by Joan Smith
He looked down. “By Jove! So it is. What I need is a wife to smarten me up. Heh heh. Someone to tell me what to do.” He daubed at the tea, while darting a shyly hopeful look at Jane. What he needed was a nanny, but she could hardly say so without hurting his feelings.
Jane wished Fenwick would begin some of his lively bantering, but he had fallen silent, with a small frown puckering his forehead. It was Scawen’s rather awkward hint that he saw Miss Lonsdale in the role of his wife that accounted for it. He knew Scawen liked Jane, but until that moment, he hadn’t realized Swann was serious about her. It would be an excellent thing for them both. Scawen certainly needed a wife, and Miss Lonsdale would be doing well for herself to nab him. She was a good-natured lady who didn’t seem to mind his awkwardness and lack of conversation.
He was attracted to her himself; she was different from his usual sophisticated flirts, but he had no serious attachment. The decent thing to do was to retire from the fray. Scawen didn’t meet many eligible ladies, whereas he knew a dozen girls who were as pretty as Jane, all of them with handsome dowries. It would be ill done of him to interfere in this romance. And so he sat, frowning into his cup, steeling himself to do the proper thing.
As soon as the tea was gone, he said, “Well, I think that about does it for Bibury. Shall we be getting home?”
“If we hustle, we’ll be just in time for tea,” Swann said.
Jane stared at him, then she looked, at Fenwick, expecting to see him chewing back a smile. He was fishing in his pocket for a coin to pay for the tea and gingerbread. She thought perhaps he had not heard that last bit of nonsense.
As they drove home, Fenwick mentioned that he must be continuing on to his hunting box soon. He spoke to Swann, but darted a look to Jane to see her reaction. She didn’t object, but he noticed she drew her underlip between her teeth, as if disappointed.
“I wish you would stay a little longer,” Swann said. He knew his outing with Miss Lonsdale required a third presence. “Just a day or two.”
“Lady Pargeter is planning a dinner party in a few days,” Jane said. “Why do you not wait until it is over, Lord Fenwick? We might have need of a peacemaker.”
Fenwick felt there was still the possibility that Lady Alice Merton was on his trail. It might be best to remain a few days longer in hiding. He said, “I leave ladies’ disputes severely alone.”
“If you’re talking about Phoebe and Rampling, I would hardly call it a severe dispute,” Swann said. “More like a squabble. Ladies are always scratching at each other.”
“I must take objection to that!” Jane said at once.
“No, but I was talking about ladies,” Swann said.
Fenwick darted a smile at her. “Not that you ain’t a lady, Miss Lonsdale.”
“Exactly!” Swann agreed. “Other ladies. You are a nice quiet sort of girl.”
“Thank you for the ‘girl,’ Mr. Swann. I am no longer in my teens.”
“Well, an old girl. I am five and thirty myself. You seem like a girl to me.” Then he turned to Fenwick. “Is it agreed you’re staying a little longer, Fen?” he asked hopefully.
Fenwick saw the mute appeal in Scawen’s eyes, and the hope in Jane’s, and he wavered. “Perhaps a day or two,” he said.
The gentlemen left Jane at the front door of Wildercliffe. Swann mentioned that he wouldn’t call that evening as he had to attend a meeting of the Parish Council. Jane dallied a moment, hoping that Fenwick would invite himself to call, but he just drew a piece of paper out of his pocket and examined it. He took his leave politely, but she sensed some new reserve in him.
Lady Pargeter had just returned from her walk with Lord Malton and sat in the Blue Saloon, having tea, when Jane entered.
“Ah, your niece is back,” Malton said, rising to bow to Jane. “I shall run along now, Fay. I am happy you’ve finally called in Cassidy. He will see no harm comes to you.”
He left at once. “What did he mean, you have ‘finally’ called Cassidy?” Jane asked. “Have you had some problems before, Aunt Fay?”
“A touch of flu early in the spring. I was telling Lord Malton about it. He feels I am run-down. How did your visit go?”
“Fine. Lord Fenwick plans to leave soon. Will you have your dinner party before he goes?”
“I thought Friday evening might do. Lord Malton has agreed to come. Let us plan our menu.”
They passed the interval until dinner in this agreeable fashion. Jane’s mind was half-occupied with Fenwick, and the sudden change in his manner to her. It was only when she was changing for dinner that she remembered Lord Malton’s remark about Fay finally calling Cassidy. Fay did not appear to be run-down. In fact, she was a little plumper than before, due to her sedentary way of going on, and her eating too many snacks. Being run-down would not cause nausea in any case. Was it possible Aunt Fay had some more serious illness? But illness usually caused a loss of weight.
For a long moment Jane stood, gazing into the mirror, but seeing an image of her aunt, with her increasing stomach. Of course! She was blind not to have seen it before! The nausea, the hunger, the fatigue. Aunt Fay was enceinte!
Chapter Fourteen
It was impossible to quiz Lady Pargeter over dinner, with the footmen hovering about, but as soon as the ladies retired to the saloon, Jane said quietly, “When is the baby due, Aunt Fay?”
Fay’s sharp intake of breath was the only indication of surprise. It soon gave way to relief that the matter was out in the open.
“So you have twigged to it. Then it will not be long before the rest of the world knows it as well.” She looked down at her increasing body.
“It can’t be hidden much longer. What is the secret? You’re married—or were at least. It’s not as though the child were illegitimate.”
“It’s the timing,” Fay said, and put her hand to her forehead. “It must have happened the first time we—you know what I mean. And you know what folks will say! That I trapped Pargeter into marriage. We were never—intimate until after the marriage, Jane. I hope you know me well enough to believe that.”
“Of course I believe you! Good gracious, you don’t have to explain yourself to me. I only asked when is the baby due.”
“In six months. That will be nine months from the wedding. And in our family, premature births are the rule. Your own mama was only seven months when you were born, Jane. Such a puling wee thing, we were afraid we’d lose you. If this child doesn’t go to full term—well, what would not Lady Sykes make of that? Probably have the child declared adulterine, and the estate snatched from him. If it’s a male, I mean. That is what Pargeter was hoping for, of course. It is half the reason he married me. And half the reason I married him. It wasn’t just the money and title and all this.” She swept a careless arm around the saloon. “I would like to have a child. What lady wouldn’t? I was not likely to get another chance at my age.”
“I’m not condemning you. It’s marvelous news. I just don’t see why you make a secret of it. That gives it a questionable air. If you take care of yourself, there’s no reason you should give birth prematurely.”
“I can’t conceal it much longer, but I’m not ready to announce it yet. With luck, Lady Sykes will be gone before my condition is noticed. You know how spiteful she is already. If she found out I’m carrying the future heir as well, I really don’t know what the creature might do. Once she’s back in London, she’ll forget about me.”
“Does Lord Malton know?”
“Oh yes. Pargeter went crowing to him the instant he suspected it. Malton has known all along, which made it harder that he didn’t call on me. But we are fast friends now. In fact, he ...” Jane gave her a questioning look. Lady Pargeter blushed and twiddled her fingers. “After it is over, Malton wants me to marry him.”
“Good God! And will you have him?”
“Why not?” Fay asked in a challenging way. “And give him a son as well if I’m able.”
Jane sat, temporarily bereft of speech. So ma
ny major changes occurring so quickly left her in a daze, but she did manage to hug her aunt’s shoulders and murmur a few supportive platitudes. Her aunt, who had long kept her secrets locked in her bosom, welcomed the chance to talk. Her words came rushing out in a flood.
“If my child is a boy—that is why the full reading of the will was delayed a year, until we found out—then, of course, he will inherit Wildercliffe and the title. If it is a girl, I was to have the use of Wildercliffe during my lifetime, with, of course, a substantial dowry for our daughter. Now that I have settled with Malton, I shall remove to his estate and hand the running of Wildercliffe over to Harold Soames, with the income, of course, mine during my lifetime. Soames is to inherit when I die if the child is a girl, or in case I miscarry. At my age, there is no saying. Cassidy foresees no difficulty, however.”
“And Nigel Sykes was never considered as the heir?”
“Only in his mama’s head. He didn’t expect it himself, or he would be here with her, stirring up a hornet’s nest.”
“Mr. Soames will be living at Wildercliffe, then, whether your child is a boy or girl?” This being the case, Jane was curious to learn something of him.
“I shall ask him to do it. I think he will agree. He lives in a rented house now—not very well-to-do, whatever Phoebe says—but a bright and honest man. He and his wife could live here. My son would be close enough that he could come often and be instructed by Soames in the running of the estate. Malton is too old to take the job on.”
“I see,” Jane said pensively. She soon realized that her present job was redundant in this arrangement. Aunt Fay wouldn’t need a companion when she was married—but she would have a child to care for. “You’ll need a nursemaid,” she said hopefully.
Her aunt smiled. “We have decided you are to marry Swann, have we not?”
“Indeed we have not. I like him, but I don’t love him.”
“Oh, Jane!” her aunt said with a tsk. “Loving is not for such tenuous ladies as you and I. We must look out for our future. Where would I be today if I had refused Pargeter? I would be Mrs. Swann’s companion—if I were lucky. There was some talk of it when Lady Pargeter died. The old lady needs a companion. And instead of that I am a baroness, fast on my way to becoming a countess. Where will you be ten years from now if you don’t nab Swann? In some such spot at Miss Prism’s Academy, or nursemaid for me. It is not to be thought of. Give up this foolish idea of romance and nab Swann, while you have the chance.”
Jane knew the advice was sensible. It was no new thing for a young lady to marry without love in the hope that love would grow along with familiarity, but she could no more do it than she could allow Fortini to take liberties with her. To marry a man she didn’t love ... Even if there was no other gentleman a lady did care for, it would be difficult. At the back of her mind there hovered the beguiling image of Lord Fenwick, to make it not only difficult but impossible.
How had Fay married a gentleman she didn’t love? Jane didn’t believe for one moment that she had loved that old Tartar, Lord Pargeter. Perhaps a lifetime of servitude had driven her to it. She wasn’t a servant now, though, and she had agreed to marry Malton, another aging, pompous gentleman.
Jane thought of Swann, who was neither aging nor pompous. In fact, she quite liked him. No, it was too high a price to pay for diamonds and a fancy house. When a woman sold her body, her freedom, her very spirit, were an integral part of the bargain. She renounced all hope of love, and twenty-three was too young an age to abandon a dream.
“I must do as I think best,” Jane said, and drew the conversation back to her aunt’s future. There was so much to discuss there that the talk went on for hours. Jane glanced at the ornate French clock on the mantel from time to time, thinking that Lord Fenwick might call, since he must be at loose ends at Swann Hall. At eleven no one had called, and the ladies retired.
The next morning they wrote the invitations for Lady Pargeter’s dinner party. It was to consist of the same people who attended Mrs. Swann’s party, except that Lord Malton would replace Mr. Parker, and of course, Mrs. Swann would not come. In the afternoon they delivered the invitations, using Lady Pargeter’s elegant chaise. Their first stop was Swann Hall.
Jane had a sinking feeling she would learn that Lord Fenwick had left for his hunting box, but he was there when she was shown into the saloon. He looked up from his newspaper. When his dark eyes met hers, she was sure she saw a leap of pleasure there. A spontaneous smile flashed and lingered long enough to give her hope. Yet he hadn’t come to call last night. He had nothing more pressing to do today than read the journals, but he didn’t come to see her.
In the corner, Horace Gurney smiled the uncertain smile of a man in his cups, said, “Good day, Rampling,” and lifted his glass to her.
“This is Lady Pargeter, Horace,” his sister said with a commanding eye. When Lady Pargeter just shook her head, Phoebe knew any hope for a match between them was vain.
Lady Sykes and Lady Pargeter immediately began a verbal skirmish.
“No written reply is necessary,” Fay said, handing her enemy the invitation. “So finicky, don’t you think, to request a written reply for a simple dinner party? I wouldn’t have bothered with the card, but I thought you might not be in this afternoon. I meant to leave it with Morton.”
“That is your provincial upbringing speaking, my dear Lady Pargeter. In London we are always so full of invitations that we never give a verbal reply. We have to check our calendars. A written reply is de rigueur.”
“When in Rome, Lady Sykes. I doubt your calendar is full to overflowing here in the country.”
“True, there is no one to call on here.” Then she added with great condescension, “Present company excepted, of course. Ça va sans dire.”
“One wonders that you remain so long away from your friends,” Lady Pargeter said. “You are missing the Season.”
Jane took a chair beside Fenwick. “Where is Mr. Swann today?” she asked, as he wasn’t in the room.
“He’s gone haring after a rumor of black swans some twenty miles away—left right after breakfast. He mentioned asking you to accompany him, but as he was carrying two large baskets on the roof of his carriage, he thought you might not enjoy the trip.”
“And what are you doing to amuse yourself, Lord Fenwick?”
“Demmed little. I rode this morning.”
“I enjoy riding,” she said, thinking he might take the hint and invite her to join him the next time. In fact, she was a little offended that he hadn’t invited her that morning. “My aunt has a lady’s mount in her stable,” she said.
“That’s nice. Then you won’t be bored to flinders,” he replied rather stiffly. She sensed the constraint in him. He was much less forthcoming than usual. “Scawen should be back late this afternoon,” he said. “No doubt he’ll call on you this evening and let you know all about his outing.”
“I hope you will accompany him, if you have nothing better to do,” she said. It was as bold a speech as she had ever made to a gentleman, and her cheeks flushed with embarrassment at her own audacity, but she had to know if he had any interest in her at all.
“I should enjoy it,” he said. Then he gave her a diffident look and added, “Actually, I have a deal of correspondence I ought to be writing.”
She took it as a direct rebuff. “I see,” she said. Her aunt was right. Lord Fenwick had no interest in her. It was his easy London manners that had led her astray. Caught between shame and anger, she had never felt so miserable in her life.
Fenwick saw her state, and had a good idea as to the reason for it. He liked Jane too much to hurt her.
“It won’t do, you know, Miss Lonsdale,” he said gently. How to proceed with this delicate task without hurting her? She had already stiffened noticeably. He’d mention Swarm’s fondness of her. “I am Swann’s guest. It would be wrong of me to interfere in his romance.”
Jane snatched at this face-saving crumb. “Oh, is that why you sudd
enly turned so cool after our drive? I must admit I did wonder if I had offended you.”
“Jane,” he said, shaking his head. “I shouldn’t think you’ve ever offended anyone in your life. You’re quite different from most ladies. So shy and gentle. You wouldn’t believe what some young ladies get up to.”
“What do you mean?” she asked with real interest.
There was a visit to be got in somehow, and he decided to amuse her with the story of Miss Merton, whose name he withheld like a gentleman.
“Well, to take one example, I am at present being pursued by a certain Miss X, who has hounded me from London to Brighton to Bath, and I have no doubt she is not far from my hunting box this minute, waiting for me. I feel like a fox running for cover.”
“She’s not the only one after you, I take it?”
“Certainly not. We well-to-do bachelors are prime targets for all the nubile ladies. You notice how modestly I disclaim that the ladies have any interest in my poor self. Well, I daresay the title helps, if that can be considered a part of myself.”
“But don’t you want to get married and settle down?” she asked. “I have always heard it is necessary when estates and titles are at stake.”
“Certainly I do, but I prefer to make my own choice. I’ll not be bullocked into it by a marauding female.”
“Well, I never thought I should feel sorry for you, but I expect it is rather harrowing, pelting all over the countryside to escape entrapment.”
“Yes, it was a great boon to me, finding this safe corner of the country, away from all the ladies.”
Jane was accustomed to disappointments. She took this latest with her usual stoicism. She had always known Fenwick was above her touch, and she had now heard from his own lips that he had no interest in her. She was “safe”; there was no danger of his falling in love with her.
“If Miss X discovers you at your hunting box, you know where you will be safe,” she said.