Lord Garson’s Bride

by Anna Campbell

  “I’ve got a better idea.” When he looked so pleased with himself, like a little boy who had done his Latin translation to his tutor’s satisfaction, her heart gave a strange lurch. Briefly the room reeled around her and all she saw was Hugh’s face.

  “Oh?” The odd reaction receded, but left her unsettled.

  “I’ll ask Caro to help you. Or perhaps Helena. She’s Silas’s sister and married to Lord West. Helena’s always up to the minute. Most stylish woman I know.”

  Jane ripped her hand free and began to pleat her plain skirts. “That won’t be suitable.”

  Hugh frowned, his self-satisfaction fading. “I thought you liked Caro. You seemed to get along at the wedding.”

  “Of course I liked her.” Jane bit her lip and didn’t look at him. “She’s very nice. So is Lord Stone.”

  “I see.”

  When the silence extended, she made herself glance at him. His austere expression told her he did indeed see.

  “I know these people are your friends,” she said miserably.

  To her surprise, he reached out to still the busy fingers that turned her unimpressive gown into a creased mess. “They could become your friends, too.”

  Wondering how she could leap from elation to such confused awkwardness in the space of half an hour, she swallowed. She made herself speak the fatal name. “Morwenna is married to Silas and Helena’s brother.”

  She braced for anger, but the eyes that studied her were thoughtful instead of condemning. “We live in a small world, Jane. You’ll have to lock yourself away in a cellar, if you intend to avoid everyone connected with Morwenna. You must have known when we came to London that you’d bump up against reminders of my previous engagement.”

  She’d known. She wasn’t a fool. But that didn’t mean she had to become bosom bows with people so closely connected with her rival.

  Shock shuddered through her. Her rival? What nonsense was that? With a shaking hand, she set her glass on the table near her elbow.

  Morwenna had already won this particular race, whether she wanted to come in first or not. Jane was perpetually assigned to last place. A fact that grew more depressing by the day.

  Hugh’s voice deepened with the compassion that was such an essential part of his nature. “I know this is difficult, but there are advantages to facing your fears.” A smile lightened his somber expression. “As I’m sure I don’t have to tell you.”

  He referred to what a namby-pamby twit she’d been on their wedding night. “I suppose so,” she said reluctantly.

  “You’re afraid of talk, I can understand that. If I could, I’d spare you the gossip.”

  He was wrong. She was more afraid of her handsome husband making sheep’s eyes at his lost love, while he forgot he had a wife with a call on his loyalty.

  When she remained quiet, he went on. “You know, the best way to counter rumors is to hold your head high and prove you don’t care a snap of the fingers for what people say. If you’re so untroubled by the old scandal that you’re ready to make friends with Morwenna’s family, the wagging tongues will have nothing to spread poison about. If you set up a silly feud with the Nashes and their circle, it will only fan the tattle.”

  She wished he’d release her hand, so she could go back to fiddling with her skirt. “That’s easy for you to say,” she said, hating how sulky she sounded.

  “Not really.”

  Something in his tone made her rise above her worries and really look at him. A tightness around his eyes hinted that he was equally reluctant to brave the arena of public opinion with his bride. What an idiot she was. Of course he was. And it was worse for him because he loved Morwenna.

  While she wasn’t quite ready to surrender, what he said made sense. “I’ll do my best,” she mumbled.

  “That’s my girl.”

  Despite her unhappiness, his approval made her heart swell. “Is Morwenna in Town?”

  He shook his head. “She rarely comes to London. She and her husband live on an estate in Devon that once belonged to Silas.”

  Jane suddenly felt ashamed of herself. Hugh must loathe speaking of his failed romance. She twined her fingers in his and mustered a smile as false as his composure in the face of irreparable loss. “I’m sorry, Hugh. I’m being silly. I’ll be very happy to ask Caro to help me.”

  *

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  *

  Jane was still on edge two days later, when Hugh escorted her to Lord Stone’s elegant house in Berkeley Square. Despite Silas and Caro being so kind to her at the wedding, she didn’t feel near ready to face a multitude of Morwenna’s friends and family.

  Nor did the wasp dress do much to bolster her confidence for her first London party. It had arrived from the modiste yesterday, along with its slightly less offensive companions, and was even worse than she remembered.

  Looking in her mirror before leaving Half Moon Street, she heartily wished she’d never bought it. But Susan had insisted that the style was all the crack, and as the afternoon wore on, her sister had become increasingly annoyed when Jane vetoed all her suggestions. In the end, Jane had chosen three gowns not because she liked them, but to placate Susan.

  The problem was that when one attended an intimate dinner in Mayfair, one needed to wear an evening gown. The wasp dress was the only candidate. Which meant she did what she’d done so often in her life. She put aside what she’d prefer and made do with what she had.

  But, oh, how fervently she wished she met Hugh’s sophisticated friends looking her best.

  “Are you ready?” Hugh asked in an undertone, taking her gloved hand to help her from the carriage. He was tall and handsome in formal black. His sartorial perfection only made her more miserably aware that she looked a complete antidote.

  Jane bit back, “As I’ll ever be,” and struggled to sound as if she wasn’t terrified. “Yes, I am.”

  He cast her a skeptical glance but bless him, didn’t argue. As they mounted the stone steps to the open door, he squeezed her fingers in encouragement.

  They paused in the hallway to remove their outer wear. To her husband’s credit, while his first glimpse of her garish gown made him blink, he maintained his composure. He took her arm, and followed the butler into a sumptuous drawing room.

  “Lord and Lady Garson, my lady,” the butler intoned from the doorway.

  Jane entered a room crammed wall to wall with people, and the urge to run away rose like vomit. She squared her shoulders and stiffened knees that threatened to fold. She owed it to Hugh to perform creditably tonight. For heaven’s sake, she owed it to herself. As Hugh’s grip tightened in reassurance, she fixed a smile on her face.

  “Jane, how lovely to see you again.” Caro advanced with her hands outstretched in welcome. Jane found herself hugged and kissed on the cheek, as if she was a friend and not an interloper at all. “I’ve been itching to call, but Silas said I couldn’t intrude upon your honeymoon.”

  “And good evening to you, too, Caro,” Hugh said drily, as he bowed.

  The lovely brunette released Jane and cast Hugh a laughing glance. “You must know all eyes are on Jane tonight. You’re merely background scenery.”

  Silas came up to kiss Jane’s cheek. “Courage,” he whispered. “It’s years since anybody here has bitten a visitor.”

  Jane stifled a shocked laugh and finally dragged some air into her lungs. What a difference a breath made. The hordes infesting the room shrank to a mere six people.

  Caro and Silas she already knew. Curiously she looked at the other guests. A pretty blonde woman sat on a chaise longue beside a mountain of a man with black hair. A stylish, dark-haired lady with a commanding nose occupied a chair under the window. Standing beside her was a tall, elegant gentleman with thick gray hair that seemed incongruous on someone who couldn’t be much more than forty.

  As expected, they were all beautifully presented. If only Susan’s modiste had offered her a gown like the black-haired lady’s teal blue silk, Jane
would have had no difficulty making a hole in Hugh’s fortune. At least the faces turned toward her expressed friendly interest—despite the wasp dress and Hugh’s history with Morwenna. She began to feel less like a freak, although after two weeks alone with Hugh, she was unsettled to be in company again.

  Caro drew her forward, while Silas and Hugh retreated to the corner beside the fireplace. “Let me introduce you to everyone.”

  “It’s very kind of you to invite me,” Jane said, meaning it. Her smile became more natural.

  Caro made a dismissive sound. “Hugh is one of Silas’s best friends—and anyway, I liked you at the wedding. I thought it might be nice if you met some people at a small gathering, before you have to face society en masse. I know how daunting that can be.”

  “You liar, Caro. You wouldn’t have a clue.” With a mocking laugh, the dark lady rose. She was tall and slender, and Jane didn’t think she’d ever coveted anything in her life the way she coveted that spectacular gown. “When you came out of mourning, you were champing at the bit to queen it over the beau monde. Wild horses couldn’t have dragged you back to rural obscurity.” She turned to Jane. “I’m Helena, Silas’s sister. This is my husband, West.”

  Jane had a moment to reflect that Helena and Silas looked nothing alike, as the striking, gray-haired man bowed over her hand. “Lady Garson, I’m delighted to welcome you to London.”

  “Thank you, my lord.” Jane curtsied.

  The blonde approached. Her pale green gown was more understated than Helena’s teal, but just as becoming. She took Jane’s hand and leaned in to kiss her cheek. “I’m Fenella Townsend, and I hope we’ll be friends.”

  The greeting’s warmth left Jane floundering. “I hope so, too,” she stammered.

  She caught a light of approval in Hugh’s eye. Her panic receded another few inches.

  Fenella gestured the huge man forward. “This is my husband Anthony.”

  The man held Jane’s hand. “It’s grand to meet you at last, lass.”

  The thick Yorkshire accent took Jane aback. Then she realized that this must be Lord Kenwick, reputedly the richest man in England. News of his rise in the world had penetrated even as far as deepest Dorset. He and the ethereal Fenella seemed an odd pairing, Beauty and the Beast.

  “I didn’t know you and Fen were back from Italy,” Hugh said, striding forward to shake Anthony’s hand with unfettered pleasure.

  “We got in on Tuesday.”

  “Good trip?”

  “Aye, very. I closed a right jammy deal with the Genoans, and Fen hustled me around every mucky lump of broken masonry between Pompeii and the Alps.” He didn’t sound like he minded, Jane noted. “We ran into Sally and Charles in Venice.”

  “They’re away more than they’re home these days,” Silas said.

  Jane let the conversation flow around her, grateful that while discussion centered on travel and absent friends, she ceased to be the focus of attention. She soon found herself sipping a glass of sherry and sharing the chaise longue with Fenella Townsend.

  “The new names and faces must be overwhelming,” Fenella said, her blue eyes sympathetic. “Eventually you’ll sort everyone out, but it’s all right to feel at sea at first. We’re all so happy that Hugh has married you. I can see just looking at him, how good you’ve been for him.”

  “Thank you,” Jane said, glancing across the room to where Hugh and West were talking about horseracing.

  Hugh had told her a little about his friends before she met them. He moved in influential circles. The Kenwicks formed the center of a worldwide network of power and business. The Wests were renowned horse breeders, with several Derby winners in their stables. Silas was a respected botanist and President of the Royal Society, while Caro busied herself with a brood of four children and charity work.

  “How did you meet? When Caro wrote to us in Italy to say Hugh was getting married, it came as a bolt from the blue. He’s such a dark horse.”

  Jane made herself smile. It wasn’t quite the effort it had been when she’d first arrived. “His proposal came as a bolt from the blue to me, too.”

  “A whirlwind romance,” Fenella said with unabashed delight.

  If only, Jane thought with a touch of bitterness. But she owed it to Hugh to keep the details of their pragmatic bargain to herself. “Not at all. He’s known me from the cradle. Our fathers were best friends.”

  “Childhood sweethearts, then?”

  Jane blushed with mortification. Not sweethearts in any sense. “Not at all. When the families got together, he thought I was a complete pest.”

  Hugh caught her answer and crossed to stand beside her and rest his hand on her shoulder. His touch steadied her, lent a tinge of warmth to her blood. She’d need to get used to people asking questions—and most of the curiosity wouldn’t be as benevolent as Fenella’s.

  “Jane, that’s not true. I never thought you were a pest.”

  Her laugh was mocking. “What about that time I stole your favorite fishing pole and broke it? Or when you had to climb the biggest oak at Cavell Court to save me from falling?”

  The affection in his smile reminded her that while they mightn’t be in love, they were genuinely fond of one another. That meant a lot. “Well, perhaps you were occasionally a pest. But you improved as you got older.”

  “You didn’t,” she retorted.

  He looked startled. “I say! That’s a bit rough.”

  Her smile widened. “You were always an extremely nice boy, much kinder to a little girl with a bad case of hero worship than she deserved. And you’ve grown up to be an extremely nice man. See? No improvement needed.”

  His face softened, and he kissed her briefly. “You little tease.”

  The kiss was over in a second, but it left her lips tingling. Her blush flared hotter when she noticed all eyes on them. She caught flickers of astonishment and pleasure and relief, and the atmosphere in the room eased noticeably.

  “That’s just lovely,” Caro said, breaking the surprised silence. “I can imagine Hugh was a nice boy. You’ll have to tell us more.”

  “Let’s bring in some champagne and toast the happy couple, Hunter.” Silas nodded to the butler circling the room with the decanter. “This sherry is filthy stuff.”

  *

  By the time the ladies rose from the dining table to leave the gentlemen to their port, Garson was elated with how well the evening progressed. Jane had arrived so unsure—he couldn’t blame her, everyone at the dinner was intimately connected with the old scandal of his broken engagement. She knew she was on trial as Morwenna’s substitute. Even worse, she’d let that witch Susan talk her into buying that ghastly yellow dress. Being awake to Susan’s penchant for the limelight, while her sister faded into the background, Hugh suspected the lapse in taste had been deliberate.

  Marriage had transformed Jane from a downtrodden drudge to the vibrant woman she’d always been at heart. With the right clothes, she’d sparkle like the jewel she was. If Hugh saw that change, Susan certainly would, and she wouldn’t like it.

  But even in that expensive, unbecoming rag, Jane’s natural charm shone through. At first, his friends welcomed her for his sake. But by the time dessert was served, they liked her for her funny, quirky self.

  He was dashed glad. His friends’ interest would be nothing, compared to the full glare of society’s scrutiny. Jane would now have Caro, Fen and Helena to defend her against the cats.

  As if he read Garson’s thoughts—he probably had—Silas set down his port and regarded him searchingly across the shining width of the mahogany table. “That’s a fine girl you nabbed for yourself there, Garson.”

  “Yes, she is,” Garson said, and found himself smiling. He was so damned proud of how she’d held her head up tonight. “Better than I deserve.”

  He waited for his friends to make some joking rejoinder about his general unworthiness, but none of the three did. Instead West settled serious black eyes upon him. “Nice to see you getting on w
ith your life at last.”

  “Hear, hear,” Silas said, refilling Garson’s glass.

  “Grand that you’ve rejoined the human race,” Anthony chimed in.

  The reminder of his public humiliation and hardly less public sorrow over losing Morwenna stung. Although of course, everyone here knew how wretched these last years had been for him. “It was time to marry,” he said, as the simplest explanation for a complex series of decisions and events.

  “Time to stop looking like a bilious piglet,” West muttered loudly enough for Garson to hear.

  Garson scowled at his friend, although much as he disliked the description, he had a queasy feeling it held an element of truth.

  “A bilious piglet’s a bit strong,” Silas protested, but before Garson could feel too grateful, he went on. “Society’s ladies found Garson’s pining very romantic. Not a one of them didn’t want to take his weary head to her bosom and anoint him with her tears.”

  Garson shuddered. That was definitely true. It was one of the reasons he’d asked Jane to marry him, instead of some London belle. The picture Silas and West conjured up struck him as worse than looking like a bilious piglet. “You’re getting bloody poetic in your old age, chum.”

  Derisive amusement twisted Silas’s lips. “Every time I heard one of them sigh after you, it made me feel dashed poetic, too. I thought Byron had to be back from the dead, until I looked around and saw it was just you.”

  “Byron without the unsavory bits, so even better,” Anthony added in his bass rumble.

  “Ugh,” Garson said, too pleased with how the night had turned out to take real offense at the jibes.

  “Anyway, jolly glad to see you’ve found love again,” West said, sounding uncharacteristically sincere. “We’ve all hated to see you so unhappy, Hugh.”

  Astounded, Garson regarded his three friends as if they’d lost their minds. Even without West breaking the habit of a lifetime and using his Christian name, he couldn’t mistake how worried they’d been about him. He only just bit back an angry denial of their asinine assumptions.