Lord Wraybourne's Betrothed (22 page)

She remembered with a smile how she had feared his
disturbances
. She could look back now to that day at The Middlehouse and laugh at the game he had played with her. He had been remarkably kind, she realized, and must have known how nervous and unsure she was. Now she wanted nothing more than to be disturbed as frequently as possible.

This beautiful morning would have been perfected by the presence of her betrothed by her side. However, it was not Lord Wraybourne but Mr. Carruthers who appeared to accompany her. She was not surprised. He frequently rode out in the morning and had often joined herself and Sophie. But though he was a pleasant companion, Jane could well have dispensed with his presence on this particular morning.

“Miss Sandiford!” he exclaimed, doffing his hat with his usual elegance. “Fortune smiles on me today. Permit me to accompany you.”

Since he had already guided his horse alongside, Jane could not easily refuse him, and though she found him silly, he was an easy companion now that he seemed to have abandoned his embarrassing pose of thwarted lover. She supposed that a fortune hunter, which she knew him to be, must by nature be amusing and agreeable if he was to have chance of success. He was a fribble but an amiable one, and so she gave him good morning.

He asked solicitously after Lady Sophie and expressed warm satisfaction on hearing that she was in excellent health. He went on to converse about the weather, the prospects in the park, the upcoming delights of the Season and the most recent
on dits.
Jane, finding that her part in the conversation was easy to uphold, remembered her mother’s comments about the Art of Conversation. Here was another master of it of whom that lady would not approve.

“I hear great talk of you and Lord Wraybourne, Miss Sandiford. You appear to be the latest Romeo and Juliet, the latest Abélard and Héloïse.”

“I hope not, Mr. Carruthers,” she said with raised brows. “I am anticipating a happy ending.”

“A happy ending. Of course!” he replied with a laugh. “But how difficult it is to think of a pair of happy lovers. Othello and Desdemona, Antony and Cleopatra, Tristan and Isolde were tragedies all. Perhaps,” he added after a short pause and in a serious tone, “this is because love is so full of traps for the unwary.”

“Well,” she declared, “I do not think that is the tone to take with one who is soon to be a bride.”

“A bride, yes. I am sorry,” he said with a speaking look. “It is probably a reflection of my own poor state. You see before you a man with a broken heart.”

“I feel for you,” she said sincerely, but surprised.

She had not thought he had the capacity for suffering in the cause of love. She did wonder, however, who was causing him to pine. She cast about in her mind to think who he had been attending since he had ceased to pester herself.

She was somewhat disconcerted by his turning to her and declaiming in passionate tones, “Oh, sweet lady, I value your words of kindness!”

“Then you may have as many as you want,” she said lightly. “Words are free, and I try always to be kind to my friends.”

“A friend. Is that all I am to you, Miss Sandiford?”

She was suddenly uncomfortable and glad of the stolid groom, sitting on his horse within sight. “What more
could
you be, Mr. Carruthers?”

His smile was sad. “Once you gave me to hope, dear lady, that I might be more. You said . . . but I realize now that I took too seriously a few playful words. You young ladies like to play games with the hearts of men.”

Jane was upset at being seen as thoughtless, particularly since she suspected it was true in this case. She attempted to smooth the matter over, hoping all the while that he was not going to become a bother again.

“I never meant to play games, Mr. Carruthers. When I came to Town it was all new and a little frightening. I welcomed your company. I am sorry if I misled you. I was, after all, already engaged to Lord Wraybourne. You knew that.”

“Yes,” he sighed. “I knew. But since when has love followed sense? Francis Bacon wrote, ‘It is impossible to love and be wise.’ I am afraid he had the truth of it.”

“I am sorry, Mr. Carruthers,” Jane replied bracingly, to hide an uncomfortable degree of embarrassment, “but I really cannot believe you to be as smitten as you pretend. I am nothing out of the ordinary, and it is certainly unwise of you to cast your heart towards one who is already bespoken.”

“Nothing out of the ordinary! With your beauty, Miss Sandiford, and your kind heart and clever wit, you are a
rara avis
among all the pretty blossoms we call debutantes.”

Jane suppressed an urge to point out to him how he had mixed his metaphors. She could not deny there was a grain of pleasure to be had at being the object of such strong devotion, and she felt she should be kind to him. All the same, she did not quite believe his protestations and found the whole scene most uncomfortable. Even if he was passionately in love, he had no right to embarrass her in this way.

“Mr. Carruthers, I must ask you never to speak of this again,” she said firmly.

He sighed. “As you wish, sweet lady. I am, after all, unworthy. I realize that. Even were you free, I could not lift my eyes to you.”

Jane suddenly realized he was sounding like Sir Tristram again and had to turn away to hide her twitching lips. Such protestations no longer seemed appealing, merely silly.

Mr. Carruthers mistook this reaction for encouragement. “You are touched! Dear Miss Sandiford, I knew your heart could not stay hard. I have no hopes of true felicity, but if only I could be sure, at least, that you would be happy in your fate!”

Jane turned in surprise. “Then you have your wish, Mr. Carruthers. I am very happy and expect only greater joy. I love Lord Wraybourne.”

It was the first time she had spoken the words aloud. She was caught up in the magic of the moment, savoring them, repeating them in her mind . . . then came to herself to realize the dratted man was still speaking.

“. . . too late. Is he truly worthy?”

She had tried to be kind. Now it was time to be firm. “I beg your pardon, I missed what you first said, Mr. Carruthers.” He looked quite flushed and agitated. Heaven knows what new embarrassment he had been spewing forth. “I am sorry. I must go. Good day.” With that she urged Tigress forward and ignored a shouted comment behind her.

On the way home she rode slowly and allowed herself to relish once more the thought of love, like a lamp glowing within her. She was, quite simply, different because of it. When would she tell Lord Wraybourne? Should she wait for him to say the words to her? He could not love her yet, or he would not be busying himself elsewhere even if it was innocent business for his uncle. Feeling as she did, she would not willingly part herself from him for a second. Still, that hardly mattered. He was hers, love or not, and she could soon count on his presence day by day. That was enough happiness, for now.

Jane wondered how she would find Sophie upon her return, but that mercurial lady was once again in spirits, assisting Lady Harroving, herself in one of her better moods, to settle details for the masked ball. As Lady Harroving hurried off to consult with her staff, Sophie showed Jane the designs for the decor.

“Maria is turning the ballroom into a veritable forest with trees in pots, and there are to be fireworks at midnight, Jane. These are the drawings. There will be groves and grottoes and only a few lights.”

“It looks lovely,” Jane said, “but we will be forever losing track of people.”

“That is the idea, goose!”

“But what of the whisperer?”

“Jane, you allow that pest to upset you too much. He is an unpleasant worm but not dangerous at a ball. Even if he were to get you alone, you would only have to scream. As he seems too cowardly to ever show his face he can hardly do you harm. The secluded areas will be ideal for lovers. I would have thought you would be in favor. Just think what fun you and David will have.”

“I am sure he would not approve.” Jane was aware of sounding stuffy and, of course, Sophie laughed.

“Maria says he has attended all her previous balls and enjoyed himself immensely. If
you
don’t slip off with him to a bower you can be sure there will be plenty of other ladies to oblige him.” Jane could not hide the hurt she felt, and Sophie blushed. “Oh Jane, I am so sorry. My wretched tongue again. Of course, David will not want to be apart from you for a moment. So you need never fear the whisperer again.”

Jane had to seek reassurance. “Do you really think so?”

“Of course I do. I have seen the way he looks at you. I am sure he hasn’t thought about another woman since he first met you.”

“Oh Sophie,” Jane protested, the scene in Clarke Street coming to her mind, “that is coming it too strong. When we first met, Lord Wraybourne and I were strangers and even though we became betrothed, we were strangers when we parted. I do hope he has come to like me, but I hardly expect that he is
bouleversé.
After all, he has been gone so much of the time I have been in London.”

Suddenly, she remembered what he had said, that it was better he be away from her until they were married, and she felt her face warm.

The color must have shown, even on her creamy skin, for Sophie said, “Why, Jane. What is there in that to make you blush?” She did not wait for an answer. “I envy you, Jane. Even though you will not tell me what has been going on, I am sure David has been making love to you. And here I am, innocent of all but a few daring pecks on the cheek from young men in Bath. I have been careful not to encourage familiarity since I came to Town, and what has it achieved? Exactly what one might expect—nothing! Even your dratted whisperer hasn’t found me worthy of his taunts.”

She was silent a moment, then as if on a different topic went on, brightly this time.

“Do you know what I heard today? A delicious piece of gossip. Jennifer Witherspoon, who was the most prissy piece imaginable at school, is marrying Jimmy Fentress in a hurry because they were caught in an
incriminating
situation.”

“The one with spots and no chin?” Jane exclaimed.

“Which one?” giggled Sophie. “Good heavens, both of them!”

At that, they both burst into laughter, only interrupted by the butler with a note for Jane, who took it, wiping her eyes. She hoped it would be from Lord Wraybourne, but it was not his hand.

She could hardly have been more shocked to read:

Jane read the words through twice, then started to read them a third time as if they might change into something less horrifying. Sophie took the note from Jane’s hand.

“What is it? You look quite pale.” She read the message and exclaimed, “This is utter rubbish, Jane. Pay it no heed. I doubt if David has ever been to Harrogate.”

“Oh yes he has,” said Jane calmly. “He told me so.”

The woman from Clarke Street, she was thinking. He sent her to Yorkshire and then went to be with her. No wonder she seemed upset if she was telling him she was expecting a child.

“How extraordinary. But even so, any acquaintance there would be chance-met.”

Jane looked at Sophie. “Tell me. If David had a mistress—and it would not be so unusual, even I know that—and she was expecting his child. What would he do?”

Sophie had turned quite pale herself. “Well, he would arrange something, I suppose. Perhaps find her a husband or a place to stay until the child was . . . born.” She stared. “Oh, Jane!”

Jane licked her lips, unaware that she was also clenching and unclenching her fingers nervously. “I do not mind so much the mistress,” she said in a wavery voice. “And I suppose a child would be mischance. But why has he been with her so much? I suppose he has returned to her now. He
said
he had business for your uncle in Exeter.”

“Uncle Henry?” queried Sophie with enough surprise in her voice to make Jane sigh. “What will you do, Jane?”

Jane already knew the answer. Her heart gave her no choice. “Why nothing. I am marrying your brother. It will be up to me to make sure he does not stray.”

“I think you should show David this note. It must be nonsense. It sounds so unlike him, and I am sure he really cares for you.”

“Oh no.” Jane was proud of the command she had regained over her voice. “I have reason to believe that there may be some truth to this. And if your brother was the cause of this poor woman’s predicament, I am sure he would take care of her. I would prefer to ignore it, though I do wonder who my well-wisher is.”

“Yes.” Sophie studied the note again. “I did suspect for a moment that it might be Maria, but this is far from her hand, which looks more like the tracks of a clumsy spider.”

“Would she really write something like this?”

“Certainly, if it suited her ends. What of Phoebe Danvers?”

“No. I think she is content with Dromree, and I cannot see her stooping to anonymous notes. Had she wished to inform me of something like this she would simply walk up to me and say it.”

“I think you may be right, and I like her the better for it. Who else?” She saw an expression on Jane’s face. “Who have you thought of, Jane?”

“Crossley Carruthers! He was behaving very strangely this morning when I met him in the park. I missed part of what he said, but he could have been trying to tell me this. I have never seen his handwriting.”

“Well, I wouldn’t put anonymous notes beyond him, but what does he hope to gain by it? If he thinks to make you elope with him, he’s lost his wits. And what would it gain him? You have no money of your own, have you?”