Inconvenient Affair

by Kruger, Mary

“Well, if you would not make yourself such an on-dit—”

  Jeremy suddenly rose and paced to the window. “I cannot help what people say.”

  “Can you not?”

  “No.”

  “Jeremy, why do you—”

  “Leave it, Thea,” he said, his voice hard. Thea stared at him in surprise, and then shrugged. The ways of men always had been a mystery to her. “I have to go into Berkshire to look over my estate there. When I return I shall start looking about for a suitable bride.”

  Pain went through her again. “What does your daughter think of this?” she asked.

  He turned, his shoulders relaxing at last. “Gillian doesn’t know. But I would like to give her a mother.”

  “Of course.” Thea secured her needle in the crewel and rose. “Not to be rude, Jeremy, but I must start getting dressed, or I won’t be ready for Lady Alwich’s dinner party tonight. Will you be there?”

  Jeremy made a face as he rose. “Deuced dull affair, that sounds. No, I’m going to Vauxhall with my sister and a party of friends. Wouldn’t you like to come along?”

  “I cannot cancel so late, Jeremy.”

  “I suppose not. Well, then, I shall probably see you tomorrow.” He raised her hand to his lips and pressed a lingering kiss on her palm, his eyes holding hers. “You won’t change your mind?”

  “About Vauxhall? No.”

  His face was impish. “About being my mistress.”

  “Oh, get out!” Thea exclaimed, pulling back.

  “Your wish is my command, madam.” He bowed and left, and Thea was left standing alone, holding the hand he had kissed as if it were a precious jewel. Good heavens, what had happened to her?

  Jeremy strode along Brook Street, feeling better already. He had a plan, a purpose, that he hadn’t had in a very long time. Life had seemed aimless to him since he had left the army. He would remarry. Of course. He didn’t know why he hadn’t thought of it before. He’d thus have money enough to secure the family’s finances, and he would be giving his daughter a mother. And himself someone to warm his bed. Not that that mattered so much; there was no lack of willing, available females for an unmarried man with a title. If only Thea—but then, he’d always liked her precisely because she never had been on the catch for him. Nor would she be a comfortable wife. There was no reason their friendship would have to change. No reason, perhaps, except the look that had appeared briefly in Thea’s eyes when he had talked about his plans. And that, for some reason, bothered him out of all proportion. Nothing had changed. Nothing needed to change, and yet it evidently would. As he swung up the stairs to his own house in Grosvenor Street, he had the strangest feeling that nothing would ever be the same again.

  Thea turned away from the window, where she had drifted, almost against her will. Jeremy was gone, striding down the street away from her. He was like no one else she knew, her Jeremy. No fashionable ennui for him; he embraced life, and when he made a decision, he acted on it. That was why he had proposed to her, of course. She couldn’t take it seriously. After all, he didn’t love her.

  But love doesn’t last, she reminded herself, turning away from the window. At least, he believed so. She wouldn’t know; she had married for many reasons, but love wasn’t one of them. Until today, she hadn’t cared about remarrying, or about love. Until Jeremy had announced he would marry someone else.

  “Thea, dear,” a breathless voice said at the door. “Is he gone, then?”

  Thea turned and smiled at the small, fragile-looking woman. “Yes, aunt. It really was too bad of you, leaving me alone with a gentleman. Think of my reputation!”

  “Now you are funning me, dear. You’ll come to no harm with Stanton,” Lydia said, crossing the room and picking up Thea’s discarded needlework. Her face under her lacy cap puckered into a frown. “Oh, dear, this will never do, Thea.”

  “Dear aunt, you know I am not a needlewoman.” Thea sat across from her, smiling. “I thought you didn’t like Stanton.”

  “No, dear, I never said that.”

  “You said he was like the silver thread you were using that was giving you so much trouble.”

  “Well, yes, he is rather quicksilver, isn’t he? But only, I think, on the outside. Underneath I think he’s far more like the tent stitch. Very steady and dependable.”

  Thea laughed. Aunt Lydia’s habit of viewing the world, and people, in terms of the needlework she so loved had always amused her. “And what am I, aunt?”

  Lydia tilted her head to the side. “You, dear? Why, you are like the stitch I used on that footstool.”

  Thea glanced down at the stool at her feet. “Which is?”

  “For shame, dear, haven’t I taught you? The flame stitch. There’s fire in you, Thea.”

  “Oh, nonsense!” Thea got abruptly to her feet and walked over to the window again. “I am only a quiet widow.”

  “Nevertheless, dear, I think I understand why Stanton is attracted to you.”

  “He’s marrying someone else.”

  Lydia looked up, her eyes bright and sharp. “Is he? What an extraordinary thing.”

  “It is what he said.”

  “Ah. I expect he wishes an heir.”

  Thea went very still. “Of course.”

  Lydia looked up at her again, her eyes unexpectedly shrewd behind her spectacles. “Come to that, Thea dear, I’ve often wondered why you don’t marry him yourself.”

  “Because I wasn’t asked,” Thea snapped, and then, at the look on Lydia’s face, was filled with remorse. It wasn’t her aunt’s fault that Jeremy hadn’t really meant the proposal. “We don’t have that kind of relationship, aunt.” Thea sank into a chair again. “We are friends, merely.”

  “Oh?”

  “You needn’t look at me like that. You know I’ve no desire to marry again. Five years with Hugh were quite enough for me.”

  “Far be it from me to say anything against Hugh, but—”

  “And why shouldn’t you? He treated you ill, for all that you were his aunt.”

  “No, no, I am persuaded that he didn’t mean to. He just didn’t think.”

  “And I fear that is how Stanton is, with all his flirts.”

  Lydia’s lips pursed as she laid down Thea’s needlework and picked up her own. “Of course, dear,” she said, absently, and Thea frowned. Lydia was a dear, sweet-natured and even-tempered, and eternally grateful to Thea for giving her a home. Too grateful. Sometimes Thea found her reasonableness and eagerness to please annoying. Sometimes she would relish a good argument.

  “Well.” Thea straightened, her hands resting lightly on the rosewood arms of the chair. “In any event, it was not me he asked. I expect I won’t see much of him in future.”

  “But of course you will, dear.” Lydia held up two strands of wool. “Oh, dear, I can’t tell. Do these colors match? No, this one is darker.” She set down the rejected strand and threaded her needle. “You’ll be bound to see him everywhere.”

  “I know.” Thea’s hands twisted in her skirt. “But our friendship is over. I won’t put another woman in the position I was in.” Too many times, she added to herself. Too often she had seen her husband go off to the arms of another woman. That was not something she would put Jeremy’s bride through. And never would she let herself remember that, for one mad moment, she had been tempted to accept his proposal. “I do hope he chooses someone suitable.”

  “If he doesn’t, dear, then you’ll have to do something about it, won’t you?”

  Thea looked up, startled, but her aunt was concentrating on her needlework. “Why, what a thing to say, Aunt! As if I would interfere in Jeremy’s life like that.”

  “Well, Thea dear, perhaps someone should.”

  Thea laughed, and rose. “Not I, Aunt. I hope he finds someone very nice. He deserves it.”

  Lydia frowned down at her needlework. “Oh, dear, this color won’t do at all. As you say, dear. Though I don’t think he’ll find anyone nicer than you.”

  Unable to resis
t, Thea bent down and hugged Lydia around the neck. “You are a dear, but I’m not quite in his usual style.”

  “As you say, dear,” Lydia said, her concentration already elsewhere, and Thea straightened, smiling.

  The smile faded, though, as she left the room. Without quite meaning to she drifted to the door, glancing out the sidelight to the street. There she had sent Jeremy not so long ago, knowing he’d marry another. The pain the thought caused was unexpected, and stunning in its intensity. She could have had him, had she just given him an indication of her feelings. Feelings, though, that she didn’t know she had, until it was too late.

  You are a fool, Thea, she thought, and turned abruptly away. Jeremy was gone. Nothing would ever be the same again.

  Chapter Two

  Jeremy pulled up his horse, a big bay gelding, in the middle of a field allowed to go to seed, and looked around, frowning. The Stanton estate in Berkshire was in particularly bad shape. He had been working on it with the estate agent he had hired, having found the one who had worked for his father to be dishonest, and he thought they were making progress. Crops had been planted; his father’s blooded and expensive horseflesh sold, which had brought in some needed money. Now there was evidence of recovery, though it had been a wet spring so far and the crops weren’t growing as they should. The land never let one down. It was always there, solid and real. To part with any of it would nearly kill him.

  His horse shifted under him, and, with a subtle pressure from his knees, Jeremy rode on. He was at peace here, content. He could breathe in the country. In town he felt smothered, hemmed in. There everything seemed to bore him lately. He was restless; he needed constantly to be moving, seeking out new sights, new experiences. New women. Never before had Jeremy been a rake, but, since selling out of the army he had had more than his fair share of women, never staying with one very long. It wasn’t that he lacked morals, or even purpose. Every time he began an affaire it was with a sense of excitement, that perhaps this one would bring him the peace and contentment he found so elusive. As each liaison progressed, however, the excitement would wear off, and he would find himself in another entanglement. The woman he had once thought beautiful, perfect, would now seem vain, silly, or grasping. The prettiest would be marred by hitherto unnoticed flaws; her conversation would be meaningless, or center on marriage. Jeremy would feel trapped. Only with Thea could he breathe freely.

  He was between affaires now; oddly enough, no one had caught his eye. Nor had he found anyone suitable for a bride. Nearly two weeks had passed since he had decided to marry, and still he was no closer to solving his problems. This late in the season, most of the eligible young ladies already had offers. Those who didn’t, Jeremy had found, were too insipid and silly to be borne, even for a fortune. If Thea had agreed to his impulsive proposal, everything would be settled by now. Odd he’d proposed to her, when it had been the farthest thing from his mind; odder still that, for one mad moment, he’d hoped she would accept. That she hadn’t had come as both a disappointment, and a relief. He didn’t want to lose Thea’s friendship. That did nothing to solve his other problems, though. What he was going to do, he didn’t know, but he’d have to decide something soon.

  Riding back to the manor house, he swung off his mount and went inside. It was late. He would have to change quickly if he were to be in time to dine with his neighbors, the Powells, whose lands marched with his. A good family, that, Jeremy thought, changing into well-tailored black pantaloons and evening coat with the help of his valet, and carefully tying his neckcloth. Not aristocracy, but their pedigree was long, and the estate, large. Mrs. Powell was something of a trial, true; her family had been in trade, and sometimes her origin showed. It didn’t hurt, however, to keep on good terms with one’s neighbors. Looking at his reflection, Jeremy sighed. What would he do if he had to sell his estates?

  A little while later he walked into the Powells’ drawing room. “My lord, how wonderful to see you again,” Mrs. Powell gushed, bustling forward to greet him and holding her hand out to be kissed. She was a stout woman, dressed rather unfortunately in purple satin that strained at the seams, and she had used too much scent. There was nothing else to be done; hesitating so briefly it was hardly noticeable, Jeremy bent his head. Mrs. Powell simpered, an odd reaction for a woman her age. “I told Mr. Powell that life would be quite exciting with you here again.”

  Jeremy shook hands with Mr. Powell and then, smiling, sat on the sofa beside her, flipping the tails of his coat back. “Oh?” he said, rather at a loss for words. Mrs. Powell usually had that effect on him.

  “Oh, yes, my lord, we have been very dull lately. That is a very fine coat. You didn’t have it made in the country, I’ll wager.”

  “No, I had it from Weston.”

  “Of course. He charged a pretty penny, I’ll be bound. Really, my lord, the price of things nowadays, and the way our tenants complain—”

  “My love, I’m sure his lordship doesn’t want to hear about our tenants,” Mr. Powell said.

  Mrs. Powell fixed him with a basilisk stare. “Ungrateful wretches, if they only knew what their upkeep costs us! But there, my lord, I’ll wager Mr. Powell is in the right of it. You don’t wish to hear this. But I do resent their lack of gratitude, that I do. I’m sure you’ve had the same problem.”

  “Not really.” Jeremy shifted restlessly, crossing his legs. “I understand your daughter will be making her comeout next year.”

  “Yes, we thought to keep her to ourselves for one more year. I cannot imagine where she is. She knew you were coming, my lord.”

  “Here I am, Mama,” a soft voice said from the doorway, and a vision in golden ringlets and white muslin curtsied. “My lord, I am sorry for being late.”

  “Ah, child, there you are,” Mrs. Powell said, as Jeremy rose. “My lord, may I present my daughter, Evadne.”

  Evadne curtsied again, and Jeremy, for once in his life, stood absolutely still. Good lord, she had grown! The last time he’d seen her, she had been running around in pinafores and pigtails. Now she was a beauty, pretty, petite, an heiress, and, to all appearances, docile. All, in fact, that he claimed he wanted in a bride. “Miss Powell,” he said, finally, taking her hand as she rose. Here was the answer to his problems. He wondered why he didn’t feel happier.

  It was late. Most people in the quiet Berkshire countryside were abed, their houses in darkness. Tomorrow would be another day of work, and people needed their sleep. Not everyone could rest, however. In her room, Miss Evadne Powell, just recently turned ten and eight and impatient to begin her life, sat up in bed, hugging her knees.

  “Just think, Fluffy!” she said to the huge brindled cat stretched out on the eiderdown. “I am getting married! And to a viscount. I shall be a lady!” The light of the single taper glinted off her pale golden curls and made her blue eyes seem even larger. “Lady Stanton,” she murmured. “The Viscountess Stanton. I shall wear a coronet and be presented at court. Oh, my!” She hugged herself with joy, and the cat raised his head to look at her through slitted eyes. Then, with a sigh, he lay down again.

  Evadne, lost in dreams of the future, sighed, too. Just last week she had had no idea of what was to come, and yet now it all seemed inevitable. She’d always known she would marry well. To marry a viscount, though, was special. When she had learned that Lord Stanton was in the neighborhood and had been invited to dinner, she’d come downstairs wearing her best frock, the sprigged muslin that was rather daringly cut. That had won her a sharp look from Mama, but Stanton, bowing over her hand, had looked at her with warm approval. Well, of course he would, she was the prettiest girl in the neighborhood, and every boy was in love with her. Stanton, however, was a man, not a boy, and thus more of a challenge. Then and there, she had determined that she would have him.

  From that moment, events took on a momentum of their own. She had met Stanton again at church, and when she was in the village shopping he had stopped to talk with her. She was not really surprised when,
several days later, Stanton came out to her in the rose garden and told her that her father had given him permission to pay his addresses to her. Sensing that something of the sort was coming, she had worn her most charming chip straw bonnet, and she made certain to look up at him through her long eyelashes as he spoke. She had also widened her eyes when he at last proposed, and made her voice breathless in reply, having learned that men found both actions appealing. He had smiled at her and bent his head toward her, so that she had thought he was going to kiss her, but at that moment Mama had come into the rose garden. Evadne was still feeling cross with her for the interruption.

  “Lady Stanton, Fluffy,” she said. “I shall be the leading lady of the neighborhood! Of course, he’s old.” She frowned. “And so dark, almost like a gypsy. But I shan’t mind that, because he is so much more sophisticated than any of the boys around here. We shall look quite well together, I think.” She smiled, smugly, knowing quite well that Stanton’s darkness would set off her own pink and gold looks. “I shall go to London and wear satin and diamonds, Fluffy. Oh, I am going to be a fine lady!”

  With that she jumped out of bed and waltzed about the room in the arms of an imaginary partner. “And I shall have all London at my feet, and lots of admirers, and I won’t have to listen to Mama anymore!”

  “Evadne!” The voice came from just beyond the bedroom door, stern and imperious, and at the sound of it Evadne scrambled back into bed.

  “Yes, Mama?”

  Mrs. Powell, her hair in curling papers, looked in at the door. “Whatever are you doing?”

  “Nothing, Mama.”

  “I should hope not. Go to sleep, now. We’ve a busy day tomorrow if we’re to get you outfitted in time for London. You don’t want the Viscount to be ashamed of you because of your clothes! And a pretty penny they’ll cost, too.”

  “Yes, Mama,” Evadne called back, lying stiffly until the door closed and the footsteps moved away. At last she blew out the candle and in the darkness stared up toward the ceiling. “No, Fluffy,” she said, her voice soft and determined. “I won’t listen to Mama anymore.” And with that she at last fell asleep, with visions of the future shining in her mind.