Someone to Romance

by Balogh, Mary

  How foolish she had been. And how very immature, something from which she had never quite recovered. She had made the sacrifice even against the pleas of Abby herself, who had a number of times right from the start tried to persuade Jessica that what had happened to her was hers alone to bear, that she would deal with it and find a new, meaningful path forward. As she had. The past few weeks had convinced Jessica, even if she had still had any doubts, that her cousin had not simply settled for something second best, but was actually deeply happy. As was her husband. They were both devoted to their children.

  Jessica had greatly enjoyed those weeks—and found them hard to bear at the same time.

  She had been left behind. By her own choice.

  Well, no longer. She had made a decision while observing the quiet glow that seemed to emanate from her cousin. This year, this Season, her sixth—or was it the seventh?—she was going to choose a husband. She did not expect it to be difficult, despite her age and the fact that London would be flooded with a new crop of pretty young girls fresh from the schoolroom and eager to snatch up the best prizes the great marriage mart would have on offer. She had acquired a rather large number of devoted admirers during her first Season despite the fact that she had made no effort to attract or encourage them, and those numbers, against all reason, had swelled with every passing year, up to and including last year.

  All those gentlemen would not necessarily be eager to offer her marriage at the first sign of interest on her part, of course. Some remained in her orbit, no doubt, only because it was fashionable to sigh over Lady Jessica Archer and always be on hand to fetch her refreshments or dance with her or converse with her or simply be seen with her. It never hurt, after all, for a man to be seen in company with a duke’s sister and someone who had been dubbed for several years a diamond of the first water. Their interest did not necessarily mean they wished to marry her.

  But surely a few of those men would become serious suitors if given half a chance. She was, after all, extremely eligible. And rich. And although she was not vain about her appearance, her glass told her that she still had whatever looks she had had as a girl—no wrinkles or gray hairs or faded complexion yet. She was only twenty-five, after all.

  She smiled slightly as she glanced at Ruth, who was still sitting very erect in her corner of the seat opposite, her head still turned toward the window. She was going to end up with a crick in her neck if she was not careful.

  One of the outriders rode past the window as though on a mission while Jessica was still looking. He remained in her line of vision for a few moments, apparently having a word with the coachman.

  If only, Jessica thought, her mind returning to her newly made resolution, there were someone among her admirers whom she wanted to marry. But there was no one, alas. There were several she liked. Indeed, she did not dislike any of them. But . . . Well, she was going to have to make her choice based upon practicalities rather than partiality. Upon common sense. It was, after all, the factor upon which most ton marriages were contracted. Birth and fortune, followed by age and disposition.

  So much for the dreams of youth. So much for love and romance and happily-ever-after.

  Abby had been horrified. For of course Jessica had told her of her new resolution, assuming she would be pleased. And as usual when they were together, her cousin had urged her to please find some happiness so that she could be finally and fully happy herself.

  “Birth and fortune, Jess?” Abby had said, frowning. “Age and disposition? What about love?”

  “I might wait forever,” Jessica had told her. “I have never felt even a spark of what other people describe as falling in love. I do not doubt them, but I do know that romantic love is not for me. Not at my age. So I—”

  “Jess.” Abby had leaned across the space between them and grasped both her hands. “It will happen. It happened to me. I fully believed it never would. And when I first met Gil, I considered him the very last man with whom I might fall in love. But I did, and—oh, Jess, you must believe me—it is the most wonderful thing in the world. To love and be loved. You must not become jaded and give up hope. Oh, please do not. You are only twenty-five. And you were made for love. Wait until you find it. It will happen.”

  “Promise?” Jessica had asked, and laughed, though part of her had been silently weeping.

  “I promise,” Abby had said with fervent conviction.

  As though anyone had the power to promise such a thing for someone else. It was simply not going to happen, Jessica thought now. And she was tired of her single state. She wanted a husband and home and family—and those things were not beyond her grasp. Quite the contrary. She wanted to grow up. It was past time.

  Her thoughts were interrupted when the carriage turned abruptly and unexpectedly to the right, and Jessica could see that it was pulling into the cobbled yard of a respectable-looking inn, though surely not the one at which they were scheduled to spend the night. Their journey had been delayed by a couple of hours after they had stopped for refreshments and a change of horses. There had been some issue with one of the wheels on the carriage in which Mr. Goddard was traveling. The delay would mean they were still a few hours away from their destination for today, a wearying thought. Darkness would surely be upon them before they arrived and there would be no time left for anything but a late meal and instant retirement to bed. Was it possible Mr. Goddard had decided they would stay here instead? She could not imagine why else they had stopped. Grooms and hostlers were hurrying into the yard. Mr. Goddard was descending from his carriage and moving purposefully toward the inn door.

  Jessica sat back and awaited developments. For the duration of this journey, whether she liked it or not, Mr. Goddard stood in place of Avery. Her brother had made that clear in his usual quiet, half-bored manner as he took his leave of her a few weeks ago.

  “I would be obliged, Jessica,” he had said, “if when you look upon Edwin Goddard during your journey to London, you would see me, and if when he speaks, you would hear me.”

  She had smiled at him. “Mr. Goddard neither looks nor sounds anything like you, Avery,” she had said.

  He had raised his jeweled quizzing glass almost to his eye. “Quite so,” he had said softly, and she had laughed.

  But they had understood each other. If Mr. Goddard said now that they were to stay here for the night, then stay they would. If he said they were to proceed to the inn at which accommodation had been reserved for them, then proceed they would. There was no point in expressing a preference or throwing a tantrum. Mr. Goddard would merely nod respectfully and carry on with what he had decided. It was better not to humiliate herself by expressing a contrary opinion. Jessica closed her eyes and rested her head against the cushion behind it. On the whole she hoped they would stay, though then tomorrow’s journey would be longer, of course.

  The wait seemed interminable but was probably no longer than ten minutes. Then Mr. Goddard reappeared from the inn and opened the door of Jessica’s carriage to inform her that they were to stay. The best chamber in the house, facing away from the noise and bustle of the innyard, had been reserved for her, he explained, and a truckle bed was to be set up there for Ruth. He would have one of His Grace’s men stationed outside her door during the night lest she need anything or have any fear for her safety. The only private parlor the inn boasted, next to the public dining room on the main floor, had been secured for her use so that she would be able to dine and partake of her after-dinner tea in peace and privacy.

  And without the rude masses gawking at her, Jessica supposed with an inward sigh. She would dine in grand solitude, then, since Mr. Goddard, though he occasionally dined with Avery when there were just the two of them, never sat at table with any other members of the family. Although he was a gentleman by birth, her brother’s secretary was quite scrupulous in his observance of the niceties of social etiquette. He was lowering the steps now, and then offering a hand to help her descend before escorting her inside.

/>   The lobby into which they stepped was empty though not silent. A hum of voices and laughter and the clinking of glasses, as well as the distinct odor of ale, came through the open doorway of what must be the taproom, to their left. Next to it was the dining room. Through the panes of the windows on either side of the closed door Jessica could see tables set with white cloths and silverware. It was empty at this time of day, too late for tea, a little too early for dinner. The registration desk was to their right. A stairway to the upper floors was beyond it.

  It looked like a perfectly decent place. Not that it was Jessica’s concern to discover whether it really was. That was Mr. Goddard’s business, and he was perfectly trustworthy. He would not have survived in Avery’s employ if he were not. Jessica looked forward to being upstairs in her room, where she would be able to take off her bonnet and gloves and wash her face and take the pins from her hair at least for a short while and perhaps even stretch out upon her bed before getting ready for dinner. What she would really love to do was go outside and walk through the village or out along a country lane. It would not matter which. It would feel lovely to stretch her legs and breathe in some fresh air. But she knew that if she decided to act upon her desire, a whole train of those burly riders as well as Ruth would be obliged to accompany her and she would be unable to enjoy a single moment. So would they, at a guess.

  Mr. Goddard indicated the staircase with one respectfully outstretched arm and then moved to precede her up it—lest there be bandits waiting to leap out at her at the top, she supposed. He would also, she knew, unlock the door of her bedchamber—which he had no doubt already inspected—and step inside to look around before stepping out again to allow her and Ruth in before closing the door upon them.

  Before she had taken more than a step toward the staircase, however, a closed door facing her across the lobby opened suddenly and two men stepped out, the first scurrying backward, both hands raised, palms outward, as though to stop the second man from stalking after him.

  “It was quite unforeseeable—I do assure you, sir,” the first man was saying. “But how could I—” He had turned his head and seen that he had an audience. He stopped talking abruptly, looking considerably agitated. His hands fell to his sides and he bowed from the waist. “My lady. I do beg—”

  But Mr. Goddard had taken one firm step forward and cut him off. “There is a problem?” he asked curtly.

  The second man was holding a book. It was closed, but he had one finger between the pages, presumably holding the place he had reached before being interrupted. He was a tall man, probably in his thirties, broad shouldered, solidly built, his brown hair overlong for the current fashion, his complexion noticeably sun bronzed, his features not quite handsome, not quite ugly or even plain. He was dressed decently but without any flair of fashion. His clothes seemed designed for comfort rather than elegance. His boots were well worn. He was looking annoyed. And that look was sweeping over Jessica, from the crown of her bonnet to the toes of her lavender kid shoes. What he saw did not appear to improve his mood.

  “This is the lady for whom I am expected to vacate the private parlor for which I paid handsomely?” he asked, presumably addressing his question to the first man, who must be the landlord.

  “I do beg your pardon, my lady,” the landlord said with another bow and a smile that stretched his lips but did not register upon any other part of his face. He made a sweeping gesture toward the stairs. “Your room is ready for you. I trust it—”

  Mr. Goddard cut him off again. “Thank you,” he said, his voice cold and firm. “I believe this matter can be left safely in your hands, Landlord.” He indicated the stairs to Jessica again.

  So this gentleman had reserved the private parlor, had he, but was now being evicted from it on account of her? It was the sort of thing Mr. Goddard would be able to arrange with ease, of course, having all the weight of the ducal authority behind him. Whether the guest would go meekly remained to be discovered. He did not look meek. He did not look quite like a gentleman either, or behave like one. What gentleman would speak openly of money in the hearing of strangers? Or look a lady over from head to toe quite so boldly or with such obvious disapproval? Middle-class, Jessica guessed. A cit, perhaps, a businessman of some means. He must have money to be staying at an inn, even of this not-quite-superior quality, and to be paying for a private parlor.

  Jessica inclined her head to him with cool courtesy. “Thank you,” she murmured before moving toward the stairway and the sanctuary of her room.

  The unknown guest bowed to her in return, a slight, surely deliberately mocking gesture involving a small flourish of the hand that was not holding his book and a dipping of the head.

  “I beg your pardon, Lady Jessica,” Mr. Goddard said when they had reached the top of the stairs. “I shall have a word with the landlord, who does not appear to have proper control of his house.”

  He led the way to her room.

  Being a woman had frustrations in plenty, Jessica thought again as the door closed behind her and Ruth. But being a man had its annoyances too. What would that guest do? Would he flatly refuse to vacate the parlor and then find himself confronted by Mr. Goddard himself? Would the landlord bribe him, perhaps, with a free dinner in the public dining room? Money was something he seemed to understand. It was none of her concern, however. Mr. Goddard would sort it out to her advantage.

  “Tell me that is warm water in the pitcher, Ruth,” she said.

  “It is, my lady,” her maid assured her after cupping her hands about the water jug.

  Of course it was. Why had she even asked? Mr. Goddard would have seen to it before coming to escort her inside.

  Two

  Gabriel Thorne waited for the newly arrived guest to disappear up the stairs with her minions and move out of hearing before he spoke again.

  She was Lady Jessica Archer, daughter of the late Duke of Netherby, sister of the present duke. She was exquisitely lovely and expensively clothed in what was no doubt the very height of female fashion. She was almost without doubt rich, privileged, pampered, entitled, and arrogant. She was surely accustomed to getting her way on any and all issues with the mere lifting of a finger. Everyone in her sphere would scurry about to satisfy her every whim. She had been delayed in her journey, the landlord had informed him. That must surely have provoked some temper. She had been forced to stop for the night well short of her planned destination—almost certainly an inn or a hotel far superior in quality to this one, though this was no hovel. And, having arrived at a substitute stopping place, she had made the inconvenient discovery that it boasted only one private parlor—which was already taken.

  Such a fact would not disconcert Lady Jessica Archer for one moment, of course. She would merely have her majordomo oust the guest already in occupation of the room and install herself there instead. The fact that she would be inconveniencing that guest would not have crossed her mind—any more than would the possibility that he might refuse to go.

  He was very tempted to do just that.

  It was fortunate for him, perhaps, that according to his usual custom he had taken a room overlooking the innyard so that he could more easily keep an eye on his horses. The best rooms, the ones she would demand, would be at the front of the inn. If there had been no such thing as a private parlor, she would probably have demanded that the dining room be appropriated for her exclusive use while all other guests would be forced to eat in discomfort in their rooms.

  Oh, it was probably unfair of him to judge the woman on such little evidence and no acquaintance. It was unfair to be hugely irritated by her and take an instant dislike to her. It was also virtually impossible not to do either. Even her “Thank you” had been spoken with the sort of frigid condescension that made it meaningless.

  His irritation, even anger, had taken him by surprise. For really, what had provoked it had been slight. Perhaps the real cause of his annoyance was being back in England. He had forgotten what English ladies could be l
ike. He had forgotten how obsequious the lesser classes could be when dealing with the upper classes, especially the aristocracy. The landlord had infuriated him. So had his understanding that really, the man had had no choice. He was regretting coming. Though he had had little choice beyond turning his back upon someone he loved.

  “You will move out of the parlor, then, sir?” the landlord asked, his voice still anxious. “I shall reserve the best table in the dining room for you, the one between the fireplace and the window. And your dinner and all the ale and spirits you care to drink will be free of charge tonight. I will refund your payment for the private parlor in its entirety, even though you have had the use of it for the past couple of hours.”

  “Yes, you will,” Gabriel said, his tone clipped.

  The landlord visibly relaxed despite the curtness with which Gabriel had spoken. “It is very generous of you, sir, even though—” The rest of the sentence died on his lips when Gabriel fixed him with a steady gaze.

  “Yes,” Gabriel said. “It is.”

  For he could have contested the issue. Was there not some saying that possession is nine-tenths of the law? He would almost have enjoyed confronting that superior-looking majordomo. Unfortunately, he possessed an innate sense of courtesy that told him a lady who was traveling alone, except for her servants, really ought to be allowed the privacy of a parlor. Even a cold and arrogant lady.

  He made his way up to his room, where he placed a folded handkerchief between the pages of his book to hold his place.

  Lady Jessica Archer. Sister of the Duke of Netherby. In all probability she was on her way to London. Easter was over and the spring Season must already be heating up with all its myriad balls and soirees and garden parties and other fancy entertainments. The great marriage mart. He wondered why she was still unmarried. She was no tender young girl. If she were, she would hardly be on the road with only a majordomo and a maid for protection.