by Jen YatesNZ
Fran’s mouth quirked.
‘Lady Lara has been in London since she married the ancient Lord Riddley, who quite conveniently died a couple of years back leaving her very well off and able to follow her salacious interests under a rather false cloak of respectability. Though I doubt it would do your reputation much good to be known as her friend or even acquaintance. Nor would I vouch for her discretion. Her love of gossip has only amplified since we were at school together. But I rather think she may actually move in the circles you’re referring to.
‘But Madame Lady Bouvier understands about discretion. She might be able to help. She could certainly help with your education, should you want to know more about what you are trying to deal with, Jass.’
‘Madame Lady Bouvier?’
‘Mmm. She’s a Madame and a Lady in her own right.’
‘Madame as in—owner of a—a brothel?’ Jassie felt incredibly naive. ‘How do you come to know such a person?’
A flush of color stained Fran’s ivory cheeks.
‘I probably would’ve ended up working for her if you hadn’t rescued me,’ Fran said tightly, lowering her eyes to her hands. ‘Abingdon didn’t leave me with many choices. The scandal of his cheating and being killed in a duel precluded me from the usual genteel occupations of companion or governess. It’s only because you are the good friend you are and willing to tilt your nose at the vindictive society tabbies, that I’m not plying my trade under the auspices of Madame Lady Bouvier. She’d have snapped me up in a trice. I’d been married—to a well-known rake, which she was pleased to tell me was an absolute asset in that occupation! I was still young and very comely. And I had a title. That last is an essential requirement to working at Bouvier’s. It is very exclusive, all her ‘gels’ being titled and all the clients also must be titled and wealthy. A plain Mr. or Sir could never gain entry and even a Lord has to be known to possess an income of at least £20,000 a year.—Remember Addy Walsingham?’
Jassie’s face lit up.
‘Lady Adeline? Oh I do. She was your very good friend at Mrs. Rabone’s, wasn’t she? Where is—No! Never say—’
‘I’m afraid so,’ Fran murmured. ‘It was such a shame. Her father gambled everything away then committed suicide and her mother couldn’t face the poverty and the shame and took an overdose of laudanum. It was hushed up to a degree but Addy said she couldn’t face trying to make a life for herself with that scandal hanging over her head. Not to mention she really wasn’t cut out to be a governess. She says her life is not so bad. Madame Bouvier runs a very tight shop. The patrons must abide by her laws regardless of who they are or how rich they are. So Addy feels quite—safe there.’
Fran looked up at Jassie from beneath her brows.
‘Actually—truth to tell, I think she enjoys it. She also might have some advice on how to—handle—Windermere.’
‘Should I ever get so lucky as to actually—handle—Windermere,’ Jassie growled.
‘Jass!’
Fran tried to sound shocked but ended on a bubble of laughter.
A knock on the door was followed by Ruby and a footman bearing their breakfast trays of poached eggs on toast which Jassie had ordered as she’d passed the kitchens on her way up the back stairs. The Dowager never came downstairs until late in the morning and often not until luncheon so it had seemed pointless for the staff to go to the unnecessary effort of laying a full breakfast in the dining room for just the two of them.
Besides, it was quicker and easier this way and as soon as they’d finished eating they could head down to the old tilt yard at the back of the Abbey if it was fine, or practice their sword play in the Abbot’s refectory which was now only used for balls and large social occasions. It was something Jassie had inveigled Philip into teaching her and Fran had been delighted with the opportunity to learn from Jassie. It kept them both fit and agile—and satisfied the rebel that lurked within both their breasts.
Once Ruby and the footman had left, Jassie picked up her knife and fork then leant back in her chair to stare at Francine.
‘Fran, do you think Madame Lady Bouvier would talk to me? Well more like—teach—me?’
‘Teach you!’ Fran squawked, almost choking on the first mouthful of her breakfast. ‘Teach you what?’
‘H—How to please a man like—Windermere?’
Eyes wide with horror, Fran said, ‘Jass, you should find out what kind of man Windermere really is before you—um—try to get any closer to him. It may be that when he goes into that sort of animalistic state he gets into, that—he could hurt you. Seriously.’
Jassie shook her head.
‘Windermere wouldn’t hurt me, Fran. He might not be prepared to admit it but he loves me. Always has. That much I do know about him.’
‘I think you need to be a little more patient. Wait and see what Windermere does next. He’s a gentleman and an intelligent man. He’ll work out pretty soon that you cannot conduct a marriage in this—scandalous fashion.’
‘Patience!’ Jassie muttered fiercely. ‘I ran out of that commodity weeks ago. That’s the cause of this whole awful mess!’
Lady O and Jensen were already seated in the dining room with Barton Matthews, Windermere’s secretary and constant companion, when Jassie and Fran entered. Both had a healthy glow from their exertions in the tilt yard and then the leisurely baths they had indulged in before dressing in exquisitely genteel morning gowns as befitted Ladies of the ton who’d been doing nothing more strenuous than walking in the gardens. It was a game the pair had long played and enjoyed, a game that both knew was only possible while they lived in the seclusion of a country estate.
Bart instantly came to his feet to greet them and assist them into their chairs. Jassie could scarcely wait for him to resume his seat before scanning the other faces at the table and then asking outright, ‘Windermere is not with you?’
‘No, my Lady. I’m afraid not.’
Jassie’s chest swelled with indignation and then she bit down on her lip, looked at Lady O and said brightly, ‘And how are you this morning, Mama? Did you sleep well?’
‘Very well thank you, Jassie-love,’ Lady O answered, her eyes shining with tears that Jassie suspected were on her account. Then she began to wonder if Bart had brought news that had upset her mother-in-law.
‘Is something upsetting you, Mama? Has Windermere sent a communication?’
‘I’m just upset at my son’s—recalcitrance,’ she, said sadly. ‘However I do believe Barton has something for you.’
‘F—From Windermere?’
Jassie couldn’t keep the pathetic hope from quivering in her voice. Struggle as she might to be strong and resilient she was just pathetic, needy.
At Bart’s nod, Jassie leapt to her feet.
‘Where is it? Why have you not given it to me?’
‘Jassie,’ the Dowager, said gently. ‘Settle down. Barton has had a long, hard ride this morning and is in need of his luncheon.’
‘Oh! Of course. I’m sorry,’ Jassie muttered, and subsided back into her chair like a limp rag.
‘Perhaps you could meet me in Windermere’s study after luncheon,’ the secretary said, looking distinctly uncomfortable.
‘Yes, certainly.’
The food on the table had lost all appeal. Her stomach was tied in a knot of Gordian proportions and she simply couldn’t sit still and wait.
‘Please excuse me. I don’t feel hungry. I’ll meet you in the study in half an hour.’
Thus wresting back at least some small amount of control over the situation, she rose and hurried out of the room. Fran rose to follow her but the Dowager raised her hand and, to Jassie’s relief, Fran subsided with a troubled frown.
Never had time moved so slowly. Jassie paced up and down the ancient cloisters, supposedly a place of quiet contemplation for the monks of long ago. But nothing quieted the riot of her thoughts, the racing of her blood, the surging of anticipation. What did Windermere have to say to her?
Una
ble to wait the entire half hour, Jassie was already ensconced in the huge leather chair to one side of the unlit fireplace in the Earl’s study when Bart entered. His face was grave and Jassie had the sinking realization he didn’t relish the task his cousin had set him. What was Windermere about?
With only a nod of acknowledgement, he opened a drawer of the huge mahogany desk and withdrew a bulky packet of papers, which he handed to Jassie.
‘Windermere said that if you had any questions about any of the enclosed you should apply to me. I will be gone from here again at sunrise tomorrow so perhaps you should study the information carefully so I can help with anything you want to know before I leave.’
Confusion slowed Jassie’s trembling fingers as she began to untie the wide ribbon holding everything together. Bart’s words implied that the packet contained more than just a personal missive, which was really borne out by the bulk of the papers.
‘Would you like me to leave you alone to read, my Lady?’
There was a terrible pain in her heart for somehow she just knew Windermere was about to deliver the cruelest blow yet, but in the depth of her distraction she couldn’t imagine what it might be.
‘Thank you. I’d like that.’
Her voice was little more than a whisper and on some vague level she registered the deeply concerned frown on the man’s face but her only real focus was the packet of papers she held in her hand—that felt as if it were something that might explode in her face the moment the ribbon came loose.
Rising slowly to her feet, she crossed to a chair that offered a view of the rose gardens, one of the many treasures of Windermere Abbey. Barton Matthews forgotten, she let the packet fall open on her lap. The top sheet was indeed a missive from Windermere, his writing a little less carefully formed than usual.
My Dear Jassie,
There are no adequate words to express my deep sorrow at what has occurred between us. I am not the man you deserve to have for husband. I am honored by your love and that you now bear my name. But you must understand that is all I can give you. I will not subject you to the beast that lives within me and which—at certain times—I am unable to control.
I have sent you the marriage settlements. I trust you will find them satisfactory. If you have any queries at all, apply to Bart. He knows as much as I about Windermere affairs.
By the time you receive this package from me I will be back in Europe assisting the war effort as best I can. There will be a big and hopefully defining, battle fought in the very near future. I must do my part to ensure the victory is ours and the monster Bonaparte is banished forever.
If I should not return I ask that you remember me as we were before that fateful day on Neave Tor and that sometime in the future you will find a man who will truly care for you and love you as you deserve to be loved.
Forever yours,
Windermere.
How long she sat staring at the words Jassie could not have said. She’d certainly read and re-read them several times but no amount of reading or re-reading could change the message contained therein.
Windermere intended to get himself killed in the line of duty.
After some time she unfolded the sheaf of papers comprising the marriage settlements and perused the dry contents. That her portion included the Somerset Estate he’d mentioned at their engagement as well as Brantleigh Manor and all monies she’d had in her own right before marriage was no surprise. But Windermere had added a further £20,000—which could only mean he was trying to ensure that she did indeed find another husband! There was also, gifted to her outright from the date of their marriage, the topaz and diamond wedding ring and the topaz and diamond parure from the Windermere jewels comprising pendant necklace, tiara, combs, brooch, earbobs and a pair of bracelets.
She wanted none of it. She just wanted Rogan.
The papers fell from her lifeless fingers and for a long time she stared blankly at the window before her. Then slowly all the blood that seemed to have leached from her veins flowed back and with it came a surging rage like she’d never known. Suddenly she was running, the papers forgotten where they’d fallen on the floor. Up the stairs she raced as if pursued by the Furies of Hell. In her room she ripped at her clothes impatiently until Ruby appeared and began scolding.
‘Miss Jassie, you’ll ruin that gown with your impatience.’
‘Then hurry and get me out of it Ruby. I have to ride before I do something exceedingly foolish.’
‘Miss Jassie! You need to calm down.’
‘What I need Ruby, is my Lord Windermere’s head so I can smash it, smash it—smash it!’
‘Oh Miss Jassie! Please don’t talk like that. It might not be wise to ride in this state—‘
‘It would be much less wise to stay here where there is so much that reminds one of Windermere that one could smash!’
Ruby made a funny little squeaking sound and snapped her mouth into silence. As soon as she was dressed in buckskin trousers once again exactly as she had been early that morning, Jassie raced down the back stairs to the stable, dashing in the door and calling for Dobbie.
‘I’m here Miss Jass—my Lady,’ Dobbie responded from the cool dim interior of the vast stable block. ‘You be wanting to ride—again? You gave Chester a pretty wild ride this morning.’
‘Don’t-argue-with-me-today-Dobbie,’ Jassie growled between her teeth. ‘If you don’t get me on that horse and away from this place in the next five minutes I will probably tear the whole goddamn edifice apart with my bare hands!’
Her voice rose on every word so she was practically shouting at an astonished Dobbie by the time she’d uttered the last. His eyebrows climbed into his hair as the unladylike epithet issued from her taut lips but it seemed he had enough sense not to comment—on the language at least.
‘Yes, Miss Jassie. Keep yer hair on, lass. T’ain’t like you to go up in the boughs like this,’ he muttered as he strode off to fetch Chester. ‘I’ll call young Jem to ride with ye. Ye’re like to break yer pretty neck, the mood ye’re in.’
‘I’ll ride alone thank you, Dobbie, just as I always do. I think sometimes you forget who issues the orders here!’
The old man swiveled back to cast her a searing scowl, then stalked off muttering about people who allowed themselves to become a slave to their ill-temper.
Jassie knew she was out of control but hadn’t a clue how to address that problem except in the way she’d handled every emotional trauma since childhood. She needed the strength and power of a good horse beneath her, the wind burning her eyes and rushing down her throat, and the wild thrill of riding to the edge of danger. If her future was not to contain Windermere then she was damned if she wanted a future! If Windermere could opt out, so could she!
Dobbie led Chester out and Jassie threw herself up into the saddle before the old man could even think of helping her.
‘Thanks, Dobbie,’ she growled as she turned the animal, put him to the first fence and the next until they’d leapt out of the stable yards and onto Home Park where she gave him his head. They rode in a mad dash through the great trees of the park, scattering the deer that had been quietly grazing, jumping logs and streams, Jassie urging the big red horse ever faster. When they came to a point where Neave Tor was directly before them, she suddenly knew where she had to be and set Chester on a direct course for the distant stone-crowned peak.
With every thud into the hard ground she imagined Windermere beneath Chester’s hooves, pounded into a pulp by her fury. How dare he go off to die just to avoid her! Body lying low along the animal’s sweating neck, Jassie yelled into the wind.
‘Go Chester! Go!’
The big animal was nothing loath. If his mistress wanted speed then she should have it. His hooves pounded with a satisfying rhythm against the hard earth of the track that spiraled up the Tor and in minutes they’d arrived at the top, both breathing hard and fast. Almost before he’d come to a halt Jassie threw herself from the saddle and dropped into the crater
, the place where the madness had started nearly three weeks ago.
She punched her gloved fist into the ground, just as Windermere had done and welcomed the jarring pain that streaked through her body with each violent impact.
‘Damn you, Windermere!’ she yelled. ‘You’re a craven coward! How dare you? How dare you go off and leave me here without you! Damn you!’
Jerking to her feet she closed her eyes and screamed into the wind, ‘You’re a goddamn craven coward, Windermere. If I were a man I’d call you out and fight until you agreed to face me, talk to me! D’you hear me, Windermere? I’ll not live without you! That was never how it was meant to be!—Windermere, I don’t want anybody else. How you could even suggest it—?’
Her voice wobbling to a watery whisper on this last, Jassie sank back to the ground and hid her face in her arms on her knees and let the despair take over her body in big heaving sobs.
Barton Matthews had never had cause to regret his work for the Earl of Windermere; until three weeks ago when his always controlled, slightly aloof cousin had become someone torn, driven, irrational. In all the years they’d worked as a team Windermere had never asked anything of him he’d felt more unfit for and less inclined towards, than bringing what amounted to his last will and testament to Jassinda Carlisle, now the Countess of Windermere.
He’d admired her ever since he’d known her. She was everything Windermere needed in a Countess and their friendship with each other was legendary. No one had been able to understand why Windermere hadn’t offered marriage as soon as she was of age, for it was obvious the lady would have acquiesced in a heartbeat. Bart understood a lot more now after he’d forced that confession from Windermere, but believed his cousin was wrong—wrong to discount his Lady’s ability to listen and understand his problem and to work with him on a solution that would allow them to pursue the marriage and the deep abiding friendship that had sustained them both throughout their lives.
Never had he known Windermere so bull-headed as he was about this. He’d not even given Jassinda the choice to try and help him. He’d acted with a stubborn arbitrariness Bart had never seen in him before. He couldn’t see past the shame and humiliation to anything approaching hope for their future.