Marianne allowed a sigh. “Very well,” she replied to his query about putting on her spectacles. Her happy demeanor having been replaced with one of impending doom, Marianne hardly noticed when Jasper had the phaeton turning onto a side road. Under the shade of a maple planetree, Jasper pulled the horse to a halt and quickly jumped down to hobble it before coming around to help Marianne step down.
“Where are we?” she wondered, her limited vision revealing only a mass of greenery around them.
“Put on your spectacles so I can show you,” he replied.
Her shoulders slumping, Marianne finally removed her reticule from her wrist and pulled apart the gathered opening. With a gloved hand, she reached in and plucked out the pair of eyeglasses. Mounted in a frame made of black tortoiseshell with hinged arms, the round lenses of the eyeglasses were thick but clear. Loops at the ends of the arms were threaded with ribbons.
Pausing a moment, Marianne gave Jasper a beseeching look before she placed the frame on her face so the slight wire arch between the discs rested on her nose. When she was about to tie the ribbons together at the back of her head, Jasper stepped around to stand behind her. “Allow me,” he said as he took the ribbon ties from her gloved fingers and proceeded to tie them into a neat bow. “Is this tight enough?” he wondered.
“It’s fine,” she replied. She allowed a rather sad sigh as she slowly turned to face her escort and raised her face.
Angling his head first to one side and then to the other, Jasper’s expression remained impassive. He allowed a shrug. “As I said, your beauty overcomes the spectacles.”
Marianne’s eyes blinked behind the thick lenses. “I could kiss you, my lord,” she said, immediately embarrassed by her comment. “Oh! Oh, my! I cannot believe I just said that. Aloud,” she added, her mortification apparent. “You must think me fast.”
Grinning broadly, Jasper lowered his lips to hers and engaged her in a quick but thorough kiss. “I cannot either, truth be told, but they were very welcome words,” he whispered. “When we are married, and we are alone as we are now, I hope you will always wish to kiss me.”
Her eyes widening in surprise, Marianne allowed a nod. “So... you’re not going to break off the betrothal?” she asked in a quiet voice. “Now that you’ve seen just how awful I look in these?”
Jasper blinked. “Of course not.” He gave her a look filled with worry. “Were you... were you about to do so?” Christ! He had just purchased the marriage license earlier that afternoon! A detail he realized he hadn’t yet shared with the young woman. “Because...” He reached into his topcoat pocket and withdrew the document he had obtained from the archdeacon’s office. “I have already secured a marriage license. We can marry in five days without banns needing to be read.”
Marianne’s mouth opened, her astonishment apparent. “Not at all,” she murmured, her head shaking from side-to-side. “Had you wished to, though, I was willing to suggest you allow me to do the jilting, since it would not reflect so badly upon me as it would you,” she explained, her face screwing up to indicate her torn feelings on the matter.
Frowning, Jasper tried to decide if he should feel offended or not. He had every intention of marrying the woman.
Then Marianne stepped forward, the front of her body nearly pressed against his. “I didn’t wish you to feel... obligated to marry me if you could not abide the sight of me in my spectacles, or the knowledge I will always be a burden because of my poor eyesight.”
Closing his eyes, Jasper wrapped his arms around her shoulders and simply held her for a moment, reveling in how she didn’t attempt to step away or seem scandalized by the close contact. “It is rather considerate of you, but please know that I had no intention of... of jilting you,” he said quietly. He let go his hold on her and waved an arm to a small garden just off the crushed granite path. A collection of tulips and tiny white flowers were tucked into the intersection of the two hedgerows that hid them from the parkway. “But it reminds me that I never properly proposed.”
Reaching into his waistcoat pocket, he withdrew a ring and held it between his thumb and forefinger. A lone sapphire—a rather impressive stone—topped the gold band. Marianne had never seen anything like it. Even her mother’s wedding ring, with it’s collection of tiny diamonds and her father’s favorite garnet, wasn’t as beautiful as the ring Jasper held for her.
“Will you wear it now? And forever more? As a symbol of my devotion to you?” Jasper asked in a quiet voice. “Will you be my wife?”
Marianne blinked as she struggled to remove the glove from her hand. “Oh yes. Yes, of course,” she whispered, tears pricking the corners of her eyes. She wondered how she could have doubted him as she watched him slide the circlet of gold onto the fourth finger. Marianne sighed as he lowered his lips to the back of her hand. “Where are we? In the park, I mean?” she asked as she glanced around. The secluded area in which they stood appeared as private as any backyard garden, but she knew they still had to be in Hyde Park.
“Does it matter?” Jasper wondered, glancing about. He had brought her here because he knew there would be tulips. Tulips and enough hedgerows to provide a bit of privacy for his proposal.
Behind her hideous glasses, Marianne’s eyes widened. “Of course it matters. I wish to know where to bring our children... our grandchildren... when I tell them of your most romantic proposal,” she claimed, her body once again pressed against the front of his.
Jasper allowed a chuckle as he wrapped his arms around her shoulders and simply held her for a time. “I don’t think it has a name,” he replied finally. “But I will bring you here whenever you wish. When we’re in the capital,” he amended. He paused a moment. “Now. When do you suppose you would be amenable to becoming Viscountess Henley?” he asked with an arched brow. “We have to wait five days.” Although he could have purchased a special license that would have allowed them to marry on the morrow, the twenty guineas it would have cost would be better spent on their trip.
At the mention of “Viscountess Henley,” Marianne sighed in his hold. “When do we leave for Italy?”
He almost allowed a sigh of relief. “Friday. Late afternoon. The tide is scheduled to go out, and the captain of The Fairweather wants to go out with it.” Jasper could feel Marianne’s body tense a bit before she giggled.
“Aunt Cherice will be so vexed if we marry any sooner than that,” she said with a huge grin. “Would Friday morning be agreeable? We can leave for the docks after the wedding breakfast.”
Jasper considered the logistics before he finally nodded.
Earlier that day, he had arranged for an additional cabin for the trip to Italy, intending for Marianne and him to use it so his colleague, James Singleton, could use the smaller cabin he had originally reserved on their behalf. Marrying the day of their departure meant their first night together would be spent in a bed not much larger than a captain’s bunk—that is, if he didn’t arrange to bed her before that. Now that she had consented to marry him and he had Devonville’s permission, she was essentially his to do with as he pleased.
He shook the thought from his head, wondering why he would even consider deflowering her before their wedding. Just because most men of his age had done so with their wives before their weddings didn’t mean he had to resort to such behavior.
He could wait. And he would. Take her virtue on their wedding night on board The Fairweather.
For the next few nights, he could sleep in a chair or on the floor—if she was anything like Sophie, she wouldn’t abide him sharing the bed.
“Oh, dear. You were hoping for an earlier date,” Marianne said. “Any day is agreeable with me—”
Her words were cut off when Jasper’s forefinger was suddenly pressed to her lips. He replaced it with his lips and gave her a kiss. “Friday morning is perfect,” he said in a whisper. “My townhouse is in a shambles, what with packing for the trip, and I shouldn’t want you to see it until it has been properly prepared for its new lady of
the house.”
Marianne gasped. “You... You have a townhouse? Here... in town?” she asked, obviously incredulous.
Jasper frowned at her implication. “Of course. In South Audley Street. Where else would I live?”
His affianced gave a shrug, although she appeared a bit chuffed. “Aunt Cherice feared you might only have bachelor quarters,” she explained as she angled her head. “I wouldn’t mind small quarters, truly. But she seems to think it necessary that I live in a townhouse. Close to the park, or to Grosvenor Square.”
Feeling a bit of spite toward the Marchioness of Devonville, Jasper arched a brow. “You can inform Lady Devonville you will be living so close to the park, you will be able to see it from your bedchamber window.” He didn’t add that she would need to be wearing her spectacles, though.
Marianne’s expression went from delight to one of quiet contemplation, which had Jasper angling his head. “What is it?” he asked carefully.
“You said, ‘your bedchamber window’,” she repeated, the emphasis on “your.”
“The window in the mistress suite, yes,” Jasper replied, his manner guarded.
Marianne seemed to slump in his hold. “But where do you sleep?” she asked as her bespectacled eyes raised to meet his gaze.
Jasper allowed a teasing grin. “Wherever you are sleeping?” he guessed.
At the sight of her brilliant smile, Jasper realized Marianne Slater would be nothing like Sophie.
In fact, this marriage would be nothing like his first, he decided.
For better or for worse.
Chapter 7
Under the Gaze of a Father
The following Thursday night
The crowd at White’s had thinned a bit just after seven o’clock when Jasper made his way through the black front door of the storied establishment in St. James Street. A footman saw to his hat and greatcoat as he surveyed the rooms beyond the vestibule. Those who were married had gone home to change for dinner. The Earl of Torrington was in his usual chair holding a glass of brandy and reading that day’s issue of The Tattler. The shouts from the card room suggested a rather raucous crowd was enjoying a round of vingt-et-tun. And Alistair Comber stood regarding him with a knowing grin.
“I wondered if you would come,” the second son of an earl remarked as he moved to shake Jasper’s hand. “When Mother mentioned you were to be wed on the morrow, I thought she must be mistaken,” he added with a grin. “But between you and me, she is the Goddess of Gossip.”
Jasper matched his grin. Patience Comber, Countess of Aimsely, was a favorite in the ton, her tolerance of her misbehaving older son, Adam, at odds with her husband’s stricter and more sober manner. How she had managed to stay wed to the Earl of Aimsley—without having taken a lover or moving into a separate household—was anyone’s guess, but Jasper figured the two had a marriage built on affection rather than convenience. “It was good of you to meet me. The last time I was about to wed, Singleton saw to it I got thoroughly foxed,” he said, referring to his fellow archaeologist who usually joined him on his expeditions.
“I’m happy to do the honors on this evening, but don’t expect me to stay too late. I am a married man now, and I rather enjoy the company of my wife,” Alistair replied, referring to the former Lady Julia Harrington. “Beside, I have to meet a client in the morning,” he added.
“At Tattersall’s?” Jasper half-asked. He knew Alistair was a consultant at the auction house featuring the very best in horseflesh.
“Indeed.”
“I’m just glad you are not expecting me to visit Lucy Gibbon’s brothel,” Jasper said with an exaggerated shiver, his gaze taking in the current occupants of the club.
“Never,” Alistair agreed, his distaste for the Covent Gardens brothel apparent in his expression. “So, name your poison and name your game.”
Jasper was about to say, “Whisky,” to the butler who approached from one side, but a voice featuring the slightest of Scottish burrs interrupted with, “Scotch. Your very best.”
Both Jasper and Alistair turned to find William, Marquess of Devonville, and another gentleman regarding them with the most serious of expressions. “Devonville,” Jasper managed as he gave the marquess a nod.
“I thought you might make an appearance here tonight,” his future uncle-by-marriage said. “Your only stop, I presume?” he added with a bushy eyebrow that lifted in query.
“It is. And it will be an early night, given my friend is newly married,” he said as he indicated Alistair. “Have you two met?” he asked, hoping his sudden nervousness wasn’t apparent. Especially when he noticed how the man who stood next to Devonville looked almost exactly like Devonville. So much so, the two could be brothers. Which meant...
Alistair nodded and gave a bow. “Of course, I’ve had the pleasure. Devonville’s daughter is a friend of my Julia’s,” he said proudly.
“Good to see you again, Comber. That Thoroughbred you recommended has become my favorite for this season’s racing circuit,” Devonville said before turning to the man who stood to his right. “I don’t believe either one of you has met my brother, though. Lord Donald, I’d like you to meet Alistair Comber, an expert on horses,” he said as he indicated Alistair, “And Jasper Henley. The man who is scheduled to make your daughter his wife on the morrow.”
Eyes widened as three of the four gentlemen regarded one another. “It’s an honor to meet you, sir,” Jasper said as he held out his hand to his future father-in-law.
Donald Slater regarded Jasper for the briefest of moments before saying, “Good God! You’re a bit long in the tooth. What ever does my daughter see in you?”
Jasper blinked, rather startled by the comment. “I am almost two-and-thirty, it’s true,” he acknowledged with a nod, any self-confidence he might have had quickly dissipating under the man’s intense gaze. “And I’m not quite sure she has really seen me, my lord,” he managed, not intending his comment to sound disrespectful of Marianne. “I cannot convince her to wear her spectacles when she is in my company.”
There was a moment of stunned silence, as if his words had been heard by everyone in White’s, and they were all waiting with baited breath to hear how Lord Donald would respond. Jasper was sure his heartbeat could be heard, it hammered so loud in his chest. He knew Alistair was equally stunned, for he heard his inhalation of breath and wondered if his friend would make his excuses and slink away to safety.
And then Lord Donald broke out into laughter, his loud guffaws causing Jasper to let out the breath he’d been holding. Alistair blinked and then allowed a tentative grin. “I suppose the better question would be, what did you see in my daughter that had you deciding you had to kiss her?”
The question sounded more like a challenge rather than a simple query, but it was one Jasper found easy to answer. “Her complete and undeniable appreciation for the things she can see, my lord,” he stated. “It’s rather charming.”
The brothers sobered as they regarded him, their matching brows furrowing in the same way. “She is blind, you must know,” Donald said in a quiet voice.
Jasper did his best to rein in the flash of anger he felt just then. “I believe she can see what she must, sir. With a good pair of spectacles, she’ll be able to see everything else.” He suddenly wished he had arranged for an oculist to make her a pair before they took their leave of London.
“Are you marrying her because you... you feel some sort of... affection for her,” Lord Donald countered, just as the butler appeared with a tray of glasses.
“I am,” Jasper admitted with a nod. “Or rather, I will, if I have your permission.” After a half-second, he added, “Sir.”
The glasses of scotch were distributed to the four gentlemen before Lord Donald said, “Well, then, I suppose you have my permission. My blessing, actually,” he added with a nod. He held up his glass. “To my daughter,” he said.
“To Marianne,” Jasper agreed with a nod before he took a sip of the scotch. The liqu
or burned as it hit his throat, its heat fortifying him for what he was sure would be a long night in the company of Lord Donald.
The others drank their scotch before Lord Donald held up his glass to regard the remaining contents by the light of a nearby sconce. “Not bad,” he said. “But not as good as mine.” He turned to Jasper. “Has my brother served you my scotch?”
Jasper shook his head. “He has not.”
“I have had the pleasure,” Alistair offered. “My father stocks it in his study. I don’t believe he drinks anything else.”
“Ah. Aimsley knows what’s best,” Devonville agreed. He turned to his brother. “I rather imagine there will be a bottle or two of this making its way to Italy on the morrow, eh?”
Lord Donald gave a nod in Jasper’s direction. “How long do you intend to keep my daughter away from me?”
Jasper swallowed. “I’m afraid our wedding trip will last at least six months. Perhaps more, if the weather cooperates on Sicily.”
Devonville was about to say something before Donald stated. “Six bottles, then. Consider it a wedding gift.”
Boggling at the offer, Jasper wasn’t about to argue. Six bottles of scotch meant he had a universal currency for bribes, should he be required to arrange any. “That’s very generous, my lord,” he replied. “Thank you.”
“I’ll see to it part of her dowry is paid on the morrow, as well,” Donald stated. “The rest... well, you’ll have to come to Canobie to collect it,” he added. “My way of ensuring you bring her home to visit before you’re completely settled.”
Jasper nodded. “Thank you for the invitation. I will be sure to bring her, of course.”
“Started to think I was going to have to give it to her,” Donald added, sotto voce.
“That’s very kind of you, sir. The dowry, I mean. Under the circumstances, I... I wasn’t expecting to collect a dowry.”
The Vision of a Viscountess (The Widowers of the Aristocracy Book 2) Page 7