thanks for your felicitations. I perceive that you are an old friend of Jack’s?” Though Miranda Dempsey could be no more than a year or two Nessa’s senior, she slightly emphasized the adjective.

Miranda’s smile slipped for a moment, but she quickly recovered. “I suppose ‘friend’ is the most diplomatic way to describe it,” she retorted, then turned the full power of her smile upon Jack. “Should you find your proper little wife tedious, darling, you’ll still know where to find me.”

She extended her expensively gloved hand to him in farewell, but Jack accorded her only the merest bow and the slightest touch of his fingertips to hers. Her
eyes blazed at the perfunctory nature of his farewell, but he turned quickly away before she could direct any more barbs his—or Nessa’s—way.

One glance showed him that Nessa had in no way mistaken Miranda’s meaning. Jack mentally cursed the woman. Though in honesty he knew such encounters were inevitable, he’d hoped to have Nessa secure before one occurred. Anger and panic warring within him, he propelled his unresisting fiancée away from the site of his worst setback yet.

Nessa paid little attention to the direction Jack was leading her, mechanically putting one foot in front of the other. There was room in her mind for only one thought. Though she’d done her best to evade it, the truth had struck with blinding clarity.

That woman was Jack’s mistress.

She couldn’t understand why she was so hurt by the knowledge. Evidence that Jack was still a rake should be just what she wanted. But the hurt was as undeniable as it was baffling.

“I know what you must be thinking,” he said, the moment they were out of earshot.

Nessa glanced up at his handsome profile, then quickly away. “I’m not an idiot, my lord. Mrs. Dempsey’s meaning was quite clear.”

“So it’s to be ‘my lord’ every time my past rears its unattractive head?” His tone was teasing, but she thought she detected a hint of anxiety as well.

They had reached the waiting carriage but she paused to regard him searchingly. “Your past, Jack?
Mrs. Dempsey implied otherwise. And one would be blind to consider her unattractive.”

Jack grasped her shoulder, gently but firmly. “Nessa, I’ve never once denied that my past is somewhat unsavory. There are those, like Mrs. Dempsey, who will be unwilling to believe that I’ve put it behind me, and so encounters similar to the one you just witnessed may occur—for a while. But I
have
renounced my old, debauched lifestyle, and eventually everyone will realize that. I will do my utmost to spare you any future embarrassment connected with my past in the meantime.”

His deep blue eyes fairly glowed with sincerity, and Nessa found herself almost desperate to believe him—a far cry from the disappointment she’d felt previously, at the idea of his wild ways being behind him.

Though her hurt eased only slightly, she nodded. “Very well, Jack. I suppose it would be hypocritical of me to condemn you for having enjoyed the very lifestyle I have envied.” She managed a semblance of a smile.

Undisguised relief spread over Jack’s features, mingled with something else—something that warmed her to her toes, despite the light drizzle which had begun to fall and the lingering chill in her heart. “Thank you, Nessa. I’m determined you won’t regret your faith in me.”

Nessa met his eyes squarely. “So am I,” she said.

“Are you certain you do not wish to accompany us to the theater tonight, Prudence?” Nessa asked a few days
later, as a maid removed the tea tray. “I know you have not been in the habit of going, but it is a perfectly acceptable amusement.”

Her sister shook her head. “No, we are promised to Lady Trumball this evening, but Lord Creamcroft has suggested the theater once or twice of late, so I doubt not we will attend sometime. Though Papa never approved of it, I did not find the theater so very depraved the one time I went last Season.”

Nessa allowed herself a small hope that Prudence might finally be beginning to think for herself. “I am glad to hear that, though I should rather have liked you along for my first visit.”

Prudence regarded her for a long moment, her pretty brow furrowed. “Do you find it…difficult…being alone with Lord Foxhaven, then? There is still time to cry off, you know.”

“Difficult? No, not at all.” Nessa had never mentioned the encounter with Mrs. Dempsey to her sister. “He and I deal very well together, as I have told you. ’Tis simply that Simmons will feel obliged to play the chaperone, I know, and I’ve no desire to listen to her sermonizing.”

Simmons had been Nessa’s abigail from the first year of her marriage to Lord Haughton and, if anything, was more of a stickler for the proprieties than her late master had been. She seemed to have a genuine fondness for her mistress, but her moralizing could be tedious—and Nessa had heard a fair share of it lately, especially on the subjects of her wardrobe and fiancé.

Yet more was forthcoming as she dressed for the theater a few hours later.

“Milady, are you certain you would not prefer to wear the peach? Its neckline is more becoming than that of the lilac.” Simmons held up the more modestly cut peach gown hopefully.

Nessa sighed. There was simply no pleasing the woman. “I thought you might consider lilac a more seemly color, Simmons. ’Tis approved for half-mourning, after all.”

The rail-thin abigail twitched her long nose. “Not when it is so vivid a shade—nor when cut so revealingly. Milady would not wish to be mistaken for one of the vulgar young women who perform on the stage, I am sure.”

Secretly, Nessa thought she might like that very much, but Simmons was speaking again.

“Though Lord Foxhaven’s exploits with such women are well known, you must strive to rise above any vulgar competition and set him a virtuous example—if you are really set upon this marriage.”

“Of course I am,” said Nessa automatically, as she had a dozen times since the betrothal was announced. But now her attention was caught by Simmons’ earlier words. Though she knew it was not at all the thing to encourage servants’ gossip, she could not resist a bit of probing. “Exploits?”

The abigail nodded her mousy brown head sententiously. “Indeed, milady. Lord Foxhaven is known to visit the theaters frequently, and not for the perfor
mances. At least, not those upon the stage.”

Her pale blue eyes gleamed, though whether with outrage or curiosity, Nessa was not completely certain. Though she knew she should remonstrate, she remained silent in hopes of hearing more. Simmons did not disappoint her.

“One of the downstairs maids told me that he’s been known to carry on with two actresses at the same time, on alternate days of the week. And each trying to outdo the other with her wicked, seductive ways in an attempt to have him to herself!”

Reluctantly, Nessa stopped this fascinating but disturbing flow of information. “That will be enough, Simmons. Pray remember that you are speaking of my fiancé. And put the peach away. I have already decided upon the lilac for tonight.”

Simmons pursed her lips disapprovingly. “As you wish, milady.” She finished Nessa’s toilette in silence, but Nessa scarcely noticed, so tumultuous were her thoughts.

Here was yet more evidence that Jack really had been—and perhaps still was?—a rake, not that she’d doubted it after that encounter with Mrs. Dempsey a few days since. Again she felt that oddly painful squeezing of her heart at the thought of Jack with other women. At the same time, however, she felt avid curiosity. Just what sorts of things
had
Jack been in the habit of doing with all of these women? Surely, if anyone should know, it was his betrothed.

By the time she descended for dinner, Nessa had
decided to devote the evening to finding out. Even if Jack really had put his debauchery behind him, as he said, there must be enough of the rake left in him to satisfy her curiosity.

“What a, er, striking gown that is,” Prudence commented as Nessa entered the drawing room. While her pretty young face could not pucker in the way Simmons’ did, her disapproval was quite as pronounced as the abigail’s. “Perhaps a shawl…?”

With a sigh, Nessa allowed the maid to fetch one from her room. Jack was to join them for dinner, but her brother-in-law would be present as well. And Nessa wanted Philip to notice his wife, after all, not herself. Lord Creamcroft arrived before the shawl did, but Nessa needn’t have worried. He had eyes only for Prudence.

“You look lovely tonight, my dear. That shade of blue particularly becomes you. It matches your eyes.”

“Why thank you, my lord. Nessa convinced me to buy it, saying that very thing.”

Philip shot a grateful smile Nessa’s way before returning his full focus to his lady. “Perhaps you should take her shopping with you more often,” he suggested.

Prudence pinkened, but with pleasure, Nessa thought. At this interesting moment, Lord Foxhaven was announced. The maid bearing the shawl slipped into the room just ahead of the butler, but Nessa delayed putting it on. Jack’s greeting rewarded her procrastination.

“Good evening, my dear.” He bowed over her hand, his eyes frankly admiring. “I hope you’ll not be barred
from the theater, for fear you’ll eclipse the performance with your beauty.”

Remembering Simmons’ words earlier, Nessa was unable to suppress a chuckle. “Is not much of the point of attending the theater to see and be seen, my lord?” she responded playfully. “I’d not wish anyone to cast aspersions on your vaunted taste in women on my account.”

He raised an eyebrow at that, while Prudence emitted an audible gasp from the other side of the room. “No chance of that, I assure you, my lady,” he said in the same tone, though his expression was wary. He then turned to bow to his hosts. “Lady Creamcroft, it is a delight, as always. Creamcroft, your servant.”

They returned his greeting cordially, though Prudence shot a cautionary glance Nessa’s way. She responded by pointedly draping the exquisite lace shawl across her bare shoulders, while smiling innocently at her sister. It would have been impossible to carry on the sort of flirtation with Jack she intended tonight with her sister along, she realized. Just as well she was not coming to the theater after all. Could she safely leave Simmons behind as well?

Dinner was an intimate affair with only the four of them at table. Even so, Prudence directed the conversation so efficiently along acceptable channels that Nessa was unable to do more than send the occasional suggestive glance Jack’s way. At the close of the meal, she and Prudence left the men to their cigars and brandy, retiring to the drawing room.

“Simmons did not sound particularly well this
evening,” Nessa commented as they seated themselves to await the men. “’Twould be unkind to drag her out on such a chilly evening. I believe I can do without her this once.” She spoke with studied casualness, picking up a periodical and leafing through it without glancing at her sister.

Prudence, however, responded just as she’d feared she might. “I’ll have one of the other maids accompany you, in that case.”

“I don’t see that it’s necessary. There will be people all about us at the theater, after all.” She still avoided Prudence’s eye.

“Nessa! You can’t mean you intend to go entirely
alone
with Lord Foxhaven?”

Finally she met her sister’s shocked gaze. “I’m not a schoolroom miss, Prudence, but a woman who was married five years. Lord Foxhaven and I are betrothed, to be wed in a month’s time. Surely sharing a carriage alone, with a coachman just outside on the box, cannot be so very scandalous.”

Prudence frowned—an expression Nessa was beginning to find more than a little bit irritating. “Perhaps not for just anyone, I admit, but in our family things have always been done with an eye to the proprieties. You know that.”

Nessa stifled an urge to say, “Proprieties be damned,” and instead pressed her slight advantage. “Then it’s not unknown for a woman—even a respectable woman—in my situation to attend an evening entertainment with her betrothed unchaperoned?”

Prudence hesitated a long moment, then reluctantly shook her head. A wave of exultation and burgeoning freedom swept through Nessa. What other fictitious restrictions had Prudence led her to assume were de rigueur, she wondered? Of course, as a widow, she must have far more freedom than a young girl making her comeout. Why had she not realized it before? And now, betrothed, she should have yet more liberty—and she intended to take advantage of it.

Impulsively, she rose to give her sister a hug. “Pray do not fret, Prudence. With my upbringing, I doubt I am capable of shaming you in any way. But I must learn more about Lord Foxhaven before I marry him, and having a servant present makes that difficult—particularly when the servant is Simmons.”

The gentlemen joined them at that juncture, sparing Prudence a reply, but Nessa feared from her expression that she still had reservations. Given her own intentions for the evening, she could not in conscience claim they were unfounded. To reassure her sister further, however, she refrained from any open flirtation with Jack until they all departed—the Creamcrofts for Lady Trumball’s musicale and she and Jack for the theater.

Jack had been observing Nessa with mingled admiration and amusement all evening. No other woman he knew could have looked so alluring and flirted so subtly while staying strictly within the bounds of propriety. Now that they were alone in the carriage—a
circumstance he had scarcely dared hope for—she surprised him yet again.

Shifting to sit next to him rather than across, she smiled up at him. “Pray tell me what I may expect at the theater. Your experience is far greater than mine.”

Jack raised an eyebrow at the apparent double entendre. “The performances vary greatly, of course,” he responded, casually draping one arm across her shoulders. She made no protest. “Leda Varens’ Titania is generally held to be excellent, I hear, and John Kemble always does a creditable job. I’m sure his Oberon will be no exception.”

Nessa nodded, though a bit impatiently. That wasn’t the sort of thing she’d meant, as he well knew. “I’ve no doubt I’ll enjoy the play immensely. I’ve read it, and ’tis one of my favorites. But what of the theater itself? I’ve never been, you know.”

He blinked. “Never? Ah yes, I keep forgetting how very sheltered a life you’ve led. You have a gift, my dear, for appearing more worldly than you truly are.” It was something he needed to keep in mind. For all her seductive flirtation, Nessa would be extremely easy to shock—and perhaps frighten.

“Why thank you, my lord.” She smiled at him, taking his words as a compliment. “I’m pleased to know I don’t always give the impression of a country bumpkin, even if it is how I’ve primarily lived.”

Jack gave her shoulder a squeeze, feeling suddenly protective of her—a feeling alien to his experience. “Never that, my dear, I assure you.” He proceeded to
tell her more about the Covent Garden Theater: the deep stage, allowing for elaborate scenery, the tier upon tier of box seats along the sides.

“And the actresses?” she prompted when he paused. “I’m certain you can tell me whether they are as beautiful and talented as I’ve heard?”

He hesitated, wondering just what she
had
heard. This was the second time tonight she’d referred obliquely to women with whom he’d dallied. No doubt the high-sticklers surrounding her were only too eager to spread tales about him—mostly true, unfortunately. It was only natural she would be curious.