The Heart's Companion (9 page)

"I beg your pardon?"

"How dare you treat the Earl of Royce like a common servant! You should have sent your footman in search of these other guests of yours."

"Cousin, I do not even know the name of his guest. And he is his guest. "

"You don’t even know his name? How very odd of you, to be sure."

Jane laughed. "What do you think? That the Earl of Royce’s friend will be unworthy of our company or that we will be unworthy?"

"Certainly not! I swear Jane, you have the oddest temper."

"No doubt you are right. Ah, here they come now. Gracious, who would have thought. It’s—"

"Black Jack!" cried out Lady Elsbeth Ainstree. She struggled to rise from her chair. Then her knees buckled as she fainted.

In shocked silence the company watched Lady Elsbeth crumble to the floor. No one moved. Stunned, they looked from Lady Elsbeth to the recent arrival and back to Lady Elsbeth. No one moved until he moved. He ran to her side and carefully lifted her. She groaned softly, her eyelids fluttering.

Like hungry fish, the other guests clustered about him, the women offering advice or wringing hands, the men demanding he hand his precious burden to one of them. Scowling, he shouldered them aside and carried Lady Elsbeth to one of the now vacant settees. He laid her down, carefully smoothing the length of her gown, demurely covering her. He bent over her a moment longer, staring at her, his time-ravaged visage an immobile mask. He stood up and turned to glare at the Earl of Royce.

"Damn your eyes, Royce," he said softly, his pale blue eyes starkly shining in his tanned face.

Lady Elsbeth whimpered softly and stirred. The man she called Black Jack looked down at her, then abruptly stepped away, his place taken by other guests in a closed circle about her.

Jane grabbed Lord Royce’s arm. "What do you mean by bringing him here?" she demanded, her voice a strident whisper. "Look what you’ve done to Elsbeth! Even though you may lack sensibilities, other people have them. How could you bring a man with his reputation here?"

Royce looked at her coldly. "You are too much a creature of gossip."

A bright red swept up Jane’s neck. "I beg your pardon!" she gasped.

"Try being a woman of facts rather than fairy tales," he drawled, his lip curling derisively. He shook her hand from his arm and turned, walking away.

"John?" murmured Lady Elsbeth. She struggled to sit up, batting away the many helpful hands that demanded she lie still. She swung her feet to the floor. Jane, forgetting her argument with Lord Royce, rushed to her aunt’s side.

"Elsbeth, please, lie still. Let me ring for a
sal volatile
."

Lady Elsbeth frowned and shook her head. She tried to look about the room. "Where is he? Was I dreaming?"

"No dear, I’m sorry to say you weren’t. But I’ll ask him to please leave." Jane straightened, turning away from her aunt.

"No!" Lady Elsbeth grabbed Jane’s arm, pulling herself to her feet. "I must see him. I must apologize."

"Apologize?"

But Lady Elsbeth did not answer. Her eyes sought and found him standing apart in a shadowed corner of the room. "My Lord Conisbrough? John?" she said hesitantly, walking slowly toward him.

The man watched her approach with suspicion, like a wild animal watches the approach of another.

A tumultuous smile formed on her lips, then grew more confident as did her posture and demeanor. Behind her a murmur rose among the guests like the buzzing of bees on the blackberry hedges.

"My Lord Conisbrough," she repeated, this time more confidently. "I owe you an apology."

"You are wrong, Madame," his deep voice rasped. "You owe me nothing. I should never have allowed myself to be talked into coming here uninvited. Allow me the opportunity to make my apologies and remove my sorry person from your presence."

"I am not a Madame and have never been one. In my callow youth I foolishly allowed that opportunity to pass me by."

Lord Conisbrough raised one eyebrow and lifted his chin slightly, but did not respond.

"And I am not implying I wish to apologize for fainting in that deplorable manner. Though perhaps I should to the rest of our guests. Very bad ton, you know."

Lord Conisbrough’s lips twitched.

"No," she continued conversationally, "my apology is one that is fifteen years overdue."

A look of pain twisted his features. Like a striking snake, his hand clamped about her wrist. "No, not now, Lady Elsbeth. Not here," he whispered. He shook his head as if to clear it of unwanted memories. "Maybe never," he said, dropping her wrist. He turned his head away.

Unruffled, though a sad smile lurked in her eyes, Elsbeth nodded. "I understand," she said softly. Her voice became cheerier. "I am a complete featherbrain! Where are my manners this evening? There are many here you don’t know. Let me introduce you." She slid her arm under his and turned, leading him back to the astonished and wildly speculating company.

Lady Elsbeth introduced the Marquis of Conisbrough to everyone as if he was an old friend. More than one eyebrow rose at her manner, but the company was too well-bred to show curiosity. They accepted him in the manner Lady Elsbeth wished. For his part, the marquis lost that wary look, replacing it with one of sardonic amusement. Though it was noted that he often turned to stare at Lady Elsbeth with something akin to wonder and something else the company could not name. In all, however, Jane was the most astonished and put out by the unexpected turn of events. A frown hovered at the edge of her lips until dinner was announced.

The Earl of Royce adopted a smug attitude whenever Jane chanced to glance his way, which she did far too frequently for her own peace of mind. Millicent latched onto him, preening before everyone at what she saw as her personal coup. Miss Culpepper seemed petulant, and Sir Helmsdon laughed. No one harbored private fears that the house party would be a dull, insipid affair.

Dinner progressed more smoothly than Jane had expected. The company was unusually convivial—perhaps because of the events before dinner. Whatever the cause, the dining table resounded with laughter and animated conversation. The only circumstance to mar the perfection of the meal occurred as the guests found their seats in the dining room.

Owing to his position as highest ranking peer, Lord Royce had been placed at Lady Elsbeth’s right. Next to him they’d assigned Millicent Hedgeworth, and next to her Lord Royce’s guest. Lord Conisbrough, taking in the situation, calmly exchanged his place card with Royce’s. Other than raising an eyebrow, Royce displayed no other reaction to his friend’s actions, for in truth, Conisbrough’s rank was the higher. Bowing to Lady Elsbeth, Lord Conisbrough took his seat and proceeded to make himself amenable to both Lady Elsbeth and Millicent. His conversation never strayed beyond practiced social gallantries, which drew an amused smile from Elsbeth.

Jane could not hear what was said from her end of the table. She shifted uneasily in her seat and found she could make only stilted responses to questions. All around her talk flowed easily. No one seemed to notice her reticence. She knew she was behaving badly, but could not seem to help herself. She was embarrassed for having cut up Royce only to have him proved right by Elsbeth’s inexplicable behavior. She hadn’t even known that Elsbeth and the marquis were acquainted, let alone that they had once enjoyed a close relationship! It seemed impossible. The Marquis of Conisbrough’s reputation made Royce seem angelic in comparison. Blackjack, Elsbeth called him, as did most of society whenever his name came up in conversation.

Now in his forties, the once strikingly handsome John Trent, Marquis of Conisbrough, was showing definite signs of weathering. His wavy guinea-gold hair, laced with silver, was worn a bit longer than the fashion, one stubborn curling lock falling across his high brow in a raffish manner. He had a tanned face, lined with years of experience. His pale blue eyes were his most startling feature. He reminded Jane of a pirate. He’d never married, though scores of women threw themselves at him. More than one woman of position was said to have offered herself without promises of matrimony. Jane remembered gossip that he’d once proposed marriage, but the woman had refused him. For whatever reason, he’d never given another woman the same opportunity. Could Aunt Elsbeth have been that woman? It could not be possible. They were so different. As different as—as a Chinaman and an Englishman!

Then what was behind this facade of friendship?

No answers swam into Jane’s beleaguered brain, only more questions, and a nagging fear. Did she listen too closely to society’s tales? Was she a creature of gossip, as Royce suggested? Delicately Jane shuddered and her spirits ebbed. She prayed not. Still, she acknowledged she knew more stories than truths, of the driftwood remains of wrecks than of the vessels themselves. She needed to sift the sands of her knowledge if she wished to turn up gold rather than pottery shards.

When she and Lady Elsbeth rose from dinner, the entire company joined them as they had no host to entertain the gentlemen over port. Though the Marquis and Lady Elsbeth parted after dinner to converse with others, Jane covertly watched him, her eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"And just what is it you fear?" asked a quiet, deep voice behind her.

The rumble of that voice always sent shivers through her body. She jumped in reaction to the feeling and whirled around. Her pride smarted and would not allow for honesty. Her eyes flared, their green light glittering hard like faceted gems. She tossed her head up and turned away before the buttress of prideful strength gave way before his knowing glance.

A laugh now came from behind her, following, mocking, as she walked away. What was worse, what caused the laugh to echo in her head and pulsate throughout her body, was the knowledge that she couldn’t answer the earl’s question. She didn’t know what she feared, and so the feeling fed upon itself and grew.

Jane’s increasing agitation rent her cool society cloak, reducing it to tatters. By the time the rest of the guests arrived for the planned dancing, her color and voice were unnaturally high. She soon replaced the marquis and Lady Elsbeth as the subject of whispered speculation. But Jane did not notice. She drifted through the guests with all the charm of a virtual stranger.

Observing her, the Earl of Royce felt his sardonic amusement fade. He was not as pleased as he knew he should be. He’d vowed to strip away her ice barrier, for those barriers guarded her passionate nature. But this was not the method he’d intended, and he questioned its outcome. He wondered if perchance he had blundered. There was a vulnerability about her that he did not like. Instead of the forbidding Ice Witch, he saw her as the first fragile flower to emerge from winter’s snowy blanket—fresh, delicate, and easily crushed.

Royce watched Sir Garth Helmsdon move up behind Miss Grantley. He appeared to be taking great care not to be seen until he was close enough to touch her. Strange. According to Miss Grantley it was her cousin, Mrs. Hedgeworth, who held Helmsdon’s interest. Observing the gentleman’s behavior, Royce was inclined to argue that idea. It didn’t appear as if he was dangling after Mrs. Hedgeworth. Not once before dinner had he approached her. Certainly the woman never gave a sign of expecting his attentions, either. And a woman of Millicent Hedgeworth’s ilk would not take kindly to losing any suitor, whether she was interested in him or not. The more men that surrounded her, the more her ego was fed. Also, if there were a rivalry between the two cousins, which he sensed, one would not take kindly to being cut out by the other. The earl’s frown deepened.

"La, my lord, you look so serious," teased Millicent, gently pulling down on his arm. It piqued her to so easily lose his attention, especially to that twit, Jane Grantley. But she was too well schooled in the art of flirtation to allow her irritation to show.

He looked down at the beautiful young woman on his arm, a smile returning to his lips. "A thousand apologies, my dear. Ah, but I see I have only to look into your lovely face and all serious thoughts vanish like smoke in the wind."

Millicent coyly tilted her head and lowered her lashes, then opened them to look up at him with an affected, wide-eyed innocence. "You are too kind, I’m sure."

"Why is it that everyone would have me be so?" he asked, a touch of whimsy in his tone.

"My lord?"

"Nothing, my dear, just odd humors. I see the musicians are ready to begin. May I have the honor of the first dance this evening?" he said before she could question him further.

"I should be delighted, my lord." Millicent’s slow, answering smile was full of seductive promise for the future.

Jane felt the light, gliding touch down her bare arm before she was aware of Sir Helmsdon’s position at her side. Startled, she began to pull away, but his hand clamped about her wrist, anchoring her.

"At last, Miss Grantley, it appears we have the opportunity to renew our friendship. "

"Friendship, sir?" she asked with what coldness she could muster.

"Ah, I see you are remembering our little misunderstanding."

"Misunderstanding? I should hardly call an attempt at kidnapping a misunderstanding!" she snapped, then glanced around to see if any had heard. She took a deep breath and tried to calm her tremulous pulse.

He smiled then, and it was almost a sad smile. It shook Jane’s confidence. Instead of pulling away again, she stood still, looking at him warily.

He dropped her wrist and spread his hands before him. "I know the circumstances from your viewpoint were suspicious. You must often be the recipient of fortune hunters’ advances. I will admit, I am not flush in the pockets, and so I must appear to you as another member of that infamous cadre."

"And are you not?"

He looked pained. "My dear, you would do well to call me a liar if I said no. I must marry well, it is true. However, have you never wondered why I have not yet wed so? I could have contracted any number of marriages of convenience, but I have not."