During the week that followed, Linnet had plenty of time to review the entire baffling episode, and though that didn’t do much to alleviate her indignation or her bafflement, by the time she and her mother were on the train to Kent for the house party, she had come to understand there was a simple explanation for everything Jack Featherstone said and did.
The man was insane.
He was also obstinate, maddening, and—quite obviously—a very poor judge of character.
The logical conclusion is that you couldn’t tolerate the idea that otherwise you’d have to marry beneath you.
Even now, those words made her mad enough to spit nails. She turned her attention to the view out the window, but she found it impossible to appreciate the pretty countryside, for in her mind’s eye, the only view was Featherstone’s dark eyes daring her to contradict his preposterous notions even as he’d given her no chance to do so. The result was that she’d been contradicting them in her mind ever since.
For one thing, she was not a snob. She didn’t care two bits for titles, but other people did. And since a marriage of love was out the window thanks to him, marriage to a man with a title could at least give her a life with purpose, as her mother had pointed out. It took gall for Jack Featherstone to deem her a snob for trying to regain her footing after he’d been the one to pull the rug out from under her in the first place.
But then, gall was something that man had plenty of.
A bright young man with promise in one of his city offices who would have jumped at the chance to marry into the powerful, wealthy Holland family . . .
Linnet stirred in her seat and wished, not for the first time, that she’d been able to get a word in at that point. If she had, she’d have said that as far as husbands go, any man of any station, even a pimple-faced errand boy from the corner grocery, would be vastly superior to him. But she’d been too angry to think of a speech like that, not until it was too late. Why did the best answers to unfounded criticism always come to a person while stewing about the situation afterward?
Her consolation—if there was such a thing to be found in anything to do with that man—was that whatever reply she’d offered, however fitting or satisfying, probably wouldn’t have made the least impression. In addition to his other faults, Jack also seemed to be deaf, at least to anything she had to say.
He, on the other hand, had managed to say plenty.
You are an imperious woman, strong-willed, and—let’s be frank—a bit spoiled.
Imperious? She wasn’t the one who interfered in other people’s lives, rode roughshod over their wishes, and deemed it for their own good. That would be him.
Spoiled? She wasn’t the one who thought money was just handed over to a husband as a matter of course. That distinction belonged to the fortune hunters, a breed of men she ought to be quite familiar with by now.
It’s clear your own judgment in regard to men is sadly lacking.
Even now, those words had the power to sting, for as much as she hated to admit he could be right about anything, there was truth in at least that much of what he’d said. Her judgment regarding Frederick had been nonexistent. And Conrath hadn’t been much of a testament to her ability to weed out fortune hunters. But it wasn’t as if she was prepared to defy her own judgment to the extent that she’d fall into Jack’s arms, even if her mother and Lady Trubridge thought marrying him was the safest course. Safe? Jack Featherstone was as safe as dynamite.
That kiss was electric.
Electric was one way of describing it. Linnet shifted the other way in her seat as the memory of that kiss came flooding back. His mouth on hers had been hot, shocking, the kiss almost painful in its intensity. She’d never felt anything like it in her life. Not even Conrath’s kiss, as heady as it had seemed to her at the time, had evoked so many emotions within her at once.
When Jack had captured her mouth with his, she’d been overwhelmed with shock, outrage, and mortification, and yet, looking back now, she sensed that in the midst of that maelstrom, there had been something else, something vague and elusive she couldn’t quite define. She tried to pin it down, but that wasn’t easy, for she had so little experience on which to draw. Nonetheless, there had been something—
Oh, my God.
Linnet sat straight up in her seat, appalled, appreciating for the first time that amid the powerful negative emotions his kiss had evoked, there had also been a faint, answering thrill.
No, it wasn’t possible. But even as she tried to deny it, she knew denial was useless. Her initial anger and shock had receded, mortification had been faced, consequences and ruin dealt with. Now, it was that tiny thrill that urged its way forward into her consciousness, showing her that shock and outrage and mortification were not the only things that had robbed her of breath and set her heart pounding and her body burning that night in Newport.
She transferred her gaze from the view outside to her fellow passengers in the first-class carriage, but even a change of view could not block Jack’s intense black eyes and torrid words from her mind.
What I’m imagining is all the ways you might like to be kissed.
Just that, just the memory of what he’d said, and heat shimmered over her skin and tingled along her spine, the same heat she’d felt when she’d caught him staring at her in Mrs. Dewey’s ballroom, the same heat that had become a raging blaze when his mouth had captured hers in the pagoda. Now, it seemed all the blasted man had to do was talk about kissing her to bring it all roaring back.
She didn’t like it. She didn’t want it. It was too intimate, too . . . too intense. It was something she’d never felt before, something much darker than the girlish thrills inspired by Conrath’s tender kiss and feckless charm. And though it called to mind the thrill she’d felt in agreeing to meet Frederick in the pagoda, Jack’s kiss evoked feelings much stronger than any inspired by Frederick’s improper suggestions of rendezvous and elopement. Jack’s kiss pulled up within her wild, primitive emotions she hadn’t even known existed. Why? she wondered miserably. Why him?
She’d loved Conrath, or at least, she’d thought of it as love. She’d been fond, very fond of Frederick. Jack inspired nothing tender, sweet, or fond. She didn’t even like the man, for goodness’ sake. And why should she? That afternoon at Lady Trubridge’s, he’d managed to insult her, tease her, embarrass her, infuriate her, and almost make love to her all in the space of ten minutes.
Did he think that was the way to court a woman? Make her feel so off-balance, so confused, so . . . so . . . stirred up?
Electric.
The strange, painful heat shimmering through Linnet’s body coalesced, centering in her torso from her bosom to her thighs, and she shifted in her seat again, wriggling her hips, folding her arms, and crossing her legs tight.
“Linnet, for heaven’s sake, what is wrong with you?” Helen looked up from her book, peering at her over the pair of reading spectacles perched on her nose. “You keep moving around in your seat like a schoolgirl.” Her mother frowned, studying her. “And you look quite flushed, dear.”
“Do I?” Linnet unfolded her arms, pressing her palms to her hot cheeks, working to regain her composure.
“Why, you’re pink as a peony. Oh, I hope you’ve not come down with a fever.” She began pulling off her glove, leaning forward as if she intended to verify her daughter’s temperature.
“It’s not fever,” Linnet assured her, but even as she spoke, she grimaced, appreciating how much what she felt was like fever. But she could hardly confess to her mother the reason for her distress. “I’m not ill. It’s just . . . it’s just that it’s so warm on this train.”
“Well, open the window then. It won’t do to become overheated. If you do, you might faint.”
With those words, Linnet stood up. She let down the window, but she didn’t sit back down. Instead, she remained on her feet, and she hoped the rushing air of the fine September afternoon would cool the heat inside her, because the idea of fainting due
to that man was just too awful a notion to contemplate.
BY THE TIME they disembarked at Maidstone, the tiny village near Lord Trubridge’s estate, Linnet had managed to push Jack Featherstone to the back of her mind and regain a measure of self-possession.
Lady Trubridge had sent a carriage to fetch them and their maids from the train station, and as the vehicle rolled along a lane carved between fields of golden hops and barley, she was better able to appreciate the beauty of the scenery than she had on the train.
The house, of ivy-covered brick, white plaster, dark half-timbering, and diamond-paned windows, seemed very English to Linnet’s American eyes, reminding her of her purpose and her possible future. It wasn’t a future she’d chosen, but she hoped to make it a happy one. As she stepped down from the carriage, she saw Lady Trubridge waiting to greet them, a group of servants behind her, and she realized she might soon be standing by the steps of a house like this in some other part of England. As she studied the brick façade before her, she couldn’t help wondering if that house, wherever it was, would ever feel like home.
“Mrs. Holland, Miss Holland, welcome to Honeywood.”
At the sound of Lady Trubridge’s voice, Linnet turned her attention from the house as her hostess gestured to the tall, gray-haired man in black who stood nearby.
“This is Forbisher, the butler,” the marchioness told them, then moved on to the thin, almost gaunt woman beside him. “And this is Mrs. Tumblety, the housekeeper. If there is anything you desire during your stay that we have not provided, you have only to ask. The dressing gong is rung at half past six, and dinner is at eight.”
She led her guests into the house and paused with them in the foyer. “Most of the other guests have already arrived, so I fear I must leave you straightaway and return to them. Forbisher will show you to your rooms, and Mrs. Tumblety will take your maids to their quarters. When you come down, you’ll find most of us gathered on the south lawn for croquet and tennis. Tea will be served there shortly, but I believe you and your mother are taking tea with Jack?”
Linnet smiled. “That is what he decided.”
Helen gave her a sharp glance, but if Lady Trubridge noticed her emphasis on the pronoun and the deceptive sweetness of her voice, she didn’t show it. “Still, perhaps we can have a nice visit after dinner,” she suggested, and nodded to Forbisher.
The butler stepped forward. “If you will follow me?” he said with a bow, and turned toward the carved-oak staircase as the housekeeper led the maids away. Helen fell in step with him, and Linnet started to follow, but Lady Trubridge stopped her.
“Miss Holland, before I rejoin the others, I wanted to make you aware of where things stand. Gossip is always slower to circulate at this time of year, but there is a bit of talk about what happened in Newport. No details have appeared in the press here yet, but I do have word that the American scandal sheets are now full of the story.”
Linnet knew it wouldn’t be long before the British scandal sheets were the same. “At least your guests won’t be reading the story over breakfast.” She tried to smile. “Not tomorrow morning, at least.”
“They wouldn’t anyway, my dear. I won’t have scandal rags at the breakfast table. And speaking of my other guests, I have good news. Three of your former suitors consented to come. The Duke of Carrington is here, and Lord Tufton, and Sir Roger Oliphant. All three expressed the willingness to renew their acquaintance with you, despite your current situation. The other gentlemen who had proposed marriage to you or otherwise expressed their admiration during your season declined to come.”
Linnet was not surprised. “I understand.”
“They informed me that their plans for the coming week had already been made. Of course, we can’t know for certain if that’s so, but it might be. This party is such short notice.”
“It makes my choice easier though, doesn’t it?” She swallowed hard. “A process of elimination.”
“You mustn’t lose heart. Lord Hansborough is here also. You have not met him before, I understand?” At Linnet’s shake of the head, she went on, “While I appreciate your preference for a man with whom you have some acquaintance, I do think Hansborough might be a possibility for you. He is a viscount with several estates, and he’s quite a handsome man. He does have debts, but though he made it clear that he could not afford to marry a woman without money, I would not dismiss him as a mere fortune hunter. He is adamant that he could not marry without mutual attraction.”
Linnet nodded. “And what is your opinion of his character?”
“Sound, I think. He keeps no mistress, and his debts don’t stem from gambling, or anything of that kind. I have also invited several single gentlemen of the county for various events during the week, and one of them might take your fancy. So your choices are not quite as limited as they may seem. Now, when you come down, join us on the south lawn, and I will introduce you and take you around a bit before your tea with Jack. So hold your head up,” she added, giving Linnet’s arm an encouraging pat. “You have nothing to reproach yourself with.”
Linnet knew that already, but the knowledge didn’t make things easier an hour later when she prepared to join the other guests. She paused by the terrace, staring at the people mingling on the lawn, and her stomach twisted with sudden dread.
With the story in the American papers, her friends—if she had any left—were pitying her, and those who didn’t like her were relishing her fall. By refusing the fate thrust upon her, she’d known she would be heading into an uncertain future, but until now, she hadn’t appreciated how hard facing that uncertainty would be. These people knew, or soon would know, of her disgrace, and the man who’d caused it all was going to be hanging about the entire week, his presence a constant reminder of her shame.
Everyone around her, including Jack himself, had taken her acceptance of him for granted, and she’d had to fight hard for other options. Standing here now, Linnet was seized with sudden doubt about the course she’d chosen, and she wondered: Was it better to be strong-willed and take risks with one’s future or play it safe and accept the inevitability of one’s fate? Was it better to be imperious or to be a foregone conclusion?
“There you are.” Her mother paused beside her. “I went to your room, but Foster said you’d already gone down.”
“I couldn’t sit in my room any longer,” Linnet confessed. “I’m too nervous.” She turned, running her hands down the skirt of her lilac-colored silk frock. “Do I look all right?”
Her mother pursed her lips, studying her with a critical and practiced eye. After a moment, she reached up, tweaking the arrangement of violet flowers and pink ribbons that decorated Linnet’s wide-brimmed straw hat, then gave a nod. “You look pretty as a picture. Featherstone will be delighted, I’m sure.”
Linnet strove to keep her expression neutral. “And why should I care if he’s delighted or not?”
Helen stared at her as if she’d grown a second head. “Because tea with him is your first engagement of the house party. Which reminds me—” She broke off, reached into the pocket of her skirt, and pulled out a sheet of paper. “He sent a note to tell me he shall await us in the Gatehouse Garden. I’ve had no chance to find out where that is, but a footman is to fetch us at four o’clock.” She refolded the note and put it in her pocket. “Gatehouse Garden. Doesn’t that sound lovely?”
Linnet thought it might sound more lovely if he’d invited them to take tea instead of deciding that they would do so, but she didn’t express her opinion aloud. Instead, she looked away, returning her attention to the group on the lawn. “I’m sure you will enjoy yourself, Mother. But I’m not going to tea with Lord Featherstone. I have other plans for my afternoon.”
“Now, Linnet, is this how you’re going to be? You got your way, didn’t you? Featherstone isn’t the only man you’ll be able to consider, which is what you wanted. And Lady Trubridge has arranged things with the understanding that each man will spend time with you, including Featherstone
. You can’t avoid him, and I can’t think why you’d wish to. It’s not as if your suitors are lining up in droves the way they used to. What purpose can it serve to antagonize one of the few you have left?”
Linnet winced, wondering if all mothers had such an unerring instinct for finding their daughters’ tender spots or if her own mother was somehow extraordinary in that regard. “Thank you, Mother,” she said. “I know I can always rely on you to bolster my spirits when they start to flag. But I admit I am surprised by your continued support of Featherstone. The Duke of Carrington is here, and I’d have thought you’d be pushing me in his direction. A duke outranks an earl, and Carrington was your choice before, wasn’t he?”
“There’s no need to be so pert, miss. In order to deflate the scandal and rehabilitate your reputation, marrying Featherstone would serve you best, as I have pointed out on numerous occasions. And it’s not as if I’m alone in my opinion. Lady Trubridge also pointed out that fact.”
“What would serve me best is to make my own decisions about with whom to have tea and with whom to spend my life. And given his continued highhandedness, I am even less inclined than before to think of Lord Featherstone as that man. Now, I believe I shall join Lady Trubridge and her other guests.”
“But what shall I tell Featherstone?” Helen asked, as Linnet started down to the lawn.
“Tell him . . .” She paused at the bottom of the terrace steps, considering. “Tell him I’m no man’s foregone conclusion,” she said at last. “If he wants to take tea with me, he can damn well ask me.” With that, she took a deep breath and started across the lawn, her shoulders back and her head high.
IT WAS ALMOST time.
Tucking his watch back into the pocket of his waistcoat, Jack glanced skyward, considered the sun’s descent, and pulled the blanket a bit closer to the crumbling stone wall nearby, just to be sure the ladies would have plenty of shade. He verified there was plenty of chipped ice nestled around the champagne and tucked beneath the plates of meat and salad, he rearranged the picnic hampers for the third time and plucked away a few stray leaves of ivy.
Catch a Falling Heiress: An American Heiress in London Page 15