Inconvenient Affair

by Kruger, Mary

  Jeremy let out his breath. He hadn’t explained the purpose of Evadne’s visit to Gillian, though he expected she had heard the servants gossiping. “You’ll think differently when you’re grown.”

  “I’d rather have a kitten. When is Miss Powell leaving?”

  “Not for a while yet, poppet. Why?”

  “I don’t like her. And she doesn’t like me.”

  “Nonsense, of course she does.”

  Gillian rewarded that with an oddly adult look of scorn. “She thinks I’m ugly,” she said, matter-of-factly. “I heard her say so.”

  “Oh, Gillian,” he said, surprised at the anger that made him feel. “She didn’t mean it.”

  Gillian shrugged. “When is she leaving?”

  “Well, Gillian, that’s the thing. You see, I’ve asked her to marry me.” Gillian went still in his arms. “So you see, poppet, she’s going to live here with us.”

  “But Daddy!” Gillian wailed, scrambling down to the floor. “She doesn’t like me! I don’t like her!”

  “Gillian, stop this.” He took her shoulders in a gentle grip. “You’ll learn to like her. Don’t you want a new mama?”

  “No!” Gillian broke free of his grasp. “I don’t, and you can’t make me!” she cried, and ran from the room.

  “Gillian!” Jeremy crossed to the door, to see her scrambling up the stairs, toward the safety of her governess’s arms. “Damn.” He had bungled that, all right. What a disaster his engagement was turning out to be, he thought, stalking toward the front door.

  Gregg, standing near the stairs, coughed discreetly. “May I ask where you’re going, my lord, in case someone calls?”

  “Out,” Jeremy snapped, and strode toward the stables.

  Lightning was quickly saddled for him, and soon he was astride, riding hard toward the sea, away from his formerly peaceful home and all the problems that beset him. At length, though, he came to a stop, on the shingly beach far below the Hall. Lightning was blowing hard, and Jeremy felt remorseful as he swung out of the saddle. “Sorry, boy,” he said, leading him over to the stream that emptied into the sea, for a drink. “We’ll take it slower going back.” He slapped the horse’s flanks lightly and then walked away, sitting on a boulder, looking out at the gray, treacherous-looking water and wondering about his life. God! What was he going to do?

  Lighting was well-trained and would come if called, and so Jeremy was free to think about other things. About Thea. Whenever his mind wasn’t occupied, it automatically returned to her, remorselessly recalling all that had happened between them: their initial friendship; his growing awareness of her; his anger with her during his visit to her stables; and, most insistently, that interlude at Rochester Castle. Oh, yes, that magical time he had spent with her. If he could only forget it—but how could he forget something that had been so precious, so important? He, who had had his choice of women and had sampled freely, now wanted only one, and she was the one he couldn’t have. He would, instead, marry Evadne, who shied away when he kissed her and showed nothing but disdain for his daughter. Angry though he had been with Thea last week over what she had said about Gillian, what galled him the most was that she was right.

  Jeremy muttered an oath and tossed the last pebble away. Life at Moulton was rapidly becoming insupportable. Instead of the peace he usually found here, there was Evadne, complaining about the food, the scenery, boredom; alternately flirting with him in the high-pitched voice he had come to dislike, or sulking. Try though he had, he had not been able to interest her in any of the things he enjoyed. The only pastime they had in common was riding, and even that was ruined for him by her incessant chatter. And there was that damned cat. He appeared everywhere, in spite of Jeremy’s orders to the contrary, and the maids could not seem to rid the house of cat hair. As a result, he was constantly sneezing, and he welcomed any chance to escape. Evadne was going to have to change her ways, he thought with little conviction, else life with her would be difficult. And if you can’t bear to live with her now, what will it be like when you’re married? said a little voice in his head. Thea’s voice.

  “Damn it, go away, Thea!” he said, and Lightning looked up, looking almost enquiring. Feeling foolish, Jeremy rose and began to stride down the beach, too restless to sit still any longer, taking in deep breaths. Trapped, he was trapped, but, damn it, what could he do? He knew now that he had made a bad mistake in becoming betrothed to Evadne, even if the time with Thea had never happened. A gentleman could not in honor cry off an engagement. What did his honor owe Thea, though? And Gillian? What, for that matter, did his honor owe himself? Surely not a shallow, empty marriage with no chance of happiness. Evadne was too concerned with herself to give much thought to the problems and concerns of a seven-year-old child, or, for that matter, those of a husband. He had indeed made a mistake, and he would have to find a way to live with it.

  Of course you will. You’ll escape to London and poor Gillian will be even more neglected than she is now, the voice spoke again. Not Thea’s voice this time, though, but that of his conscience. “Damn it, I don’t neglect her!” he yelled, and a gull, standing on a nearby rock, took to the air with a squawk. Abruptly he realized how foolish he must look, standing here shouting to the sky. And how foolish he had been. He had neglected Gillian. Oh, not to outward appearances. She had all she needed, and someone to look after her as well. So far as society was concerned, he had done his duty. None of that mattered, though, when he knew, deep down, that he didn’t really know his daughter. And that, he thought, guiltily, was something he had sworn he would do better than his parents had.

  So, he wondered, turning and whistling for Lightning. What would he do now? He had hoped that remarrying would make them a family again, but now he knew better. Evadne would never fit in. It was Thea he wanted, Thea he needed; Thea, who had shown some understanding of Gillian’s needs. A gentleman could not in honor cry off, but...

  For the first time since coming out, Jeremy smiled, a mischievous, devilish smile. No, a gentleman could not break an engagement, but there were ways. There had to be. He had to do something, he thought as he mounted Lightning. And, at last, he thought he knew the answer.

  “I wish it would stop raining,” Francis said, from the window of the drawing room at Linwood. “Spring was the wettest I can remember, and summer isn’t being much better.”

  “God’s will,” Miss Proctor said, as she sipped her tea.

  Thea, engaged in disentangling her embroidery silk, frowned. She was as unhappy as Francis to be pent up inside, and to have to listen to the pious maunderings of the Vicar and his sister was almost too much to bear. “I do wish the sun would shine for more than a few hours at a time. There, that’s untangled at last! More tea, Vicar?”

  “No, no, my dear, I’ve had a sufficiency.” Mr. Proctor leaned back, patting his rounded stomach, which quite bulged the buttons of his waistcoat. “Excellent tea, and you must compliment your cook on the cakes.”

  “Thank you,” Thea murmured. The vicar did like his food. Usually, that didn’t bother her, but today, it did. She’d felt queasy since awakening that morning. Perhaps Lydia was right. Perhaps she had been working too hard lately.

  “I must say,” he went on, “I do like to see a lady at her needlework.”

  “Oh, thank you, Vicar!” Lydia, bent over yet another project, looked up, smiling with confused pleasure.

  Thea hid her own smile. “I fear I do very little needlework,” she said. “I much prefer to be out of doors.”

  “Yes, of course. The entire neighborhood has seen you riding. Astride,” Miss Proctor added, in case Thea had missed the note of censure in her voice.

  “‘Tis the only way to exercise the horses properly.”

  Miss Proctor’s nostrils pinched. “Of course, but it is such a mannish operation, Mrs. Jameson. Most unsuitable.”

  Thea carefully set a stitch before she replied. “I don’t believe so. Particularly if I work only with mares.”

  Miss Pr
octor’s face darkened, and the vicar brayed, far more heartily than the witticism deserved. “Got you there, Jane. But now you have your brother to help you. Of course, when you enter into matrimony again, ma’am, you’ll no longer need be concerned with it.”

  “I don’t plan to marry again, sir,” Thea murmured.

  The vicar chuckled. “You say that now, but I expect you’ll change your mind. When you meet the right man.”

  Thea looked up at that, and then quickly away, at the expression in his eyes. “Perhaps.”

  “Nonsense, Gerald!” Miss Proctor said sharply at the same time. “Mrs. Jameson surely knows her own mind.”

  “You think so, Jane?” The vicar chuckled again. “Well, could be you’re right, of course, you usually are. But then, I’ve often found that ladies do change their minds. Particularly if they meet a persuasive man.”

  “Indubitably,” Francis said, grinning.

  Miss Proctor eyed her brother with undisguised alarm. “Come, Gerald,” she said, rising abruptly. “We have visits to make. We’ve imposed on Mrs. Jameson’s hospitality quite long enough.”

  “Oh, very well, very well.” Mr. Proctor rose, grumbling, and waddled over to Thea, taking her hand in his damp one. “But I may call again, Mrs. Jameson?”

  “Of course, sir.”

  “Mrs. Jameson.” Hanson stood at the door. “There’s another guest. Shall I show him in?”

  Thea twisted in her chair. “Who is it, Hanson?”

  “The Viscount Stanton, ma’am.”

  Jeremy! Lightning shot through her veins, dispelling the lassitude she’s felt all day. “Of course, Hanson.” She was surprised her voice sounded so normal. “Do show him in.”

  Miss Proctor was frowning. “I’m rather surprised at you, Mrs. Jameson. To have a man like that in the house.”

  Thea looked up. “A man like what, ma’am?” she said, mildly.

  Miss Proctor colored. “Like—you know quite well what I mean!”

  “Now, Jane.” The vicar laid a hand on her shoulder. “Doesn’t the Bible teach us not to judge others? Though I must own, Althea,” he said, frowning at her, “that I cannot like this acquaintance, either.”

  Of all the nerve! Thea didn’t think she’d ever felt such righteous anger in her life. Who was this man, to speak of Jeremy in such a way? She opened her mouth to speak, when Hanson came in again. “Viscount Stanton, ma’am.”

  Silence fell in the room. Thea looked up, her eyes caught and held by Jeremy, whose own gaze was questioning. Jeremy. It hurt to see him again. It was wonderful to see him again. “Stanton,” she said, rising, as if nothing were amiss. “What do you here, today?”

  “Hello, Thea.” Jeremy bowed over her hand. “I didn’t realize you had guests.”

  “We were just leaving. Come, Gerald.” Miss Proctor sailed past Jeremy, her nose in the air, and Jeremy turned to watch her go, a bemused look on her face.

  “So you’re Stanton. I am the Reverend Mr. Proctor.” The vicar held out his hand. “An honor to have you in our humble village, sir.”

  Jeremy nodded in return. The two men were looking at each other measuringly, as if sizing each other up. Thea hastened forward. “Would you like tea, Jeremy? And, vicar, I do believe you have calls to make.”

  The vicar started and looked down at her, his gaze softening. “You are right, of course. But I may come again?”

  “Of course.”

  With a gallantry he had never before shown, the vicar bent and raised Thea’s hand to his lips. “Thank you, dear lady. I shall be looking forward to that auspicious occasion.”

  “Yes,” Thea said faintly, as he left at last. “Oh, dear.”

  “A most affecting scene, Thea,” Jeremy drawled. “Am I to wish you happy, then?”

  “No! And you didn’t help matters, Jeremy.”

  Jeremy shrugged, the picture of outraged innocence. “What did I do?”

  “Looking at him as you did,” she said, accusingly.

  “Poor Mr. Proctor,” Francis said, laughter in his voice.

  Thea sent him a look. “Oh, Fran, not you, too!”

  Lydia took one last stitch before rising. “Do you know, dear, I think he has rather a tendre for you?”

  “Oh, lord,” Thea groaned.

  Francis laughed. “It would be an interesting match.”

  “Francis.”

  “I’m only funning, Thea, so you needn’t look at me like that.” He grinned, holding out his arm to Lydia. “Come, aunt. I don’t believe we’re wanted here.”

  “Oh, but,” Thea protested, but too late. Francis and Lydia were already out of the room. She and Jeremy were alone.

  In the wake of their leaving, there was silence. While there were other people in the room, Thea hadn’t realized how awkward this meeting was, but now she did. When last they had been alone together, she and Jeremy had quarreled. The last time before that—well. It did her no good to think of that. What in the world would they say to each other? “Jeremy—”

  “Am I to wish you happy, Thea?” he said at the same time.

  “Don’t be silly.” She sat down, crossing her arms over her chest and scowling at him. “You realize I’ll be the center of village gossip now for days to come.”

  “Hardly my fault.” Jeremy sat facing her. “But, come, Thea, could you not offer me some refreshment?” A smile spread across his face. “I grant you I’m not so appealing a suitor as your vicar, but do I really merit such shabby treatment?”

  “No, of course not.” Thea crossed the room to tug on the bellpull, her face averted. “But why are you here?”

  “To apologize, among other things.” Jeremy glanced about the room. It was long and low, with beamed ceilings and white-washed plaster walls. Plump chintz cushions and bright crewel pillows were strewn on the comfortable sofa and the Queen Anne chairs, and the diamond-paned casement windows were draped in matching fabric. The room smelled of beeswax and cherishing, filling his soul with a peace he had thought lost. Moulton didn’t have it, but then, Moulton didn’t have Thea. “I like your house, Thea. It’s restful.”

  “Thank you. You needn’t apologize, Jeremy. I had no right to speak as I did.”

  “Even if you were right?”

  “About Evadne?” she said, just as the door to the drawing room opened and Hanson came in, bearing a tray with a decanter of madeira and two glasses. Impatiently she stood while he poured the wine, waiting, as if her entire life depended on the answer to her question. As, perhaps, it did.

  “About Gillian.” Jeremy, raising his glass after Hanson had left the room, and Thea turned away, biting her lip. Foolish to think that he had come to tell her that it was her he loved, not Evadne, but that was what she had thought. “Come, sit down, Thea. We can still talk, can we not? We’ve always been friends.”

  Friends, Thea thought, but she sank down in a chair facing him, her face again a composed, serene mask. All her pride, her very life, depended on her hiding the painful emotions his visit had awakened. She didn’t think he loved her, but he was fond of her. That could very well have been enough to start with. Such a wife as she would have made him! And such a mother for Gillian, the only child she’d likely have, she thought, her eyes stinging. Not for her Evadne’s self-centered absorption and foolish ignorance of her fiancé. She would not have shared him with any woman, but then, he would not have needed another, she would have loved him so. At least, she didn’t think so. She closed her eyes against the doubts creeping in. She had not been enough for Hugh.

  “What about Gillian?” she asked.

  Jeremy rose, going to stand at a window. Now they came to it. He’d thought over his strategy carefully before making this visit. If he told Thea that he’d had second thoughts about Evadne, there was no way of knowing how she would react. He’d expected her to be angry or bitter. What he hadn’t planned on was seeing her being courted by another man, or the anger that would awake in him. Thea was his. Had she not given herself to him in the tower room at Rochester? It
had to mean she cared. She had too much dignity, and too much self-possession, to do such a thing lightly. It could be enough. It should be enough, except that he had bungled it badly by not immediately renouncing his engagement to Evadne, and to hell with his honor. He’d hurt her. He had no right to expect her to come to him for himself. If, however, he appealed to her on Gillian’s behalf, he thought he had a chance. Thea had shown more true feelings for Gillian during their brief visit than Evadne had in all her time at Moulton.

  “Evadne doesn’t like her, I fear,” he said, finally. “And that’s why I’m here.”

  Thea paused in the act of pouring out another glass of madeira for him, the crystal decanter poised in her hand, her eyes wary. “Oh?”

  He moved restlessly away from the window, picking up a crewel pillow and then replacing it, pacing across to the unlit fireplace. “I’ve been thinking about what you said, about Gillian, and I fear you’re right. She is terrified of horses.”

  “I thought so.” Thea set the decanter down and held the goblet out to him. “Come, drink your wine, Jeremy.”

  “Thank you,” he said, and sat as he took the goblet.

  “What have you decided to do about Gillian?”

  “Well, that’s the thing, you see.” He hunched forward, the crystal goblet held negligently between his hands. “I can’t seem to talk to her anymore, Thea. Ever since we visited here she’s changed. She used to be a lively, happy little girl. Now.” He waved his hand in frustration.

  “Now?”

  “Now she’s so damned well-behaved!”

  Thea smiled. “Most parents would appreciate that.”

  “Yes, well, I’m not like them. I don’t particularly like being called ‘sir’ instead of ‘daddy.’”

  “As bad as that?”

  “Yes.” He leaned forward. “I need your help, Thea.”

  “Mine? What could I do?”

  “You could, to start, teach her to ride.”

  “What, here?”

  “No, of course not. I’d like you to come to Moulton.

  “Jeremy, that’s absurd!” She drew back. “I can’t go to your home.”