Valor's Reward

by Jean R. Ewing

  Lady Honoria picked up a very expensive cut-glass jar of French perfume and flung it across the room.

  “I shall be made the laughingstock of society.”

  Sir Gordon grimaced as the powerful scent from the shattered bottle began to fill the chamber and he snapped the delicate stem of his quizzing glass.

  “But more to the point, sweet Honoria, there will be no repining Miss Caroline Brandon to fall into my arms. She will have married Steal. If you act with sufficient panache, you need not even appear at a disadvantage. You have only to whistle and a dozen young bloods will offer for you.”

  “Yes, but they’re not Deyncourt. He has done it just to spite me. He knows perfectly well that now I should only look bad to tell the story of the Blue Boar. Worse, I should not be believed. How dare he do it!”

  “Yet I am the one who is most damaged. The marriage of Steal and Caroline Brandon will now go ahead. I am nearly at the bottom of my resources. If one of us does not marry a fortune soon, what on earth will become of us?”

  “What do you suggest?” Lady Honoria asked sullenly.

  “I suggest that you bring Deyncourt up to snuff and make him marry you, my dear. If the orange-haired hussy were to disappear, for example, surely it would not be beyond your powers? You are the most beautiful woman in London. If necessary, cry rape.”

  The Incomparable Melton stared at her cousin. “And why should Miss Whinburn disappear?”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” Cranby replied casually. “Perhaps she will decide to visit the Colonies. Or join a harem in the mysterious East? I understand she is an adventurous sort. There’s no telling what she might get into her head.”

  “Cranby, you would not?”

  “For the loss of fifty thousand pounds and one of the finest homes in the nation, there is quite a bit I might do. Miss Jessica Whinburn owes something to both of us. I know I can rely on your help.”

  Lady Honoria took a deep breath of the heavily scented air. “Of course, cousin. Have I ever let you down?”

  * * *

  Lord Deyncourt took Jessica out in his phaeton the very next day in order to promenade her in the Park. She had not wanted to go, but Aunt Emilia insisted, and the earl threatened to drag her bodily from the house if she did not immediately accompany him.

  “If we are to carry this off, Miss Whinburn,” he said as they bowled through the traffic behind his superb horses, “we had better begin to make a public demonstration of our affection.”

  “You are a consummate actor, of course. I shall do my best to match your artifice.”

  They smiled and nodded at their acquaintance as they passed them in their carriages. Several times they were forced to stop to accept the congratulations and curious questions of society.

  “The entire ton thought you about to propose to the Incomparable Melton,” Jessica commented as he let the horses trot on. “I am glad that she will not be able to spread scandal and hurt Miss Brandon, but you don’t seem in the least concerned about Lady Honoria’s broken heart.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “If it will put your mind at rest, be assured that she and I shared no tender feelings whatsoever. Her pride may be a little damaged, but that is all.”

  “But didn’t you intend to propose to her?”

  “Of course. She would make anybody an admirable countess.”

  Jessica was silenced for a moment.

  “Did your parents not share any tender feelings?” she asked suddenly.

  “My parents? Good God! My mother claimed to be an invalid and spent her days reclining in the drawing room accepting the visits of a succession of young blades. They read poetry to her and sighed over her sapphire eyes. She was reputed a great beauty, and her primary interest in life was to perfect her toilette. My father, meanwhile, made no secret of his grand passion: a milliner—until she was replaced by an opera singer.”

  “It doesn’t sound like a very happy home.”

  “Are you about to get misty-eyed over my deprived childhood?” He gave her an amused glance. “As it happens, I was very happy. I worshipped my mother from afar from the warm lap of my loving nanny, who spoiled me abominably. When I was eight, I was sent off to school. It was a moderately brutal place, but I was able to hold my own and in the end I enjoyed it. In the holidays, I stayed at Marchmont with Aunt Sophy. I fished, hunted, swam, ran, climbed trees, and did all the other things that boys are supposed to do. It was a wonderful way to grow up.”

  “What is Castle Deyncourt like?”

  “It sits on a hill near a bend of the Avon in a forest that dates back to William the Conqueror. From the battlements, you can see into Wales. It’s older than Tresham or Marchmont. I own a stunning collection of the armor that my ancestors wore, and I’m the proud possessor of a magnificent collection of pikes and maces. I am well positioned to form my own private army, should I wish.”

  “Then it truly is a castle?”

  “Absolutely. The medieval keep is the heart of the house, though softened and changed over the years. The arrow-slit windows were enlarged in the sixteenth century. My father added modern chimneys and kitchens. He also had Capability Brown landscape the grounds, so the moat became a lake with swans. The estate runs over some of the loveliest countryside in England. You will like it.”

  “Me?” Jessica asked.

  “We are engaged to be wed, remember? You are about to become mistress of Castle Deyncourt yourself.”

  She looked down and was not surprised to find that her hands were clenched into fists.

  “Has it not occurred to you, Lord Deyncourt, that once Caroline and Peter are safely wed, I could cry off, and release us both from this absurd arrangement.”

  “Yes, but you will not. Unless we continue to block Lady Honoria’s tongue, she could create misery for Miss Brandon, even after she becomes the new Lady Steal. So we are stuck with each other.”

  They pulled up in front of Deyncourt House. The earl handed Jessica down and led her inside. They walked into the cool study where she had sipped wine after shooting the rose. To hide her shaken nerves, she crossed the room to gaze blindly into the garden. The earl strolled up to stand beside her.

  “You must begin to call me Michael. I cannot have my wife mumbling my title in every other sentence.”

  She turned to face him. She had no idea of his feelings.

  “Your word is my command, of course.”

  “Secondly, unlike my parents, I intend to have a large family. Once we are wed, will you accept me as a lover? I am aware that you hold me in considerable dislike. If it is sufficient that you will not be able to make love to me, then I’d like to know.”

  Her heart leaped into her throat. Deyncourt might wear a mask of perfect indifference, but he must in truth be both angry and disgusted that he had been trapped into marrying her. If he knew for a moment that she had fallen under his spell, it would be the ultimate mortification.

  He smiled at her, but his eyes remained guarded, as if some dark secret lay in their blue depths.

  “Come here,” he said.

  Jessica stepped boldly up to him. He looks dangerous, she thought, as if a fire long banked was about to be given too much air.

  “I already have reason to believe that we might be compatible,” he said. “But it wouldn’t hurt to be sure.”

  Casually he unbuttoned his jacket and waistcoat, and then took both of her hands to place them against his shirt. Her blood hammered in her ears. The strength of his skin burned beneath her palms. His heart beat steadily. His clean scent penetrated into the center of her being.

  She looked defiantly up at him. It took every ounce of her self-control to speak calmly.

  “You are deliberately trying to humiliate me.”

  “Michael.”

  “Very well—Michael. I should like nothing better than a large family. It would mean that I should not have to accept your advances more often than once a year.”

  “Dear God, Jessica!”

  He caught her head
in both hands and kissed her. As she responded, her fingers ran boldly over the smooth muscles of his back. When he pulled away, they were both breathless.

  “Not once a year, Jessica. Whenever I like!”

  Suddenly she was furious. “I have agreed to this match entirely against my better judgment, Lord Deyncourt. If you are going to browbeat me, I shall cry off. And the devil to you, your ward, and everybody to do with you.”

  “Miss Whinburn, you have already given me your answer. You cannot deny it.”

  “That I am not impervious to your practiced lechery? What kind of a basis for marriage is that? Of course, I find you attractive. But I’m damned if I will marry a bully who takes delight in my humiliation.”

  “Humiliation was not my intent, Jessica,” he said softly.

  He strode away across the room. Light and shadow haunted his features. When he turned once more to face her, his eyes seemed empty of feeling.

  “Forget it! Let’s make peace. We shall squire each other around all the fashionable salons in apparent harmony, smile graciously at the flattery and congratulations of the beau monde, and marry in style as an earl and his countess should. Then, if you still cannot stand the sight of me, I’ll annul the wedding and set you up in a household of your own with an independent income. If such an arrangement was good enough for Henry VIII and Anne of Cleves, it is surely good enough for us.”

  “Anne of Cleves, the Flemish mare?”

  “That’s right. The only one not to die or be beheaded other than Katherine Parr, of course, who outlived him.”

  “Yes, Henry had met his match with Anne. Surely you don’t concede that you have met your match with me?”

  “Never. But I will marry you anyway, if you will accept the terms. Agreed?”

  Jessica smoothed down her dress and refused to meet his eyes. He had offered her a way out—even if it broke her heart to take it!

  “Agreed. Though I believe it took an Act of Parliament to dissolve their union.”

  “As it would take one for ours, but the Lords will do it, just as a favor to me.”

  With that, she had to be content. It was only afterward that she wondered to quite which set of terms he believed she had agreed.

  * * *

  Lady Emilia was unable to hide her glee. The dowagers made a grim procession of bobbing plumed hats and jewels as they came to offer their felicitations on the match. Lady Mapleton was among the first to arrive and she came to offer her house for a ball. Jessica would have tried to demur, but Aunt Emilia was adamant.

  “It is the ultimate accolade, Jessica. It will also give the Incomparable Melton a chance to demonstrate to society her complete indifference. Deyncourt can lead her out in a dance or two, and she can use her beauty to attract every other man in the room. Lady Mapleton knows exactly what she is about for her niece, and I admire their grace in defeat. Nothing would be more churlish than for you to refuse such an invitation.”

  Jessica sighed. “I believe I understand what Peter’s mother meant when she said she had no desire to go to another dance or party in her life.”

  “Stuff! You shall go and thoroughly enjoy yourself. After all, now that you are betrothed to Deyncourt it is unexceptionable if he dances with you several times. No man of my acquaintance is a more graceful dancer. Once you are married, he would look the fool to squire his own wife around more than once. So enjoy it while you may, my child.”

  “I believe, Aunt, that I have had enough of society’s absurd rules. Why on earth should a man marry a lady, if he is no longer to be seen enjoying her company once they are wed?”

  And to Aunt Emilia’s complete astonishment, Jessica burst into tears.

  * * *

  Mapleton House was once again a blaze of light.

  Since it was not at all the done thing to be seen in the same gown twice, Jessica wore a new creation. Her objections about the waste of it were overridden by her great-aunt, who argued that appearances were everything if they were to succeed in their bluff.

  The new dress clung lightly to her figure as she moved. Over an underskirt of sheer white silk, ice-green lace was worked into a pattern of tiny ivy leaves. Fine embroidered trails of ivy traced up over the short bodice and puff sleeves, so that her arms seemed to emerge from a woodland bower.

  A chain of gold with a simple oval gold locket lay around her neck. It was a gift from Deyncourt. Nothing else seemed to have so cemented their odd engagement in her mind as the gift of jewelry.

  She almost wished that he had delivered it in person, so that she could have told him in no uncertain terms that such presents were entirely unnecessary. Instead, a messenger had brought it and she had been obliged to open the box in front of Lady Emilia, who insisted that she must wear it to the ball.

  Her only relief was that the locket was empty. At least he hadn’t tried to embarrass her with a portrait of himself, or worse—a lock of hair. Suddenly she felt better about wearing the necklace. Aunt Emilia was vastly relieved.

  Everybody Jessica had met since she had come to London was there, and the ball progressed exactly as her aunt had predicted.

  Deyncourt led Lady Honoria out into the first dance, and gave her a flatteringly correct amount of attention throughout the evening. She was able to laugh and look gracious, and never lacked for a partner. The ball might ostensibly have been inspired by Jessica’s engagement to the earl, but the Incomparable Melton was still the belle of the evening.

  The earl also partnered Caroline, while Jessica stepped around the room with Peter. Finally the four of them went in to supper together. If any word of the events at the Blue Boar had leaked out among the gossips, this performance would effectively crush it.

  Jessica only wished that she was having a better time. When Lord Clarence came over to offer his felicitations, she was beginning to develop a headache in earnest.

  “Deyncourt knows what he’s about, Miss Whinburn,” the judge cried with forced gallantry. “Beat me to the punch. Something about you caught my eye the first time I saw you, and I don’t hesitate to say it.”

  “I also remember our first meeting, Lord Clarence,” she replied with a smile. “But I did not believe we should suit.”

  Jessica would not allow herself to give up and go home. However, at last the carriage was called for, Deyncourt bowed over her hand and kissed it, and she could retreat with dignity.

  Lady Emilia decided that discretion was indeed the better part of valor, and pretended to sleep in her corner of the chaise. It worried the old lady a good deal to see that her great-niece had big tears rolling down her cheeks, but she knew much better than to badger her about it. It was only natural that the poor child should feel overwhelmed. The Earl of Deyncourt was quite a catch for Miss Whinburn, even if she was a Shay on her mother’s side. Aunt Emilia allowed herself one self-satisfied smile.

  Jessica kissed her aunt goodnight and ran up the stairs to her room.

  The note was waiting on her pillow.

  “We must talk. I beg you will come down to the stables right away. Deyncourt.”

  * * *

  Chapter 16

  Jessica dismissed her maid immediately and took a good look at herself in the glass. Good heavens! He would think she was going into a decline. She splashed cold water into a basin and vigorously washed her face. Whatever the earl had decided he couldn’t wait to tell her, he would not have the satisfaction of seeing her looking so feeble.

  Without another thought, she wrapped a shawl about her shoulders and crept down through the empty house. She carried a single candle, shielding the flame with one hand. She and her aunt had arrived back very late from Lady Mapleton’s ball. Only the two lady’s maids and the butler had waited up for them, and it would appear that the butler had already retreated to his room. The rest of the servants had long since gone to bed.

  Unlocking the heavy back door and sliding back the bolts, Jessica slipped out of the house and walked quickly across the yard.

  The ostlers had also turn
ed in for the night. The horses were dozing contentedly in their stalls.

  Nobody seemed to waiting.

  “Deyncourt?” she queried softly.

  The candle was knocked from her hand and she was suffocated in darkness. Something, a sack or a blanket, had been thrust over her head, and the ends wrapped so that her arms were pinned to her sides. A businesslike hand clenched her chin, so that she could not cry out.

  Jessica struggled anyway as she found herself being hoisted from the ground and thrown forward. She fell awkwardly against an upholstered seat. Springs creaked. Horses sprang into action. The carriage swayed as they broke into a canter.

  As soon as her initial shock subsided, Jessica struggled to turn about and sit upright. She was furious. Was this his idea of a joke?

  At least the pressure had been released from her chin, so she was able to speak.

  “I would very much appreciate,” she said acidly, “having this blanket removed from my face. It stinks.”

  “Rough methods, my dear, are sometimes the most expedient,” smooth tones said. “Never mind, we’re almost there.”

  Jessica had no trouble whatsoever in recognizing the voice. She kept silent as she digested the implications.

  “What, Miss Whinburn, no maidenly protestations? No ‘Oh, how dare you?’ to enliven our journey?”

  “I am not a great admirer of Gothic romance, sir,” she replied. “I doubt seriously that having felt justified in abducting me for some unknown purpose, you would be in the least moved by tearful entreaties.”

  “How right you are, my dear,” the voice said.

  “It is nonetheless extremely difficult to carry on a conversation with a horse blanket over one’s head. Since I know you by your voice to be Sir Gordon Cranby, it really is not serving any purpose at all, except to make it more likely that I shall be sick.”

  The suffocating blanket dropped from her face, though her arms remained pinned.

  Cranby lounged back on the opposite seat, smiling at her. There was no one else in the carriage.

  “You are not injured, I trust?” he inquired.