Brenda Hiatt (13 page)

His mother stared, openmouthed, and Jack had all he could do to refrain from doing the same. Keeping the jubilation from his voice with an effort, he said, “I thank you, my dear, for that endorsement, and will do everything in my power to live up to it.”

Nessa met his eyes then, with an expression that said as clearly as words:
You will. You’d better
.

“I find myself suddenly fatigued,” declared Lady Branch before Nessa could respond aloud. “I believe I shall retire to my chamber until dinner.” With a swirl of skirts, she swept from the room, her rigid back expressing her indignation at what had passed.

The four people remaining released a collective sigh of relief. “Shall we move on to the gallery?” Jack suggested.

The others agreed with alacrity, apparently well content to pretend that the recent exchange had never taken place.

Nessa continued her tour of Fox Manor, absorbing Jack’s explanations of the rooms and furnishings. All were lovely, but she was far more intrigued by the man at her side. What had it been like, growing up with a mother who must have always expected the worst of him? She’d thought her own childhood repressive, but at least her parents had believed her capable of reasonable, respectable behavior—believed her incapable of anything else, in fact. She felt a sudden spurt of panic. How little she knew about this man she was about to marry!

“That’s really all that is worth seeing indoors,” Jack said all too soon. “The gardens and grounds are fairly extensive, but of course this is not the most pleasant season to view them.” He glanced out the window of the morning room, where they had concluded. “We may get a drizzle in an hour or so, but if any of you would care to see what we can in the meantime? Creamcroft?”

Philip demurred, however, when Prudence confessed herself wearied. “I believe I’ll defer it if you don’t mind, Foxhaven, and take Lady Creamcroft upstairs to rest for a bit. She’s not been used to much travel of late.”

“My apologies! I should not have dragged you over the entire house so soon after your arrival. Of course you’ll want to rest before dinner.” He turned expectantly toward Nessa, clearly expecting her to accompany the Creamcrofts.

She smiled up at him, however. “I am not in the least
tired, my lord. If you are still willing, I should very much like to see as much of the gardens as the weather will allow.” It was a bit daring, she knew, but she wanted to ask him a question or two without prying ears about.

“Certainly, my lady.” He seemed genuinely pleased at her response. With a bow to the Creamcrofts, he led her out of the room through French doors, which opened onto a stone terrace. “The ornamental gardens are ahead and to the left, the kitchen garden to the right, and the orchard beyond both. Which would you like to see first?”

“Is there a maze?” She thought she’d glimpsed one from one of the upper windows earlier.

“In a manner of speaking.” Placing her hand in the crook of his arm, he headed straight down the path. “It’s more ornament than puzzle, and not really tall enough to get lost in, but rather interesting all the same.”

Nessa fell into step beside him. “As a child, I always wished for a maze, but my father considered them frivolous.”

“What did Lord Cherryhurst
not
consider frivolous?” The question was rhetorical but Nessa answered him anyway.

“Sewing, so long as it had a purpose besides the purely ornamental; embroidery, however, was frowned upon. Bible reading, of course—”

“Except for the Song of Solomon,” Jack put in mischievously.

She grinned up at him. “Yes, except for that. It was expressly forbidden—in fact, my father removed it
from the family Bible so that we girls would not be tempted to read it in his absence.” Jack looked as though he couldn’t decide whether to laugh or swear, so Nessa hurried on. “Singing was an approved activity, so long as it was limited to hymns. Dancing was not, though he did finally consent to allow us to learn the minuet and a few country dances.”

“At your urging, I’ll wager.”

Nessa nodded, remembering how much difficulty she’d had getting Prudence to add her pleas to her own. Finally, with their mother’s grudging support, they had persuaded him. One of the few such victories she could recall.

“But enough about my childhood. What of yours? To hear your mother speak, it would seem that little frivolity was allowed you, either.”

They had reached the maze now. Its thick hedge of yew was green even now, and while it was a little less than Jack’s height, Nessa could not see over it. He pointed to the entrance and she nodded eagerly. Not until they were within the deep green walls did he reply to her question.

“While my father lived, frivolity was not only allowed, it was the order of the day. My mother spoke truth when she called him a gamester and a rake, I suppose, but I primarily recall him as an entertaining companion. Not until after his death did I understand how little she approved of our lifestyle.”

Nessa frowned. “Was she forced to marry him, then? How old were you when he died?”

“Eight. And I don’t doubt she married him willingly enough. He was thoroughly charming, as well as the second son of a marquis. But I presume he lost heavily at the tables, judging by the frequency with which we moved, always to cheaper lodgings. My grandfather, I believe, had washed his hands of him years before.”

Nessa tried to imagine what Jack’s life had been like, living, if not quite on the brink of poverty, then without many of the things she’d always taken for granted. But with a father who did not condemn his every errant thought, who had been “an entertaining companion.” On the whole, she believed she envied him.

“And after he died?”

“Mother dismissed most of the servants and rented out one of the extra rooms. She must have written to my grandfather, for he stepped in soon afterward, making such exigencies unnecessary. As she was as thrifty as my father had been extravagant, we never lacked again—at least, not in material things.”

His expression had become somber, and it was clear to Nessa that to the boy Jack had been at the time, the change was not for the better. “And then she remarried?” she prompted.

He nodded. “Two years later. Sir Findlay is a man after your own father’s heart. He rose from the middle classes to his baronetcy, and retains the morality and work ethic he was born to. I was a reminder of my father, and of everything Sir Findlay opposed. Needless to say, we did not get on.”

Clearly, that was a massive understatement. “But
you spent time with your grandfather, did you not?”

“Yes, here at Fox Manor. From the age of eleven onward, all of my school holidays were spent here, and it was he who arranged for me to attend Oxford, and who purchased my commission. Even he, however, was unable to restrain those, ah, tendencies, which my mother claims I inherited from my father.”

Both his expression and his tone had softened, Nessa noticed, when he spoke of the late Lord Foxhaven. “You loved your grandfather very much, didn’t you, Jack?” she asked gently.

He started visibly. “Love? Er, well, yes, I suppose so. Certainly, he was the only person on earth who wielded the least bit of influence with me during those years. Sir Findlay’s attempts, and my mother’s, achieved just the opposite effect.”

His tone was light again, but Nessa suspected it was to conceal deeper feelings—feelings he was not yet ready to explore. But Nessa probed further, needing to know more about this man she was to marry, and about his reasons for marrying her.

“So you regret not following your grandfather’s wishes while he was alive, and now wish to make up for it?”

Jack stopped abruptly and she realized they had reached the center of the maze. “Would you care to sit down?” He indicated a stone bench with large urns at either end, which doubtless held flowers in spring and summer. “Or would you prefer to keep moving? There is less wind in here, but it is still chilly.”

By way of response, Nessa sat, but kept her eyes on his face, awaiting the answer to her question. Jack looked away, toward the house she supposed, though she could not see it from where she sat. Finally he took his place beside her on the bench.

The silence had lengthened uncomfortably before he spoke. “I’m not sure that regret is the proper word,” he said at last. “However wild I was, I never hurt anyone…well, no one who didn’t deserve it.”

She met his crooked grin with calm expectancy, determined not to be dissuaded.

With a sigh, he continued. “My grandfather did much for me—more than any other human being, alive or dead. The only way I know to repay him is to honor his dying request.”

This was news to Nessa. “Dying request? But I thought you were on the Continent with the army when he passed away.”

“So I was. Therefore, with his customary thoroughness, Grandfather put his wishes in writing.” Reaching inside his greatcoat, he pulled a much-folded piece of paper from his breast pocket.

“No eyes but mine have read this until now. Under the circumstances, I suppose it is only fair that you do so.” His usual humor replaced by wariness, he extended the paper to her.

Greatly curious, she took it, unfolded it, and read its brief contents. Swallowing, she read it through again, then raised wide eyes to Jack’s.

“I…I believe I finally understand. You feel that a
respectable marriage—or rather, marriage to a woman with a respectable reputation—will help you to fulfill his request.” Though she’d rather suspected something of the sort, having it verified in ink on parchment gave her little satisfaction.

Jack’s nod depressed her spirits further. “It…seemed the least I could do for him.” Then, apparently perceiving something of her feelings, he hastened to add, “I have become genuinely fond of you, however. Whatever my original motives, I truly believe we shall rub along very well together. Don’t you?”

She saw real anxiety in his eyes. This, she knew, was her last chance to cry off. Clearly, he knew it as well. But was he concerned because he cared for her, or because she had the power to overset his grandfather’s wishes? Either way, she realized, her response must be the same. The letter from the late Lord Foxhaven had moved her deeply, coming on the heels of Jack’s revelations about his childhood.

Swallowing hard, she gave the reply that would be the deathknell of her dreams of freedom, of frivolity, of
fun
. “Yes, Jack, I do. I will help you restore your reputation and the Foxhaven name by playing the respectable wife to perfection. It is, after all, the role I’ve trained for all my life.”

And would now be doomed to play for the rest of it.

Jack was reminded of St. Joan of Arc as Nessa vowed to behave respectably and restore his reputation. Beautiful, noble, willing to sacrifice herself for something she believed in—for
him
. He was both touched and shaken. Could he, Jack Ashecroft, possibly have inspired such devotion?

No, it was the letter, of course. It had affected him similarly, after all, even before he’d read the postscript—which he didn’t dare show Nessa. He released a small sigh of relief.

“Thank you, Nessa. You have no idea how much this means to me. I’ll try very hard never to make you sorry.”

The martyred expression faded from her face. “I shall hold you to that, Jack. Perhaps if I am allowed to be a little bit wicked in private, I shall not mind so much playing the paragon in public.” The twinkle was back in her eyes, and something within him stirred in response.

“Only a little bit wicked?” he asked softly, leaning toward her.

Her cheeks, already pink from the cold, pinkened further, but she did not pull away. “Wickedness is very new to me, you know. By my father’s standards, waltzing and wearing bright colors qualify.”

“And how about this?” He covered her unresisting mouth with his own. Her response was immediate, her lips soft and pliable beneath his, her hands coming up to encircle his neck as he pulled her closer. His own response was even more profound, desire racing through him like a flame in dry tinder. Luckily—or was it unluckily?—the cold stone bench was not conducive to further intimacies.

Slowly, reluctantly, he released her. He’d intended to keep his distance until they were wed, but it went against his nature to refuse a kiss to a woman who wanted one. Who needed one. “The next three days can’t pass quickly enough.” His voice was still husky with passion.

To his surprise, the matching desire in Nessa’s deep brown eyes was suddenly shot through with alarm. “Three days. Yes,” she agreed shakily, now avoiding his gaze.

As Jack regarded her thoughtfully, a large drop appeared on her cheek. For a moment he thought, incredibly, that she was crying, but then similar drops began to fall all about them. “We’d best return to the house,” he suggested, standing.

She nodded and took his proffered hand, still strangely subdued after that all-too-brief burst of passion. He led her back through the maze amid the pat
tering of raindrops, wondering what had wrought her sudden withdrawal.

Could she be dreading their wedding night? That seemed unlikely, as she’d been married before and would know what to expect. Besides, she’d shown herself far from indifferent to him. Perhaps it was marriage itself she was nervous about. It would be perfectly natural, he supposed, given her feelings about the state.

So why was he not similarly reluctant to permanently bind himself to one woman for the rest of his life? He had been before, but he realized that was no longer the case. What had changed?

“No, here, to the left,” he murmured as Nessa began to take a wrong turn. In a moment they were out of the maze and back on the flagged path, rain still falling about them. As they hurried toward the house, Jack lapsed back into thought.

That he’d developed an affection for Nessa he could not deny. But he’d held dozens of women in affection—and lust—without wishing to spend a lifetime with any of them. Was this love? Immediately he rejected the disturbing notion. Love was a myth. He’d determined that years ago. Something invented by poets and pretended by women in an attempt to bind men to their will.

Even between family members he’d seen little evidence that such an emotion existed. Nessa had asked whether he’d loved his Grandfather. He hadn’t denied it, as his reverence for the old man was doubtless what many would call love, but his feelings there were based on admiration and mutual respect rather than any mys
tical state of the heart. Certainly it was not the same thing numerous women had claimed to feel—something composed of lust and a desire for control.

What he felt for Nessa was doubtless similar—mutual respect and admiration…with some lust thrown in as well, yes, but that was simply because she was female and beautiful.

“Will dinner in an hour and a half suit you?” he asked as they reached the house. “I generally dine early in the country.”

For the first time since leaving the center of the maze, she met his gaze, her eyes still oddly shadowed. “That will be fine. I’ll go upstairs to change.” She started to turn away, then stopped. “Thank you, Jack, for showing me the maze. Fox Manor is a lovely estate.”

He smiled, trying to lighten her mood. “I’m glad you approve, as you will be mistress of it inside of a week.”

Her attempt at a smile in return was not particularly convincing. “So I shall. Until dinner, then.” With only a faint rustle of her skirts, she turned and was gone, leaving Jack to his own, rather disturbing thoughts.

During dinner, Nessa still appeared strangely subdued to Jack. She responded to Lady Branch’s continued queries with perfect politeness but no elaboration. When Jack and Creamcroft joined the ladies in the drawing room after the meal, she was quietly engaged in reading and acknowledged his appearance with only a nod before returning to that pursuit. When the gen
tlemen suggested the ladies join them at whist, Nessa demurely echoed her sister’s refusal, leaving them to piquet to while away the evening.

Jack found himself completely unable to concentrate on his cards—a novelty, that, making him glad they had agreed to imaginary stakes. The ladies retired early, leaving him none the wiser as to the reason for Nessa’s change of spirits.

Early the next day, guests began arriving for the wedding, keeping Jack busy with greetings, as well as last-minute questions from the butler and housekeeper. Relatives he had not seen in a decade or more—as much by their choice as his—greeted him in return with smiles and congratulations which rang hollow to his ears. By early afternoon he felt decidedly out of sorts, restraining himself from outright rudeness only by extreme effort.

Nessa, however, was magnificent. Dressed in a gown of subdued rose and modest cut, she acknowledged all introductions with exactly the right blend of deference and assurance. Her voice soft and well modulated, she responded to even impertinent questions with unruffled dignity.

When Jack’s mother stepped forward to play hostess, Nessa calmly moved to the background. When Lady Branch retired to fortify herself before dinner, Nessa effortlessly moved into the breach. Not even Lady Creamcroft was a more perfect model of proper English womanhood. She was behaving just as Jack had hoped she would, and there was growing respect in
even his Aunt Gwendolyn’s eyes—she who had frequently urged his grandfather to cast Jack off entirely. That respect began to extend to him as well, in perfect accordance with his plan.

So why was he so damned irritated by it all?

Shortly before dinner, Harry and Lord Peter arrived. Jack’s spirits lifted at once as he hurried out to the graveled drive to greet them. “Come in, come in!” he cried jovially. “Finally, some relief from this plague of relatives besetting me!”

Harry shook his hand enthusiastically. “Respectability not all you’d hoped, eh? Don’t say I didn’t warn you. One good thing about being a black sheep—relatives generally pretend they don’t know you.”

“Buck up, Jack,” Lord Peter advised him with a slap on the back. “It’s only for a few days, after all—or are this lot staying till the New Year?” They all headed up the front steps.

“Heaven forbid! No, all but one or two will leave a day or two after the wedding, at latest. They feel obliged to turn out en masse to officially sanction my return to the family fold, but not to disrupt their own holiday plans—thank God!”

“Unless you can drive them away even earlier.” Harry grinned with anticipation. “I’ll help in any way I can, of course.”

Jack chuckled. “Hope I won’t have to ask that of you. Seriously, though, Nessa—Lady Haughton—is doing a stellar job of keeping them all under control, and off my back. She may have raised a few eyebrows in
London, but she still has the propriety thing down pat, believe me. Even Aunt Gwendolyn is in raptures over her.”

“Sounds as if your plan has been a stunning success,” Peter congratulated him.

“Yes. Yes, indeed,” agreed Jack, stifling a sigh. He led them through the front hall, barely hearing their comments on its noble proportions. “Dinner will be served in under an hour. Care for a glass of sherry first, or would you prefer to go up and change?”

“Sherry for me,” said Harry predictably.

“A quick glass, but then we really must get out of our dust before meeting anyone.” Lord Peter gestured at Harry’s boots and trousers, as well as his own.

A few voices still emanated from the parlor, so Jack bypassed it in favor of the library. Already he felt in better spirits and less out of his element with the arrival of his friends. Perhaps the next two days would not be so insupportable after all.

Nessa was heartily tired of playing the proper hostess, but at least it served as an effective distraction. Of course, the role was more properly Lady Branch’s, but as she often abdicated in favor of her bedchamber, the task fell to Nessa—when one of Jack’s aunts did not step forward, which they frequently did.

It had taken some effort, but she finally had all of the names and relationships sorted out. There was Lady Gwendolyn, the late Lord Foxhaven’s eldest sister, an intimidating dragon of a woman who could have made
even Lord Haughton cower, Nessa was sure. Then there was Esther, the Dowager Lady Foxhaven, widow of Jack’s Uncle Luther, a frail, soft-spoken woman of middle years. It appeared neither she nor Luther had ever taken up residence at Fox Manor, due to their mutual ill health, which necessitated a seaside abode.

Lady Margaret, sister to Luther and Jack’s father, was second only to Lady Gwendolyn in overbearing importance. Her husband, Lord Garvey, though standing more than six feet tall, seemed almost afraid of his diminutive spouse. Add to that various cousins—children and grandchildren of Lady Gwendolyn, their spouses and children, as well as Lady Margaret’s younger brood—and Fox Manor was filled to capacity, large as it was.

Now, however, on the very eve of the wedding, Nessa’s conflicting emotions were in such a state that she scarcely trusted herself to manage any conversation beyond polite nothings. Fortunately, little more seemed required of her, and most of the guests retired early to their beds as the wedding was to take place at nine o’clock the next morning.

Nessa, resigning herself to sleeplessness for yet another night, pulled out some embroidery. On arriving in London, she’d been pleased to discover that, contrary to her father’s strictures, this activity was not considered the least bit improper by polite society. After two or three months of practicing it, however, she’d decided it was one of the duller pursuits open to ladies—which made it perfect for lulling herself to
sleep on this, her last night of relative freedom.

Needlework did nothing to occupy her thoughts, however, which persisted in replaying the days immediately before and after her first wedding. Determined to block out her father’s lectures and her mother’s advice, and especially her memories of the marriage bed, she set the embroidery aside and took up pen and paper.

With sudden fancy, she decided to write a letter to herself—a letter from the woman she hoped to be twenty or thirty years hence, offering advice to the woman she was now. Writing quickly, she captured her hopes and dreams on paper as though they had already occurred. She wrote about the births of her three children, a campaign to see English girls better educated, the acquisition of a dog and a cat, which she’d always been forbidden.

Weaving this rosy future for herself as though it were a memory to look back on, she felt her eyes grow heavy. She extinguished the candle and climbed into bed, to fall into a deep, refreshing sleep, untroubled by her fears of the morrow.

When her abigail awakened her at dawn, her anxieties came crowding back. Thrusting them to the back of her mind, she allowed herself to be dressed, curled and adorned for the looming ceremony. She couldn’t help but be pleased by the effect of her ivory silk gown, overlaid by costly ivory lace and accented at neckline, wrists, and hem with tiny seed pearls. Her veil, of matching lace, cascaded from her chestnut curls to the floor, where it trailed behind with her silken train.

Prudence was to act in the stead of their late mother, but thankfully subjected her to little in the way of motherly advice. “I need not tell you what to expect, as you’ve been married before,” she said, tucking back a stray wisp of Nessa’s hair a few moments before they were to go down. “Besides, I doubt not our mother gave you the same advice she gave me upon my own marriage. ’Twill still hold good.”

Nessa stared at her sister. “Prudence! Never tell me you still abide by, ‘Think pleasant thoughts and don’t move too much!’”

Prudence’s cheeks flamed scarlet. Without meeting Nessa’s interested gaze, she replied, “If it was good enough for Mother, why should it not be good enough for her daughters?”

Sudden panic gripped Nessa. “But…but Philip
loves
you! Surely that must mean…that is…” Prudence’s averted face reddened further, so she desisted. “I just thought that might make a difference, that’s all.”

“I…have no complaints,” said Prudence breathlessly. “But we must hurry downstairs. The carriage to take us to the chapel will be at the door by now.”

No complaints
, Nessa mused as she obediently accompanied her sister from the room. Did that mean Prudence found the physical aspects of marriage less unpleasant than she had, or was that merely a polite nothing to get her to drop the subject? She wished now she had attempted a discussion on this topic with her sister earlier. It was too late now.

The carriage was indeed waiting, along with others
already crammed with house guests. The day was overcast and windy, with an occasional spate of freezing drizzle. Had the day been fine, many of the guests would no doubt have walked, as the chapel was less than half a mile from the house. Nessa did not see Jack, and supposed he must have gone ahead to the chapel already.