“Are you quite well, my dear?”
“Yes, quite. Thank you, my lady.”
She’d never fibbed to Lady Stamford before, but Jess wasn’t certain she’d be well again for quite some time.
WITH EACH STEP he took away from Jessamin, boot heels clicking on marble, Lucius wished to return and finish their conversation. Though filled with more intimation than words, more bold glances than explanations, it was as if they’d made a start, taken a momentous step. And he had no desire to retreat.
“My lord!”
Lucius had never heard Mrs. Ives’s pleasant voice at such an emotional pitch. The older lady rushed toward him, twisting her long white apron in her hands.
“Forgive me, my lord. It’s your father. He wishes to see you, and he’s quite adamant on the point.”
Lucius looked back toward the drawing room where he could still hear Miss Sedgwick singing. Wellesley accompanied her in his rich baritone. The pair must have presented quite a sight, so distracting, Lucius hoped, that his guests might forgive their lackadaisical host.
“Lead the way, Mrs. Ives.”
Lucius followed the diminutive woman and attempted not to speculate about what might have set his father off this time. He was never certain just how to approach Maxim—straight on or sideways. When he adopted the direct approach, head up straight, confidence in his stride, meeting the cool blue eyes so much like his own, his father was variably pleased at his moxie or provoked to irritation. But approaching him otherwise, with one’s head down or one’s attention far too distracted with a red-haired suffragette, opened Lucius to attack, and when he was least prepared for it.
“Father, I understand you wish to speak with me.”
“Speak to you! No, I wish for you to speak some sense to this woman. She’s devised some ridiculous scheme to evict me.”
Father was in a dither, the flesh of his face mottled in purples and reds, and his fists clenched so tight that the skin stretched across his knuckles appeared thin as vellum. Lucius had seen him in such a rage before—worse, and far more often than he liked to recall.
Calm yourself was the sentiment echoing in Lucius’s head, but he knew from experience such admonitions only fanned the flames of his father’s wrath.
When Lucius glanced at Mrs. Ives, she stood behind his father, biting her lip and rapidly shaking her head in denial.
Lucius spoke softly. “Mrs. Ives, perhaps you could explain.”
Maxim’s body trembled. Lucius saw the movement of his shoulders and watched his hands spasm against his legs.
“Have a care when you listen to her. She’ll say anything to have her way, and the woman’s as overprotective as a new mother.”
Mrs. Ives shook her head again at Lucius, her eyes reflecting a sadness and fatigue he’d never seen in the indefatigable nurse’s face.
She approached and began to whisper, though his father was close enough to hear.
“There’s quite a severe leak in your father’s bedroom, my lord. I only suggested that he—”
“The woman wants to separate me from all my comforts.”
His father had begun lifting a few of his belongings, a framed watercolor of Lucius’s mother and an ivory-handled magnifying glass he treasured, to emphasize his point.
“If I might have a word, my lord.”
Mrs. Ives turned her head toward his father’s bedroom, and Lucius lifted his arm to urge her to lead the way.
It was a room he’d rarely visited, the room his parents had shared, and Lucius stopped in his tracks at the sight of his mother’s painted portrait. She looked down on him, cool and regal, so unlike her true character, from above the fireplace. One of her ornate perfume bottles rested on the mantel under her portrait, and Lucius knew without lifting the stopper that it would smell of lavender.
Mrs. Ives directed his attention to the water-damaged ceiling near the eastern wall. A menacing web of rounded splotches stretched all the way to the center of the ceiling, encompassing the bed, side tables, and wardrobe, though the worst damage was near the wall’s edge. A series of pots and bowls were arranged on the floor to catch drips, and in some areas the water had created boils in the plaster, part of which had burst, shedding shards of paint onto the floor.
“Why has no one told me about this?”
He knew some of the eastern-facing rooms were leaking, but he’d been assured his father’s rooms were not.
Mrs. Ives bowed her head a moment before answering.
“His Lordship forbade me from telling anyone. He said you had enough worries, my lord.”
Lucius frowned at the assertion. His father was a selfish man, rarely concerned for others, and he’d certainly never worried for Lucius’s sake.
“I suspect he did not wish to move from his rooms, Mrs. Ives. I’ve spoken to the steward about repairs to this portion of the house, and they should commence soon.”
As soon as he married a wealthy bride like May Sedgwick.
Mrs. Ives screwed up her face in a look of unmistakable distress, and her cheeks began to go crimson, as if she’d burst if she couldn’t confess whatever troubled her.
“Out with it, Mrs. Ives.”
“If I might, my lord, I do believe your father should be moved now.” She lifted her hands before rushing on. “Only temporarily, my lord. Until the repairs are completed. With the rains this time of year, I fear mold might set in, or the damage will worsen.”
She was right, of course, but as Lucius turned his head toward his father’s sitting room, he could only imagine the battle ahead. He loathed the prospect of these same walls that had witnessed so many of his parents’ rows rattling with shouts and denunciations again.
“Perhaps you could persuade him, my lord. He’s taken against me on the matter, but surely he’ll abide your wishes.”
Lucius tipped his head and offered his father’s nurse a rueful grin. What a fine life it would be if it was all as Mrs. Ives claimed, with a biddable father who was concerned with his welfare. It might afford him the ability to run Hartwell as he saw fit, to break with tradition and manage the estate with a mind to profitability rather than tradition. It might allow him to make his own choices.
“You overestimate my influence, Mrs. Ives.”
Something in the way he spoke the words caused the nurse to cast her eyes down.
“Forgive me if I spoke out of turn, my lord.”
“Not at all, Mrs. Ives.”
An antique floor clock in his father’s sitting room chimed. With only two hours left before dinner, Lucius wouldn’t have time enough to convince his father of anything, and it seemed far preferable to allow the earl to settle his nerves before taking his evening meal.
“I agree with you, and I’ll speak to Father tomorrow about moving to one of the guest rooms. Temporarily. Thank you for bringing this to my attention.”
Lucius glanced at the dingy blotches on the ceiling again before returning to the sitting room.
His father sat reading before the fireplace, all the previous fuss seemingly forgotten.
“I will not be moved. And if you would carry on marrying the American girl, repairs can commence at once.” After speaking while continuing to gaze at the pages of his book, Maxim finally turned his cool blue gaze toward Lucius. “I should like to meet her.”
His father had always enjoyed the elaborate ritual of a full table and formal dinner, and it was only proper that he meet the woman chosen to preserve the family estate.
“Then join us for dinner, Father. As you say, you should meet Miss Sedgwick.”
“My lord, if I might, I do not think—” Mrs. Ives’s objection was not unexpected, and Lucius smiled, stopping her mid-sentence. Apparently his smiles were such a rarity, they could rob women of speech. His smile broadened as he watched her expression shift from opposition to shock.
“I know it will present challenges, Mrs. Ives. Perhaps you could join us as well?”
The older woman stared at Lucius as if his question wa
s more disturbing than his father’s worst outburst. Mrs. Ives had never been asked to dine with the family before, yet despite his recent outburst, her presence usually calmed his father, soothing his frequent distemper like no other remedy. If dinner wasn’t to turn into a spectacle, Mrs. Ives would be essential.
“Please join us, Mrs. Ives.”
They both looked back at Maxim, who sat up straight in his chair, his eyes clear and gleaming, looking every bit a man who knew what he was about and whose mind was focused on the here and now.
“Yes, join us, Ives. I should very much like to take supper at my own table and meet this American chit who’ll be mistress of Hartwell.”
Lucius’s pleasure at seeing the clarity in his father’s gaze faltered at his mention of Miss Sedgwick as the future mistress of Hartwell. It was what was expected, and even he envisioned marriage to Miss Sedgwick as his most reasonable course. Hell, the crumbling walls around him urged him to settle the matter. But nothing about the sound of it brought contentment or anticipation. Lucius tugged at his necktie for relief from its tight embrace and realized the idea of Miss Sedgwick as his countess—a woman who had yet to look at him with anything other than bland civility—filled him with dread.
And there was more; another emotion surged clear and true above all others, one that eclipsed his dread about Miss Sedgwick and the constant worry about his father—a determination that Jessamin Wright not leave Hartwell, at least not yet.
Chapter Nineteen
“WHEN YOU SAID you’d taken a post with a noblewoman, I never imagined you meant his aunt. I’m shocked she would make you such an offer.”
“Not nearly as shocked as I was.”
Jess poured cups of oolong tea for Kitty and herself from the service a maid had delivered to the sitting room moments before. She couldn’t help but think of the first time she’d met Kitty and watched the marquess’s daughter do the same. What a difference a month made. That day Jess had been afraid of her work clothes dirtying the Adderlys’ pristine furniture. Now she wore a gown nearly as fashionable as Kitty’s.
What if she’d said no to the money? She could easily envision days still filled with worry over the shop and her father’s debt, but it was harder to imagine never meeting Lucius, never kissing him, never knowing the name of his favorite book.
The thought of it brought a hollow ache to her chest.
Kitty watched her with glassy eyes, mouth slightly agape, still seemingly unable to reconcile Jess’s presence at Hartwell. Then she emitted a long sigh.
“I suppose it was all for nothing. He’ll never dance with me, will he?”
The tremor in Kitty’s soft voice was so different from her usual confident tone that Jess glanced at her in concern.
“I don’t think there’ll be any dancing at the house party. He doesn’t seem to be fond of it.”
Kitty’s mouth puckered in a moue of displeasure.
“Even if he hosted the most elaborate ball in England, he wouldn’t wish to dance with me.” She reached up to twist the strand of pearls at her throat around her fingers. “My little scheme didn’t do any good at all. And it cost you your shop.”
Jess’s impulse to apologize seemed foolish. She had lost her shop. Kitty had lost nothing, except perhaps the illusion that men could be maneuvered through humiliation.
But she wondered about the rumors May had spoken of hearing in London.
“Did it cause a great scandal for the viscount?”
Kitty laughed, the tinkling bell sound Jess remembered from their first meeting, but it tailed off at the end into something deeper, huskier, and more than a bit mischievous.
“Scandal? Hardly. I think I actually did the man a favor.” She took her first sip of tea and smiled above the rim. “The gossip rags assumed you were his mistress. It’s caused the misses to think him infinitely worthier of a swoon, and thus he’s far more admirable to the rakes.”
Jess couldn’t reconcile how by possessing a mistress a man might become more appealing or admirable, but a comic vision flashed in her mind of Lucius striding through Hyde Park as ladies dropped like flies at his feet and gentlemen doffed their hats.
“I’m sure he’ll be pleased.”
“Unlikely. Does anything please him? If I ever see the man smile, I’ll eat these pearls.”
I made him smile.
Jess pressed her lips together.
“Are you content here as his aunt’s companion? I’m still willing to give you the one hundred pounds I offered. You did earn it.”
Jess shook her head. She’d never take the money. The very mention of it made her fidgety, and Kitty’s assertion that she’d earned the money only made it worse.
“It wouldn’t be proper. You intended to assist with the bookshop, and that’s impossible now.”
“It wasn’t proper for you to kiss a viscount, but you seemed to manage that all right.”
There was nothing snide in Kitty’s tone, and she leaned forward, emphasizing her point with a flash of determination in her gaze.
“I didn’t merely offer you the money to help with your shop. You know I aimed to embarrass Lord Grimsby.”
She seemed quite a different young woman from the one Jess had met in Belgrave Square. Though still lovely and dressed in fashionable clothing, sadness colored her gaze, even diminishing the pitch of her voice. She exuded less artifice and much more sincerity. On their slight acquaintance, Jess doubted Kitty would divulge any of her woes, but she was curious.
“Have you been well, Miss Adderly?”
The change of subject seemed to take Kitty by surprise. She shifted her body, sitting a bit straighter in her chair, and clasped her hands in her lap before answering.
“I’ve had a bit of a disappointment, but I shall be well. Forgive me if I’m not quite myself.”
Jess saw no need for apology. This more honest Kitty was much more appealing.
Attempting a smile that didn’t match the expression in her gaze, Kitty added, “I thought a bit of country air and a few days away from London would do me good.”
“At the home of the man you wished to embarrass?” Her words came out harsher than Jess intended, but Kitty didn’t seem to notice the rebuke.
“I didn’t come to Hartwell for Lord Grimsby. I simply needed a few days away.”
For the most part, Jess believed her. The honesty in her tone was unmistakable, or perhaps very well feigned.
Kitty took another sip of her tea and then pressed her forefinger against her lower lip.
“I’m still confounded by Lady Stamford offering you employment. It’s clear she wishes to match Grimsby with the American. Might not your presence here endanger her plan?”
Jess hadn’t ignored the mystery of it. The question always lingered in the back of her mind, and the best answer she’d devised was that Lady Stamford offered her employment because she knew the desperate nature of Jess’s circumstances. And yet ascribing Lady Stamford’s actions to altruism wasn’t entirely satisfying. Shouldn’t a titled lady loathe the woman who’d scandalized her nephew in such a very public manner?
“I believe she did it out of goodwill, a desire to help someone in need.”
Kitty laughed in her high-pitched titter.
“And she selected the one woman in London who’d kissed her nephew?” Kitty continued to tap her lip thoughtfully. “Though I suspect you weren’t the only woman in London he’d ever kissed.”
Jess tried not to blush, closing her eyes and willing her cheeks to cool, but the heat was already winning, and Kitty read more in her ruddy face than she intended to reveal.
“My goodness, Jessamin. Are you infatuated with him?”
“No!”
Was she? Infatuation, love, they’d never been her options. The bookshop, helping to manage it and then struggling to save it—that had been her only option.
Her feelings for Lucius weren’t comparable to any experience in her life. They were singular, but fragile and ephemeral. If she examined th
em too closely, surely they’d turn to dust in her hands. She couldn’t carry on longing for a man when he was intended for a life so unlike her own, a woman so different than she would ever be. In a lifetime of reading, she’d always avoided books of fairy tales.
Kitty watched her with a narrowed gaze, a single blond brow arched over her right eye.
“All right. I acknowledge there is . . . something between us.”
Jess loved the English language, appreciated the variety of words, the specificity and nuances of meaning. When she was twelve years old, Mother had given her a dictionary, and she’d consumed it with all the excitement of a page-turning novel. Words of ambiguity, the things and somethings of the world, made her skin itch. Yet she’d acknowledged it in the kitchen. Something existed between them. And now, some madness made her confess it to Kitty, the woman who’d set her on the viscount’s path in the first place.
“I knew it.” The satisfied young woman Jess recalled from their first encounter beamed at her from the opposite chair.
“How could you know what I’m not certain of myself? Did he speak to you about me?”
Kitty set her teacup carefully on the table between them before coyly tilting her green eyes up at Jess. She was enjoying herself far too much.
“He said nothing, but it was in his eyes, something in the way he spoke your name. He bristled when I mentioned you. That told me quite enough.”
Jess sighed, tensing her hand around her teacup. Rather than break it, she reached out to set the delicate porcelain on the table, rattling the cup in its saucer along the way.
Did Lucius love her? Whatever his feelings for her or hers for him, what would it profit either of them?
“It’s impossible.”
Kitty’s expression flattened, not quite a grimace, just the absence of pleasure.
“Then return to London with me when I go. If I can’t convince you to take the money, perhaps I could help to find you a more suitable position.”
Kitty leaned forward, shocking Jess by reaching out to pat her hand, much as Alice had in the coffeehouse. “In time, you could earn enough to rebuild your shop.”
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