The Light in the Darkness (35 page)

Jennifer assimilated this information silently. Poor Grey, she thought. He had learned from his parents to purchase the love of those he cared about. Unfortunately for him, he had not managed to buy Dianas love—just her hand in marriage.

It appeared that Diana had never loved Grey at all.

The next afternoon, as Jennifer took her customary stroll on the meandering path that ran through the woods, she was arrested by the sound of running feet on the thick carpet of pine straw behind her. Morbidly certain that Christopher Lightfoot had returned to pester her with his revolting proposition, she began to walk faster.

“Jenny!”

At the sound of her name—a name that no one used anymore—she turned and, to her relief, saw Carey. He slid to a halt, dark auburn hair disheveled, and stared at her with undisguised admiration.

“I thought you were going to Williamsburg this morning,” she said in surprise.

Carey shook his head. “The rest of my family took the carriage, but I chose to stay here. I’ve scarcely had an opportunity to speak to you since we arrived yesterday,” he said, panting. “I wanted to talk to you. How have you been?”

Jennifer regarded him thoughtfully. He was tall, a trait he had inherited from both parents, and undeniably handsome, despite the wide nose and jutting chin he had inherited from his father. Although he was a very attractive man, she could not help thinking that she preferred Grey’s dark, brooding beauty. Where Grey was powerful and
strongly masculine, Carey seemed almost weak in comparison, despite his broad shoulders and muscular body.

She shook herself mentally. Must she compare every man she knew to Grey? And why must they all pale by comparison? She forced her attention back to the young man who stood before her. Carey’s gentle blue eyes shone with concern as he looked down at her.

“Have you been well?” he asked.

He had been so kind to her at the ordinary, her only friend, really, even though he had been a customer. Her heart warmed to the idea that he had not forgotten about her, that he had worried about her. His first thoughts had been for her happiness. It was nice to know that somewhere in the world, someone cared about her well-being. “Quite well,” she said softly, smiling at him. “And you?”

Carey shrugged, as though he was of no consequence whatsoever. “I’ve thought about you endlessly,” he said earnestly, studying her features. “I had never expected to see you so—changed.”

Jennifer recalled the look of stunned admiration on his face when he had first seen her on the staircase yesterday, and a feeling of pride, of pure vanity, rose within her. Even now he was watching her with an intensity that made her feel very feminine indeed. “I have worked hard to become a lady,” she admitted proudly.

“I scarcely knew you. Everything about you—your voice, your gown, your hair—”

Absurdly pleased that he was so impressed by her altered appearance, Jennifer shrugged. “It never could have happened if it had not been for Grey.”

Carey’s face underwent a startling transformation at the mention of her husband. He looked suddenly furious. “It was not what he meant to happen,” he said coldly.

Jennifer stared at him uncomprehendingly for a long moment, then an expression of stark anger started to dawn over her features as well. “You knew,” she breathed. “You
knew
.”

“Knew what?”

“You know Grey,” Jennifer went on. Although her voice was soft, there was steel beneath the surface of the words. “You told me you had known him for years. You knew how he felt about Diana, and you must have known—you knew that he never intended for me to live as his wife.” Her voice was calm, as always, yet the sense of betrayal she felt was evident in her tone. “Why didn’t you warn me?”

Carey swallowed nervously. “I tried to tell you—”

“You told me that he was a murderer, which I did not believe then and do not now. But you never told me that he—” She broke off, then burst out, “He wanted me to live in the stables and work in the cookhouse. He would have clothed me more poorly than the slaves. And you
knew,
damn you!”

“Why should I have warned you of that?” Carey demanded. “What did you expect of him? After all, you were only—”

He paused, suddenly embarrassed at the insulting nature of what he had been about to say. Jennifer looked up at him, and the anger on her features was vivid and unmistakable. “I was only a tavern wench,” she said softly, savagely. “All I deserved was to wash linens and serve drinks for the rest of my life, and eventually serve men’s baser needs as well. Is that what you were going to say?”

Carey said nothing, but a muscle twitched in his cheek.

“And I thought you were different,” she spat. “I thought you were my friend.”

“Jenny, you’re not being fair,” Carey objected. “I was always kind to you at the tavern, even though I was a planter and you were a tavern wench. I always tried to treat you as though class made no difference. But you know that it
does
make a difference. You were fortunate that Greyson married you at all. What more could you have asked for? You were illiterate, untutored—”

“Grey offered me more than you planned to,” Jennifer went on slowly, thoughtfully. “You didn’t want me to leave, because you planned to offer me a proposition. Not marriage—you couldn’t offer what Grey did, no planter in
his right mind could. You were going to ask me to be your mistress. And
that
was why you told me he was a murderer, to prevent me from leaving with him.”

“Jenny, I cared about you, I swear I did. But you know as well as I do that I could never have married you, even if I had loved you. What would my parents have thought? But you are right, I did intend to—to—”

“To make me your mistress,” Jenny finished, remembering the odd expression in his eyes the last few months before she’d left Princess Anne County forever. She had seen that same expression in Grey’s eyes too many times now not to recognize it. It was nothing more than lust.

Carey had wanted her to be his mistress. Now she understood why he had taught her to use the knife and been so intent about protecting her virginity. Now she understood why her uncle had permitted her to talk with him, had even encouraged their friendship. There had been some sort of understanding between the two men—an understanding that her uncle had apparently reneged on.

“Yes, when you turned eighteen.” He scowled, adding defensively, “There was nothing else I could have given you.”

Jennifer looked up at him, some of her initial anger fading. Of course Carey had comported himself exactly as a gentleman should. Gentlemen married planters’ daughters and bedded tavern wenches. Grey was the one whose behavior had been ungentlemanly. “No,” she agreed tautly. “Of course not.”

Sensing the lightening of her mood, Carey swiftly attacked. “But now that you are married—”

Jennifer gave him a disbelieving stare. “What could you offer me now? An illicit affair? Brief moments stolen in the woods? And why would you want me? Carey, you should be looking for a suitable young lady to marry, not wasting your time with a woman who is already spoken for.”

“I don’t want anyone else,” Carey said with great intensity. “I want you. Jenny, I always knew you were beautiful
under the dirt and that absurd mob cap. Unlike that fool you married, I can see what is before my face. But now—Jenny, you’re so much more beautiful than I could have imagined.…”

He stepped forward, caught her in his arms, and pressed his lips to hers. Caught off guard, Jennifer did not resist. He kissed her with the expertise of a man who has had a great deal of practice, yet the feel of his lips moving over hers filled her with none of the soaring emotions she had experienced the night Grey had made love to her. When she had believed that he loved her, she had felt fierce joy, primitive lust, overpowering love, a wondrous burst of emotions. In Carey’s embrace she felt very little. And yet it was pleasant to know that someone in the world found her desirable. She was so starved for affection, so desperate for love, that she would have responded to any man’s lovemaking.

As that thought surfaced she broke away, eluding his arms when he would have caught her again. She was not so pitiful that she would succumb to any man who found her attractive, simply because she could not have the one she wanted. “No,” she protested. “This is wrong.”

“How can it be wrong?” Carey demanded angrily. Her lips had been sweet, soft, and gentle, and he wanted to kiss her again. He wanted to loose the pins from her silken hair and see it tumbling around her in wanton abandon. He wanted to tear off her sky blue, low-cut gown and kiss the golden skin it concealed. He wanted all of her. His body ached with unfulfilled desire despite the briefness of their embrace.

“Adultery is never right.”

“Adultery,” Carey repeated scathingly. “I’m not certain you could even call it that. Why the hell should you remain loyal to a man who cares nothing at all for you? Does he even share your bed?”

His words shattered her heart, and she looked as anguished and confused as she felt. “No, I sleep alone,” she confessed in a suffocated voice. “I know I’m a fool. Grey
would probably tell me to take what you are offering—it is more than I will ever get from him. But I can’t. Carey, I love him.”

“Oh, God,” Carey said in disgust. “Trust a woman to fancy herself in love with the worst possible person. Jenny, how in the world can you believe that you love that self-centered, vicious bastard?”

The ugly words, so unexpected from this gentle man, brought her back to reality with a jolt. She drew herself up proudly and addressed him sternly. “I will not permit you to speak ill of my husband,” she warned.

“Your
husband
,” Carey retorted, mocking her angrily, “wed you under false pretenses, permitting you to believe that he was some sort of hero. You have endured this mockery of a marriage for over a year, and now you claim to
love
him? Please, Jenny, think about what you are saying. Why are you defending him? You should be his worst enemy.”

“Be quiet,” Jennifer snapped, and when he would have spoken again, “
Quiet!
You don’t know him at all. He’s a wonderful, gentle man, everything I ever wanted or dreamed of—it’s only that he’s in a great deal of pain. He’s so unhappy—”

“And bent on making everyone he comes into contact with miserable as well,” Carey concluded. “No, Jenny, you’re the one who doesn’t know him at all. Wonderful? Gentle? Good God, I scarcely thought you were the type to indulge in romantic fantasies. Don’t you know what he did to his first wife?”

Jennifer paused. She remembered Catherine’s story all too clearly. It occurred to her that the more versions of the tale she got from witnesses, the more likely she was to be able to piece together what had actually happened. “I’ve heard rumors,” she said cautiously. “But you were actually there, weren’t you?”

“Yes. I found—I found her body.”

“She was your cousin,” Jennifer prompted gently when he paused.

Carey took a deep breath and forged onward with his
story. “Yes. We were visiting. Grey and Diana had been married six months before. The day we arrived, they had a tremendous fight.”

“About what?” Jennifer asked, though she thought she knew the answer.

“I don’t know. But I think—I think it was about me.”

“Why do you believe that?”

Carey turned scarlet and did not answer.

“Carey,” Jennifer said gently, “did you love your cousin?”

He nodded. “She was beautiful. I was only sixteen, you understand, but I thought she was the most wonderful creature in the world. She was more like a sister to me than a cousin.”

“And did you have an affair with her?”

Carey’s reaction was immediate and indignant. “Of course not!” he exploded. “How could you even ask such a thing?”

“I thought—” Jennifer paused. His appalled shock at her question appeared genuine. She could not believe that he was lying. She decided to hear the entire story from him first before telling him what she knew. “Never mind. I take it you did not?”

“No. But—” He paused and drew a hand over his eyes. “It was all my fault,” he said dully. “Grey and Diana would never have quarreled if it had not been for me. And if they had not quarreled—”

“What happened?”

“Diana and I were walking in the formal garden on the house’s river side. We stopped in the arbor—you know the one I mean?”

Jennifer nodded. She was familiar with the arbor, overhung heavily with scuppernong grapes.

“I told her how happy I was for her, how glad I was that she had such a wonderful place to live, and I kissed her cheek. That’s all I did, I swear it. But an hour later, when we returned to the house, she and Grey got into a tremendous argument.”

“And you think the argument was about you.”

Carey nodded. “He must have seen us in the arbor from the house. I couldn’t hear what they were arguing about, but they were so angry—I just know it was my fault.”

“Then what happened?”

“In the morning we found that they were missing. We went out to search, and I found her body.” He swallowed audibly. “It still makes me ill to think about it.”

“I don’t blame you,” Jennifer said swiftly, remembering Grey’s vivid description of Diana’s body. “But how do you know Grey killed her?”

“He was missing, too. Catherine swore he was in the stable all night. But I know for a fact he wasn’t. I searched the stable myself, and he wasn’t there. Also, he had some bruises and scratches on his face that Catherine insisted were from riding. I think Diana scratched him while trying to defend herself. Jenny, earlier you accused me of telling you Grey was a murderer just so you would stay in Princess Anne County—just so I could have you for myself. And I must admit, perhaps that was my motivation for telling you. But I swear to you that I firmly believe that he murdered Diana.”

“If you knew he wasn’t in the stable, then how did it happen that he wasn’t hanged?”

“It was my word against Catherine’s. In the end, everyone chose to believe her.”

Suddenly Jennifer had a realization. “Even your father.”

“Even my father,” he agreed tightly. “My father all but called me a liar—he was so certain Greyson could never do such a thing. Damn Greyson to hell. My relationship with my father was a good one until—” He blinked rapidly and said in a hoarse voice, “Sometimes I think my father cares more for that bastard than he does for me.”