Brenda Hiatt (9 page)

“My apologies. Let’s go into the parlor instead.” Leading her back inside, he indicated an archway. A few moments later they were seated on a divan, alone in the room but with the door discreetly half open. Taking both her hands in his, he said, “I will marry you, Nessa, but only upon two conditions.”

Despite her obvious distress, a spurt of laughter escaped her. “My, how the tables have turned! An hour ago you were bargaining for my hand. Now it appears I am to bargain for yours. What are your conditions?”

Jack reached out to stroke her cheek, pleased to see she was still in possession of her sense of humor. “Brave girl. Only these: first, that we schedule our wedding to take place before Christmas.” He paused and she nodded, accepting that. “Secondly,” he continued, “that you come with me to Paris.”

“Paris?” she breathed, her eyes wide.

He nodded. “I’ve been invited to a post at Louis’ court. We would leave just after the first of the year. Consider it a honeymoon,” he added with a grin.

Though she frowned at that, Nessa nodded slowly. “Very well, Jack. I will go with you to Paris. And now,” she finally met his eyes, “I have a few conditions of my own.”

“Indeed? Let’s have them, then.”

She ignored his teasing tone. “First, as I said before, I will not be dictated to. Or bullied. Or abandoned in the country while you pursue your pleasures in Town.”
He nodded solemnly. “You have my word.”

Though she looked startled, a smile flitted across her face. “And—I want the rest of those waltzing lessons you promised me.”

Jack laughed aloud at this conclusion, but quickly sobered. “We shall consider it settled, then.” He regarded her quizzically. “Surely a kiss would be appropriate, to seal our troth?”

She looked wary, but did not shy away when he leaned toward her. He covered her mouth with his, savoring the light, slightly floral scent of her skin and hair. She truly was exquisite—an excellent choice. As he deepened the kiss, she seemed to melt beneath him—much as she had that afternoon in the park. Her breath quickened and mingled with his, and again it took all of his self-control to pull away.

“Is this how you mean to bend me to your will, my lord, now you have agreed not to dictate?” she asked as soon as she could speak.

Her quick recovery surprised him, but he answered readily enough. “Do you not find me persuasive? That is but one of many weapons in my arsenal, I assure you.”

She eyed him speculatively. “Indeed. I asked you this afternoon whether that was how a rake kisses. I don’t recall that you ever answered me.”

He tried to choke back a laugh, but failed utterly. “No, I suppose I didn’t. How should I answer? That is how
I
kiss. If I am to be categorized as a rake, then I suppose the answer must be yes.”

The sparkle did not leave her eyes. “Ah, but you
aren’t truly a rake anymore, are you? Perhaps I shall never know for certain how a
real
rake behaves toward a lady.”

Nessa would never bore him, of that Jack was absolutely certain. “You little minx! How on earth did you ever attain such a spotless reputation in the first place?”

“By being relentlessly respectable, of course,” she replied. “Did I not tell you I was heartily tired of it?”

“You did. And sometime you must tell me what it was like and just why you developed such an aversion…but not now. I perceive Sir Hadley and your lemonade have found us.”

Practiced in such matters, Jack expertly and surreptitiously straightened a ruffle of Nessa’s rose gown and one of his lapels before turning to face the interloper. “My apologies, Leverton. It was too cold on the terrace for Lady Haughton’s comfort, so we changed our venue for her recovery. She seems much more the thing now.”

Sir Hadley glanced suspiciously from one to the other, but Jack regarded him serenely—as did Nessa, he noted with approval.

“Is that my lemonade, Sir Hadley? You are a dear, thank you. I’m quite parched.” She took the glass from her erstwhile suitor with a breathtaking smile, earning a grudging one in return.

“My honor to be of service, my lady,” he said, bowing. “My very great honor. Perhaps I might persuade you to accompany me back to the ballroom?” He sent a darkling glance at Jack.

“An excellent idea. I’ll come with you.” Jack rose and extended a hand to help Nessa to her feet, forestalling Sir Hadley, who had perforce to precede them from the room. Jack took the opportunity to whisper, “Shall I approach the Creamcrofts, or do you wish to speak with them first?”

The look she flashed him held a hint of alarm. “Let me do it, please! I’m not certain how—” But Sir Hadley had turned back, so she broke off. “Thank you, my lord,” she concluded more audibly.

Her face giving no hint of the turmoil she doubtless felt, Nessa proceeded regally to the ballroom to dance the next set with Sir Hadley. Jack wasn’t certain he could have performed any better himself, under the circumstances. Yes, she’d do quite nicely.

The remainder of the evening passed far too quickly for Nessa, dreading as she was the announcement she must make to Prudence during the drive home. She danced one more waltz with Jack, and honored her other, previous commitments on the floor, but sat out the remainder of the dances to give herself time to think.

Her newfound popularity was an impediment to this goal, however. Between Miss Leverton and various interested gentlemen, she was given little time to herself.

“Are you certain you do not wish for another glass of ratafia?” Mr. Galloway asked, seating himself rather too close to her on the bench where she’d sought refuge behind a potted palm.

“Quite certain, thank you,” she replied, scooting an inch or two away from him. “I am merely a bit tired. Pray go and enjoy the dance.”

No sooner had he left her than Miss Leverton appeared with a fresh volley of advice for Lady Haughton’s improvement. Nessa smiled and nodded at what she hoped were appropriate intervals while her mind traveled other paths.

Was she doing the right thing? If not, what alternative did she have? She imagined life in the country, at Haughton Abbey’s dower house—an intolerable prospect. Or at Cherry Oaks, where her Cousin Filmore now held sway—a man after her father’s heart. Even worse.

No, marriage to Lord Foxhaven must be superior to either of those alternatives. Mustn’t it? He had promised much, but of course she had no way to enforce those promises. She hoped she could trust him. And Paris…!

“You understand what I mean, do you not, Lady Haughton?”

“Oh, certainly, Miss Leverton. Thank you for advising me.”

Whatever instructions she had just imparted, her self-appointed mentor was not finished. She launched into yet another monologue.

What would it be like to live with Jack in Paris? Nessa was unable to suppress an anticipatory shiver. And that “persuasion” he’d alluded to—he’d implied he meant to do more than kiss her, but did she really want
him to? Certainly, his kisses were completely different from Lord Haughton’s, but kissing had always been the least unpleasant part of marital intimacy. Would…
that
be different, too? Her thoughts shied away from the subject.

“I’m sorry, Lady Haughton, I did not mean to embarrass you with my plain speaking.”

Nessa had no idea what Miss Leverton had been saying, but it was clear her own musings had brought a blush to her cheeks. Happily, it served to deter her advisor from further counsel. As Amanda Leverton stood, Prudence approached.

“Will you be ready to leave soon, my dear? Supper is not to be served until after midnight, and I confess myself quite tired.”

Though not surprised, as the Creamcrofts frequently left such functions early, Nessa wondered whether Lady Mountheath’s hatefulness had contributed to her sister’s fatigue. She felt a moment of panic on realizing that the moment she’d been dreading was almost upon her. Best to get it over, though. “Certainly, Prudence. I am rather fagged myself.”

When they were all ensconced in the carriage a short time later, Prudence commented, “I could not help overhearing just a bit of what Miss Leverton was saying to you as I walked over, Nessa. Perhaps you should not rely too heavily on her advice after all. It seems most improper to me for a lady to hint that she might like to be kissed in order to prompt a gentleman to a declaration.”

Nessa coughed. Was that what Amanda had thought put her to the blush? It was too funny, after the occurrences of this day, though a mere month ago, such advice probably
would
have shocked her, she realized. What a change Lord Foxhaven had wrought in her! Perhaps he really was a bad influence, she thought with a secret grin.

“Prudence, I have something to tell you,” she said while her courage was still high. Her sister and brother-in-law regarded her expectantly. Philip still wore grim lines about his mouth, she noticed. He, at least, should be pleased that Prudence would be spared further embarrassment on her behalf.

Taking a deep breath, she plunged ahead. “Lord Foxhaven has made me an offer of marriage, and I have accepted him,” she said in a rush, then braced herself for her sister’s reaction.

For a full minute, it did not come. Then Prudence said, faintly, “Oh, Nessa, are you certain? He is so…That is, you have been accustomed to such…I am very happy for you, of course, but…”

Her husband broke in, firmly. “Our heartiest congratulations, sister. Though Lady Creamcroft may doubt it, I believe you and Foxhaven will deal very well together. Had a few words with him earlier this evening and he seems a fine chap.”

Prudence regarded her husband uncertainly. “But the stories—”

“Overblown, or at least ancient history. I’m certain of it.” Prudence appeared to need further reassurance,
so he put his arm about her shoulders. “I’m sure your sister can tame whatever wild tendencies might remain in him, my dear. A good wife always can. We’ll send an announcement to the papers in the morning.”

Nessa knew Philip’s eagerness stemmed from his wish to protect his wife, but she felt the tiniest bit hurt nonetheless. Did he want her out of their house so badly as all that? But then she considered the rest of what he’d said.

Tame Jack’s remaining wild tendencies? If he truly had any left, her preference would be to coax them back into full vigor. This promised to be a most interesting engagement, whatever befell.

Jack hummed to himself as he mounted the stairs to his bedchamber. The evening had gone surprisingly well, all things considered. For a while he thought he’d ruined everything, but it had turned out right after all.

“Congratulate me, Parker,” he greeted his waiting valet. “I am betrothed.”

Though betraying no real surprise, Parker regarded him closely for a moment before responding. Then, breaking into a wide smile, he heartily congratulated his employer. “I am truly happy for you, my lord.”

It was Jack’s turn to attempt deciphering Parker’s visage, but with as little success as usual. “So you think I’ve done the right thing, do you?”

“I do, my lord. I feared for a moment that you had been too precipitate, but I see now it is not the case.”

“How the devil can you know that?” Jack demanded. “I met the woman less than a month ago, after all.”

Parker merely smiled and proceeded to help him out of his coat, but Jack felt oddly reassured. He could
not recall a time in their long acquaintance when Parker’s judgement had been faulty.

Lord Peter and Harry presented themselves at Foxhaven House at the unheard-of hour of ten o’clock the next morning, eager for news.

“’Sdeath, Harry, did Peter have to drag you from your bed to have you here so early? Get yourself some coffee from the sideboard.”

Harry, decidedly groggy, complied. “Don’t know why Pete couldn’t have told me whatever news after he had it. Rising early ain’t good for my constitution, I’m sure of it. So what is it? Do you leave for Paris in the morning?”

Helping himself to a cup of coffee as well, Lord Peter turned toward Jack with interest. “I scarcely slept for the anticipation, Jack. Out with it!”

Jack leaned back in his chair, extending his legs toward the library hearth. “Both of you clearly need more to occupy your time—and minds. To think that my small doings should hold such fascination for two such purportedly worldly gentlemen…”

The worldly gentlemen advanced menacingly toward him, and he threw up a hand. “Very well, very well. No need to douse me with hot liquids. Lady Haughton and I are betrothed, with the wedding to take place before Yuletide. Satisfied?”

The two faces before him were a study in contrasts, Harry’s evincing distaste and pity, Lord Peter’s disbelieving joy. The latter spoke first.

“Congratulations, old fellow! I knew you had it in
you. Well done!” He clasped Jack’s hand and pumped it heartily.

But Harry shook his head gloomily and dropped into a chair. “I was afraid it would come to this. Really going to go through with it, are you? Set up a nursery, the whole bit?”

That thought hadn’t occurred to Jack before, and sobered him abruptly. A nursery? Children? Him, a father? It seemed awfully unlikely, somehow—not to mention more responsibility than he’d bargained for, far outstripping the others that went with his title.

“I, er, yes. I suppose so,” he said lamely. “The announcement may not appear in the papers for a day or two, so I’d prefer you keep the news to yourselves until then, by the way.”

“So, Jack, tell us how you pulled it off,” prompted Lord Peter, pulling a chair close. “I take it your blackmail, whatever it was, was effective?”

Harry raised an eyebrow at that, his interest reviving. “Blackmail, say you? There’s a new courtship technique.”

But Jack shook his head, cursing himself for ever using the word aloud. “Merely a figure of speech, Peter. Oddly enough, Lady Mountheath made herself useful in my cause.”

“What? She never—” began Lord Peter.

“Not intentionally, I assure you. She was apparently rude to Lady Creamcroft on account of her sister’s choice of dancing partners. I managed to parlay Lady Haughton’s anxiety for her sister’s social standing into
an agreement to marry me, that is all.” Jack hoped they would be satisfied with that, but he was not to be so fortunate.

“Just like that?” Peter was openly suspicious. “She insisted upon no conditions? No unusual promises?”

Jack grinned, remembering. “Actually, she did.” The moment the words were out, he regretted them, but now he was forced to elaborate. “She, ah, wants me to teach her to waltz.”

“What else?” his friends said together.

“There are times it is damned inconvenient to have close friends,” Jack observed. “There
are
things a man prefers to keep private, you know.”

“Oh, come, Jack!” Peter protested. “We’ve been with you on this campaign from the outset. Surely we deserve the details of the final coup.”

Now Jack felt distinctly embarrassed, but had to agree he owed that much to his compatriots. “All right, then. I promised not to dictate to her, or leave her alone in the country. It would seem old Haughton was quite the bully, judging by her disinclination to remarry. I’ve no doubt if I were to begin ordering her about she would cry off at once.”

Harry brightened at once. “By Jove, a loophole! Well done, old boy! You can get your inheritance before the wedding, then play the tyrant, eh? I should have known that if anyone could devise a way to have his cake and eat it too, it’d be Jack Ashecroft!” He rose to bow in tribute, spilling the last drops of his coffee on the thick Turkish carpet in the process.

Lord Peter frowned. “That’s not your intent, is it? To have her cry off before the wedding? Paris—”

“What would he want with a wife in Paris?” demanded Harry with a laugh. “If Old Nosey had asked me, I’d have gone like a shot. I hear there’s a grand time to be had. Don’t have the blunt handy to go on my own, or I’d be there now.”

“I don’t doubt it,” said Lord Peter in obvious disgust. “You’d happily drink and wench yourself to death, and be found in some gutter within a sixmonth.”

Harry grinned. “Wouldn’t I, though? And what a way to go! I’d thought to do it here in London, only Jack stopped giving his parties too soon. You’ll need to celebrate your betrothal, though, eh?” He turned hopefully to his host.

But Jack was lost in thought.
Did
he want to go through with the wedding? Harry was right that he might possibly implement his original plan without doing so. Surely he should snatch at the chance. His freedom had always been very precious to him. All he’d have to do was give Nessa a disgust of him. Merely tossing a few orders her way would no doubt do the trick. After all, it appeared she valued her own freedom as much as he did his. So why should he find such a plan so distasteful?

“Jack?” Harry prompted.

Prodded out of his reverie, Jack shook his head. “The whole plan hinges upon my behaving myself till Christmas, remember? A betrothal orgy hardly qualifies. If I give a party, it’ll be of a more respectable
sort—though you’ll still have ample access to my cellars, Harry, so not to worry.”

Harry looked only partially mollified. Lord Peter did not appear pleased at all, however.

“
Is
that the way of it then, Jack? You don’t mean to go through with the actual wedding?”

Jack met his friend’s eyes and saw the concern in them. “I
had
planned to carry it out. In fact, I rather doubt old Havershaw will release the trust if I don’t. If he could be convinced, though…”

“Then don’t let Harry’s blather dissuade you,” said Peter firmly—as firmly as Jack had heard him speak since selling out his commission. “If your inclination is to marry Lady Haughton, then you should do it. Have to marry sometime anyway, for the succession. Do you honestly think you can do better?”

He was certain he couldn’t. But could Nessa?

“You’ll wish to write to the present Lord Haughton and to our Cousin Filmore before sending an announcement to the papers, will you not?”

Nessa looked up from her breakfast to regard her sister with raised brows. “Whatever for? I scarcely need the permission of either to wed. I’ve only met Lord Haughton’s nephew once, at the funeral, and Cousin Filmore has shown little interest in how I go on, for all he holds my purse strings.”

Though her husband had left a tidy sum to Nessa, rather to her surprise, he had left it under Lord Cherryhurst’s control—a circumstance that had no doubt irri
tated Lord Haughton’s heir as much as it had Nessa. Once she married, however, Lord Cherryhurst’s—and Lord Haughton’s—last vestige of control over her would vanish. Regaining control of her fortune had played a large part in her decision—not that Jack needed to know that, of course.

“It simply seems the proper way to go about things,” argued Prudence. “Surely there is no great hurry to make an announcement, so you and Lord Foxhaven will hardly be inconvenienced by observing such a protocol.”

“That’s very thoughtful of you, Prudence, considering that our announcement will likely deflect the gossips’ attention.” Nessa hoped that consideration might moderate Prudence’s resistance to the match. “However, as Lord Foxhaven and I are agreed on a December wedding, I’d really prefer not to wait. I can send notice to both gentlemen in the same post which carries the announcement to the papers.”

But Prudence fixed on only one portion of her reply. “December! This very December that is but a few weeks distant? Oh, Nessa, surely not!”

“Lord Foxhaven wishes me to spend the Christmas season at Fox Manor,” Nessa explained reasonably, but without regard to her betrothed’s true plans, whatever they might be. “We saw no reason to delay the match, once we had agreed it should take place.”

Prudence was clearly aghast, however. “But…but Nessa, only think! You’ll have no time to shop properly for a trousseau, or to arrange for an engagement party without conflicting with other entertainments. And
I’m certain you do not wish Society to think that you are rushing into marriage.”

This last, Nessa knew, was the real concern. “’Twill be six weeks at least between the announcement and the wedding, Prudence. No one will suspect it to be
…necessary
, with a delay of that length.”

Her sister flushed scarlet and groped for her fan at such plain speaking, even if it
was
what she’d been hinting at.

Nessa gave her a moment to compose herself, then continued. “The primary reason for haste—surely one which Society will approve—is that Jack, I mean Lord Foxhaven, has been asked to join the court of King Louis XVIII in Paris as soon as possible. He wishes us to marry first, that I may accompany him. Given that, I cannot think anyone will find our haste unseemly. ’Tis a great honor, after all!” she finished grandly, striving to convince herself as much as her sister.

Prudence appeared suitably impressed by this final argument. “I suppose…Has he really been bidden to the Royal Court?”

“By the Duke of Wellington himself,” Nessa affirmed.

“Oh, my.” Prudence was visibly impressed. “I knew that Lord Foxhaven was a war hero, but I hadn’t realized—that is—but of course he mustn’t refuse. Are you certain
you
wish to go to Paris, however, Nessa? ’Tis said the Society there is most indecorous.”

“Is it?” she asked with interest.

Prudence nodded, but with obvious reluctance. “I’ll not repeat most of what I have heard, of course, but
shocking tales have been drifting back from Paris since the summer. Lord Foxhaven will be right at home, I should think.” She primmed her lips. “But you, Nessa, must be very much on your guard. Truly, I cannot imagine what Papa would have said.”

To forestall another homily, Nessa changed the subject. “I meant to ask you last night, Prudence. Where did you and Philip go when you disappeared during the Hightower’s ball?”

Her sister flushed scarlet and began to stammer something about fresh air. Nessa grinned, but by the time Prudence concluded her disjointed explanation, her mind was busy with other possibilities. If the stories of Paris were true, a stay there could be the very thing to introduce her to a wider—and wilder—world. Perhaps this marriage would not be so unpleasant after all.

Only half an hour after Prudence had read the announcement aloud to Nessa over their breakfast table the next morning, Jack presented himself at the door.

“I’ve come to take my bride-to-be driving,” he explained, smiling past Prudence to Nessa in the way that quickened her pulse. “I thought perhaps she might wish to have a hand in the selection of her engagement ring.”

That sobered Nessa at once, bringing as it did a sense of finality and…bondage. Prudence, however, was most agreeable.

“How kind of you, my lord. I take it there is no family piece you wish her to wear?”

He shook his head with a rueful smile. “’Tis still in my mother’s possession, and I fear she’d not take kindly to my reclaiming it. I suppose I should write her, on the off chance that she’ll offer, but it’s an antique-looking thing anyway. At the very least, it would have to be reset, and I wish Nessa to have a bauble to display at once.”

No doubt he meant it as a compliment, but to Nessa both his words and the meaning look he sent her smacked of possessiveness. Again, she felt the walls of a prison closing in on her, and it was all she could do to smile back.

“You have not written your mother of your betrothal?” Prudence exclaimed, missing the interchange. “Oh, my lord, you must do so without delay! Whatever will she think, that we were so forward as to publish an announcement without her knowledge!”

Jack merely shrugged. “I doubt she’ll know, as she never reads the papers when she’s in the country. And even if she did…well, I cannot imagine that it would concern her unduly.”

Nessa regarded him curiously. Clearly he and his mother were not on good terms, but just as clearly—to her, at least—the estrangement was painful to him, though he hid it well. She really knew very little about this man she was pledged to marry.

“Pray get a note off to her today, my lord,” Prudence urged, still distressed. “Women care more about such matters than men realize, I assure you.”

“Very well, I promise to do so. And now, my
betrothed, if you will fetch your wrap, we can be on our way.”

Despite her earlier misgivings, Nessa could not but be flattered by his apparently affectionate attention. Of course, it could all be a ruse, for Prudence’s sake…. She hurried to get her cloak.

Jack had brought a closed carriage today, as the weather had turned damp and chilly with the approach of November. “I thought we’d begin at New Bond Street, progress to Old, then finish up in Piccadilly,” he explained as they settled themselves inside.