by Joan Smith
Before too many years, Malton would be too old to get about. He was considerably older than Fay, and not in the best of health. At least he complained a good deal. Then Fay would be happy to have a companion. And if her child was a girl, she would require a governess. There Jane felt she could make a real contribution.
Was that to be her future, attaching herself like a barnacle to her aunt, living vicariously through Fay? Growing old in another lady’s house, that dread creature the poor relation? Worst of all, the spinster. It was almost as dreary as teaching at Miss Prism’s. The physical amenities were superior, of course, but at least at the school she had been living her own life, not someone else’s.
The ultimate irony was that she faced this bleak future because Mr. Fortini had found her attractive. He was “overcome by her ravishing beauty,” he had said. It was what he said to all the ladies he molested. Odd he was never overcome by the ravishing beauty of the noble daughters he taught. Their pedigree protected them from such licentious behavior. Miss Prism might turn a blind eye to the complaints of her teachers, but not of her pupils.
Jane looked up when she heard the sound of a horse approaching, expecting to see only the bailiff or game warden. She gave an instinctive gasp of surprise tinged with pleasure when she recognized Lord Fenwick. The sight of him in Pargeter’s meadow, mounted on a sleek bay mare, threw her into temporary confusion. Even while her stomach tightened in anger, she noticed how handsome he looked, how well he sat his mount, as if born in the saddle. No wonder she had fallen in love with him. He should be riding a white steed, girded in gold. He might be a prince riding out of a fairy tale, with the blue sky and green meadow around him and the sun forming a halo against his head and broad shoulders.
How dare he come here after prying into her life, causing trouble? She was overcome with a blind rage. Here was the cause of half her woes. The little scandal might have died aborning if he had not gone to Bath, digging into it all. Lady Sykes would be bound to trumpet the story around Bibury, causing Jane’s potential friends to despise her. She rose up from the grass, rigid in her fury, as if she were meeting an armed adversary. The final straw was that he tried to con her with a smile.
“Miss Lonsdale, what luck to find you alone. I was just on my way to call on you.” He dismounted in an easy glide, holding on to the reins.
Jane found she could hardly speak for the tightness in her throat and the pounding in her breast. “What do you want now?” she demanded in an angry, strained voice that she hardly recognized.
A playful frown drew Fenwick’s eyebrows together. “Get up on the wrong side of the bed this morning, Miss Lonsdale?” he asked.
“Why didn’t you stay away? Why did you have to come back?”
“Why do you think, Jane?” he asked softly, and reached his arms out to her. The way he spoke, using her Christian name, had a devastating effect on her taut nerves.
The scene was so different from what she expected that she hardly knew how to respond. Instead of the haughty contempt she expected to see on his face, she saw only confusion, rapidly changing to a warm smile as their gazes held. Before she could draw back, his arms were around her, cradling her gently against his shoulder.
“Tell me all about it, my dear,” he murmured. “This hostility is not like my gentle Jane. Who has been annoying you?”
She drew back and looked up at him with a question in her eyes. That “my dear” sounded like celestial chimes in her ears. What new mischief was he contriving against her with his insidious charm? “Yes, someone has been pestering me! You! Why did you do it? Why did you go to Bath?”
The small smile that curved his lips rose slowly to light his eyes as she watched, mesmerized. “You missed me? Good! I missed you, too, more than I would have thought possible. I haven’t slept a wink for thinking of you, Jane,” he said, and lowered his head to kiss her.
Jane’s heart trembled in tune with her lips. When he firmed her lips with his kiss, her heart trembled the harder and her knees turned to water. The warmth of his body seeped into hers in a thrilling intimacy she had never even imagined, disarming her hostility. His arms tightened insensibly until he was crushing her against the hard wall of his masculinity. It was like a dream, washing away all the doubts and fears and anger that had engulfed her. He had missed her! He must care for her, at least a little. For a full minute she succumbed to the madness, before sanity returned.
What was he doing? Why was he making love to her? He knew she was a penniless orphan—and he imagined she was a loose woman. That was it! He thought he could play fast and loose with her because of her imagined scarlet past. A lady who gave herself to a music master would be easy prey to a handsome lord. That was what he thought of her, that she was free for the taking, like a lightskirt. She wrenched from his arms and glared at him.
“If I were a man, I’d run you through,” she said, through clenched teeth. The frustration of the past days boiled over to temporary madness. She could hardly see his face for the scalding tears that pooled in her eyes when she lifted her hand and struck him a sharp blow across the cheek. Caught off guard, he reeled back from the force of the blow and stood rubbing his cheek and breathing hard while he got his anger under control.
“You had only to say if you didn’t want me to kiss you,” he said stiffly.
“You didn’t ask, milord. Odd that didn’t occur to you, when you are so fond of asking questions!”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“You can forget what Miss Prism told you. I did not encourage Mr. Fortini. He molested me, as he molested countless other schoolmistresses.”
Fenwick became perfectly rigid, just before he made a convulsive motion toward her. “What! Who molested you?” he demanded, fire in his eyes.
“I think you know who I am referring to. And you know as well that I am not Pargeter’s daughter. I won’t inherit a sou in the infamous will, Lord Fenwick, so I can only assume you are after me for some other purpose.”
“What are you talking about, Jane?”
“About your trip to Bath. Sorry it was in vain. And so was your inferior attempt at seduction. And now, if you will excuse me, I must leave.”
His hand reached out and snatched her wrist. “Not without an explanation!”
She met his gaze defiantly. “You have misjudged your quarry, milord. Don’t believe all you hear. Your trip to Radstock should have taught you that much.”
She wrenched her wrist free and stalked at a stately pace off through the park, back to Wildercliffe, with the hot tears falling on her cheeks.
Fenwick mounted his mare and rode back to where he had seen Scawen with some lady. Perhaps Scawen could shed some light on what Jane had been talking about, this Fortini fellow. If he had molested Jane, he’d call him out. But why was she so angry with himself? Was it because he had left without saying good-bye? He knew before he was halfway to Bath that he would be back. Scawen hadn’t offered for Jane. He had only known her a short while. Swann would find someone else. Jane’s happiness was more important, and he felt in his bones that she loved him.
Fenwick had searched for and found a pair of black swans as a consolation prize for Swann. And while he was away, someone had driven Jane Lonsdale mad. Worse, that someone had turned her against him.
Chapter Eighteen
Jane was thankful to be alone when she returned to the house. She ran up to her room and threw herself on her bed to relive those agonizing moments with Fenwick. Every word he had uttered was indelibly etched on her heart. As she considered them in the relative calm of privacy, she realized his words and reactions were at odds with those of a guilty man. He had seemed confused by her accusation. What if the man at Miss Prism’s hadn’t been him? And the man at Radstock? But who else could it have been—a young gentleman in a handsome carriage?
If it hadn’t been Fenwick, she had made a wretched botch of her future happiness. His manner, when he approached her, had been that of a lover. If he didn’t think she was
a fallen woman, then his behavior could only mean he had come to offer for her. And she had accused him of villainy; she had even struck him. What must he think of her? At the bottom of her misery, there was one small bubble of hope. It was the way he had smiled at her, the way he had called her “my Jane” and kissed her. Such love couldn’t be lost because of a misunderstanding—could it?
Hope gave her courage to dry her eyes, wash her face, and tidy her gown. She was more or less presentable when Harriet came tapping at her door half an hour later. Harriet came in hesitantly.
“I met Lord Fenwick,” she said. “He’s very handsome, Jane, but not an even-tempered gentleman. What did you say to him to put him in such a pucker?”
“You saw him! What did he say?”
“He said he was going to beat the dickens out of Fortini, after I told him—I’m sorry! Should I not have told him? He already knew Fortini’s name, though he didn’t seem to know quite who he was, which makes one wonder if Lord Fenwick was ever at Miss Prism’s. Mr. Swann thinks it must have been Mr. Parker who was asking questions about you there. He said Lady Sykes was curious to learn all about you, and very likely that is why her carriage and team were missing from the stable that day, because she lent them to Parker. Mr. Swann is very clever at figuring things out. Perhaps Parker was the man at Radstock as well. Mr. Swann told me all about it. I hope you don’t mind.”
“It seems my life is an open book,” Jane said.
“So romantic, being the daughter of a lord and a great heiress. It is quite like a novel. You must be almost sorry it isn’t true.”
Jane let Harriet ramble on while she considered what she had just heard. Of course, it had been Mr. Nosy Parker at Bath, sent by Lady Sykes to check up on her, before throwing Nigel at her head. And she had accused Fenwick without a shred of evidence, with nothing but her vile imagination to egg her on.
When Harriet stopped, Jane said, “I’m not sure heiresses have it as easy as we always imagined, Harriet. Did Lord Fenwick seem very angry?”
“Furious.”
“Oh dear. You mean furious at—at me?”
“At the whole world. He even kicked a swan, but not very hard. It was pulling at his coattails. Mr. Swann said it was looking for food in his pockets. Mr. Swann feeds them seeds and things.”
“Oh.” Jane saw that Harriet was more interested in Mr. Swann than in Lord Fenwick’s fit of temper. As Harriet had run out of news, Jane said, “I expect we had best dress for dinner.”
Harriet immediately headed for the door. Jane called after her, “Are they—is Mr. Swann calling this evening?”
“Yes, Mr. Swann said he would call after dinner. Lord Fenwick didn’t say he would come with him. Don’t worry, Jane. I don’t think he will,” she said supportively. “He was really very angry.”
Harriet quietly closed the door and slipped away to change for dinner. She wished with all her heart that she had a nicer gown to wear for Mr. Swann. She was an extremely modest creature, but it was beginning to dawn on her that Mr. Swann did not find her unattractive, and if she could increase his interest, he might even offer marriage. She wished Jane could be equally fortunate, but she did not consider winning the affection of the violent-tempered Lord Fenwick anything but a calamity.
When the girls were on their way downstairs to dinner, both dressed in their best gowns, Jane asked Harriet not to mention anything about Fenwick to Lady Pargeter. “For it will only cause a commotion while we are eating, and that isn’t good for my aunt in her condition.”
“What condition? Is she ill? Oh dear, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be here if she’s not well.”
“No, not ill exactly.”
“You don’t mean—surely she cannot be enceinte!”
“Don’t mention that either. It was supposed to be a secret.”
“There are a great many secrets at Wildercliffe,” Harriet said, but in no condemning way. In fact, she was rosy with pleasure. This whole visit was like a marvelous holiday to her. She couldn’t stop smiling.
Mr. Swann did indeed arrive almost before they had left the table. His excuse was to announce that Lady Sykes was leaving in the morning and Fenwick had already left. Jane’s hopes plummeted to hear the latter.
“Both gone darting off on me,” he said. “Fenwick to Bath and Phoebe to London to catch the rest of the Season. By Jove, I am glad you are coming to us, Miss Stowe, or we would be lonesome as lobsters. Phoebe said to say her au revoirs for her and all that, Lady Pargeter. Oh, she sent you this note.”
Swann handed Lady Pargeter a card bearing all of two lines. “Dear Lady Pargeter: Leaving tomorrow. Can’t miss the Duchess of Portland’s party. Sorry I can’t call in person to say good-bye. Best wishes, Lady Sykes.”
“She don’t expect a reply,” he said. “Said there was no use expecting one from a house—from you. Expect she meant you were too busy.”
“She is quite right. I’m always too busy to write to her.” Goaded on by that boasting mention of a duchess, Fay added, “I do have a verbal message, however. You can tell her I am sorry she won’t be here for my wedding to Lord Malton. The nuptials will occur early in the new year, as soon as I get my figure back after my confinement.”
Swann’s jaw dropped. “Eh?” He lifted a finger and poked it about in his ear. “Thought you said something about a confinement.”
“I did, Mr. Swann.”
Swann turned quite pink with embarrassment. “None of my affair, to be sure, but why wait until the new year if you’re—er—in that condition?”
“Lord Pargeter is my child’s father.”
“But he’s dead!”
“So he is,” Lady Pargeter said, and rang the bell for tea, even if it was too early.
Swann went into a conference with Harriet over these strange goings-on. At the embroidery frame by the grate, Lady Pargeter lifted an eyebrow at her niece and said, “You realize you’ve lost Swann to your friend?”
“I know it. They have my blessing. It’s a match made in heaven.”
“Perhaps he wasn’t quite right for you. I believe he and Harriet will deal extremely well. Now, if we could only find a gentleman for you, Jane—”
Even as she spoke, there was a knock on the front door. Within seconds, Lord Fenwick was shown in. His elegant black jacket, starched white cravat, and the sparkling diamond in it were at dreadful odds with the black eye that stood out like a beacon.
“Lord Fenwick! What has happened to you?” Jane exclaimed, rising without realizing she did it when he entered.
“One assumes Lord Fenwick bumped into a door,” Lady Pargeter said to her niece. “Is that not the usual cause of a gentleman’s black eye, Fenwick?”
“Exactly,” Fenwick said. “Doors are becoming entirely too aggressive this season.” He greeted the assembled party with an exquisite bow.
“We hardly expected you back so soon,” Lady Pargeter said in a questioning way. “Swann was just telling us you had gone to Bath.”
She noticed that, although he was ostensibly speaking to herself, his eyes kept sliding to Jane. She noticed, too, the small smile lifting Jane’s lips. Ere long, she figured out what was afoot, and a deep happiness seized her. So that was the way the land lay! She shouldn’t be surprised. If she, at her age, could nab two lords, why should Jane not nab one? Fay soon excused herself on the pretext of seeing what was keeping the tea tray. She could give the young couple thirty minutes to reach an understanding without breaching the proprieties.
Fenwick didn’t waste a minute. With an impatient glance at Swann and Harriet, he rose and put his hand out to Jane. “There is a book waiting for us in the library, Miss Lonsdale,” he said.
She went nervously. When they were in the hallway he said, “Well, aren’t you going to ask me how the other door is?”
“How is he? And who is he? Is it Mr.—”
“Mr. Parker, unfortunately, bumped into two doors. He looks charming in black, the scoundrel. I had to beat someone, and Phoebe, unfortunately—well,
she is called a lady.”
He opened the library door, showed her in, and closed the door behind them. A pair of lamps glowed on either side of the grate. The elongated shadows of the young couple rose up the walls of books and bent onto the ceiling, as if they were giants.
“I think I’ve figured out what happened,” he said, holding tightly on to both her hands. “Miss—what is her name? Swann’s new lady?”
“You mean my friend Harriet Stowe?”
“That’s the one. She told me about Fortini, the wretch. If I’d known that when I was in Bath, I would have given him a taste of the home-brewed as well. In fact, I was halfway there to do it—well, I had gone two miles anyway—when I decided I had to see you first.”
“You have my blessing. Give him a poke for me while you’re about it.”
“Are you sure you want me to do that?”
She looked a trifle miffed. “Are you suggesting I encouraged his advances?”
“Now, don’t poker up on me, my sweet idiot. I am saying that if he hadn’t kissed you, you wouldn’t have left Miss Prism’s and come here, and I would probably never have met you. As for encouragement, I doubt you were aware of the encouragement you gave. Parker tells me the man was overwhelmed by your ravishing beauty.”
“Parker actually spoke to Fortini? Is there no end to his interference?”
“Apparently not, but you blame the messenger, in a manner of speaking. His orders from General Sykes were to glean any and all particulars of Lord Pargeter’s by-blow. If he’d gone to Radstock first, he could have saved himself a deal of effort. Once he learned you’re legitimate, his job was done.”
“I feel like a criminal with all this investigating.”
“Ah it’s a hard fate to be a ravishing beauty, inciting men to forget themselves.”
“That was only Fortini’s excuse to kiss me.”
“And how did he kiss you? Was it a salacious kiss? I may still have to go to Bath and trounce him.”