Lord Haven's Deception

by Donna Lea Simpson

  “What do you think?” he said, laughing shakily. “I have come to get you.” He smoothed back her curls, running his fingers through and untangling knotted strands which were like finest embroidery silk unhappily snarled.

  “Get me?” She struggled to sit up, pulling the thin blankets up to modestly cover her body, clad only in a shift. Her mouth twisted in an unhappy frown and her eyes darkened. “You mean you have come to take me back to your master, Lord Haven, now that you know who I am.”

  It was like a blow to the solar plexus, the sudden knowledge that she did not know the whole truth. His heart thudded. She must have heard only a portion of his conversation with Mary and did not know he was Haven. She still thought of him as Gerry, the farmer. He opened his mouth to clarify, but the words would not come. He heard the bitter unhappiness in her voice, the anguish. Was his position so repugnant to her then? Would he never win her as himself?

  “Jenny,” he said softly and pulled her into his arms, needing the touch of her, the reassuring feel of her in his embrace before he tore them asunder once more with the truth. She resisted at first but then allowed him to draw her close. She burrowed her face into his neck and he held her there, stroking her hair, feeling the dissonant pounding of their two heartbeats. His own leaped and fell into beat with hers.

  When she pulled away a little and gazed at him, breathless, wide-eyed, he put his hand behind her head and pulled her to him, kissing first her eyelids, then her nose, then her lips, where he lingered, savoring her, feeling the exquisite blossom of passion burgeon.

  She threaded her arms around his waist and he pushed her down onto the bed, relaxing against her, feeling the tantalizing eroticism of her soft body being pushed into the mattress by his own bulk. Soon they were entwined, arms and legs, a happy tangle of sweet passion. He kissed her throat and felt rather than heard her muttered exclamation of breathless desire.

  “Jenny, dearest, sweetest girl, heart of my heart, I love you!”

  There was silence and he looked up, afraid. Had he said it too soon? Was there no hope? Tears were streaming down her cheeks.

  “You do? Even knowing I am Jane Dresden, that I misled you?” She touched his face, flattening her hand on his cheek. “I’m so sorry I lied to you.”

  “Stop!” He couldn’t bear for her to apologize, couldn’t stand the hypocrisy of his own lies. And yet he couldn’t tell her. Not yet. Please, God, he said in his heart, not until she has told me what I need to hear. “I love you, Jenny, no matter who you are. Can you say the same of me? Can you tell me you love me, no matter who or what I am?” His plea was urgent.

  “I can,” she sighed. “I love you, Gerry. I love you with every beat of my heart and every particle of my being and soul.”

  “Then marry me.” The words tumbled out in a rush.

  “Marry you?”

  “Marry me. ‘Come live with me and be my love.’ Be my wife. Oh, Jenny, how wonderful that sounds. Do you want to be my wife?”

  “Mrs. Neville. Oh, I like the sound!” Her voice was giddy with surprised delight. “Gerry, can we?” She sat up and bounced on the bed. “You would marry me, just like that? Knowing who I am?”

  “Who you are does not make a jot of difference, my love. I would marry you if you were a scullery maid or the Princess Charlotte. I love you. I want you to be my wife.”

  She threw herself back into his arms and they tumbled down onto the bed, passionately kissing, so close together there was not even a hair’s breadth between them. “I will marry you. Right away. We can go to Scotland, or . . . or anywhere.”

  He smothered her words with his mouth, lost to everything but her agreement. She was pledged to him and he would never let her go now, never let her back out of her promise.

  “Lord Haven, my lad came back wi’ yer carriage driver, thinkin’ ya might need it fer the young ledy, seein’ as how—”

  Gerry and Jenny both looked toward the door and saw the innkeeper, his round face poked into the room, his eyes wide and filled with shock, his words dying to silence.

  “My lord!” the innkeeper cried, shocked beyond further speech at the sight of the dour and fearful Lord Haven tangled in the bedclothes with the young lady.

  Knowing he was caught and knowing that Jane had not missed the landlord’s ill-timed repetition of his title, Gerry sat up on the bed and thrust his fingers through his rumpled hair. The landlord, confused and embarrassed by the scene he had witnessed, bowed and said, “I’ll just leave ya, milord, or . . . I’ll be down th’stairs should ya be needin’ anthin’.”

  Jane, her eyes round, had sat back up and pulled the covers back up around her.

  With a rueful smile, Gerry gazed at her and said, “You did say you loved me no matter who I was, my dear.”

  “You are Lord Haven!”

  “I am. To be exact and complete, I am Geraint Walcott Neville, Viscount Haven, Baron Lesley. That’s me.” He shrugged. “In a nutshell.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  In that one moment the brilliant hope of her lifetime burned down to ashes, cold and dirty cinders. “Viscount Haven,” she repeated. Her voice was as bleak and barren as she felt. It echoed in the room, bounced back and taunted her with the desolate sound.

  Gerry winced. “I am Lord Haven,” he admitted, “but I’m still just Gerry Neville, local farmer. Or at least I would be if I could, my love. Haven is just my title, not my soul. Can you not love me anyway?”

  “But you asked me to marry you, knowing who I was, but not letting me know who you were! I don’t know you. You say you are the same man, but you aren’t!”

  “We lied to each other! Can you not forgive me as I have forgiven you?”

  “It is not the same thing at all,” she said, scrambling from the bed, dragging some of the bedclothes with her. “It is not the same.” She struggled to get her dress on without letting her blanket drop. “I was afraid . . . terrified of being coerced into a marriage I abhorred, afraid of a future of insipid days and unthinkable nights. So I ran. And I lied about who I was. But you!” Her voice trembled. She stood straight and glared accusingly at him in the dim light of the inn room. “You lied for no reason at all. Or . . . or you lied to bed me. It was only when you found out who I was that you asked me to marry you.”

  What could he say that she would believe? He damned the caution that had made him wait, even though he had known he was going to ask her to marry him before he found out she was Miss Jane Dresden. But she would never believe him now.

  He stood and faced her. “Jenny, I—”

  “Don’t call me that!” she said, straightening. “I am not Jenny anymore. I am Miss Jane Dresden, to you, my lord.”

  • • •

  The ride back to Haven Court was achieved only after Haven offered to ride his horse back, leaving Miss Dresden—he called her that, knowing she would answer to nothing less—the carriage in solitary safety.

  The household was awake and gathered in the great hall. Lady Mortimer let out a cry and made a great show of rushing at her niece; Jane dutifully allowed the embrace but there was no real warmth there. The introductions were even more uncomfortable.

  “Mother,” Haven said, daring not to even take her arm as he would want when introducing the woman he would marry to his mother. “This is Miss Jane Dresden.”

  “I do not understand any of this,” his mother said, irritability writ deep in the lines on her face. “Why was Miss Dresden at the inn? I could not make any sense at all of that brainless dolt from the inn stable, and Haven, why did you not tell us yourself before haring off to the Swan?”

  Haven cringed inwardly at the impression Jane must be getting of his family.

  “Something havey-cavey here,” Rachel said, her narrow, pretty face twisted into a frown.

  “There’s nothing havey-cavey, it is a romance,” Pamela, adorably disheveled in her nightdress, said, before Haven could stop her. “Miss Dresden was masquerading as a servant girl and Haven fell in love with her thinking she was
a maid.”

  Lady Haven wheeled and faced her younger daughter. “What nonsense are you spouting, Pamela?”

  “She’s all about in the head,” Rachel jeered, pinching her younger sister’s shoulder.

  “I am not,” Pamela denied hotly, slapping at her sister’s hand. “It happened exactly that way, did it not, Haven? I met her at Mary’s cottage. I think it is romantic.” She turned shyly to Miss Dresden, who was standing, mute and frozen among the din echoing in the great hall. “How are you, Jenny? Or I suppose I must call you Miss Dresden now?”

  “What on earth is she on about, Haven?” the viscount’s mother shrieked. “You met Miss Dresden? Where? And Pamela, too? How? And why . . .”

  “And I want to know why my niece looks like she has been dragged through a thicket backward,” Lady Mortimer demanded. “What is wrong, that she should appear so disheveled?”

  “If everyone will just keep silent for a moment!” Haven’s grandmother, unnoticed, had entered the hall from her suite. Silence did, indeed, fall. She tapped over to the newest arrival and looked her over. A sly smile stole over her wrinkled visage. “I can see why he mistook you for a maid.”

  Lady Mortimer bridled but the dowager fixed her with a steely stare, and for once the baroness remained silent.

  Jane was not sure who this old lady was and why she was saying such a thing, but anyone who could make her aunt shut her mouth was formidable. She met the woman’s direct and challenging gaze. If the experiences of the past few days had taught her anything, they had taught her that it was no good to be bullied in her life. It was the only life she was given and to live it any other way than by her own conscience would be a travesty. She straightened and defiantly glared directly into watery blue eyes that snapped with an intelligence that was unnerving, to say the least. But she would never be afraid again, least of all of these mad people. “I am not a maid.”

  The old woman nodded once.

  “I am Haven’s grandmother, his father’s mother. I am, though I hate the title, the elder dowager Lady Haven. You understand, it is not the ‘Lady Haven’ part I despise, it is the ‘dowager’ appellation that makes me cringe. Makes me sound old. ’Specially since there is another dowager, my daughter-in-law.” She looked Jane over from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. “What an appalling mess you are. I am quite sure there is an interesting tale behind the straw in your hair. But to get to the point, you have led the entire county quite the dance, my girl. How did it suit you, living as one of the serving class?”

  Jane considered her answer. She glanced over at Haven and her heart ached, remembering the carefree delight of falling in love, uninhibited by any class requirements or stuffy ballrooms, proscribed manners, elegant, stifling surroundings. Though she had accused him of lying to seduce her she had, during the carriage ride, reconsidered. That could not have been his motive. After all, what lord of the realm would have made himself less than he was to debauch a maidservant? Would he not have expected his position in life to have helped him, rather than hurt his chances at a liaison? So he would not have lied about his position for that purpose.

  And there had been times when he was the one to pull back from the brink of impropriety. Why? If it was seduction on his mind, she had given him no reason to believe that she found his advances repulsive. It made her blush to recall how readily she had welcomed him into her arms.

  “I learned much, my lady,” she said, turning her gaze back to the old woman. The collected group had remained silent, the force of the old lady’s personality holding them captive.

  “I would wager you did, young miss, and I will want to hear some of what you have learned. But at what price knowledge, I wonder?” She turned to the rest of them. “This child is clearly exhausted and distraught by her experiences. She will become ill without proper care. I would recommend sending her to her bed with tea and toast and she can explain herself and her actions tomorrow.”

  “I concur,” Haven said.

  Lady Haven, arms across her bosom, said, “But I want to know . . .”

  “Mother, no!” Haven glared at the woman, who bridled but remained silent for once. “We will take this up in the morning.” He turned to the butler, waiting at a discreet distance. “Bartlett, have a maid show Miss Dresden to her chamber.”

  Jane was grateful and turned to go. But not before the elderly woman grasped her elbow with one crabbed hand. Her grip was steely. Voice low, she said, “I will see you in the morning, young miss. I want first crack at the explanation.”

  • • •

  It was like returning to someone else’s life, Jane thought. She awoke wrapped in luxurious Irish linen sheets, clothed in her best muslin nightrail. A young maid had peeked in and, seeing her awake, had entered and opened her curtains for her. It was another brilliant spring day but a world apart from the past week, sharing a bed with Mary Cooper and sleeping in her shift. Now, after dining on tea and toast in bed, she was gowned in one of her best dresses, an indigo silk with forget-me-not blue silk ribbon roses edging the low bosom and tiny cap sleeves. Feathery lace adorned her clothes, and the pink-cheeked maid assigned to her had combed out her ratted hair and pinned it up. Jane peeped out her bedroom door, not ready to meet with any of the household just yet.

  She had been surprised after the events of the evening that she had slept so soundly, but she supposed she had been physically exhausted and that had taken over. But now all of the confusion of the previous day and night came back to trouble her mind. What was she going to do now?

  A maidservant bustled by with a pile of linens in her arms.

  “Excuse me,” Jane said softly. “But could you tell me where the elderly lady—his lordship’s grandmother, I mean—where her room is?”

  The girl curtseyed. “Her ladyship has a suite down off th’great hall, miss.”

  “Would she be awake at this hour? She asked me to see her first thing in the morning, but I do not want to disturb her if she is still abed.”

  “Oh, no, miss. Her ladyship rarely sleeps. Dodd—that be her maid, miss—she says as how her ladyship hardly closes her eyes at night. I believe she has already breakfasted.”

  “Thank you. Just off the great hall?”

  “Yes, miss.”

  Jane descended the winding staircase. She had almost reached the door to the suite off the great hall when she heard a noise from above. Her heart thudded. She did not want to meet anyone else yet. As acerbic as the old lady seemed the previous night, there was still some empathy in her old eyes. The viscount’s mother, on the other hand—

  Jane flattened close to the wall and waited, but what she saw next astonished her. It was Pamela, and she was creeping down the stairs dressed in that same disreputable pair of breeches and old cambric shirt. She had a riding crop in her hand and moved stealthily.

  She smiled at the girl’s subterfuge. “So, Miss Pamela, this is how you manage to evade notice?”

  The girl jumped and Jane could not keep from chuckling.

  “You won’t give me up, will you?” the girl pleaded, coming into the great hall as Jane moved toward her into the huge, echoing area.

  “Of course not,” Jane said. “But why do you feel compelled to creep out like this?”

  Pamela rolled her eyes. “I would get an endless jaw-me-dead if my mother knew I still rode astride. It’s not ladylike, don’t you know,” she said with a wicked imitation of her mother’s querulous voice.

  “I know how you feel,” Jane said, and the girl eyed her curiously. “I have often been accused of the same . . . of not being ladylike enough.”

  “You? But you’re . . .” Pamela paused and cocked her head on one side, looking Jane over with sharp eyes. “I always knew there was something odd about you as a servant, you know. And when I said as much to Grand, she got that calculating look in her eyes, the one that makes m’mother shiver.”

  “Grand?”

  Pamela indicated, with a movement of her head, the suite Jane had been abou
t to go to. “M’grandmother. We call her Grand.”

  “You spoke of me?”

  “Oh, Lord, yes. Grand was no end interested. Made me describe you, you know, when we thought you were Mary’s cousin. Made Haven describe you.” A noise in the hall above made her jump and her gray-green eyes grew huge in her tiny heart-shaped face. “I have to go,” she whispered and trotted off toward the back of the house. She paused, though, and glanced back over her shoulder. “Go see Grand. She’s what the old folk round here call a right knowin’ old ’un. Talk to her. But I want to know everything when I come back. Good-bye, Jenny!”

  The noise from above was just a footman. Jane moved toward the door of the dowager’s suite and scratched on it, and was admitted by a hard-faced maid. The elderly Lady Haven was by the window, and she turned as Jane entered. “Ah, good. I see you took me at my word. I appreciate that. Shows good breeding, despite what I feared.”

  Stung, Jane said, “What did you fear, my lady?”

  “That you were in some way unworthy of my grandson.”

  Her first instinct was to resent the dowager’s words, but curiously, she didn’t. They had the merit of being honest at least, as blunt as they were. “Why did that worry you?” The watery blue eyes were shrewdly assessing her, Jane knew, with every word and every movement. Would she be found lacking after all? Did she care?

  “It worried me because I love my grandson. And he had fallen in love with a girl who was flighty enough to run away and silly enough to apparently play the part of a maid instead of take her rightful position as daughter of an old and well-placed family.”

  Fall in love with? Did the woman know what she was talking about? Jane moved slowly toward the viscount’s grandmother, and so the window. The view was of the high fells and Jane recognized one rise as the moor over which Mary Cooper’s cottage lay. She looked back at the elderly Lady Haven and examined her seamed face. “Does that mean that you had gleaned the truth, my lady? That Mary Cooper’s visiting cousin was really Miss Jane Dresden?”