by Balogh, Mary
“I have, actually,” Gabriel told him.
“Jessica?” Her mother had set aside her embroidery frame and got to her feet. She sounded alarmed.
“You may relax, Mama,” Jessica told her. “I shall flatly refuse to fetch my bonnet, and no lady can be expected to set foot outdoors without one.”
Avery was holding open the drawing room door. Soon it closed behind the three of them, though her mother had looked very reluctant to go.
Jessica could not remember being alone in a room before with a man who was not a relative—oh, except when someone had come to ask for her hand in marriage. But on those occasions Avery had not gone off to stroll in Hyde Park with Anna and her mother and the children. This whole thing suddenly felt horribly real.
Horribly? It struck her how little she knew this man or of him. She had only his word for almost everything he had told her. One thing struck her as a bit odd, though.
“Why was Avery willing to give his blessing?” she asked. “Did he . . . know? Before you came up to the drawing room, that is?”
“He did,” he said. “But not because I told him. Apparently he is too lazy to find things out for himself, but discovering that Thorne was my mother’s name was well within the capabilities of his secretary.”
“Avery is far from lazy,” she told him.
“Yes,” he said. “I have concluded that for myself. That man of his is at Brierley, finding out what he can while trying unsuccessfully to look inconspicuous.”
“Avery told you he had sent him there?” Jessica asked.
“No,” he said. “But my man at Brierley reported that a stranger has been asking pointed questions. It seemed to me from the description he gave that the stranger was almost certainly the same man who had the charge of you on the road to London.”
“It seems to me,” she said, “that there are definite similarities between you and my brother. You have a man at Brierley? Spying, you mean? Do you really have a marriage license?”
“I do,” he said. “Do you still want to marry me?”
“Yes,” she said. “Yes, I do.”
If Avery had given his blessing, it would not be just because he had discovered that Gabriel was the Earl of Lyndale. Avery was certainly high in the instep, but he was not shallow. And if Mr. Goddard was at Brierley, trying, poor man, to look inconspicuous, Avery himself must have been very busy here. She was not surprised, however. It would always be a mistake to be taken in by Avery’s studied indolence.
Gabriel had come to stand in front of her. He held out one hand, and she put her own into it and allowed him to draw her to her feet.
“Now?” he asked her. “Or would you rather wait and allow your mother to arrange a family wedding?”
She could in all reality go and fetch her bonnet now and go and get married? She felt suddenly breathless. And very tempted.
“I believe,” she said, “it broke Mama’s heart when Avery thwarted the plans of the whole Westcott family and took Anna off to marry her privately. I think maybe the family wedding, then. But within the week. And not the grand event they will try to press on us. I do wish, however, you also had family.”
He looked at her rather wistfully, she thought, and she remembered that he did have family here in England. Family members who lied and committed rape and possibly murder and tried to blame an innocent man. Family members who would be far from happy to see him again.
“I do have Sir Trevor,” he said, “and Lady Vickers. They are in truth my godparents. And there is their son, who has become my friend in the past few weeks. Shall we decide upon Friday for our wedding, then? I would rather not wait longer than that.”
It was Tuesday already. By Friday she would be a married lady. She would be Lady Jessica Thorne, Countess of Lyndale.
“You would wait that long,” she asked, “just so that Mama—and doubtless Grandmama and the aunts—would have time to arrange some sort of family wedding? Because it is what I want?”
“Yes,” he said.
And she wondered. Oh, she wondered. Last evening he had admitted that he wished to marry her only because she had all the qualifications he felt he needed in a bride. He had also admitted that he wanted her. But wanting her did not necessarily mean he felt any tender emotion for her. Did he care for her? Just a little bit?
And did she care for him? Had she agreed to marry him just because she had decided she wanted to be married and because she wanted him? Was there anything else? It would be wise not even to think of the possibility.
“Thank you,” she said, and he drew her into his arms and kissed her. Slowly and thoroughly, holding her right against the full length of him, though the kiss was not as urgent as last night’s.
It was good even so. Better than good. He felt solid and dependable. Masculine. Desirable.
He already had a marriage license. Mama and Anna and all the other females in the family were about to be let loose upon wedding plans.
She was glad.
She was going to be married.
With her family about her.
She was going to be married.
And then she would have to face his family with him.
Fifteen
I wish to say something,” Lady Estelle Lamarr said to the roomful of ladies, none of whom were related to her by blood but all of whom had welcomed her into the Westcott family as one of their own when her father married the former Viola Westcott, Countess of Riverdale.
The chatter ceased abruptly, and everyone turned to listen to her with identical expressions of surprised inquiry. They were gathered in the drawing room of the dowager countess’s home, it being easier for all of them to travel there than to expect her to travel elsewhere.
“You are all tiptoeing about one point,” she said. “It is to spare my feelings, I know, and I do appreciate your kindness. It is, however, unnecessary. I like Mr. Thorne exceedingly well. I was never for one moment interested in marrying him, however, even though I know you all did your best to promote a match between us. He was never for one moment interested in marrying me. It ought to have been obvious to everyone that he had eyes only for Jessica—and that she had eyes only for him, though I know you were all hoping for a match between her and Mr. Rochford. Please believe me. I am not nursing a broken heart. I am not even in search of a husband yet. I am only twenty-three. I am going to live in the country with Bertrand for a year or two when the summer is over. We are both agreed upon that plan. Meanwhile I am very happy for Jessica and Mr. Thorne.”
“Only twenty-three,” the Dowager Countess of Riverdale said, throwing up her hands. “Whatever has happened to girls these days? It was very different in our day, Edith, was it not? Any girl not married by the time she reached her twentieth birthday was very firmly on the shelf.”
“It is a relief to hear that you are not upset, Estelle,” Wren said, smiling kindly at her. “That would have been very unfortunate.”
“I am surprised at Avery, Louise,” Mildred said. “You told us only a short while ago that he had withheld his blessing upon Mr. Rochford’s suit until after his father has been officially declared Earl of Lyndale, though that is a mere formality. Yet he gave it yesterday to Mr. Thorne, about whom we know far less. He is said to have inherited property and a fortune somewhere to the north, and he is said to have brought a fortune with him from America. It is all very vague, however. He has Sir Trevor Vickers to vouch for him, of course, but really I would have expected Avery to investigate more thoroughly, to make absolutely sure that Mr. Thorne will be a worthy husband for Jessica.”
“You can rest assured,” Louise said, “that Avery has investigated very thoroughly indeed, Mildred.”
“Then where is this property of his?” her sister asked.
“Mr. Thorne wishes to go there in person and settle a few issues before he makes any public announcement, Aunt,” Anna said. “He wants to go soon, but he also wants Jessica to be with him when he does. That is why they have decided to marry the day after tom
orrow.”
“We must be thankful, then,” Matilda said, “that they have not decided upon a wedding exactly like yours and Avery’s, Anna. Yes, I know, Elizabeth. You are about to remind us all that it was the loveliest, most romantic wedding you have ever attended—with the exception of your own, no doubt. But you were there. The rest of us were not. Perhaps we will forgive you in a decade or two, Anna.” Her eyes twinkled at her niece. “The wedding breakfast is to be at Archer House, then?”
“Oh, of course,” Louise and Anna said almost simultaneously.
“We must discuss flowers,” Althea Westcott said briskly. “What do you have in mind, Louise? Elizabeth and I will look after those, if you wish.”
“And me too, please, Mother,” Wren said. “I will provide all the vases—from the new collection at my glass-works.”
“Predominantly roses,” Anna said. “Mostly pink. Mr. Thorne has been sending a pink rose to Jessica every day for the last few weeks—except once when it was yellow. I would like to know the story behind that one.”
“He has been sending her roses? Daily?” Edith said. “What a very romantic young man he is. It is a love match, then?”
“But of course,” Anna and Wren said together.
“We have been blind,” Mildred said, shaking her head. “All of us. We made our plans and we forged onward with them and saw none of the signs. That half hour they spent over at the pianoforte during your party, for example, Elizabeth. We were annoyed that Mr. Thorne had drawn Jessica away from Mr. Rochford.”
“And the church, Louise?” Matilda, always the most disciplined planner of family events, asked. “Will we be able to decorate that with flowers too? I will see to that. You too, Viola? Do we know which church?”
Wren came to sit beside Anna while the room was buzzing with happy plans for the wedding, small though it was going to be.
“Anna,” Wren said, keeping her voice low, “I suppose you know—do you?”
“Well, I do,” Anna said, “and so do Avery and Mother. If you mean what I believe you mean, that is.”
“Alexander was part of the group at Elizabeth and Colin’s party when Mr. Rochford told his story,” Wren said. “He was uneasy about it. He had a word with Avery.”
“Ah,” Anna said.
“The valet Avery’s secretary took with him to Brierley was able to—”
“Mr. Goddard took a valet?” Anna said, frowning.
“He was one of our men,” Wren explained. “Not really a valet at all. He was able to relate far more easily with the local people than poor Mr. Goddard, who cannot blend at all well. I am not sure what Avery was able to tell you this morning after they returned, but if you and Cousin Louise are at all worried, Anna, as I daresay you are, I believe I can relieve your minds. Mr. Rochford said at the party that his cousin Gabriel Rochford was a wild young man, even vicious as he grew older. That is not at all how the local people remember him. He had a reputation as a quiet, studious, sweet-natured boy.”
“I am so glad,” Anna said.
“Miss Beck, a lady who lives the life of a hermit in a small house on the estate, is quite adamant about the alibi she can offer Mr. Thorne for the afternoon when that unfortunate young man was killed,” Wren said. “She understands that she may not be believed because she had a very close friendship with Mr. Thorne, but she was able to name a groom from the house who had brought her the injured fawn she and Mr. Thorne were tending at the time. Apparently the groom stayed to watch. And he still works at Brierley—and is willing to testify.”
Anna smiled. “I can remember a time,” she said, “when Avery and Alexander did not particularly like each other. Then Avery fought a duel—it was for the honor of Camille against that horrid man who used to be betrothed to her—and Alexander was his second.”
“Alexander has told me the story,” Wren said. “If he told it as it was and was not exaggerating, Avery felled his very large, boastful, and contemptuous opponent with one bare foot to the chin and almost gave Alexander an apoplexy. I wish I could have been there.”
“I was,” Anna told her. “With Elizabeth. We hid behind a tree.”
They both dissolved into laughter, their heads almost touching.
“Now what is amusing you two?” Elizabeth asked.
“Avery’s duel with Viscount Uxbury,” Anna said, and Elizabeth joined in their laughter.
There was no betrothal announcement in the morning papers. There were no banns. Life proceeded as though nothing of any great moment had happened or was about to happen.
Jessica drove in the park with Mr. Rochford the day her mother and Anna went to her grandmother’s to discuss wedding plans with the rest of the Westcott ladies. On the evening of the following day, her wedding eve, she attended a ball and found herself surrounded by her usual court. She danced with a number of them. She was relieved to discover that Mr. Rochford was not there. That was unusual for him.
She intended to leave before supper since she did not wish to arrive home in the early hours of her wedding day. But the dance before supper was a waltz, and she looked around her court, wondering which gentleman she could encourage to ask her to dance it. Lord Jennings again? Someone touched her arm, however, and she turned to find herself looking into Gabriel’s face.
“Lady Jessica,” he said, “may I have the honor?”
Her court had fallen into a rather sullen silence.
“You are late, Mr. Thorne,” she said.
“Rather,” he said, “I am hoping I have arrived just in time.”
He had told her he would probably not attend the ball. He wished to leave for Brierley the day after their wedding—the day after tomorrow, that was—and wanted to be sure he had tied up some loose ends of business first. It was still difficult for Jessica to believe that two days from now she would have left London and family and everything that was familiar behind her and embarked upon a wholly new life in new surroundings and with new challenges to face.
There was nothing unusual about a woman having to give up everything when she married, of course. In this case, however, it was what they would both be doing. Gabriel had given up the life with which he had been happy in Boston. They were both about to embark upon a new world, a world full of uncertainty and difficulty.
“You have, sir,” she said, placing her hand in his. “I have not promised the set to anyone.”
A protesting murmur rippled through her court. She wondered if they would miss her. She wondered if she would miss them, if she would soon be nostalgic for this life she had lived since she left the schoolroom.
Elizabeth, she could see, was going to waltz with Colin, and Anna with Avery. Mr. Adrian Sawyer, Viscount Dirkson’s son, was leading Estelle onto the floor, and Bertrand was smiling down at a young girl Jessica did not know. Aunt Matilda was going to dance with Viscount Dirkson, a lovely thing to see when very few older people danced at ton balls, especially with their spouses. And they were smiling at each other, seemingly unaware of anyone else. Even Aunt Viola and Marcel, Marquess of Dorchester, were stepping onto the floor and looking at each other like a couple of people half their age.
What was it about the waltz that made one think of romance?
Jessica felt a momentary pang. But she had known for several years now that she was not going to find that deep, romantic sort of love that so many members of her family had found. She had decided very sensibly this year that at last she would marry anyway, that she would settle for a good man and a good match. And that was what she was doing. She was happy with her choice, for surely she had not just settled. She looked up into Gabriel’s face as he placed one hand behind her waist and clasped her right hand with his other. She really did want to be married to him, to face with him the unknown adventure that lay ahead. And she really did want him.
Tomorrow night . . .
She placed her left hand on his shoulder. He was gazing steadily at her with those dark blue, intent eyes of his, his look inscrutable. She wondered if he was having s
imilar thoughts and coming to the same conclusion. She hoped it was not a different conclusion. She hoped he was not regretting this hasty marriage with someone he scarcely knew. He had not wanted to come back from America. He had not wanted to be the Earl of Lyndale or to return to Brierley. He was taking a bride out of sheer necessity. He had chosen the very best candidate available—she could think so without conceit. She had once told him—at Richmond Park—that when he looked at her, he saw only Lady Jessica Archer, daughter and sister of a Duke of Netherby. She had told him that if he wished to have a chance with her, he must come to know her, the person beneath the aristocratic veneer. Did he know her any better now than he had known her then?
Had she sold herself too easily?
The music began. And she discovered that he waltzed beautifully. She did not have to think of the steps. She did not have to fear missing one or treading on anyone’s toes or having her own trodden upon or crashing into any other couple. She did not have to fear getting her feet tangled up with each other during the twirls. She was soon unaware of the other dancers around her and of the people standing watching. She was unaware of the ballroom and the chandeliers and the long mirrors and the flowers decked everywhere, of their heady scent, all of which she had admired before he’d arrived.
She smiled into the eyes of her partner and felt a little as she had felt when he’d played Bach on Elizabeth and Colin’s pianoforte, as though she were being drawn into the soul of the music. But this time it filled her body too, and sound mingled with color and light. Yet all she was really aware of was the man with whom she waltzed.
He gazed steadily at her throughout. She lowered her eyes after a while to avoid being mesmerized, but when she looked back, his eyes met hers with a smile that did not quite make it to his face.
“Jessie,” he said. Just that.
That name on his lips somehow sent shivers down her spine.
“Gabriel,” she said.
And that was the full extent of their conversation.