The Devil's Web (15 page)

“But that may mean settling for nothing at all,” she said.

“Yes,” he said with a sigh. “That is always the risk. But I don't think so, Madeline. I really don't think so. And I know that is small comfort. I am no miracle worker, you see.”

She smiled at him, the side of her head against the window again. “No miracle worker, perhaps,” she said. “But I'm glad you came, Edmund. I have always loved you, but I have never really thought of you as a brother like Dom.
You have always been up there on a pedestal. But you are just as dear as he is. Every bit as much.” She leaned forward and kissed his cheek. “Alexandra will still be awake, won't she, waiting for you? And she ought not to be awake this late. Or you. Thank you for coming.”

“Come on,” he said, “I'll take you back to your room.
Are you going to be all right? You are not going to sob into your pillow all night?”

“Edmund!” she said brightly. “If I did that, I would have puffy eyes at breakfast. Have you ever known me to put on such a dreadfully public display?”

He thought a moment. “Yes,” he said. “When I was taking Dominic and Perry and Howard and a few others fishing when you were ten, and Mama forbade you to go because you would be the only girl. And Papa refused to be wheedled. You cried all night and pouted all through breakfast. And Dom pouted all through the fishing trip and kicked Perry in the shin when he was unwise enough to swagger and comment on how grand it was to be all men together.”

She giggled.

“Hush!” he said. “You will wake everyone up.”

T
HE WEATHER CHANGED THE DAY AFTER THE Mortons' party so that no one could wander outside during the Courtneys' dinner and dance two evenings later, and the Carringtons' picnic had to be changed to an indoor tea. And at Amberley the music room and the library and the nursery became favorite haunts of the inhabitants seeking employment.

During the following two weeks the weather was chilly and unsettled. But somehow everyone managed to resume the visits and the shopping trips to the village and the rides.

Anna declared to Jean that it was a shame the weather was not cooperating. It was true that she had seen Sir Gordon Clark on several occasions and had conversed with him each time. “And I am sure he is as taken with me as I am with him, for he always arranges matters that he sits next to me, you know. But we are always in a room full of other people, Jean.”

“But they are staying for Lord Amberley's ball,” Jean said. “Perhaps you will be able to have some time alone with him there.”

Anna pulled a face. “As like as not,” she said, “he will kiss me there but will think it far too soon to declare
himself. And then he will be returning home with Mr. and Mrs. Clark. I am doomed to be a tragic spinster.”

“At the age of nineteen?” Jean said, and smiled. “You are very elderly, Anna.”

“And poor Jean,” Anna said. “You have scarce seen Lieutenant Cowley, have you, except at the Courtneys' dance. This is not turning into a very delightful summer after all. You have seen far more of Howard. It is a pity we cannot turn him into a romantic lover for you. He is really very sweet, you know, but dreadfully dull.”

“I don't find him so,” Jean said. “But then I have not moved in such exalted circles as you all my life.”

Anna did not pursue that line of conversation. “I have had a letter from Jennifer,” she said, her eyes growing round. “She has had two offers since we left town, both from gentlemen I have never heard of. At least, she had one offer and another was made to her grandfather. She says she may not accept either as she has a string of beaux.
It does not sound like Jennifer to be so wild, but she does sound as if she is enjoying herself immensely.” Her tone was wistful.

“What of Mr. Penworth?” Jean asked. “I thought they had an understanding.”

“But they had some nasty quarrels,” Anna said.
“Jennifer's grandfather did not favor his suit, and Mr.
Penworth told Jennifer she must not feel bound to him and she must go out and enjoy herself and meet other gentlemen. And Jennifer told him that if he was going to feel sorry for himself because he could not offer a whole body, he might go hang. He has gone home to Devonshire. Jennifer pretends not to care.”

“I liked him,” Jean said. “I think he is very fond of Jennifer, poor gentleman. And she of him.”

Anna sighed. “One longs and longs to be grown up, doesn't one?” she said. “I dreamed of being eighteen and having a Season and meeting handsome gentlemen even apart from Dominic and falling in love with one of them and marrying him and living happily ever after. But life is not nearly as simple when one finally does grow up.”

“It's the rain,” Jean said soothingly. “When it clears away, you will not feel near as gloomy. After all, Sir Gordon is still here, and there is still the ball to look forward to before he goes away.”

“Yes.” Anna brightened. “And I really must feel those auburn curls before he leaves. He has already asked if I will reserve the first waltz for him.”

Jean was restless. Time was slipping by. Soon she would be returning to London and thence to Montreal. It was something she looked forward to. She wanted to see her father and Duncan again, and it would be good to be home and to see all her old friends there. But even so, she willed time to a standstill. She knew that for the rest of her life she would treasure her memories of England and the people she had met there.

“James,” she said one morning, finding him at last in the long gallery staring out a window along the valley toward the sea, “I have hunted all over for you. Come walking with me?”

He turned to smile at her. “It may be a little damp underfoot,” he said. “Will you mind?”

“My hem will get wet,” she said, “but I can change my dress when we come home again. It is no great matter.”

They walked slowly along the valley he had just been looking at through the window. It was a cold, raw morning with heavy gray clouds overhead and a wind buffeting them from the direction of the sea.

“Oh,” she said breathlessly, “this is glorious. Isn't it lovely, James?”

He bent his head so that he could see into her face around the brim of her bonnet. “Yes, very lovely,” he said.
“Two rosy cheeks and two sparkling eyes. A slightly reddened nose too, but I am too gentlemanly to mention that.”

She laughed gaily. “I meant the weather, silly,” she said.
“Isn't it lovely?” She closed her eyes and lifted her face.

“I thought that perhaps now you have tasted how dreary English weather can be,” he said, “you would be impatient to be gone back home again.”

“No,” she said, “not impatient. I want to enjoy what is left of my time here.”

They strolled in comfortable silence for a while.

“James,” she blurted at last, “may I talk to you? I would talk to Anna, but she would giggle and make something silly of it. Or I would talk to Lady Amberley or the earl's mother, for they are both very kind ladies, but I would feel young and foolish. May I talk to you?”

“But of course,” he said, clasping the hand that rested on his arm. “What is it, Jean? Troubles?”

“No,” she said. “Maybe nothing at all. Maybe nothing will happen and I will feel very foolish for having said anything to you. But I really don't know what to do if it does happen.”

He smiled gently down at her. “And what do you think might happen?” he asked.

“I think Mr. Courtney might ask me to marry him,” she said.

He missed a step and gazed down at her in some amazement. “Mr. Howard Courtney?” he said. “He is seen as something of a confirmed bachelor, I believe, even
though he is younger than I. He has been courting you, Jean? I'm sorry—I must have lost my powers of observation. I had not noticed.”

“He likes to sit beside me and talk,” she said. “And he kissed me at Mrs. Morton's party. I have never been kissed before.”

“I am all amazement,” he said. “And what are your feelings, Jean? He is a thoroughly worthy gentleman, I am sure. A trifle dull, perhaps.”

“That is what everyone thinks,” she said, “but he is not. He likes to talk of his farm and his work, but there is nothing dull about that. I like him. I feel comfortable with him.
And I liked his kiss.”

He did not say anything for a while. “You are very young, Jean,” he said. “You would be living in a strange country far away from your family.”

“I know,” she said. “And he has not even asked me and may not do so. Maybe he has never even contemplated doing so. And I shall feel very foolish and find it difficult to look at you if he does not. But I must be prepared, you see, because he may ask me and it is a huge and difficult decision that I would have to make.”

“Is it perhaps that it will be your first offer and you feel you should accept in case it is your last?” he asked. “If so, think very carefully, Jean. I can see more objectively than you, perhaps, and I can assure you without any doubt at all that you will not lack for offers during the next several years.”

“I have thought of that,” she said, “for it is very flattering to be kissed and to have one's company sought out. But I don't think it is that, James. This will sound foolish, because as Anna says Mr. Courtney is not a romantic figure of a man, and as you say, he is a little dull by some
standards—but I think I love him, James. I have a warm feeling here”—she spread her free hand over the ribs beneath her bosom—“whenever I think of him, and I know I will miss him of all people when I return home.”

“Then it seems that the only thing we have to hope for,” he said with a smile, “is that Howard Courtney will have the courage to make his proposal before you leave here and that your papa will agree to your marriage. I don't think there is any other decision to make, is there?”

“Oh,” she said, turning to him, her eyes shining, “do you think so, James? Do you really think so? You don't think I am being foolish? I thought perhaps you would laugh, and I would realize that it is not the thing at all.”

“Well,” he said, looking gravely down at her, “you do not see me laughing, do you, Jean?”

She threw her arms about his neck, stood on tiptoe, and kissed him smackingly on the cheek. “Oh, I do love you,” she said. “I wish you were my real brother, and not just Duncan's friend.”

“Brothers can be adopted,” he said, hugging her. “I would be honored.”

She kept her hands clasped behind his neck as she leaned back and grinned impishly up at him. “Do you know what Anna thought?” she said, and giggled. “She thought you were my beau, James. Isn't that silly? And not at all flattering to you, for you are very handsome and very distinguished, and any of the loveliest ladies of the
ton
would fall all over themselves if you but looked on them with favor. Besides, you will be a baron someday.”

“Very silly,” he said, patting the sides of her waist and matching her grin. “No one in his right mind would expect someone as fresh and pretty as you to ally herself to an old man like me.”

She wrinkled her nose at him. “You are not so very old,” she said. “I daresay you are not above thirty at the most. James, promise me faithfully that you will not laugh at me if Mr. Courtney says nothing. I shall feel very foolish indeed.”

“I have a dreadful memory,” he said. “What have we been talking about this morning, anyway? We are far from the house already, I see, and must have been talking about something or there would have been an embarrassing silence between us. It must have been the weather. We have been talking about the weather, have we? Shall we begin the walk back? I see the hem of your dress is heavy with damp. Was there anything left to say about the weather? I really can't remember what we have already said. This is what happens when one is once past his thirtieth birthday, you know. A dreadful fate!”

She took his arm again and tripped along beside him.
“Silly!” she said. “You are silly, James.”

He was feeling stunned—all his plans blown to the winds. When she had found him in the gallery, he had been working up his will and his courage to go and find her. He was going to do it that very day, he had decided.
He was going to end this indecision and betroth himself to her. He was going to announce it, even though he would not have a chance to talk with Douglas until their return to London. He was going to announce it so that he could feel safe for the remaining days of his stay at Amberley.

But she had spoken first. And he was stunned at his own total blindness. An attachment had been forming under his very eyes, and he had seen none of it. All of Jean's attention to him and affection for him were those of a very young girl to an older man, a brother figure.

He truly did not know what they talked about on the return walk to the house. He was stunned—and a little embarrassed and humiliated.

And a great deal relieved.

O
N THE SAME MORNING
, the dowager Lady Amberley rode up onto the cliffs with Sir Cedric Harvey. They tethered their horses when they were a safe distance from the edge, and walked along, the wind whipping against them.

“And blowing my words right back down my throat,” Lady Amberley said.

“But I can hear them,” he said, drawing her arm firmly through his and lowering his head against the wind.

“We are quite mad,” she said. “But if I had had to sit quietly indoors another hour with that woman, Cedric, I would have started to commit murder, or worse. And how dreadful I am being.”

“You are always so very courteous and gracious, Louisa,” he said. “Everyone needs some chance to let out real feelings.”

“I could shake her,” she said. “All she does is complain of damp and drafts, even though Edmund has ordered fires blazing half up the chimney in the drawing room every day for the past two weeks.”

“She is upset,” he said. “Beckworth shuts himself up in the library most of the time, and she is very much aware that she will be losing her son again next week.”

“I know,” she said, contrition in her face as she looked up at him. “You are being my conscience, Cedric. I feel for her. I know what it was like to see Dominic go on his way more than once and not know if I would ever see him again. I am dreadfully heartless, aren't I?”

“No,” he said, patting her hand. “Just very human.
For however much one may sympathize with Lady Beckworth, one cannot but deplore the fact that she seems to have no inner resources with which to cheer herself up.”