The Portrait

by Hazel Statham

  Sinclair eased himself into the chair held for him at the breakfast table but, ignoring the collation Rose had deemed necessary to prepare, ordered the butler to bring him nothing but eggs and toast. He had no appetite, but it would appear churlish should he refuse all Rose's efforts on his behalf. However, while he drank a steaming cup of coffee, he merely toyed with the meal before finally pushing away his plate, which the butler immediately removed.

  Lady Jennifer Lynton, a petite brunet, pushed aside her morning repast and rose hastily from the table.

  "I have already told you, Arthur, I am determined to release the Earl of Sinclair from the engagement," she vowed, standing resolutely before her elder brother, her usually expressive blue eyes and sweet countenance holding a determination rarely seen.

  Throwing aside his napkin and pushing his chair from the table, the Earl of Hawley said with equal asperity, "That you will not, my girl. It is all arranged, and no matter the circumstances, the marriage will go ahead."

  "Don't you care that I have no desire whatsoever to be mar ried?" she accused. "It was only to please Father that I agreed to it in the first place, and now that he's no longer with us, I feel no need to go through with it."

  "More likely, now that you've met young Rothwell, you feel no need to go through with it. Ah, yes, I've seen you making calf's eyes at him, miss."

  "That you have not," she cried, stamping her foot emphatically. "I have never made calf's eyes at anyone, let alone Lord Rothwell, whom I find insufferably self-centered and opinionated. It's just that ... Well ..

  "There, you can't give a good reason why you shouldn't become Sinclair's countess, can you?" declared Arthur with some aplomb. "Think of the benefits. He's well-bred with impeccable connections. He's also known to be extremely eventempered, which must recommend him to any young bride."

  `But, Arthur, I wish for more than an even temper from a husband... "

  "With your hoydenish ways, an even temper is a distinct advantage and much to be desired. How else would he be able to contend with your starts and fancies? No, I am determined that you will go through with the marriage."

  "You want nothing more than to be free of me," Jennifer stated. "Frederick, too, for that matter. Indeed, if truth were told, you want the house to yourself so that you can marry Amelia Cheviot."

  "And if I do, who can blame me? I will not play nursemaid to you and your brother. It wasn't my wish to be left guardian to my siblings. Surely you must realize just how repugnant the situation is to me"

  "Frederick need not concern you-but you have made sure of that. He had no great desire to go up to Oxford, but you insisted. For myself, I have no more wish to live with you than you have to have me here, but I will not be pushed into marriage just to suit your purpose"

  "You ever were an ungrateful chit," Arthur fumed, rising and making for the door. "But I warn you, refuse Sinclair, and you will find me less than charitable. Then see how far your face and fortune will get you when you're obliged to accept the first man who comes along. You will be glad to, if only to remove yourself from my influence." With a flourish he was gone, leaving Jennifer to stare angrily after him.

  However, once she was alone, her mood underwent a complete turnabout, and an air of uncertainty overtook her. With lagging steps she left the breakfast parlor to go to her own apartments to prepare for her visit. Nonetheless, upon entering her bedchamber, instead of calling for her maid to help her dress for her journey, she went to sit in the window seat. Resting her head in her cupped hand, she gazed blankly through the casement.

  When she thought of the Earl of Sinclair, as she had done quite often since the event of their betrothal, it was with very mixed emotions. At first, when the betrothal had been announced, being the envy of all her contemporaries, she was filled with excitement, but the feeling had been short-lived. No sooner had the notice of the engagement been posted in the Gazette than her betrothed had found it necessary to dispatch himself to Spain, and he had seemed in no hurry to return. Even his letters had been very formal, hardly what one would expect from a would-be bridegroom, and she had found it difficult to respond to his impersonal tone.

  Even when he had been wounded, he'd not found it necessary to communicate that fact to her. She had received news of it from George Reynolds, the brother of her friend Anne, and he had only heard of it by chance. She knew not the nature of the earl's wounds or their extent and felt piqued at what she perceived as the cavalier way in which she'd been treated. Did he think her of so little consequence that he'd denied her the knowledge of his injuries? Indeed, she had only learned of his impending return by way of a brief communication from Reynolds, who had gleaned the information from his position at Whitehall. She had immediately sent a note to Fly, determined to inform the earl of her decision at the earliest opportunity.

  "I am thoroughly out of patience with you, Edward Thurston," she said to the empty room. "I will not be all but ignored for more than two years and then be expected to trot up the aisle with you. Indeed I will not!" She wouldn't admit to what extent saying those words only served to deepen the hurt she felt, but, rallying, she called for her maid and with some determination prepared for her visit.

  Entering the hallway at Fly, Jennifer asked her cousin Eleanor, who acted as chaperone, to await her there. Despite the impropriety, she wished for no witness to the interview with her betrothed, desiring whatever words were spoken to remain private. It took much persuading, but eventually Eleanor, much against her better judgment, succumbed to her young relative's pleadings and allowed herself to be cozily seated by the large fireplace, glad of its welcoming warmth after the chill of the carriage.

  Hearing the sounds of arrival, the earl rose from his chair in the morning room and prepared to meet his intended. Something in the region of his chest clenched at the thought of the impending interview, but he schooled his countenance to greet her with an equanimity he was far from feeling.

  Almost immediately the door opened, and Croft announced Lady Jennifer. Full of resolve, her skirts swishing with the crispness of her steps, she came quickly into the light-filled, blue and gold salon. As the door closed quietly behind her, she came to an abrupt halt.

  Finding it difficult to advance farther into the room, she visibly blanched at the extent of Sinclair's injuries, her expressive eyes widening at sight of his altered appearance. Nothing could have prepared her for the emotions the mere sight of him evoked, and whatever words she might have uttered died unsaid.

  Ignoring his wildly leaping emotions at seeing her once more, Edward drank in the delicacy of her features and form and, gathering his cloak of resolve about him, quickly closed the gap between them. Taking her cold fingers in his warm clasp, he raised them dutifully to his lips, feeling them tremble in his hold. His eyes never left her face, and he realized that there was no guile about her as he watched the mix of emotions that chased across her pale countenance. In that instant he knew he had made the right decision to end the betrothal.

  "My lord, I .." she began, but her voice failed, and he saw tears well up in her beautiful eyes.

  "Will you not be seated, Lady Jennifer?" he said, leading her to a chair by the hearth. "Croft will bring refreshments, and after a cup of tea I am sure you will feel more the thing." Releasing her hand, he stood before her as she sank into the chair. He found it necessary to concentrate, to keep his voice neutral, so that she would not be aware of his inner turmoil. Grateful that he was at least allowed to retain his pride, he was relieved that he showed no signs of the physical weakness that had laid him so low.

  "I realize my appearance must come as quite a shock to you," he said with an incongruous smile.

  She half rose, but he held up his hand to forestall her, and she once more sank back against the cushions. All former irritation forgotten, she was unable to put into words what she was feeling at that precise moment and was relieved when a light tapping on the door heralded an interruption.

  Croft came into the room with a tra
y full of a light repast, which he placed on a low table set at their side, whilst a butler brought in a tea tray and set it on a small table beside Jennifer.

  Busying herself with pouring the tea, she set up a flow of inconsequential conversation in the hope of presenting a diversion. She never allowed her eyes to wander from her task, dreading the moment when she would be forced to acknowledge the situation. However, as she handed the cup to Sinclair, the words died on her lips as she became aware of his intense scrutiny.

  Seeing her unease, Edward straightened himself in his chair, saying in a subdued tone, "Lady Jennifer, I think it only fair that I bring about a swift end to your disquiet. I see what effect my injuries have on you, and believe me when I say that I quite understand. I am not so insensitive as to not realize just how devastating it would be if you were forced to ally yourself to such an individual as I have become. I would not wish it on you."

  She would have given an answer, but he slowly shook his head. "There is no need to attempt to put the matter delicately. I am quite sure you realize, as do I, that to continue with the engagement would be disastrous. Therefore, I will not equivocate on the issue. I release you from your promise. The wedding will not take place."

  "It is not your wish that we should marry?" she asked, paling still further.

  "It is not. I will send a retraction to the Gazette immediately. It will be understood that I have been too long away, and who should blame us if our sentiments have undergone a change during that time? Indeed, it will be seen that I am the cause of the rift, so you need not fear censure"

  "Are my feelings on the matter not to be considered then, sir?" she demanded.

  "I don't think you know what your feelings are at this precise moment," he replied, noting the indignant tilt of her chin and the militant look in her eye. "If you would but be guided by me, I'm sure you will see the right of it and will be relieved to be rid of me"

  "I am beginning to think that I shall," she said, coming abruptly to her feet and nearly upsetting the tea tray in the process. "I'm excessively grateful to you for pointing it out to me. You have saved me the need to deliberate further on the matter."

  He, too, came to his feet and bridged the distance between them to take her hand in his. "You may not think it now, but you will come to be grateful to me for making the decision," he said earnestly. "Let not your sentiments at this moment cloud your judgment. You see me as a case for pity, and that is not what I would wish. I will not allow you to take me when such emotions rule."

  "You are quite right, sir," she snapped, withdrawing her hand from his warm clasp. "I would not wish you to think that I take you out of sympathy; therefore, I see the sense of it." She did not understand why his words piqued her so. Had it not been her own intent to end the betrothal?

  An unfathomable look came into his eyes. "I hope we may still meet as friends."

  "As friends? I see no reason why we should not," she replied coolly, deciding her reaction was that of resentment because it had been he who had uttered the words that ended the betrothal and not she.

  Relieved, he smiled. "Then we are in agreement?"

  "Most certainly. You have taken a burden from my mind. I, too, had wondered at the sense of continuing with the engagement and had reached the same decision as you. Now we are both free to continue with our lives unhindered."

  "Have you felt the betrothal a hindrance?" he asked with some concern.

  She colored with confusion. "Yes ... no ... I don't know what I have felt. We had become as strangers, and you were so far away... " Her voice faltered, and she refused to meet his gaze.

  "Then the decision to end it is the right one, and you may recommence your life without its burden. Now that the matter is settled, we can be easy in each other's company. Won't you be seated and take some tea with me? Talk to me for a while. I am in dire need of civilized conversation."

  When the time came for Jennifer to leave Fly, Edward escorted his former betrothed and her companion to their chaise. Watching from the shallow steps that led to the gravel drive, he raised his hand in farewell as the equipage rolled down the long driveway, waiting until it disappeared from view before turning back to the hall.

  Repairing immediately to his apartment, he went straight to the dresser and pulled wide the drawer. Without taking it from its resting place, he opened up the handkerchief and looked once more at the delicate face in the portrait.

  "The deed is done, my love. The deed is done," he said quietly, and, once more folding the cloth, he gently closed the drawer.

  When the earl had retired to his bedchamber and Croft was closing Fly for the night, he became aware of a commotion on the driveway outside the front door. Drawing back the bolts, he stepped out into the frosty night air to see who would be arriving at such an unearthly hour. To his great surprise, the Honorable Peregrine Thurston was in the process of alighting from a hired coach. He was a young man of medium height, as fair as the earl was dark, yet still bearing a striking resemblance to his older brother. Following closely on his heels was another young man of about the same age and a large brown mastiff-like dog that lollopped up the steps and stood grinning at the retainer.

  "What's all this, Master Perry?" demanded Croft, coming forward to greet the youngest member of the family. "Why aren't you at Oxford? We weren't expecting you for at least another week. Who is this you bring with you?"

  Perry grinned good-naturedly. "Oh, take a powder, Croft. I-we've-been rusticated for the remainder of the term, so where else would we go but here?"

  " `Rusticated'?" repeated Croft, shaking his head and leading the way into the brightly-lit hall. "The master will not like that. He will not like that at all. Has he not enough to contend with, what with his injuries and such, without you finding it necessary to get yourself rusticated?"

  Perry grinned. "Oh, Ned won't mind. He's a great gun and understands these things. He'll see how it was when I explain to him. He'll read me no lecture."

  "I'm not so sure about that," said Croft, closing the large door and driving home the bolts in the aged wood. "It's not right that you should be causing him more trouble at a time like this."

  "Is he very bad?" asked Perry, suddenly serious. "How is he, Croft? Is he in a great deal of pain? I can't bear it if he is."

  "Whatever pain he's in, he bears very well. You will not hear him complain, and I do believe he is much improved from when he first arrived. He tires easily though, so you must not be wearing him out with your pranks."

  "Told you he was made of stern stuff, Freddie," affirmed Perry, turning to his companion, a deceptively cherubic-looking young man of about his own height whose dark locks were in permanent wild disarray. "Go with Croft to the kitchen. I'm sure Rose will find you something. You will see that he's fed, won't you, Croft? We have had nothing to eat since breakfast, and then it was only the merest morsel. Had no money to buy food on the road, once the chaise had been paid for."

  "Aye, I'll see he's fed, but you are not to go bothering the master at this time of night. He needs his rest. Leave it till morning."

  "That I will not," replied Peregrine, starting toward the stairs, the large dog hard on his heels. "I will see him tonight, or I'll have no peace"

  "You're not to take that great brute up to the master's room," remonstrated Croft. "He's in need of peace and quiet. Leave the dog here"

  "Don't be such an old hen-worrier, Croft" Perry grinned. "Ned won't mind my waking him in the least, and I am sure he will be delighted to see Caesar. He's always been a good judge of dogs, and he will recognize the nobleness of his nature"

  "Nobleness? Nobleness? When he stands drooling over his lordship's carpet? He's nothing but a big, dirty brute and will be seen for what he is. Your brother will soon send you away with a flea in your ear. You mark my words."

  Taking no heed whatsoever of the retainer's words, Perry turned from the hall and ran up the stairs, taking them two at a time. Turning midway, he called Caesar to follow in his wake, and the large
dog lumbered playfully after him, his large jowls emitting copious amounts of drool as he went.

  Croft turned away, shaking his head as he went. For more than fifty years he'd served this noble family, and he had long since given up any hope of understanding the vagaries of youth. Now, Master Ned, he had been a different kettle of fish, he thought. Even so, there had still been times when the old earl was obliged to read him a lecture and point out the error of his ways. Always very understanding, though, was Master Edward; he never held a grudge against his father. Then Croft's grizzled countenance was transformed as, much to the surprise of the young gentleman he was now leading toward the kitchen, he let out a dry chuckle as he continued to silently reminisce. There was that time when Master Edward was caught snatching apples in the orchard, and his sister, Miss Flora, took away the ladder. Such a noise he set up, shouting to be let down and threatening all manner of things he would do to the little miss. Almost two hours he was stuck up that tree until she relented and let him down. The old earl, not pleased, had thrashed Master Edward and banished the little miss to her room.

  Alone candle set on the bedside table softly illuminated the earl's bedchamber, leaving the corners of the room deep in shadow.

  "Rusticated?" expostulated Sinclair, raising himself on his pillows. He had not been asleep, merely dozing, but at the sound of his bedchamber door being so rudely opened had come fully awake to find his young brother standing at the foot of his bed.

  "Only until next term," Perry hopefully assured him.

  "And may I ask, in my ignorance, why, for no matter what length of time, you've been rusticated?"

  "Well, you see, it was because of Caesar...