by Anne Ashley
The momentary hush which followed was almost too much for Jennifer’s self-control, and it was only by exerting a tremendous effort that she stopped herself from bursting into laughter at the astonished glances bent in her direction as she moved gracefully forward, her beautifully made black evening gown clinging to her every curve, its colour enhancing the perfection of her flawless complexion.
‘Good evening, Uncle Frederick,’ she said, when at last she reached him.
She could not forbear a further smile at his expression of astonished disbelief. She may at one time have harboured less than charitable feelings towards him for not coming to her assistance when she had desperately needed some comfort and support, but that was no longer the case. Her father and his younger brother, she clearly remembered, had never been close, so Jennifer could hardly blame her uncle for not wishing to become involved in the affairs of a niece he barely knew. Added to which her husband had earned himself the reputation of being a hard and ruthless man to those who crossed him, as she had discovered for herself. Only a fool, or perhaps a very brave soul, would ever cross swords with the Marquis of Wroxam.
‘I can quite understand your astonishment at seeing me again after all these years, Uncle, but I am in truth your niece Jennifer.’ Not offering him the opportunity to respond, even had he felt able to do so, which she very much doubted, she turned her attention to his Countess, a female she barely remembered. ‘Ma’am, it has been many years since last we met, not since my dear mama’s demise, if my memory serves me correctly.’
‘Er—that is correct,’ her ladyship managed faintly, momentarily glancing at the beautifully arranged dark auburn hair, and the glinting green gems adorning the slender neck and small, perfectly shaped ears.
‘I hope you will overlook my impertinence in inviting myself to your party. And please do not blame your servants for admitting me to the house. I’m afraid I led them to believe that I had merely mislaid my invitation card.’
‘Do not give it another thought,’ the Countess responded promptly, thereby proving that she at least was beginning to regain her equilibrium, even if her husband was still a long way from regaining his. ‘Of course you are most welcome.’
Jennifer doubted that this was true, but decided not to prolong their discomfiture, and took the opportunity presented by the arrival of yet another latecomer of moving away.
By this time her identity was beginning to spread through the ballroom like wildfire. She strongly suspected that, before too many more minutes had passed, there wouldn’t be a guest present who hadn’t been informed of precisely who she was. She was fast becoming the cynosure of all eyes, some of which were openly admiring, while others betrayed varying degrees of curiosity or astonishment. As she moved further into the room, it occurred to her that, when she had made her first and very brief visit to the capital, she would have been overawed by such blatant interest. This, however, was not now the case. She was no longer a diffident child, but a self-assured young woman, quite unafraid to hold her head up proudly, and return bold stares from strangers without so much as a single blink.
Had her upbringing been different, had she not tragically lost her dear mama fifteen years ago, the people now present tonight might not all have been total strangers, she reflected, moving ever further down the long, brightly lit room. Had her mother lived, her father might have continued to take an interest in the estate, instead of spending most of his time in London, foolishly squandering vast sums of money at the gaming tables. His frequent absences from the ancestral pile had meant that few people had ever visited the house, and Jennifer quite clearly recalled the loneliness and seclusion she had been forced to endure during her formative years, having only the servants and her governess to bear her company, and receiving the occasional visit from a considerate neighbour or two.
One might have expected her marriage at the ridiculously young age of sixteen to the Marquis of Wroxam to have improved her lot, and to a certain extent it most certainly had, for she had enjoyed far more freedom, and had made several new friends during her months at Wroxam Park. Her father’s demise within a few weeks of the wedding taking place had, quite naturally, curtailed any kind of socialising on a grand scale, and the visit to the capital which her husband had planned had been postponed until the following spring, by which time, of course, Wroxam and his Marchioness had gone their separate ways.
‘Who? Who did you say it was, Serena?’ The question, spoken in a high-pitched, carrying voice, broke into Jennifer’s sombre reflections, and she turned her head to discover an elderly lady, dressed in a purple gown and sporting an ugly turban in the same dark hue, regarding her more keenly than most. ‘So, you’re Caroline Westbury’s gel, are you?’
‘Caroline Westbury was my mother, certainly,’ Jennifer responded, inclined to be more amused than annoyed by the impertinent enquiry. ‘You have the advantage of me, ma’am.’
‘May I present my godmother, the Dowager Lady Fairfax, my lady.’
Jennifer transferred her gaze to the young woman who had been sitting beside the Dowager and had now risen to her feet. ‘And my name is Serena Carstairs,’ she added, in response to Jennifer’s finely arched, questioning brow.
‘I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Carstairs,’ Jennifer responded, bestowing a warm smile upon the tall young woman who appeared decidedly ill at ease.
‘I knew your father too,’ the Dowager suddenly announced, evidently experiencing none of her goddaughter’s embarrassment. ‘Charming rogue!’ She cast a vague glance in the general direction of their host. ‘Not like the present holder of the title. What a devilish dull dog he is!’
‘Godmama, please!’ Serena said faintly, casting a further apologetic glance, but Jennifer was not in the least offended, for the Dowager had spoken no less than the truth, and yet she found herself, surprisingly, automatically coming to her uncle’s defence.
‘He is certainly lacking the charm my father at one time was reputed to have in abundance. My uncle is, I understand, a man of sober habits. Which, I might add, I consider no bad thing. At least he would never bring disgrace to the proud name he bears, and he has, so I am led to believe, restored the ancestral home to its former glory.’
‘There’s no denying your father turned into something of a rakehelly fellow in later years,’ the Dowager conceded. ‘Changed after your mother died, as I remember,’ she added, thereby betraying the fact that she had known the late Earl quite well. She peered frowningly up at his sole offspring. ‘Which reminds me…I thought you were supposed to be dead too. Just goes to show you, Serena, that one shouldn’t listen to every piece of gossip one hears!’
Appearing as if she wished the floor would open beneath her, Serena turned to Jennifer the instant Lady Fairfax’s attention had been claimed by a lady of similar age. ‘Please forgive my godmother. She has turned seventy, and doesn’t always consider carefully before she speaks.’
‘There is absolutely no need for you to apologise, Miss Carstairs,’ Jennifer assured her, drawing her a little away from the outspoken lady who was causing such discomfiture. ‘I do not object to plain speaking, and to be frank I found Lady Fairfax’s remarks most—er—interesting.’ An irrepressible glint appeared in her eyes. ‘I had no notion that I had been presumed dead all these years. What, may I ask, was supposed to have befallen me?’
Serena made a despairing gesture with her hand. She had no desire to repeat the foolish rumours which had been circulating years before, but she quickly discovered that the lovely Marchioness could be quite persuasive when she chose.
‘So, Wroxam was rumoured to have put a period to my existence, was he?’
The sudden gurgle of mirth was as infectious as it was unexpected, and Serena found herself chuckling too. ‘But no one of any sense believed it for a moment,’ she assured her.
‘None the less, even my case-hardened husband must have found it faintly disconcerting to be thought a murderer.’
‘That I could not say,
my lady. I am not well acquainted with his lordship,’ Serena frankly admitted, ‘even though when visiting the capital we are privileged to make use of my uncle’s residence in Berkeley Square.’ She appeared to hesitate for a moment, then went on to ask, ‘Was it perhaps you Mama and I saw visiting his lordship’s house earlier today?’
Jennifer did not attempt to hide her surprise. ‘My, my, what excellent eyesight you must possess, Miss Carstairs, to have been able to penetrate my veil!’
‘On the contrary, my lady, my sight is poor. My mother doesn’t approve of my wearing spectacles when we go out in the evenings. I do not see very well without them, but I do manage to notice certain things. It was the way you walked into the room. I remembered that the lady who called at Lord Wroxam’s house this afternoon had a similar graceful way of walking.’
Jennifer could not help but feel flattered, and smiled warmly at her new acquaintance. ‘I did indeed pay a call at my husband’s house,’ she confirmed. ‘Unfortunately he was not at home.’
‘No, he has been out of town for several days. At the races, I believe.’ Serena laughed a little self-consciously. ‘What a dreadful gossip I sound! I’m afraid, though, that the comings and goings of gentlemen of your husband’s standing do become common knowledge. I think I’m right in saying, also, that he had entered a filly in one of the races.’
‘How disappointed he must feel that he did not win!’ Jennifer found herself unable to suppress a smile of smug satisfaction. ‘I had an interest in the outcome of a certain race, and made a point of finding out the result.’
Ignoring her companion’s glance of mild surprise, Jennifer guided her towards two vacant chairs. ‘Tell me, Miss Carstairs,’ she continued, once they had made themselves comfortable, ‘is this your first visit to London?’
‘Good gracious, no! I had a Season several years ago. It was a complete disaster,’ she freely admitted. ‘I simply did not take, and do not expect that this time will be any different. Dear Papa wished me to have another chance, however, before my sister’s come-out next year. I’m certain Louisa will be a success. Unlike me, she’s very lovely.’
Jennifer subjected her companion to a prolonged stare. It was true that Serena could never be described as pretty. Her mouth was too wide and her nose was too long for beauty. She was rather tall, too, and built on generous lines, but she had been blessed with a pair of fine grey eyes, and a good complexion. She decided that she rather liked Miss Serena Carstairs.
‘This is my first real visit to the capital,’ Jennifer disclosed, after a further moment’s silence. ‘I have been spending some time visiting places of interest. Perhaps, if you are free tomorrow afternoon, you would care to accompany me out somewhere? There are plenty of interesting sights I have yet to see.’
She turned her head to discover her uncle and his wife heading in her direction, and hurriedly rose to her feet. ‘Perhaps we shall be granted the opportunity to talk again later, Miss Carstairs.’
Like so many others, Serena followed the Marchioness’s progress across the room, thinking once again how very gracefully she moved. She could not in all honesty say that she had ever given any thought at all to what the austere Marquis of Wroxam’s wife would turn out to be like. But she couldn’t say that it had come as any surprise to discover that the Marchioness was strikingly lovely. However, she would not have expected her to be so charming and unaffected, totally devoid of pride or conceit; the exact opposite, in fact, of her arrogant, unapproachable husband.
Serena glanced about the room at the other guests present, wondering if they too were speculating on where the lovely Marchioness had been hiding herself all these years, and deliberating, perhaps, on what might have caused the break up of her marriage. Serena herself would never dream of prying into such personal concerns, but she couldn’t help hoping, as she continued to watch her new acquaintance, now in conversation with their host and hostess, that she would, indeed, be granted the opportunity to become much better acquainted with the delightful Marchioness.
Chapter Two
It was mid-afternoon on the following day when the Marquis of Wroxam arrived back in town. Having to contend with the heavy volume of traffic, he had been silent for some little time, concentrating on negotiating a safe passage through the busy London streets, which had left his companion, Mr Theodore Dent, free to look about him.
As they entered the more fashionable part of the city, Mr Dent became aware of the attention they were receiving from several passers-by. From a young age his friend the Marquis had cut a figure in society, and it was by no means unusual for his presence to be noted wherever he went. The looks cast in his direction this day, however, seemed rather more prolonged than usual.
‘I say, Julian, you ain’t been getting on your high ropes more than usual of late, have you, and causing offence in certain quarters?’
One of his lordship’s famed, haughty dark brows rose. ‘Anyone listening to you, my dear Theo, might be forgiven for supposing that I attain some perverse kind of pleasure from offending my fellow man.’
‘Well, I wouldn’t go so far as to say that. But you don’t care a jot when you do.’
Thin lips curled into an appreciative smile. ‘There have been occasions, Theo, when I have asked myself why I include you in my small circle of friends. I can only imagine it is because I admire your innate honesty.’ He took his eyes off the road to cast his amiable companion an enquiring glance. ‘Would it be too much to ask why you might suppose I have offended someone of late?’
‘Because I’ve noticed one or two people casting rather odd looks in our direction during the past few minutes.’
‘In that case it is more than likely that you are the one attracting attention,’ his lordship responded drily. ‘If you will go about looking like an oversized wasp you are bound to startle the populace.’
Not in the least offended, Mr Dent glanced down at his striking yellow-and-brown striped waistcoat that fitted snugly across his large barrel of a chest. ‘The trouble with you, Julian, old fellow, is that you’re so damned unimaginative when it comes to dress. Can’t think why you’ve been considered a leader of fashion all these years!’ He saw the ghost of a smile hovering around the Marquis’s mouth once more. ‘People never take much notice of me no matter how I’m rigged out,’ he went on. ‘It’s much more likely that certain folk have got wind already of your narrow defeat at the races yesterday.’
‘You may possibly be right,’ his lordship responded, not noticeably depressed by the fact that his prized entrant had been pipped at the post by an Irish-bred filly. ‘Did you manage in the end to discover the owner’s name?’
‘Yes, it’s young Lord Fanshaw. The trainer was a bit tight-lipped about it, but I managed to discover the horse originally came from the O’Connell Stables. I was assured the present owner wouldn’t be interested in selling the animal, though.’
‘Pity,’ his lordship responded, expertly turning into the Square. ‘I might possibly have made an offer for that filly.’
No sooner had he drawn his fine bays to a halt before his house than the door opened and his footman came tripping lightly down the steps. If his lordship noticed the odd glance his servant cast him before taking charge of the equipage, he certainly gave no sign of it, as he led the way into the house and across the hall to his library.
After filling two glasses, and handing one of the delicate vessels to his friend, he carried his own wine over to the desk, leaving Mr Dent to make himself comfortable in one of the chairs by the hearth.
‘My secretary is so efficient, Theo. A veritable treasure!’ Perching himself on the edge of the desk, his lordship began to browse through the neat pile of papers awaiting his attention. ‘He deals with most of my correspondence, only ever leaving me those letters which he thinks might be of interest.’
He eventually came to one which his tactful secretary had not opened, and instantly recognised the childish scrawl. ‘Why Deborah must feel the need to continually send me le
tters, I cannot imagine.’
He held the missive at arm’s length, the better to decipher its hurriedly penned lines. ‘Ah, she is missing me, and thinks I’m the biggest beast in nature for preferring to visit the races than spending time in her company, and she is utterly pining for me.’
He tossed the letter into the wastepaper-basket. ‘Of course, what she’s really pining for is a brooch, or earrings, or possibly even a necklace, to match the ruby bracelet I gave her the other week. She really has become quite tiresome of late—clinging and avaricious. It’s high time I found myself a replacement. What say you, Theo?’
‘I’ve been your friend for a good many years, Julian,’ Mr Dent responded, after fortifying himself from the contents of his glass, ‘but even I would never dream of offering advice on such personal concerns. And certainly never in matters of the heart.’
‘My dear Theo, you delude yourself. My—er—heart is never involved, believe me.’
‘Cool fish, ain’t you, Wroxam?’ Mr Dent subjected his lordship’s rather harsh-featured face to a prolonged stare. ‘You’ve had half a dozen mistresses and more during these past years, but not one of ’em has meant a groat to you.’
‘I wouldn’t go as far as to say that,’ his lordship countered, after giving the matter brief consideration. ‘I became mildly fond of two or three. But I cannot in all honesty say that it caused me even a moment’s disquiet to terminate any one of my—er—several pleasurable liaisons.’
He raised his eyes from their contemplation of the patterned carpet to see his butler enter the room. ‘Yes, Slocombe. What is it?’
‘Forgive the intrusion, my lord, but I gave my word that I would hand this over to you personally on your return.’