Joan Wolf (7 page)

In a minute David was beside her, his face white under its tan. “Jane! Are you all right?"

Her mouth was twisted in pain. “My ankle, David. Oh God, I think I've broken it."

She had rolled to a sitting position and the movement sent shooting pains through her ankle. Unceremoniously, he knelt at her feet, pushed her skirt up, and untied her light sandal. Her unblemished, straight-toed foot and slender ankle looked perfectly normal. He touched it lightly and she winced.

"You probably sprained it,” he said soothingly. “Come on, I'll carry you to the gig. Once you get home, we can send for Dr. Jarman."

She nodded and obediently raised her arms to him. He lifted her easily and her arms slid naturally around his neck. Her head felt dizzy and she buried her face in his shoulder. He could feel her breasts pressed against him; the thin fabrics of her dress and his shirt were very little barrier. She took a long, deep breath. He was conscious only of her warm, slim body in his arms. It was not a child's body anymore.

They reached the gig and with mingled reluctance and relief he deposited her on the seat. When he swung up beside her, she clutched his arm. “Do you really think it's just sprained?” she asked anxiously.

He looked into her fear-darkened eyes and suddenly the gate to their childhood opened again. In so many ways Jane was brave as a lion, but she was afraid of being sick or injured. She enjoyed good health, strength, and agility and was terrified of any threat to her physical well-being. And she always thought the worst. So now he laughed naturally. “You baby,” he said good-naturedly. “I'm pretty sure it's not broken, but if it is, it will heal up. Stop making such an ass of yourself."

"But I'll be wrapped up like a mummy!” she wailed.

"Stow it, Jane,” he recommended. “You'll probably be back in the saddle next week."

His lack of sympathy had the same bracing effect on her that it always had in such circumstances. “You're totally heartless,” she accused him, her attention diverted from her injuries to his attitude.

"If you mean I'm heartless enough not to agree with you that a head cold is pneumonia and a sore throat is diphtheria, then you're right,” he responded immediately.

"Just because you're never sick or hurt...."

"I am, too,” he retorted. “Only I don't make great dramatic scenes about it."

"Of course not, you're just perfect, aren't you?” Jane said hotly.

They were back in the country of their childhood, united in an argument they were both familiar and comfortable with. Unfulfilled love and unspoken longing had nothing to do with them. For the space of that ride they were Jane-and-David once again. But it was a felicity that could not last

David was not a child anymore. Although he fought against the knowledge, he was forced to realize over the course of that summer that his feelings for Jane had altered. His love had always been the one great constant of his life. It was not something he thought about. It was simply there, unnoticed and essential, like the air he breathed. Jane's absences at school had been bearable because he had always known she was coming back. It had never occurred to him that there would be a time when she would not.

It had not yet occurred to her. Nor did she realize his sudden, painful awareness of her physical beauty and desirability. Jane had never read a romantic novel in her life and the girls at school had never tried to confide their own adolescent yearnings into her sublimely indifferent ears. Motivated, perhaps, by an instinct for self-preservation, she clung fiercely and blindly to childhood. To her they were still Jane-and-David. But to David the love that had always been the foundation of his happiness had begun to be the cause of a profound desolation.

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Full soon thy Soul shall have her earthly freight, And custom lie upon thee with a weight...

—William Wordsworth

In August, Jane and the Marquis were to go on a visit to Bellerman Hall. Lord Rayleigh's engagement to Miss Anne Bellerman had been officially announced some months ago and the wedding was set for October.

Jane thought the whole business of protocol surrounding the wedding to be a deadly bore. “First we go there for a week,” she told David, “then they come here. Then we all go back there for the wedding. I thought at last I'd have a chance to spend autumn at home, instead of in that dreadful school, and now I have to trip around the countryside making wedding visits."

She sounded so disgusted that David had to smile. “I hope you show a more cheerful face to Lord Rayleigh."

She sighed. “I try to. Uncle Edward is a dear, and if he wants to marry Anne Bellerman, then I'll certainly do my part."

They were sitting in the stable office. Outside the rain was pouring down and consequently the afternoon gallops had been called off. David was taking five of the horses to the meet at Epsom next month. Lord Rayleigh would not be going himself, as he was committed to pre-wedding visits. Jane would miss the races also and, although she made an heroic attempt to appear gracious about accompanying the Marquis, she would have much preferred to go with David.

"What is Miss Bellerman like?” David asked curiously.

"Very gentle. Easy to handle. Docile disposition."

"Jane!” David's sherry-colored eyes were alight with laughter. “You really must stop talking about people as if they were horses."

"Nonsense. It's a great compliment. I don't like most people half as well as I like most horses."

He gave a gentle tug to the black plait that hung down her back almost to her waist. “Idiot,” he said. “Do you like her?"

"Anne, do you mean?"

"Yes."

"She's all right, I guess. I suppose Uncle Edward has to get married. The succession and all that, I mean. She's probably the best he could come up with from our point of view."

David was staring at her. He had lately become extremely sensitive to Jane's obtuseness. Her cold-blooded analysis of her uncle's marriage rather shocked him. He blinked. “Our point of view?” he questioned finally.

"Yes. She won't come messing around where she's not wanted. As I said before, she's very easy to handle. Once she's here, life should go on exactly as it always has. Only now, hooray, hooray, I don't have to go back to school."

With difficulty he dragged his eyes from her satisfied face. She was such a child, he told himself. She seemed to have no idea that the fact that she was no longer a schoolgirl was itself the sign of a changing future. He switched the subject and began to talk about the coming meet.

Bellerman Hall was in Bedfordshire, so Jane and Lord Rayleigh did not have long to travel. The Marquis was anxious for Jane and Anne to become better acquainted. He thought that Anne, so sweet and feminine, could exercise a beneficial influence on his niece. He was acutely aware that it was his duty to see Jane properly married, and he realized she needed a good deal of female guidance before she would be ready to make her debut into society. Fortunately, he was sublimely unaware of Jane's opinion of his intended bride.

"I think you will like Miss Bellerman very much, Jane,” he said as their carriage rolled up the wide drive leading to Bellerman Hall.

"I liked her very much the few times I met her,” Jane said politely. She was genuinely fond of the Marquis and was perfectly willing to make herself pleasant to the insipid Anne if it would please him.

The carriage came to a halt at the great front entrance and two footmen leaped to open the door for them. By the time they had alighted the front door had opened and a starched major domo arrived to lead them to Lord and Lady Bellerman, their host and hostess.

Lady Bellerman sent one of her maids to help Jane dress for dinner that evening, and the woman exclaimed when she saw the magnificent fall of black hair that Jane was brushing. “How do you wear it, Lady Jane?” the woman asked, lifting the silky weight in one hand.

"I usually just tie it back,” Jane answered carelessly.

"That is all right for a schoolgirl, Lady Jane, but you are a young lady now. It must be worn up."

Jane shrugged. “It won't curl. And I won't cut it. If you can do anything with it, you're welcome to try."

Lady Bellerman's Rose had a burning aspiration to be a lady's personal dresser one day and she went to work on Jane with unaffected zeal. When Jane saw herself in the mirror after Rose had finished, her eyes widened in astonishment. Her hair had been drawn off her face and coiled in impeccable fashion at the back of her head. The style made her look much older; it emphasized her magnificent cheekbones and long-lashed, light eyes. Her neck, unencumbered by its usual weight, looked delicate and lovely as it rose from her modest blue evening dress. “I look so different,” she said.

"You look lovely, Lady Jane,” Rose told her sincerely. “Here.” She took a spray of white roses from the vase on a table and tucked them into Jane's hair.

"Well, thank you, Rose,” Jane said, casting a doubtful look at her reflection once more. She shrugged briefly and turned to the door, effectively banishing her appearance from her mind. She needed to brace herself to be polite to a whole collection of Bellermans who had been assembled to meet her uncle and herself.

They sat down eighteen to dinner. Jane was placed between Anne's uncle, Mr. Francis Addington, and her eldest brother, Mr. John Bellerman. Both gentlemen eyed her with delight and vied energetically for her attention. Jane thought Mr. Addington, who was one of the shining lights of the dandy set, ridiculous. However, she dutifully smiled at his practiced patter, stared somewhat haughtily at his profuse compliments, and generally speaking impressed him as being remarkably sophisticated for her age. She enjoyed her conversation with Mr. John Bellerman much more. He knew through his sister that Jane was an avid rider, and as soon as he had her attention he said, “I hear you like to ride, Lady Jane."

Jane never knew what to reply to statements like that. It was as if someone had commented that he heard she liked to breathe. Mr. Bellerman met her amazed stare and hurried on, “If you like, I'll show you some very good runs tomorrow."

Jane's smile was positively kindly. Any chance she had to get away from this clutch of Bellermans seemed like manna in the desert. “How lovely,” she said crisply. Then, remembering her duty, she glanced to where her uncle was courteously conversing with an ancient Bellerman aunt. “That is, if Uncle Edward says it's all right,” she amended.

"I'll talk to him,” John Bellerman promised: He too had been looking with dread toward these wedding visits. It seemed fantastic luck to find that the Marquis's niece, who apparently filled his gentle sister with such dread, was in fact the most stunningly beautiful girl he had ever seen.

After dinner the ladies retired to the drawing room and Jane was subjected to a barrage of aunts and cousins who questioned her with ruthless intent. Feeling extremely virtuous, she kept a firm hold on her temper and answered with regal serenity. She made the ladies rather uneasy.

When the gentlemen rejoined them, Anne was asked to play on the pianoforte. She played very nicely and Jane looked approvingly at her fair head and pretty face. It would be fine with her if Anne spent the whole of her day at the piano.

Unfortunately, Mr. Addington then insisted that Lady Jane give them an example of her talents. She looked despairingly at the Marquis, whose long mouth twitched in amused sympathy, but he said inexorably, “I'm sure Jane will be delighted to play for you."

Jane arose, weary resignation in every line of her lithe young body. “If you insist,” she murmured sweetly. “I would suggest that any true music lovers leave the room, however.” She then sat down and performed a perfectly correct Mozart sonata. She made no errors, but the performance was wooden and uninspired. When she had finished, Jane turned and faced the company. “I save my genius for the hunting field,” she said with perfect composure and relinquished her seat to Anne.

On the whole, the visit went exceedingly well. Anne had invited Jane to walk with her in the garden one afternoon and the two girls found they got along surprisingly well. Anne had been terrified of Jane. She knew the Marquis expected her to chaperone his niece. She knew also that he was very fond of Jane. But from what he said of her, Anne had gotten the picture of a self-willed, self-confident Amazon. Jane's alarming self-possession whenever they had met previously had intimidated Anne, also. She did not quite see how she was going to have the nerve to take Jane in charge.

Closer acquaintance proved to be reassuring. Jane was on her best behavior and entered into all of Anne's schemes and ideas with flattering attention. They also had a very satisfactory time tearing apart the characters of the assorted aunts and cousins Lady Bellerman had gathered to plague them with.

In fact, to their mutual surprise, both girls found themselves inclined to like one another. Anne obviously cared for the Marquis, which Jane thought was a sign of intelligence on her part. She showed no signs at all of wanting to change him, which Jane appreciated immensely. She was not a person who adapted to change easily, and the Marquis was one of the steady markers in her life. She wanted him to stay exactly as he was. She was grateful to Anne for her apparently identical wish.

Lord Rayleigh was pleased as well with the harmony that reigned between his fiancée and his niece. He was also pleased with Jane's social performance. Apparently she was not as backward in that area as he had feared. He had not missed the admiring looks of Mr. Addington or the apparent infatuation of young Mr. Bellerman. He wouldn't be at all surprised, he thought with some pride, if Jane turned out to be a great success.

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Whither is fled the visionary gleam? Where is it now, the glory and the dream?

—William Wordsworth

Jane cared about very few people, but to those few she was fanatically loyal. It was this quality of loyalty that made her so popular with all the servants at Heathfield. She had temper tantrums and expected her orders to be obeyed without question, but if any member of the staff had a serious problem they never hesitated to seek her out. There wasn't a person working in the house or in the stables who didn't remember vividly how she had unhesitatingly handed over a whole quarter's allowance to pay the fine for one of the grooms who had unfortunately found himself brought up before a magistrate for unseemly conduct at a race meet. How she instantly summoned the Marquis's own physician to attend any servant who was ill or hurt.