Joan Wolf (14 page)

“He is getting himself talked about,” Mrs. Romney said frankly. “And that is something Linton never did before. You can see them frequently at the opera and at the theatre. Of course he can’t take her into good company, but neither does he take her into the sort of company she
could
frequent.”

She raised her eyes and looked at Sir Matthew very soberly. They were seated in the drawing room of the house of Lady Marchmain, Mrs. Romney’s sister, with whom Mrs. Romney was staying during this brief visit to London. She had written asking Sir Matthew to visit her as soon as she had heard he was in town.
“I’ve met her,” she said to him now.

He said nothing, but his brows rose a trifle.

“At the opera,” she replied to his silent query. “I made Bertram take me to their box.”

“My dear ma’am!” protested Sir Matthew.

“Oh, we were very discreet,” Mrs. Romney assured him. “We all stood at the back of the box, almost in the corridor.”

“What did Philip do when you appeared?”

“I think he was glad to see me. He introduced Miss O’Neill immediately.”

“Did he?” said Sir Matthew slowly. “And what did you think of her, ma’am?”

“She’s striking. And well-bred. And proud. And there is something very serious between her and Linton.”

He frowned. “How can you say that?”

“It’s hard to explain, Matthew, but I am not mistaken.” She frowned a little herself in the effort to explain. “Linton was charming—you know how he can be when he exerts himself. And she was pleasant, if a little reserved. But I felt almost as if I were intruding. Not because they didn’t want to see me. I told you earlier I think Linton was glad of an opportunity to introduce her. But it is as if the bond between them is so strong that it keeps everyone else at a distance, even though they don’t mean it to.”

Sir Matthew had come away from Lady Marchmain’s considerably perturbed.
It was his conversation with Mrs. Romney that had precipitated his descent on Montpelier Square. It was a visit that left him, if possible, even more concerned.

It took, in fact, forty-five minutes for Lady Maria to elicit the main reasons for Sir Matthew’s concern.

“He took her to Holland House?” she asked incredulously.

“I’ve already told you that, Maria.”

“And introduced her to Catherine Romney?”

“Yes.”

Maria was reclining on a chaise longue in her bedroom, and she had moved her legs aside to make room for her husband to sit. Her pale hair was tied loosely back from her face and she wore a foamy sea green negligee. She most emphatically did not look thirty-eight years old. “What do you think, Matt?” she asked now directly.

“I think Philip is in love with this girl,” he answered gravely.

There was a pause. “Damn!” said Lady Maria.

“Yes.”

Her green eyes narrowed. “You don’t think he is planning anything foolish?”

He shook his head. “I don’t know. She is an extraordinary girl, Maria. A person to be reckoned with.”

“How does she feel about him?”

He smiled a little crookedly. “Can you imagine any woman, however extraordinary, who could resist your brother when he sets out to charm?”

“Oh dear,” she said in a suddenly small voice.

“And of course it is much more than that,” he went on. “He made it very clear how he expected her to be treated. He was completely pleasant but he was there, like a rock, between her and any possible familiarity or insult.” He sighed a little wearily. “I had no idea what the diplomatic corps was missing in Philip.”

“He can’t possibly mean to marry her?” said Maria in a horrified voice.

“I don’t know what he means, my love,” replied her husband. “But I certainly wouldn’t rule it out.”

Chapter Eighteen

But ah, to love and then to part!—

How deep it struck, speak, gods, you know

Kisses make men loath to go.

—
THOMAS
CAMPION

Jessica was unaware of the furor her relationship with Linton was causing in the breasts of his family and friends. She had too many other things on her mind.

At first, after her final appearance in
Macbeth,
she had just relaxed and given herself up to the joy of being with him. It was too great a pain to be continually dwelling on the inevitable future, so she shut it out and lost herself in the richness of her union with him.

It was so sweet and satisfying to be with him, to love and to know herself loved in return. There had never been anyone to whom she could talk as she talked to him. And when they were silent it was the comfortable, sustaining silence of deep intimacy, a silence that was sometimes more communicative than words.

But this cocoonlike state of mind could not last.
On
February 4 she got a statement from her bank saying her monthly allowance had been paid into her account. She sat in front of the desk where she kept her accounts and looked at her figures. With a bitter, searing pain in her heart, she realized that she had the mortgage money. The next month’s allowance would pay the interest. Winchcombe would be clear and she could go home.

She would have to go home.

For a short time she sat at the desk, eyes closed, wishing uselessly, hopelessly, achingly, that she had not. But she could not stay on here indefinitely as Linton’s mistress. She had the boys to consider. And herself. She had felt morally justified to do what she was doing because of her dire necessity. Once that necessity was removed, her actions would have to be viewed in quite another light, and she wasn’t sure if she could face up to the picture that would be presented to her then.

There was also a final and overriding fact that made her leaving him an absolute necessity. She was sure she was with child.

When she had missed her menses at the end of December she had not been greatly concerned. She had missed occasionally before and had always assumed it was because of the hard, active life she led. She was working hard in the theatre as well. She had not been overly disturbed; she had had faith in Mrs. Brereton’s herbs.

Then she missed in January as well. She had never gone two months before. And her breasts were larger and very tender. With a tightness of fear in her chest she realized what the probable cause of these symptoms was.

Her first reaction had been panic. She had heard talk among the actresses she worked with. There was probably something she could do about getting rid of it.

But the more she thought about it, the more impossible such a course of action became. One part of her mind asked: What am I going to do with it? How am I going to explain it? But the other part answered: A child. Philip’s child. And her hand went, unconsciously, to her stomach.

I may lose Philip, but I will have his child, she thought. And suddenly, fiercely, she knew she wanted this child, would fight to keep it. I can tell them at home that I was married, she thought. I’ll think of some story. They still won’t need to know the truth.

Nor could she tell the truth to Linton. She didn’t know what he would do but she was quite sure he would do something. She didn’t want the status quo upset. She wanted her last month with him. She wanted her memories that would have to last her for a very long time. For the rest of her life, in fact.

And then he took her to Holland House. And the next morning Sir Matthew Selsey came to Montpelier Square. And Linton said, “Come into the drawing room. I have to talk to you.”

She went with him, a puzzled look in her eyes. But she obediently sat down on the sofa he indicated, folded her hands in her lap, and gazed up at him as he stood before the mantel.

He looked tense. A muscle flickered once in the angle of his jaw, and she frowned. “What is it, Philip?”

“Jess.”
His voice was deeper than usual. “How much do you love me?”

She looked at him in silence for a moment, her large eyes steady on the cleanly sculptured face she knew better than her own. “If you don’t know the answer to that question by now you never will,” she answered quietly at last.

“I want you to marry me,” he said.

There was a moment of stunned silence before she answered. “What did you say?” She sounded as if the breath had been knocked out of her.

He crossed the room to kneel before her, taking her cold hand in his two large, warm ones and looking compellingly into her eyes. “I want you to marry me,” he repeated.

She closed her eyes so he should not see the longing she knew must be there. “It is not possible,” she breathed.

“Why not?” She did not answer, and he held her hand more tightly. “Look at me, Jess!” he said strongly. “Why not?”

Her eyes opened. She ran her tongue over lips that were suddenly dry. She looked into the face she loved and her heart began to slam in slow painful strokes. His eyes were intensely blue, brimming with a fierce purpose that frightened her.

“We can live at Staplehurst,” he said. “You won’t have to come to London if you don’t want to. You’ll like Staplehurst. And we shall be together.”

Weakly, she shook her head. “You would be disgraced if you married me. What of your mother? Your sister? They would be horrified. They must be wondering already. That is why they sent Sir Matthew, isn’t it?” He didn’t answer, and she went on. “You don’t even know who I am!”

“I don’t care who you are.” His voice was quiet but there was a note in it Jessica recognized. She shivered, feeling herself bending to his will, vulnerable and disarmed as only he could leave her. She needed time to think. She knew what she wanted to do. She had to decide what it was she ought to do. She made a small negative movement with her head and he said, “I love you.”

“Philip.” She leaned forward and pressed her face against the hardness of his shoulder. He locked his arms tightly around her body and held her to him.

“Marry me, Jess,” he said softly.

“I need to think about it,” she said, her voice muffled.

His jaw tightened, but his voice remained quiet. “Don’t think for too long, will you?”

She stayed where she was, her body pressed tightly against his. “No,” she said. “I love you.”

“I know you do,” he answered. “The thing to keep in mind is that I feel the same way about you.”

* * * *

At Selsey Place Lady Maria held a council of war with her husband and her mother. “You say Philip took her to Holland House?” Lady Linton asked her son-in-law.

“Yes.”

“And Catherine Romney says she is worried,” put in Lady Maria. “Mother, you must go up to London! It simply isn’t like Philip to behave like this.”

“No.
It is not like him at all,” replied Lady Linton. There was a faint line between her delicate brows. “I have made it a rule never to interfere in Philip’s affairs, but I think this time is different. I will go up to London.”

“When?” asked her daughter.

“Tomorrow morning,” said Lady Linton. “If you will excuse me I’ll tell Weber to pack.”

At about the same time that Lady Maria was speaking to her husband and mother, Bertram’s mother, Mrs. Romney, received a note that surprised her greatly.

“Could you possibly meet me in one hour’s time at the British Museum?” it read. “There is something of great importance that I must discuss with you. I shall be looking at the Townley collection. Jessica O’Neill.”

An hour and fifteen minutes later Mrs. Romney came up to Jessica as she stood gazing intently at a Greek statue. “Miss O’Neill?” she said in her quiet, cultured voice.

Jessica’s head turned quickly.
Her cheeks flushed, then went very pale. “Thank you for coming.” The room was empty, and Jessica gestured to a bench along one of the walls. “If you will be seated for a few moments I will tell you why I asked you to come.”

Mrs. Romney moved obediently to the proffered seat and Jessica sat down next to her. “I need some advice,” she said, her eyes fixed straight ahead of her. “Lord Linton has asked me to marry him.” She spoke in a low, steady voice; her hands were clasped tightly in her lap.

Mrs. Romney felt as though a bolt of lightning had just shot through her.
It was one thing to entertain certain fears and quite another to have them so baldly confirmed. Catherine Romney had a deep affection for Lord Linton’s mother and a great deal of respect for Linton himself. She resolved to do what she could to save him from this disastrously unwise marriage he had evidently set himself on. She looked at Jessica. “And what have you answered him?” she asked cautiously.

“I told him I needed time to think about it.” Jessica’s eyes were dark and somber as they turned to regard Mrs. Romney.  “He has told me that a marriage between us is possible. I have come to you to ask if that is so.”

There was a moment’s silence as Mrs. Romney looked consideringly at Jessica. Her first thought had been that the girl wanted money, but now she did not think so.  There was something else at stake here, she thought. 

“If you love him,” Catherine Romney said slowly, “you will not marry him.”

Jessica’s face flinched once, then went blank. “I see,” she said quietly.

“I wonder if you do.”  Mrs. Romney was intent upon driving her point home. “If you marry him it will bring inexpressible dismay to all those who are bound to him by ties of blood. You will rob him of all his friends and degrade him in the eyes of his peers.”

Jessica did not speak.

Mrs. Romney said again, “If you love him you will not subject him to such a sorrow.”

There was a brief, tense silence, then Jessica said, “You may put your mind at rest, Mrs. Romney. I will not marry him to have him disgraced and rejected by his own people.” She turned her proud, beautiful head toward the woman seated next to her. “Thank you for coming and for your advice. It was not unexpected.”

Catherine Romney looked back at the carefully shuttered face of the girl Linton loved. “I am sorry, my dear.” She spoke quite gently, now that she had won.

“So am
I,” replied Jessica, politely, distantly.

“I shall say nothing of this interview to Linton.”

“No.”

Mrs. Romney rose to leave. She hesitated. “How will you tell him?” she asked.

“I won’t have the courage to tell him,” said Jessica, her voice very even and quiet and almost concealing the underlying note of bitterness. “I shall simply go away and leave him a letter.”