The Proud Viscount (25 page)

The days were slightly cooler now. Rossmere closed a window and stood with his back to the dusky light outside. His voice sounded clipped even to his own ears. “Surely there was no need to tell you. I was perfectly capable of handling the matter myself.” He flipped a watch out of his pocket to check the time, for all the world as though he had some important engagement. “I had no way of knowing, of course, that your sister’s husband would bolt. My threat was merely to keep him from trying to claim either his son or his wife.”

“I understand that,” she said with her infinite patience. “What I want to learn is why you thought it necessary to exclude me from the process.”

His eyes widened. “It never occurred to me to include you.” This was not precisely true, but it would serve to demonstrate his point. “I’m not in the habit of consulting anyone before I act.”

“I see. You’re not in the habit of being married, either, my dear Rossmere. When something so nearly concerns me and my family, I would expect that you would keep me informed of where matters stood.”

“Would you?” He raised his brows rather higher than usual to indicate his surprise. “But then, you haven’t been married before, either, and have no experience of a husband’s prerogatives. I have no need, and no intention, of consulting you on such matters as I can handle myself.”

“This is one of the difficulties of marrying in haste. One hadn’t the chance to discuss such issues.” Jane rose from her chair to pace agitatedly around the room. When she came to a stop, only a few feet from him, her cheeks had regained color, bright spots high on her cheekbones. “It won’t do, you know. I’m not a child to be ignored or dismissed. This is all a consequence of my insistence on a satisfactory physical relationship, isn’t it?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Nancy said it would hurt your manly pride. I scoffed at that.” She turned away from him and walked to the walnut side table, where she picked up a black porcelain Chinese vase. As she turned it in her hands, she continued to speak. “If the cook had prepared a roast that was not to your liking, you would let it be known what your taste was. Otherwise, how would he know? If I were dissatisfied with the downstairs maid’s work, you would expect me to make my objections known. You would consider it quite ridiculous of me to do otherwise. So why is it that you refuse to even hear what I have to say about the process of our joining?”

“You have very little understanding of such matters,” he assured her.

“Do you really believe that? And do you think I should settle for being left unrelieved? While you get your own satisfaction?”

“In time you will relax and be comfortable enough with me to experience the kind of release you should feel.”

“Will I? I don’t think so.” Jane set the vase back on the table and turned to face him. “I’m not unfamiliar with my body, Rossmere. I may be unfamiliar with this particular means of sharing intimacy, but I have to tell you that I’ve experienced the release you speak of with no difficulty on other occasions. This may be a wonderful way of impregnating a woman and it may be a rewarding experience for you, but it is not what I need to achieve relief.”

“I don’t welcome these hints of your clandestine association with Richard. Had I known of it...“ He stopped, impressed, before he could finish blurting the hasty words, by the blaze of anger in her eyes.

“Would you not have married me? How very ungenerous of you! Really, you try my patience, Rossmere. Your pride is such a handicap to our being on the best of terms. You think you would like some meek woman who would obey your every dictate, but I assure you you would be bored to tears by her before the day was out. If I hadn’t thought you could hold your own with a self-possessed, determined woman, I wouldn’t have married you. Because that’s what I am. I thought, underneath all that pride and distance, that you had come to admire me a little.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “To even love me a little.”

The truth of this stunned him. He could only stare at her. Not until that moment had he realized that he had indeed come to love her, and more than just a little. “Jane...“ But the proper words wouldn’t come at his bidding. He needed to know, first, if she still loved Richard, and he couldn’t bring himself to ask her. If he spoke of his feelings, it would put him at a disadvantage in dealing with her demands. She seemed to be waiting for some response, and when he failed, she turned away.

“Then I was mistaken,” she said sadly. “It won’t be the marriage I had hoped for, after all, but that’s not your fault. I read into the situation more than there really was, finding the things I wanted to find. Well, never mind. We’ll manage. Most people do. Will you mind that my brothers and sister and their families are coming to meet you?”

He had almost forgotten the letter that arrived along with the information about Parnham. “Of course not.” His voice, even his bearing, seemed stiff, and he forced himself to say, “It’s kind of your aunt to plan the gathering. No doubt it will mean a great deal of extra effort for her.”

“No labor is too great to show off the fruits of her matchmaking,” Jane assured him with just the proper note of lightness in her voice. The blaze of anger was gone, the earnest attempt to make him understand her needs abandoned. Rossmere noticed that her hands shook slightly as she straightened a portrait on the wall. “Will you need to go back to Longborough Park again before the reunion?”

“I’m afraid so. I only came to sort out Nancy’s affairs. You could come back with me...”

“And leave Nancy alone here? That would never do.” She walked toward the door, pausing with her hand on the doorknob. “If I were there, I’d insist on helping to make the decisions, you know, so it’s better that I remain here. Everything will be quite finished by the time I come, and you won’t have to be bothered with my opinions. Good night, Stephen.”

There was nothing he could do but let her go. How could he possibly explain that it had never occurred to him to ask her opinion on the restoration of Longborough Park? It was his ancestral home, after all. Just as he had made no effort to interfere in the arrangements at Graywood, he somehow expected her not to concern herself with his home. He had not insisted that she sell Graywood, had he, even though he strongly suspected that her every reason for retaining it was associated with her love for Richard?

A voice within nagged at him that Jane was going to be living at Longborough Park, that she could not possibly wish to be at Graywood now, that she had enough problems to deal with concerning her sister without his adding to her burdens. His pride was indeed keeping them from being happy together, but he couldn’t seem to vanquish it.

His pride was all he’d had to see him through the miserable years when his life became a drudgery, without money or friends. Because he’d had to give up all his old acquaintances when he couldn’t afford to carouse with them, or even to invite them to rusticate with him in the country. The lack of even a modest income had forced him to cut himself off from everyone of his class, to stand alone, but with his head unbowed. Surely there had been no choice. Now that there was a choice, perhaps, he still found himself chafing, resentful of how he’d acquired the money, aware that everyone would know just how he’d recouped his position.

He’d married money.

When he was caught up in the drama surrounding Nancy, when he was—unknowingly—falling in love with Jane, he had almost forgotten how it would look to the outside world. Even Lady Mabel’s threat to cut him off had seemed less important than the other issues surrounding his marriage.

But now. He was able to see his situation with the eyes of the world, and his pride rebelled. He was already indebted to Jane for her money. If he let her have her way in all of these matters, if he let her assume a forceful role in his life, wouldn’t it look as though she had bought his compliance?

Suddenly he knew that it made no difference at all. Looking out over the lawn, with darkness falling, he could see the soft outlines of trees and hills. How solid they were, substantial even in the darkness that almost obscured them. When it was so black that they couldn’t be distinguished, they would still be there. No matter what the world believed, he would still be the same man.

And Jane the same woman. If he let her be that woman, the one he’d fallen in love with. The one who was self-confident and determined. The one who truly had a spirit of adventure and freedom, unlike the fantasy woman Madeline Fulton could create only as a mirage. Jane had lived her life on her own terms in a much more real sense. Convention hadn’t kept her from sharing physical pleasures with Richard, nor would it have forced her into marriage when she didn’t wish it.

Rossmere left the small saloon abruptly, allowing the door to slam shut behind him. He took the stairs two at a time, only to find, when he arrived at their bedchamber, that she was not in the bed. There was a note lying folded on the pillow and he snatched it up.

My dear Stephen,

Please don’t think that I intend to deny you the chance to have an heir. However, this would be an inappropriate time, and I’m exhausted. I hope you will give some thought to what I’ve said and not reach any hasty conclusions about our marriage. Until I see you at Willow End on the 9th, I remain,

Your loving wife,

Jane

Torn between waking her to get to the bottom of the matter and leaving her to a good night’s rest, he stood hesitant. Then the sound of whispering voices reached him softly, coming from Jane’s sitting room. Her sister was with her, and from the broken rhythm of her speech, Rossmere suspected that she was crying. Jane’s low-voiced replies sounded warm and comforting. Nancy obviously needed her help right now, and Rossmere turned to his dressing room with resignation.

Things looked less hopeful to him in the morning. He had spent a restless night, disturbed by fantastic dreams of magnificence crumbling into wretchedness. And Richard had been in one of them, with a woman whose image refused to become clear. Worst of all, he’d reached for Jane in his waking moments, only to realize that she wasn’t there. This had happened almost daily at Longborough and he’d hated himself then for his neediness, for the untamed arousal his body achieved at the mere thought of her.

She expected him to leave first thing in the morning and he reluctantly decided to go. Nancy could use all of her attention now; he would wait his turn. And meet her next at Willow End, where Richard’s influence would not be so strong.

Before he left he penned a brief note:

My dearest Jane,

We have a great deal to discuss, but your sister needs you now and I left things at a very demanding stage at Longborough. You were quite right as to my sentiments regarding you, and I can only hope that you will find yourself able to reciprocate one day.

Your devoted husband,

Stephen

* * * *

By the time Jane and Nancy arrived at Willow End, Rossmere’s note had pretty well disintegrated. Jane had no idea how many times she’d read it, despite having gotten it by heart within the first hour of receiving it. But she continually went over it, trying to read between the lines, what few of them there were. She had said so many things to him. Couldn’t he have been a trifle more specific in the wording about his sentiments? But no, each time there was nothing more there, no clue to his precise meaning.

She could have written to him, insisting that he be more forthcoming. Somehow she chose not to do that. When he told her what he meant, she wanted to be facing him, to read what was in those silver-blue eyes. So she had written him as obscurely as he had written her, and she awaited their meeting. It had seemed forever in coming, and her impatience as the carriage drew up to Willow End was difficult to conceal.

“Oh, look,” Nancy cried. “Everyone is here already. How clever of Aunt Mabel to have arranged it that way! Oh, Lord, Jane, have you ever seen Rossmere look so positively handsome? I swear he never wore anything half so distinguished when he was with us before.”

Jane stared at her husband, whose eyes were already locked on hers, even as he took her hand to help her down from the carriage. He wore a brass-buttoned blue coat with a buff waistcoat and pantaloons over Hessian boots. His starched white cravat was carefully folded into fashionable falls, and his hair shone like ebony in the afternoon sun. But it was the smile that hovered around his lips that took Jane’s breath away. That, and the warm, eager light in his eyes.

“At last,” he murmured as he raised her hand to his lips. “And we probably won’t get two minutes alone for the next eight hours.”

“True,” she agreed, terribly aware of the tightness in her chest. “That can’t be helped, I’m afraid. Have you met them all? My family?”

“Yes, and they’re a gracious collection. No man could ask for a more heartfelt welcome into their circle.” He continued to hold her eyes. “They’re very concerned about Nancy and have every intention of spiriting her off to visit one family after the other for the next half-year. Will that bother you?”

“Not if I can be where you are, at Graywood or Longborough Park.” Her eyes turned earnestly questioning, but there was no time for his answer. She was swept away by her siblings, who laughed and wished her happy and fussed over her. With a helpless glance back at Rossmere, she allowed herself to be borne away to exclaim over how the children had grown and how marvelously clever they had become.

Rossmere was right. The only moments they managed to be alone were the few after dressing for dinner, when Tilly had been excused. Jane held out her hands to her husband. “I’ve missed you,” she said softly.

“And I you. Jane, there’s so much I want to say. You look so beautiful. I want to hold you, but Tilly would be furious with me if I crushed your gown, wouldn’t she?”

Jane was about to beg him to ignore her gown when there was a hasty tap on the door and a voice called, “If you’re ready, Jane, I’ll walk downstairs with you. I want to show you the miniature Jasper had made of Liza.”

“Later,” Rossmere promised, letting go of her hand. “Go with your sister Margaret now.”