by Gayle Eden
Striding with the book wrapped in the blanket however, Jo saw no reason to upset the woman needlessly. Kat was not unaware of Johanna’s spirited nature, having Jo’s mother for a sister until the woman died, she oft prayed for Jo to be more like her own daughter, Megan—who was serene, calm, and good-natured.
Johanna loved them all, and was close to Meg. Megan however was not a saint; she simply grew up with more males than females and was never ruffled by much. She and Jo had wonderful times at Hawksmoor, her father’s estate, when the cousins came down. Moreover, they’d had wonderful times the past year together.
Kat’s rowdy sons and serene daughter had respect for their mother. They kept her happily ignorant of much—it was harmless for the most part—and as families will, everything went fairly smooth because of it.
Reaching the main lawn, Jo spotted Megan’s cinnamon hair peeking above the blooms in the formal flower garden. She really should talk Megan into coming to London with her. She was a year younger than Jo, and already put herself on the shelf. Of course, given that her brothers were always breathing down her neck…
Heading in that direction, Jo reached a bench closest to the path where Megan had set her basket and called out, “Meg?”
Those blue eyes appeared between the rose bushes. “You’re back. I thought you’d stay out until you at least finished the good parts.”
Jo laughed.
Megan emerged, pulling off her gloves and grinning as she tossed them in the basket. She swept a silken strand of hair from her brow and came to sit near Jo.
“Craig rode by. He brought me a letter from father.”
“He misses you dreadfully, the Marquis.”
“Yes. He didn’t expect I’d stay this long.” Jo’s deeper emerald eyes went over Megan. Five feet tall at the most, but healthy, nice shape, her skin was wonderfully ruddy, lightly freckled, and life glowed in her sapphire eyes. “How would you like to come visit me now? Longer than the usual few days?”
Megan’s brow rose. “You mean, do the season?”
“Yes.”
The cousin grimaced. “Given what you’ve got up to during those last two, I hesitate.”
Jo waved her hand. “They won’t paint you with my sins.”
“Oh, I wasn’t worried about that. Society is naught to me. I was worried about you dragging me along. Can you imagine my brother’s reaction to me going to a cock fight, or brothel, a gambling hell?”
“Yes.” Jo laughed. “But I’d never put you in that position.” She looked her cousin over again. “You’re attractive, young, you should enjoy at least one season before you resign yourself to spinsterhood.”
“Perhaps.” Megan regarded her intensely. “What is it, cousin?”
Jo winced. Megan did know her pretty well by now. She said, “With my sisters out this season, Val gone to visit Archard’s kin, and Alex wrapped up with the heir; it’s going to be a chore going about unless there’s someone sane with me. You have no idea how trying society is. Think of how relieved poor father will be to have you, too. With Archard and Edmund occupied, that leaves just me and the duchess in a circle of Aric and Roth—now that Auvary has come to his senses and is engaged to Ingrid…”
“So, the Earl finally did it?”
“Yes. Adam and Ingrid were engaged a month past. He sent me a note. I couldn’t be more pleased.”
Megan’s lips twitched. “It won’t be awkward for you, now?”
“No.” Jo mentally winced still at the blunder she had initiated with the Earl. He had technically breeched her virginity, although it was so reluctant as to be comical, looking back, a horrid mistake. One she was completely at fault for. She was terribly happy that Adam fell headlong for Van Wyc’s beautiful heiress cousin. Adam deserved love and passion with a woman of his choice. Heaven knew, the Ramsey females had given the former rake plenty of headaches. He was a darkly handsome man, and Ingrid a petite, yet intelligent and strong woman with blue eyes, white blond hair—a fearless and independent woman—yes. Perfect for him.
Jo went on, “Father has other friends, but I know he loves having all of us about. I can tell from his letters he’s been beside himself, with only brief visits to Alex.”
“I love that man.” Megan grinned softly. “All of you are so fortunate to have him, despite the way you finally became family. Alexander is that perfect combination of suave sophisticate, and roguish flirt. Yet there is something completely romantic about him.”
Jo agreed. “He’s taken with the duchess, you know?”
Megan’s brow went up, but she pursed her lips. “Lord. They would be perfect together. Striking. She is amazingly handsome, and he puts most men to shame half his age.”
“Yes.” Jo sighed. “But Sonja has that terrible past…”
“I recall you telling me that.”
“Well—will you come?”
Megan considered and looked around breathing a sigh. “I’m not much for the city. And, if I do come, let us settle it right off, I am not husband hunting.”
“Why ever not? Men are so taken with you. I thought even Adam was, summer before last.”
“Men are taken with you. You enthrall them.” Megan snorted. “They like me because I am calm and plain—”
“Nonsense…”
“—and because I grew up with more males than females, I converse quite easily with them. No. I do not inspire passion, such as you do. You, cousin, are breathtaking, spirited, all the things I am not.”
“I wish I was more like you, then,” Jo uttered dryly. “Being me, gets me in a bloody mess most of the time. But let me assure you, you are not only fetching and freshly beautiful, you have brains and much more to offer a man.”
“I’m not—looking.”
“Neither am I.” Jo rounded her eyes comically.
Megan laughed. “Oh, very well. I’ll speak to ma about it.”
“Famous.” Jo stood and then helped her with the cuttings before they headed inside.
In the hallway, once part of the great hall, Jo called out a greeting to her Aunt Kat— who was just beyond the entry at her needlework, the ever-present companion, Miss Greeley, a vicar’s daughter of some forty years, holding the yarn. Two of her cats napped at her feet. Always dressed in black, with a neat white collar, her hair snow white, Kat had one of those ageless faces, full of serene love and faith. It amazed Jo, having seen her Uncle Hugh’s portrait, that the petite woman had birthed all those brawny sons with a man as fierce looking as he. They had apparently been madly in love too.
“Back safely m’dear? Good. Dinner will be on time,” Katherine called.
“I’ll be down directly. I’ve a letter from father.”
“He misses you, m’dear.”
Jo dashed up the stairs, going two flights and along a balcony before reaching her room. She missed her family too, dreadfully.
In her room, she pulled off her knee high boots, untucked her shirt and plopped down on the massive bed, opening the book and extracting the letter. Her hair and clothing wafted up the scent of heather and fresh air. It made her think of Hawksmoor, and she felt a wave of terrible homesickness whilst she read.
Dearest Jo. When are you coming home?
Jo chuckled. He started every letter that way.
I am doing my yearly retreat at Hawksmoor, extending it a week in every expectation you will be arriving any day? Aric has been up to check on Whitestone for Archard, and kept me company. Ross, whom you have not met, is a witty young pup and quite the brain, in spite of the fact he has taken on some dreadfully Byronic affections (goatee and long flowing black hair) if you can imagine it, all ruffles and velvets. However, as I was saying, that cousin has done himself well keeping up with the business for Van Wyc, along with Aric (when he is not seducing females, I suspect.)
Although I am sure, Alex wrote you, I am delighted to say that your nephew, my grandson, will worm his way into your heart. You simply have to lay eyes on Edmund Alexander to see I speak the truth. He has all of E
dmund’s handsomeness and Alex’s brandy eyes, a smile that melts your heart.
Jo set the first page aside and read the next.
Val and Aric have sent me a drawing of Holly Angelica Van Wyc, she has a head full of curls already—what color, I do not know. She appears the picture of a miniature fairy, almost magical. I can imagine that Archard’s heart already has that tiny hand wrapped around it.
Far from feeling old, as I thought to, being a grandsire—it fills me with such joy. I find myself boring even the servants—going on about them.
“Father,” Jo murmured fondly.
The Marquis wrote next:
I’ve left no doubt that I miss you terribly, and at the risk of some teasing to come from you—prying no doubt, I confess I miss a certain handsome duchess, also, as having no excuse to invite her here, nor no Lady about to make an excuse for her visit (A daughter precisely) I should be commended for not coming to Scotland, and dragging you home. I am earning more halos than I care to, having no one to practice my charm upon, and being deprived of a daughter’s worship.
“Rascal.” Jo’s lips curled into a grin.
You are chuckling by now. Ah, before I forget, and you shall doubtless find this as amazing—and as amusing as I have. Our trays overflow with well wishes and invites, charmingly penned letters from London’s hostesses. It seems we have suddenly found the key to whatever door gains one entry to the upper echelons. Edmund is amused by it also, and claims, likely so, that rather than it being from any connection to him, or efforts on his part, society misses you.
Jo snorted.
I honestly do not know what to make of it, save what one cynically knows of society. Nonetheless, we never let that bother us before, and it makes no difference now—save what you may wish to do with it. I am of the same mind and support of you as always, your happiness m’dear, is all that matters.
I will close with every hope that no letter arrives before you do. (Teasing aside) I may indeed become far too sober and dull if you are not about. Invite anyone you wish. That sweet Megan should come and taste the excitements of balls and the opera, don’t you think?
Wishing you a safe journey home. Father.
Jo folded the letter and sat up, still smiling as she went to the washbowl and cleaned up, changing her male duds for a skirt and blouse, slippers, and then combing her hair. She pinned it up in a twist, noting the contrast between herself here, and at Hawksmoor, compared to the flamboyant woman she became in London.
She had left behind all her scandalous gowns and daring get-ups, not simply because Kat would strongly disapprove, but here, she had nothing to prove or be. Here, she could take it day-by-day and not think of things better locked away. Here, she took walks, rode, got into rowdy discussions with her cousins, worked in the flower and herb gardens, and fished. She swam in lochs and did not worry about her hair being mussed or knees scraped up. They explored, they played, and for hours on end, she could pretend that a maddeningly passionate man, had not forever changed her.
Exiting the room, Jo did not fool herself that society actually wanted her in their circles. She had done everything possible to break every rule and shock even the most liberal hostess. Part of it was genuine, a loathing for the restrictions and limitations—the notions about her sex and their place compared to her male counterparts having every freedom. Part of it was that restlessness. After her heart…No. she would not think of him. After that though, the bitterness and anger had driven her on. She could reason, excuse, understand in her mind, but telling it to her heart, was another thing.
“Ma has agreed I should go.” Megan was coming up the stairs to prepare for dinner. “I’ll need a wardrobe—”
“We can take care of that.” Jo embraced her. “Father has wonderful taste. He enjoys shopping.”
Laughing Megan put in, “Shall we leave next week?”
“Two days would be better—if you—”
“Yes. That’s fine.” Megan hurried up, calling behind her. “It will give me a chance to escape before any of m’brothers volunteer to chaperone me and come along.”
After a nice supper, Jo spent time sitting with her Aunt. Always a busy woman, Kat was mending socks. Jo thanked her for letting her stay, and for allowing Megan to come with her.
“Well, I have realized that Megan is a bit isolated here. And though she thinks not, I would like for her to meet some nice gentleman and settle down with her own children.”
Jo commented, “You and my mother were very different, weren’t you?”
“Aye. But close.” Kat rested her hands a moment, her blue eyes meeting Jo’s. “I used to envy her, you know. Such life and passion.”
“But you got the better part.”
“Aye. I suppose I did. I had love, children, and will hopefully see a long life with many grandchildren.” Kat said softly, “It is why I caution you, m’dear. You are so very like her. She lived as if she knew life would be short, though.”
“Some of us do not get to follow our hearts.” Jo glanced at the window and the falling darkness.
“A pity that. But you are too young to accept that as your fate.”
“Likely,” Jo agreed to keep from worrying the woman.
However, Kat reached out and took her hand. “We are not our mothers; we are individuals, with choices. Make yours wisely.”
“I shall.”
After sitting some time, Jo kissed her cheek then went up to spend an hour with Megan, chatting about London, which had Megan groaning and laughing by turns, as Jo told her more of what she had gotten up to.
“Father says we’ve been invited to some of the homes before closed to us. I suspect it is society’s usual dearth of gossip and scandal that needs feeding.”
“But you’ll attend—”
“Certainly. Alex does, via her place as Edmund’s wife. She will get a laugh out of knowing I am there until she can join us. Aside from that, I would so hate to disappoint the curious.”
Megan smiled, her hair in rag curls and wearing her comfortable flannel gown, she looked younger than her twenty-four years. “I shall try not to look the fool. My very knees quake at the prospect of meeting so many lords and ladies—particularly ones you’ve described, who look down their nose at one.”
“If we attend, father will attend, and one wrong look and I promise you he will gather us and leave. No. I do not think they will be rude. It is me, I think, they want a look at. All the talk and whispers, you know. I plan on making quite the impression, only not what they expect.”
“Do tell?’”
“I will—later.” Jo laughed and sought her own bed.
She closed the door to Megan’s groan of, “I hate it when you do that.”
Snug in her bed, Jo lay on her side, watching the moonrise. Perhaps she would find someone this time, to finally erase Sascha Auttenburg, Viscount Whitford from her mind. It had been nearly two years. Plenty of time, to have nothing but a dull scar as reminder. Yes, she may even follow Alex and find a man amid the cream de la cream. Wouldn’t that—just set the ton on its ear.
Chapter Two
The journey and arrival went smoothly. Jo flew into her father’s arms when he met the coach. They embraced a good while, Jo realizing how much she had missed her attractive sire. He looked wonderfully handsome, as always, and not a day older. Even in his country ware of black trousers and white shirt, his comfortable boots, the Marquis silver mane and lavender raven-lashed eyes, that tawny skin, would pass him as a man in his thirties.
When they were inside and settled, the Marquis took Megan’s hands. “I am delighted you are here.”
“Thank you for offering,” Megan took his kiss on both cheeks and then said, “Jo tells me you are a man with impeccable taste. Which I must rely on if we go to London—and she said, unlike my brothers, you don’t mind shopping.”
Still holding her hands, stepping back enough to look her up and down, Alexander winked and said, “We shall make you the envy of every female in London. You
have beauty to start, and quite the most compelling eyes.”
Megan blushed and rolled those eyes. “Now I see why you are called a charmer. I am perfectly aware, and comfortable—with my freckles and passable looks and figure. If you can keep me from looking like a country bumpkin, I’ll be in your debt.”
Hugging her, the Marquis laughed and declared, “You shall see. I am right. But for the sake of not puffing up that pretty head—yes, I will give you my expertise on fashion.”
A bit after that, the ladies settled in, bathing, changing, before joining Alexander for a supper—one filled with laughter and much more talking than Megan was like to get in with all her brothers. Jo found her father studying the girl as they conversed.
Sometime as they were heading to the study with coffee later, he murmured, “She has visited us a good many times and I never noticed what an interesting young woman she is. “
“It’s all the brothers she has.” Jo laughed. “Megan is quiet. But she also has humor and brains. She is well balanced, domestic, intellectually, and it takes a lot to ruffle her.”
“Good. Good.” The Marquis nodded. “She’ll need that trait for her foray into that lion’s den called society.”
“She will,” Jo agreed.
* * * *
A wonderful week passed with morning rides, fishing with Alexander, games of billiards, and many quiet talks. The sisters, the newborn heirs, were always cause for joyful toasts and an eagerness to soon have everyone together again.
From letters, Jo was conscious that Val went with Archard not only to learn more of his business she could help with, but to meet the family, in hopes of mending any lingering rifts because of the terrible business with Leland and that mess. Because Val believed in family, and that the babe needed family—as well as she believed in Archard’s loyalty and dedication to it, she was willing to chance rebuff and whatever negative may come, in order to at least try and start building bonds with them.