by Heather Boyd
The front door slam, and booted feet ascended the stairs. Lord Hallam’s tread. Uninterested in what he was in a rush over, she wandered up the stairs to see if Virginia was ready to go out, but at her door, Constance hesitated. At the moment before her knuckles would have touched the bedchamber door, a bed frame creaked and the low-pitched murmur of a male voice carried through the door. Constance backed from the door and, as quietly as she could, fled downstairs.
That had been just a little too close for comfort.
With nothing to do but wait, she took refuge in the library, watching the world outside through the far window. Jack’s carriage returned and he stepped out of it with a parcel tucked under his arm. Curious, she sauntered to the library doorway to spy on him. Jack did not see her. He swept through the hall and took the stairs two at a time, leaving behind the scent of a cigar. Constance enjoyed the view. Jack’s legs were truly worth watching.
The butler discreetly coughed into his glove. “Lady Orkney regrets to inform you that she will not be making calls today, Miss Grange.”
He handed her a note, and Constance was both surprised and annoyed by the hastily penned apology. Hallam was leaving. Constance was not going to stay in the house while Virginia and Hallam said their goodbyes. They might not come out for hours.
“Thank you, Parkes,” Constance replied, keeping her tone light. “Could you inform Mr. Fink that I am ready to go out?”
“You’re going alone?” the butler questioned and his query surprised her.
“I am going to tea, Parkes. Nothing bad ever happens at a tea party.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
“IT IS A pleasure to see you, Lady Marchmouth. I am so sorry, but I must convey Lady Orkney’s apologies. She is suffering a headache and has remained abed today.” It was not a complete lie. By the time Constance returned home, she expected Virginia to be exhausted.
“It was so good of you to call and inform me personally. Please won’t you join us?”
“Thank you.”
Lady Marchmouth encouraged her to sit in a nearby chair, introduced her to the other women present, and pressed tea and biscuits on her with a smile. “I, myself, am always in excellent health,” she promised. “Marriage is a great cure for many ills. It is such a shame that she became a widow so young. She must be still deeply distressed.”
Constance tried to come up with a diplomatic response and could only think to incline her head. Lady Marchmouth looked elated. Botheration. The woman would scramble that into nonsense and twist it until Virginia was close to death, pining for her late husband.
“It is such a pleasure to see you up and around again. Have you recovered, Miss Grange? I understand the marquess was a most attentive host during your illness.” The lady was fishing for anything that might lead to more gossip, but Constance knew her type—she was just like her mama. A sugar-coated schemer.
“Actually, I saw very little of the marquess while I was ill. I was confined to bed by the doctor’s orders.” She held the viscountess’ gaze without flinching.
Finding nothing scandalous in her words, the lady settled in to a happy gossip about other people. When they touched on Agatha Birkenstock, Constance sipped her tea to hide her grimace. They concluded that she had set her sights for a very highly placed gentleman. They even hinted at a future duke.
Lord Carrington’s engagement was commented on, his betrothed praised for her elegant manners. They voted him the most agreeable man in the ton—always so obliging to dance with absolutely anyone irrespective of position. That sounded mildly insulting since Constance had danced with him several times herself. But she knew better than to let a reaction show.
“Lord Wade happened to be collecting a pocket watch that he left for repair and saw the whole transaction. Only this morning, too,” Lady Marchmouth gushed. “Deep red stones set in a crust of fine diamonds. Astounding piece, he said. Far too rich for a mistress to wear, he must have decided to marry at last.”
“They say he has spent a small fortune these last weeks,” another lady piped up, eager to share in the news. “New carriage, house in Bath, and ordered a dozen gowns from Madame du Clair. He never quibbles over the cost. You can’t call him cold-hearted any longer the way he spends his blunt, can you?”
The ladies swooned over the still unnamed gentleman’s good taste as if he was more than mortal. She couldn’t imagine who this paragon might be. Were these the most powerful leaders of society? Bah.
Then she remembered that Jack had returned home with a parcel tucked under his arm just this morning, and that he was the man society called cold-hearted. Did they mean him?
He had ordered a new carriage recently.
While her stomach lurched with agitation, she could not show it. Constance concentrated on pressing her knees together and scrunched her toes in her shoes to keep her anxiety contained.
As she listened, not one of the ladies claimed to know who the lucky woman was, but speculation was rife. They all agreed that Miss Scaling had the upper hand in terms of dowry, and it was thought she was on good terms with Jack’s sister.
If only they knew.
The second favorite, and one that almost made Constance lose her poise, was Miss Agatha Birkenstock. She could not believe it. Yet, Jack was unfailingly polite to Agatha, and he did call her by her first name in private.
They would make a perfect couple. She was tall, slim, and elegant, if a little nervous in society. With her blonde hair to complement his, Jack’s offspring would be just as handsome.
Constance’s eyes prickled at the perfect pairing and she glanced down. She could not cry here. So she forced her chin up, pasted an unaffected smile on her face, and prayed it would fool those around her until she could escape.
Traveling home in the marquess’ smallest Town carriage, she sank into the seat in despair, pulled a folded quilt across her knees, and wrapped her cold hands in it. She should never have listened to the gossip. Jack’s life, wife, everything, was none of her concern. Yet she wanted to see with her own eyes if the parcel had contained that necklace. But to see it meant that she had to enter Jack’s suite of rooms.
Ettington House was quiet when she returned. Hallam had already left for Parkwood, and Jack had gone out again. It was the perfect time to appease her curiosity.
Constance stood in the hall near Jack’s room and hesitated. She had never been in a gentleman’s bedchamber. How shocking could it be?
The door leading into Jack’s room was heavy and closed loudly behind her. Constance winced at the noise, and then looked around. She was in a sitting room. The fire was out, but the room was warm from the sun shining through the tall balcony windows. She had expected a heavily masculine room, but instead she found it light, airy, and comfortable. Two long couches faced each other before the fireplace and a low, empty table sat between. Bookcases lined the walls, but were strangely barren of books and curios.
At the end of the room stood another doorway and she stepped toward the opening cautiously. Inside, she breathed deep. Jack. The room smelled of cinnamon.
In its center was a huge bed with ornately carved posts and red silk patterned hangings with the family crest. There was another doorway at the foot of the bed. A glance inside revealed a dressing closet and the domain of Jack’s valet. Every stored article was neatly laid out. Row upon row of black. She could not see the parcel yet, but she really didn’t want to start opening drawers to find it.
There was one room left, the farthest from where she had entered. She turned the knob, hands trembling, and stepped inside. Constance stopped breathing.
In front of her, on every surface, was a wealth of riches. A crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling. Silks and lace covered the chairs. An antique screen hid a large bath, big enough for two.
Constance swallowed past the lump in her throat. She gravitated to the elegant dressing table by the window. Silk stockings and garters lay beneath a blue velvet box. A red velvet box lay upon that. Constance’s gaze s
wept the room again, and she fanned herself with her hand, fighting a flush. Against the wall lay traveling cases embossed with the family crest on black lacquered wood. Every single item in the room spoke of permanence and looked pristine.
She reached for the red box and opened it. A diamond-encrusted ruby necklace, bracelet, and ring lay on a plush, satin cushion. She snapped the lid closed, dropped it to the table, staring at the room’s contents again without really seeing them.
This room was waiting for the next mistress of the house.
Constance gazed around her in horror. She had made a grave mistake coming to London. She had come between Jack and Agatha. She raised her hands to her lips and tried to breathe. Everything in this room would suit the girl. She deserved adoration like this.
A single tear slid down her cheek before she could stop it. Constance backed out of the room as a strangled sob burst free. She couldn’t see. She stumbled out the door, not stopping when she gained the hall, and turned blindly for her own room. Inside, she collapsed to the floor just inside the closed door and allowed her heart to break into little pieces.
~ * ~
“Agatha, it is a pleasure to see you visiting today,” Jack told the shy woman as he sat down in a hard chair across from his sister.
He was, in truth, looking for Pixie, but his quarry had done a very good job of hiding. Jack caught glimpses of her skirts as she ducked out of sight, but by the time he reached that spot, she was gone again.
“Thank you, my lord,” Agatha smiled. “I was just telling Lady Orkney about the orphanage’s youngest charge. We have taken on a very young child, just a few months old and I am quite enamored with her.”
“Did Miss Grange go out, Virginia?” Jack asked, wondering how he hadn’t known.
“No, she is finishing up a letter. I expect her at any moment,” Virginia told him with a knowing smile and turned back to Agatha. “What have you called her?”
While the pair chatted, Jack cursed under his breath. Well, if his sister knew he had designs on Pixie, there was no chance of surprising her with the good news he would marry.
Pixie arrived just as the tea things were laid out. She took a cup quickly but seemed distracted from the conversation. She only managed the barest of civilities to Agatha and sat a little apart from the group, letting Virginia do all the talking. She held her teacup loosely in her hand but she didn’t drink it.
He smiled at something Agatha said and responded without too much thought, still glancing discreetly at Pixie. As if feeling his eyes, she straightened a little, and her free hand fluttered to her stomach. She put her cup down with a clatter, apologized, and dashed from the room.
Jack looked at Virginia, perplexed, but when he made a move to follow, she shushed him and had him stay with Agatha. It was then he realized that he was alone with Miss Birkenstock, in a chamber with a closed door. With a murmured excuse, he put his cup down, and strode to the door to have Parkes summon a suitable chaperone.
Jack remained in the front hall until a maid arrived, and then went above to find the ladies. Virginia was standing outside Pixie’s door, knocking and asking to be let in. There was no response and the door wouldn’t open. Virginia looked at him anxiously then disappeared behind his bedroom door, no doubt heading for the balcony to access Pixie’s room.
Jack gripped the doorframe and pressed his head to it. But he heard nothing from within.
Virginia returned a bare minute later. “Pixie said she felt ill all of a sudden, but is feeling better now. She’s going to rest.” Virginia glanced at the door then shrugged. “I’ll return to Agatha and pass along Pixie’s excuse.”
Jack waited till Virginia had disappeared down the stairs then headed for the balcony himself. But her doors were locked against him, the curtains drawn. What the devil?
Jack returned to his study. He supposed he could go find the housekeeper’s set of keys and let himself into her room, but he would rather keep their liaison private until he proposed. Maybe if he gave her a little time she might come out on her own.
His butler entered his study an hour later and stood patiently on the other side of his desk, disturbing him from his wedding plans. “Yes, Parkes?”
“Miss Grange has requested a tray in her room for luncheon. I thought you might prefer the same, my lord.”
So much for talking to her soon. “Thank you. Has there been any news from my uncle today?”
“No, my lord. But I did speak to His Grace’s housekeeper yesterday and believe he is expected the day after tomorrow.”
At least his uncle wasn’t here to witness him make a mess of his courtship. The duke was well acquainted with Pixie and would probably laugh at Jack for requesting the duke’s presence for a wedding without securing her acceptance first.
“My lord, if I may, I wondered if I might share an observation with you.”
Puzzled, Jack nodded.
“On the day Miss Grange attended Lady Marchmouth’s at-home, I heard crying in the house.”
“Crying? I assume you dealt with the maid.”
“It wasn’t a maid, my lord. The sounds were coming from Miss Grange’s bedchamber, and I have noticed a certain distraction in her manner since then.”
“Oh.” Jack had detected a tendency toward lower spirits lately, but he hadn’t pinpointed the exact moment of the change. Pixie rarely cried. “Did you mention this to my sister?”
“No, my lord. I know how you prefer not to rely on Lady Orkney. I thought Miss Grange would have brought her troubles to you given enough time, but I have just overheard that her maid is preparing for Miss Grange’s departure.”
Jack stood. “I beg your pardon. Is she packing?”
“Not yet, sir, but the maid asked for one of the smaller trunks to be brought down tomorrow,” Parkes replied. “Given you’ve not requested a carriage made ready as you would usually, I thought you might be interested.
Virginia swept into the room, and Jack had the butler relate Pixie’s recent request. She appeared perplexed.
“Did Pixie say anything about the Marchmouth at-home?” Jack asked.
Virginia frowned. “Not a word, come to think on it. Do you think someone was horrible to her?”
Jack tidied up his scattered papers before his sister noticed and dropped them in a drawer. “I don’t know, but something has upset her. What gossip is circulating around Town?”
Virginia threw herself into an armchair. “Well, there is talk about some jewelry you purchased yesterday morning. It is rumored that you’re about to pay off your mistress and marry.”
“I don’t have a mistress at present.”
“Just as well, Jack. Pixie doesn’t care for them any more than I do.”
Parkes coughed, and made to escape, but turned back on the threshold. “Oh, there is one other matter, my lord. Miss Grange might have invaded your bedchamber. I found the door ajar.”
Jack raked his fingers through his hair. “Miss Grange has access to the whole house. But how far into my rooms did she go, do you think?”
“As far as the boudoir—that door was open, too.”
Parkes fled. Damn, she might already know about his wedding gifts. What else had Virginia said? Then Jack remembered the last part of Virginia’s gossip. “Whom am I supposed to be marrying?” Society should barely know his plans for Pixie yet.
Virginia threw her hands up. “The gossip for the last few months has been that you will wed Miss Birkenstock. I know, I know, you are just being kind, but you are rarely kind without reason. There was some gossip, initially, about Pixie’s presence, but it is generally thought that you have no time for her.”
“Like hell,” Jack exploded, pacing the room.
“Perhaps Pixie believed the gossip?”
Jack was stunned. Everything made sense. He really ought to go upstairs and paddle her little behind. “Damn her foolishness. No, damn mine. Virginia.”
“Yes, dear?”
“I have no intention of marrying Agatha. I have
a fondness for her, but as far as it goes, I am not at home when she calls. Is that clear?”
Virginia’s answering smile lit the room.
“Oh, and one more matter. Make sure Pixie’s traveling cases have been misplaced. We need to have a discussion and I can’t do that if she runs away from me.”
“Brother, you are making a mess of this,” Virginia chided, but she rose, skirted the desk, and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Remember, we are promised to attend the Jamison ball tonight. I will make Pixie attend, but you must put things right tonight. And be sure you get rid of the other woman too.”
Virginia hummed as she hurried out the door. He shook his head. No matter how many times he promised, Virginia didn’t believe he wasn’t already betrothed.
Chapter Twenty-Five
“IF I DREW pleasure from inflicting pain, Miss Grange, I believe I would take you across my knee and give you the spanking you deserve,” Lord Daventry murmured with a smile totally at odds with his words.
His voice cut through Constance’s misery like a knife. “Lord Daventry?”
Shocked to a standstill on Lady Jamison’s ballroom floor, she glanced around, but no one appeared to have heard him.
“Take my arm, Miss Grange,” Daventry ordered, still smiling, but his tone was far from pleasant.
She did not understand what had changed. Daventry had never put himself out in either pleasure or vexation before. Yet he watched Constance closely and, judging by the postures of the society closest to them, they were garnering attention.
Constance placed her hand on his arm. Daventry covered her fingers and used firm pressure to keep her hand in place as he escorted her off the dance floor and away from her chaperone.
“Miss Grange, I believe I shall show you a little play. I know you enjoy the theatre, so you may find my little drama entertaining. I can assure you that from where I sit, it is all painfully real, and could be dealt with in a few simple words. Perhaps you have seen part of the play yourself, and not understood.”