The Virgin Widow

by Jen YatesNZ

  She was gazing out the tall glassed doors into the small courtyard garden beyond. Sunlight danced like fire in the curling strands of her hair that always escaped no matter what neat and severe style she tried to contain it in. The softly draping folds of the light blue morning gown clearly outlined the deep indentation at her waist, the curving flare of her hips and the elegant length of her neck.

  Focusing on his sister seated on the chaise longue and beaming a smile of welcome, was difficult. He forced himself to step across and greet her first with a brotherly kiss when all he really wanted was to swing Jane into his embrace and rediscover the passionate woman he’d held in his arms two nights ago.

  That woman was nowhere in evidence, he noted, as he bowed over her hand, stiffly held and swiftly removed. But he’d not be daunted. With Holly stretched out on the chaise the only other place to sit was on the small rattan couch facing her. Was his sister being a little bit devious?

  He’d take every advantage he could get where Jane was concerned.

  Offering his hand and his most winning smile, he said, ‘Shall we sit?’

  Her lashes fluttered down and her lips tightened in that way that drove him crazy. Best he kept his mind on what he’d come for, or he was going to embarrass them all. He’d be struggling to retain Jane’s regard if that happened.

  Leading her to the couch, he settled beside her, barely suppressing a groan of satisfaction as he felt the warmth of her thigh alongside his. The gentlemanly thing to do would be to stand, or perch on the edge of the seat. But being the gentleman was not going to get him what he wanted from Jane.

  Looking across at his sister, he noted the smile lurking in her eyes, as if she knew exactly what he was about, and wondered whether she’d still be so happy when he’d shared Mama’s revelation. What would Jane do if he clasped her hand, for comfort? But she was keeping hers gripped together in her lap, as if she knew the direction of his thoughts. He felt absurdly in need of the comfort her touch would afford him. He’d never needed another’s support or approbation in dealing with the difficulties that arose in his life.

  What was he becoming? Witness last night. He’d gone to the Matrix Club, body primed, needing a woman, but there’d been no one there like Jane, no one to even tempt him.

  And here she was, tempting as a tree full of ripe apples and not even trying! Quite the opposite, in fact. God, all he wanted, all he could think about was—

  ‘Do you intend to tell me what’s going on, Hades, or shall I start guessing?’ Holly demanded, her gaze dancing between Jane and himself.

  Lord, knows what fanciful story his little sister was concocting in that fertile brain of hers. But where to start? How to start?

  ‘Jane says she knows what it’s about, but won’t tell me. Says it’s your story to tell.’

  ‘It’s something Mama revealed,’ he hurried on before she could make some more outrageous comment, ‘when she was so ill the other night and thought she was dying. I talked to Jane about it—because she was there—and because I couldn’t decide what to do about it.’

  ‘What? What is it?’ Holly demanded, the happy light dying from her emerald eyes, as he’d imagined. ‘Is it something bad? If—if Mama is like to die—I can handle it. It’s not as if—I mean, I can’t miss something I’ve never had, can I? She’s never really been a mother to me!’

  Pleating her fingers in the stuff of her gown, she was no longer looking at them, trying desperately to sound nonchalant and uncaring. His heart ached for her. No surprise there. She’d always had his heart.

  Drawing a calming breath, he said softly, ‘That’s because she isn’t.’

  The natural soft color fled Holly’s cheeks.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  He leant forward, pressing his knee against Jane’s, taking comfort from the fact she didn’t move.

  ‘Mama is not—your mama. Papa was your papa however. Before the duel he made her vow she’d never disclose your true parentage. She only broke it because she thought she was dying and someone needed to know who you really were.’

  Holly’s gaze never left his face, her eyes wide and stunned.

  ‘Then—who was my Mama?’

  ‘Her maid, Ruby Dawson. She now lives in Dover on a small annuity provided for her by Papa. I can put you in touch with her—if you want.’

  Jane reached across for Holly’s hands.

  ‘I’m glad you stayed, Jane,’ Holly muttered. ‘You’re so soothing, sensible—’

  ‘Boring?’ Jane supplied, her mouth quirking up in a half smile when Holly hesitated. ‘I think we had that conversation last night!’

  Holly straightened up, her hands still resting in Jane’s and Bax was grateful to see she was laughing—and he was intrigued by the high color in Jane’s cheeks.

  Holly glanced swiftly at him before saying, ‘Never boring, Jane! That would mean you were stagnating!’

  She gave Jane’s hands a little jiggle and then they were both laughing, sharing a private joke, as they had as teenagers. Which had always set off his need to tease and torment back then, because he’d felt left out. As he felt now! He’d wanted Jane to share her secrets with him then—as he did now.

  Like he was some needy child or something! But he couldn’t prevent himself from asking.

  ‘Stagnating?’

  Jane’s cheeks flamed even brighter, but Holly laughed outright.

  ‘I told her last night she needed a little excitement in her life; she was in danger of becoming boring; of stagnating at Rotherby. She’s too proper! Almost matronly—before she’s really lived. Don’t you agree?’

  Oh he did! He turned his most wicked smile on Jane. Her color deepened. Delicious.

  Withdrawing her hands from Holly’s and rising to her feet, she said with quiet dignity, ‘I’m more than content with my life. If I was one for gallivanting and prancing about town I’d not be much use as a chaperone in your stead—not to mention simply being a friend when you need it.’

  Ignoring him entirely, she moved to stand behind the chaise, her hands going to Holly’s shoulders.

  ‘You’re doing what you always do when you don’t want to think about—stuff!’

  Holly’s somber gaze lifted to Jane’s and Bax could see she was considering how to answer. His Angular Jane had that same calming, leavening influence on his sister she had on him.

  His Angular Jane? Should he be concerned at this proprietorial feeling? His little sister stole his attention.

  ‘I’ve always thought there had to be a reason,’ she said slowly, ‘why Mama was—as she was. It seemed—unnatural. A huge weight has lifted off my shoulders—and I want to go and sit with her and—tell her I understand and—and I’m grateful—and I love her.’

  Her voice trailed off to a bare whisper.

  ‘Dammit, Holly-Molly! That’s mature!’ Bax blurted.

  ‘In case you haven’t noticed, Bax the Max, I am mature!’ she retorted in a voice so far from mature they all burst out laughing.

  ‘I think you’re amazing,’ Jane said. ‘But then you always were. It’s a pity Lady Baxendene never allowed herself to really know you. I think she would’ve found she could love you regardless. She still may—now the secret’s out.’

  Swinging her feet to the floor, Holly said, ‘Will you walk me to Curzon Street please, Hades? So I can relieve Selena? We promised to take her to the Royal Academy of Art after lunch. Can you do that without me along, Jane?’

  ‘Of course. We could take a footman with us—’

  ‘I think not,’ Bax scowled at her. ‘It’d be my greatest pleasure to escort you and my niece to the Academy.’

  A curt denial was forming on Jane’s lips. Lord knows how long since he’d done anything as boringly proper as escort a couple of real ladies anywhere as sedate as the Royal Academy of Art, but to his own astonishment he could think of nothing he’d rather be doing if it meant spending the afternoon with Jane.

  ‘I insist,’ he said, bowing towards her as if it
were nothing more than a polite engagement.

  Holly’s delight was openly manifest in the triumphant grin she turned on Jane.

  ‘Selena will love having her Uncle Bax as escort,’ she declared and he almost felt Jane’s shoulders sag in defeat.

  ***

  Stopping to check her appearance in the cheval mirror in the upper hall, Jane lost patience with herself. She’d dithered over what to wear, throwing Dolly into a fluster, for her mistress was never indecisive. She knew she looked well in the terracotta walking dress trimmed with rich brown brocade with a spencer in the same dark brown, but they were dreadfully out-moded. It didn’t matter at home, but this was London.

  At least, she told herself that was the reason she wished to look her best. None of her new gowns had arrived from La Callista yet because she’d told them to concentrate on Selena’s wardrobe first. She wasn’t seeking to outshine her charge!

  Adjusting the angle of the bonnet, she gripped her reticule and hurried downstairs.

  In soft white muslin with mauve trim and spencer, Selena was a virginal vision. Jane was complimenting her on the white bonnet trimmed with a posy of violets set jauntily atop her inky black curls when Denby announced the Earl.

  A tower of sartorial elegance in exquisitely tailored charcoal trousers, black superfine jacket over an ice blue waistcoat swept past the butler.

  ‘I’ll be the envy of the ton with you two on my arm,’ he declared, sweeping them both an elegant bow. ‘That’s a fetching outfit, Selena. One of La Callie’s?’

  ‘She only had to make minor alterations to it. I absolutely love it! Thank you for escorting us this afternoon, Uncle Bax. You’ll be able to introduce us to everyone!’ she finished artlessly.

  Jane couldn’t help smiling. This would be the girl’s first excursion out in London other than to visit the modiste. A little excitement was to be expected. But what did surprise her was her uncle’s indulgent smile.

  ‘I shall,’ he promised.

  ‘Uncle Bax, I’m so grateful. Mama was sure you’d have better things to do than squire me around and—here you are!’

  ‘It’s the company you keep,’ he told her, then slanted a wicked smile in Jane’s direction.

  Selena’s knowing glance slid between them.

  ‘You must not tease Lady Rotherby, Uncle Bax,’ she scolded.

  ‘Who said I was teasing?’

  Her stupid heart was tumbling in her chest. If his niece’s presence wasn’t enough to slow him down, she’d best perfect her boring, matronly act forthwith.

  ‘If you can’t manage to act as a proper gentleman should while escorting us,’ she snapped, ‘we’d be better off with the footman!’

  The graceless scamp raised a conspiratorial eyebrow in Selena’s direction then lowered his chin apologetically in Jane’s.

  ‘A gentleman I shall be,’ he promised.

  And he was, sitting with his back to the horses, allowing Jane and Selena to face forward. He pointed out places of note as they drove along Piccadilly and onto the Strand.

  Selena was trying valiantly not to appear excited. Nevertheless, her eyes shone and her cheeks were becomingly bright.

  Jane couldn’t fault the man as he guided them through the crowds at Somerset House and up the steep, curved central staircase to the high-domed great room above, where a vast collection of artworks were hung frame by frame with not an inch of wall space between them. Selena was enchanted by a William Turner water color and edged a little forward to examine it.

  Holding Jane’s hand firmly on his arm, he held her back, though his gaze constantly roamed the crowd of patrons eddying about his niece, many of whom appeared more interested in being seen than enjoying the art works.

  ‘Do you still paint?’ she asked him.

  ‘Now and then,’ he admitted.

  Before she could question him, he asked, ‘Do you still do those clever sketches? I still have one somewhere—probably at The Dene—that diabolical sketch you did of me as a giraffe. I always intended to have it framed.’

  Jane couldn’t maintain her aloof, proper demeanor any longer. There was too much history between them.

  ‘You still have that thing? Good heavens! I hadn’t intended it to flatter you! I thought you’d have burned it long ago!’

  ‘It’s a work of art, Jane! One doesn’t destroy good art.’

  ‘Art? My sketches are caricatures, not art!’

  ‘Art, Jane,’ he stated calmly. ‘Do you still do it? I should love to see what your devious mind would make of me these days.’

  ‘The Tower of London,’ Jane muttered instantly before she could think to monitor her response. ‘Looming above all lesser mortals, leering arrogantly down on all you survey. And there are other analogies that go with that—Bax the Axe is one that comes to mind. Oh!’

  His amused gaze slowly darkened as they faced one another, a small island of stillness among the swirling crowds.

  ‘Tower of London! Bax the Axe?’ he growled. ‘I assure you I’ve not beheaded any reigning monarchs recently, Angular Jane!’

  Offering his arm again, he turned them to rejoin Selena.

  ‘So—you still do the sketches?’ he pressed once more as they stopped before the next exhibit.

  ‘On occasion,’ she admitted.

  If he could be reticent so could she. He didn’t need to know she always carried a small sketching pad and pencil in her reticule for use whenever she found herself with time to fill in or came across a particularly enchanting subject.

  But his admission he’d kept the childish sketch done all those years ago made her hanker for more of his approbation. What would he think of the illustrated books she’d done for each of James’s grandchildren as they began learning to read? And for Holly’s two boys, Basil and Robert.

  She planned to work on one for wee Samantha, Holly’s youngest, while she was here in London, weaving a childish adventure involving Sammy and her favorite toy, Dobbin, the well-used rocking horse in the Brisco nursery.

  They’d been thrown too much together by circumstance in the few days since she’d arrived in the city—and by Lord Baxendene’s devious design. She’d be wise to keep control of her wayward desires. Hades Delacourte was too easy to like, too easy to desire. She was a mature woman with responsibilities and family obligations. She wasn’t desperate to attach a prospective husband, which was the last description that could ever be applied to Lord Baxendene!

  Prospective ruination, more like!

  ‘Baxendene! This is a civilized place to find you!’

  With both ladies now on his arm he turned to meet the newcomers and make introductions.

  ‘Lord Marcus Mowbray and his sisters, Ladies Ann and Sophie, and Lord Jasper Falcon-Smythe and his sister, Lady Millicent.’

  The gentlemen’s bored demeanors changed noticeably when introduced to Miss Selena Carstairs and the young ladies’ expressions became more animated on meeting Lord Baxendene.

  Lord Jasper in particular seemed particularly smitten with Selena’s vivacious beauty and quickly suggested they join parties, complete their circuit of the exhibits together and repair to Gunter’s for ices.

  Selena turned pleading eyes on her uncle, who smilingly conceded that was exactly his plan for the afternoon. As they continued around the great room, Lord Mowbray fell into step beside Jane.

  ‘Rotherby, James Galsworthy, was a distant cousin of mine. I imagine you must be related. A daughter perhaps?’

  ‘His wife,’ Jane corrected gently.

  ‘Oh!’ The man blushed and stammered a little. ‘Then I must tender my sincere apologies for my blunder—and my deepest sympathy in your loss. I know he passed a couple of years ago. He was a good man though I didn’t know him personally. My father always spoke highly of him.’

  ‘He was,’ Jane agreed. ‘Do you have a favorite among the paintings here, my Lord?’

  Glancing across to where Lord Baxendene was hovering at his niece’s side, Jane found his gaze on her and the eleg
ant Lord Mowbray, darkened by a faint scowl rather than his usual bored, cynical smile.

  Good. He was not the only personable man in London.

  Content to wander at her side and let his sisters move ahead with Lord Jasper and the other young ladies, Lord Mowbray confided to her his concerns over his obligations to his sisters and their future.

  Then as they approached the head of the staircase again, he asked, ‘Would you be amenable to my calling on you while you’re in London, Lady Rotherby?’

  Jane almost halted in surprise, but quickly recovered.

  ‘Thank you, Lord Mowbray,’ she murmured. ‘It’d be delightful if you were to bring your sisters to visit with Miss Carstairs.’

  ‘It wasn’t precisely Miss Carstairs I was proposing to visit, Lady Rotherby.’

  Jane drew a breath, then said gently, ‘I’m flattered for certain, Lord Mowbray, but I’m here as chaperone to Miss Carstairs—not in search of a husband—or anything else,’ she finished, feeling the need to be clear on that last point.

  Damn the fairness of her skin and her tendency to blush so readily. She had Hades’ attention now, his niece momentarily forgotten; which only deepened the heat in her cheeks.

  ‘Can’t blame a man for trying, my Lady,’ Mowbray responded without affront. ‘And I must say Baxendene looks fit to run me through! Does he have prior claim?’

  ‘Certainly not,’ Jane answered a little more waspishly than was needed and stepped forward to direct Selena’s attention to an amazing watercolor of an old mill and a waterwheel overgrown with ivy and morning glory.

  They arrived at the head of the stairs and Hades captured her hand, laying it on his sleeve. Selena was already descending happily under Lord Falcon-Smythe’s guidance.

  ‘Mowbray was getting cozy,’ he muttered, as they followed.

  Jane opened her mouth to snap a retort, then closed it again. She’d not fall into her old childhood habit of spitting out a defensive answer before considering what she’d say.