Jane could not meet her eyes. “I am well aware that I am not the beauty of the family,” she said, swallowing hard against the truth she had always known.
“Neither are you a gorgon!” Charlotte protested. “And believe me, beauty does not guarantee happiness. It is more of a burden than anything else.”
Jane shook her head, unconvinced. “You were always surrounded by suitors, while I have had nary a one.”
“You have no suitors because you have discouraged every boy within miles, Jane, and well you know it! I thought you were being extremely particular, as I was, so I said nothing even after you refused a season in London! Never would I have suspected that you do not recognize your own worth. You are a lovely girl, and any man would be proud to take you as a wife.”
When Charlotte released her, Jane shook her head once more. Everyone knew that of the vicar’s daughters, Charlotte was the beauty, with young Carrie and Jenny well on their way to matching her. Sarah and Jane were the plain ones, and though Sarah was devoted to her great oaf of a husband, Alf, Jane had always been determined never to marry, to neither be disappointed nor disappoint. She had her garden and her books and her duties at the vicarage.
“Perhaps this incident is all for the best, for now I will have an excuse for my lack of prospects. Being ruined, I can live quietly, helping Papa,” Jane said softly. Although such an existence seemed quite reasonable and was what she had always planned, Jane was surprised to feel a tightening in her chest at the finality of it.
“A pariah at age eighteen?” Charlotte asked in horrified tones. “Jane, you are too young to make such a decision, to throw away your future irrevocably. And what of Papa and the little ones? How can the villagers be expected to listen to his sermons when his own daughter goes astray? How will you do your errands when most of the good people will cross the street rather than greet you? Will you make the children suffer because of you, a latter-day Lizzy Beaton?”
“Lizzy Beaton’s reputation is well earned!” Jane said of the poor pox-ridden woman who lived nearby. Although the vicar made sure the woman had food, the villagers avoided her, even those male citizens who had once frequented her hovel.
“And how will you prove that you were not compromised when you were seen in bed with a naked man?” Charlotte asked.
Was he naked? Jane nearly started at that news. She had not been wearing her glasses, naturally, and by the time she got them on, her companion had been modestly covered by a drawn-up blanket. She shook her head at the irony of it all. Only she was so plain as to be ignored by an undressed, drunken male!
“You can hardly compare me to Lizzy Beaton,” Jane argued, though not as forcefully as she would have liked. She knew she was blameless, and she could, no doubt, convince her kindhearted father of her innocence, but Charlotte was right. Most people were not as forgiving as dear Papa. Jane had a hollow feeling in her heart as she realized that although he would gladly shelter her, she could not hide away at the vicarage, if it would cause him—or her siblings—harm.
She blinked, determined not to weep at this horrible turn of events. She was going to have to marry him! “Oh, if it were anyone but Raleigh!” she said aloud, sinking into one of the cabriolet armchairs that were scattered about the room. Raleigh was too handsome, too frivolous, too dandified, too titled, too everything. “Why could it not have been Mr. Cambridge?” she asked, her voice cracking. “He is so distinguished.”
“Indeed, he’s old enough to have sired your father,” Charlotte said dryly. “Raleigh is a much better match. Why, he is still in his twenties, a viscount and someday to be an earl!”
“Don’t remind me,” Jane said glumly. She had no wish for material gain, or a life in London where people were wicked and full of excess, where married women had dalliances and men drank so much they did not know where they were sleeping—or with whom.
“Jane.” Charlotte knelt before her and took her hands. “I know that for some reason you don’t think much of him, but Raleigh is one of the finest men I know. He is good and kind and honorable, and I am proud to call him friend.” Jane inhaled slowly. “I would be even prouder to call him my brother,” Charlotte said, her full lips curving upward at the corners.
Jane let out her breath in a great sigh. What chance did she have against a determined Charlotte and her husband? She was surrounded by concerned family, and yet she had never felt so alone. What choice was there for her?
“Very well,” she said, her heart sinking down to her toes. “I will marry him, if Papa will do it.”
John Trowbridge looked rather bewildered when called to the Great House and presented with the special license for one of his own daughters. Leaving out the sordid details, Charlotte told him that Jane and Raleigh had been compromised, but as they had shared a fondness for each other for some time, all were in agreement to wed.
Perhaps, if her father had been as adamant as the others, demanding that she marry immediately, Jane might have had the courage to defy them all. But, instead, Papa pulled her aside and told her very gently that she did not have to go through with anything unless she truly loved Raleigh. Ignoring the ludicrous notion of her harboring any affection for the glib-tongued viscount, Jane put her arms around her father and hugged him tight, fighting back the tears. Yes, I have to do this, she thought to herself. Not for myself, but for you, and the boys, and Carrie and Jenny. And Charlotte and Wycliffe.
Jane was a dutiful girl, and she did her duty. She stood throughout the brief ceremony, with Raleigh stiff and unhappy beside her, and suffered the congratulations of everyone there, all of them far more pleased than either bride or groom. She pretended to eat an elaborate celebratory repast off Wycliffe’s elegant china and let the younger children fill themselves with cake.
It was only when a servant arrived with a trunk of her meager belongings that the enormity of her action, and its consequences, struck home. Between all the chatter and preparations that led up to the wedding, Jane had not had time to really think about her future. Rather, she had vaguely assumed that things would go on much as before, with her being married in name only, while Raleigh returned to London.
Now, abruptly, she was informed that she must make haste to leave for the viscount’s family seat. At the pronouncement, Jane stared so numbly at her husband that Charlotte whisked her off again to the yellow bedroom, which she was quickly growing to despise, ostensibly to assist her final packing.
In reality, Charlotte had chafed her cold hands, while sending a maid to fetch some clothes to add to Jane’s poor supply. “When I think of all the times I asked you to let me have some fine gowns made for you! Well, there’s nothing for it now, but to take what you have. Raleigh will have to spring for a new wardrobe!” she said, smiling.
Jane said nothing when the maid returned with an armful of nightrails. From experience, she knew that Charlotte’s clothing would be voluminous on her. However, this time it was not the size but the flimsy nature of the gowns that caught her attention. They were so worn as to be nearly transparent!
“I cannot wear those,” Jane whispered as the maid left.
“Of course you can,” Charlotte said with a forced heartiness that made Jane immediately suspicious of her motives.
“Why are you giving them to me?” she asked.
Charlotte blushed, making Jane even more leery. “In absence of our mother, I thought I would take it upon myself to give you some advice for your wedding night,” she said cheerfully.
Although Jane had a vague idea of reproduction, gleaned from the animals that populated the farms and hillsides, she was appalled to learn that human procreation worked in generally the same manner. Hastily dismissing the subject, Jane turned away, but Charlotte seemed intent upon embellishing the bald facts with rather disgusting details. Refusing to listen, Jane was grateful when a knock at the door and the sound of a baby crying drew Charlotte away.
“Jane, all I can say is that it is wonderful with someone you love, wonderful beyond imagining,”
Charlotte said before taking one of the twins from a maid.
Nodding just to be rid of her, Jane turned back to her packing, without making the obvious comment. But I don’t love him. And I never will. Swallowing against a sudden thickness in her throat, Jane resolutely packed the scandalous garments, though she knew she would never wear them.
Nor would she permit the kind of liberties that her sister had discussed so candidly. Charlotte and Wycliffe and Raleigh himself might have gotten her to take his name, but the rest of her would remain her own.
Chapter Two
Charlotte stood beside her husband as they watched the coach travel into the distance. It was one of their own since Raleigh had arrived in a hired conveyance, but easily spared. Her dear papa often said that Wycliffe had more horseflesh than the entire village. He did seem to possess an excess of both steeds and vehicles, but now Charlotte was glad that she could provide a little something toward her sister’s comfort.
Charlotte had felt a nagging disquiet ever since she had risen, but had put it down to worry about the twins. When she heard the maid scream, she had raced upstairs, filled with terror, only to know a certain relief that no one was dead or injured.
Only compromised.
Charlotte sighed. Although she had seen no other possible course, she had definite misgivings about the match. Raleigh was rather frivolous, while Jane was so serious. Charlotte had never known the viscount to rusticate for long, yet Jane, disdaining London, knew little else. “Do you think we did the right thing?” she asked her husband softly.
“We had no choice,” Max said, and Charlotte took some comfort from his words. Yet she knew there were always options, and if Jane had been adamant or Raleigh unsuitable, she would not have pushed for the marriage.
“Was Raleigh very unhappy?” she asked, remembering the usually carefree viscount’s glum countenance.
“He will soon discover his good fortune,” Max said, and Charlotte could not help but note that her husband had avoided answering her directly. Before she could protest, he added, “Jane is a lovely girl, well-mannered and kindhearted.”
Charlotte nodded. “I know, but she is so accustomed to being the plain one that she cannot see she has grown into an attractive young woman.”
“Anyone would suffer being compared to you,” Max said loyally as he put his arm around her.
Charlotte smiled, but her heart remained heavy. “And so much was made of how I resembled Mama that I fear Jane cannot recognize any other type of beauty.”
“Raleigh has no such prejudices, and he will soon have her decked out in the latest of gowns, if he can manage it,” Max said.
The viscount was definitely a tulip of fashion, Charlotte silently agreed, but she was not sure whether he could bring Jane around to his viewpoint. Still, Jane could hardly go about in society without more—and better—clothing. “Surely you do not think Jane will refuse to dress appropriately?” she asked with some concern.
“No,” Max said wryly. “I mean that our Raleigh is never very flush in the pocket.”
Charlotte felt a chill despite the warm breeze. “But he always has fine garments and horses, that town house…” Her words trailed off as her uneasiness grew.
“The town house belongs to his father, who has always kept Raleigh on very tight purse strings. Of course, the family seat is entailed, so it will someday be Raleigh’s, but I have no idea how much money is tied up with the estate itself.”
Charlotte straightened, disliking the turn of the conversation. “What are you saying?” she asked.
Max frowned as he gazed off into the distance. “As far as I know, Raleigh hasn’t a feather to fly with.”
Charlotte groaned. “Oh, Max! How could you let them marry?”
“His situation is not that uncommon, Charlotte. And he’s not in a bad way…yet.”
Charlotte was afraid to look at him, fearful of the serious tone of his voice, and the nagging feeling she had known all day blossomed into full-blown alarm. “Yet?” she whispered.
Max drew her close, and Charlotte braced herself for what could only be ill news. “The earl is a bit of a stickler, as is his wife.” Max paused. “Although I pray it won’t come to that, if Raleigh’s parents are displeased with Jane, there is always the possibility that he may be cut off without a cent.”
With a low gasp, Charlotte leaned against her husband’s chest, heedless of the eyes of any guests who lingered on the grounds. Although she had grown up in a loving household, she had learned the vagaries of the London elite, and in her experience most of the ton were vultures waiting to feed off their next victim. And poor Jane, fresh from the country, would be ripe for the pecking. Turning wide eyes on her husband, Charlotte cried aloud in guilt and panic. “Oh, Max, what have we done?”
Raleigh leaned back against the soft cushions and closed his eyes, relishing the return of something akin to reasonable health. Ever since casting up his accounts this morning, he had begun to feel better. Charlotte had filled him with some odious tea to get him through the ceremony, and he had hoped to recover fully after a nap in the coach. But now that his head and stomach were improved, Raleigh found himself more keenly aware of his situation, so much so that sleep eluded him.
This time he had really done it.
He had been in scrapes before—running up debts, gambling and even overturning a mail coach that he had driven on a dare in his youth. Yet all other incidents paled in comparison to his current predicament. How the devil had he got himself into it? Raleigh groaned.
One too many bottles, he suspected. Odd that the more one consumed, the more one had to drink to reach the same level of blissful ignorance. And the longer it took to recover from a bad bout. His head had been pounding so hard this morning that he would have agreed to anything just to stop Wycliffe from shouting. And Wycliffe never raised his voice. Feeling wretched and vaguely guilty, Raleigh had gone along with it all, but now that he was not so ill, he felt something else entirely.
Resentment, a rather alien emotion, simmered in Raleigh’s breast. It was hard to blame Wycliffe and Charlotte, whom he knew and liked, for his present circumstances—far easier to blame Jane, whom he barely knew and didn’t like. Lifting his head, Raleigh dared a glance at the female across from him. She was sitting rigidly straight upon the seat, her hands clasped tightly in her lap and her face resolutely turned toward the window in a deliberate effort to avoid him even within the close confines of the vehicle. Raleigh was not surprised. She had not looked at him with any equanimity all day, or indeed, for as long as he could remember.
He had seen her before, of course, having been to Casterleigh many times since Wycliffe’s marriage. He had always been vastly entertained by Charlotte’s numerous siblings, but Jane tended to fade into the background among the more lively brothers and sisters. A grubby urchin, she was always digging in the garden or buried in a book. Quiet, serious and bespectacled, she was the type who either bored him to tears with her lack of animation or irritated him by scolding the little ones.
Lud, he had known her since she was but a child herself! Indeed, he hadn’t even realized that she had grown up—to the advanced age of eighteen, no less. Lifting his quizzing glass, Raleigh studied her more closely. She was wearing a hideous bonnet sadly out of fashion and a drab little traveling dress with matching spencer. Although her skin was clear, her nondescript hair was pulled so tightly from her face that he wondered it did not pain her. Maybe it did, for her lips appeared to be locked into a perpetual frown.
Dropping his gaze, Raleigh decided that she possessed some curves, though certainly nothing like her sister’s voluptuous form. The exact details were difficult to determine beneath the loose jacket. Intent upon his visual assessment of his bride’s endowments, Raleigh did not even realize she had moved until he was startled by a sudden, loud sniff that drew his attention to her face. In the wake of the withering glance that settled upon him with alarming contempt, his quizzing glance almost fell from his fingers.
“Will you please cease ogling my person?” Her voice was soft, low and pleasantly pitched, but so full of venom that Raleigh could not immediately think of an appropriate retort. He simply watched in amazement as she drew herself up even more stiffly and turned toward the window, as if giving him the cut direct in his own equipage. Well, truth to tell, this was not exactly his own carriage, but still…
Raleigh frowned, certain he had never met a more disagreeable female. He had expected the creature to be plain and dull, but certainly not so annoying! Were not the plain and dull women also more likely to be mild and obedient? Lud, but it was his great misfortune to be saddled with the one wretched creature who was not! Seized by a wholly unnatural temper, Raleigh silently railed at his bride, his situation, his parents and fate in general.
The paroxysm, though cathartic, was not like him, for normally he was the most amiable of men—fun-loving Raleigh, everyone’s boon companion, always ready to laugh. Yet his so-called good nature was becoming sorely tried of late. What had seemed so entertaining ten years ago was more of a dead bore as he approached his thirtieth birthday. London’s endless round of parties and gambling and drinking, racing curricles, preening in the latest fashions and flirting with the ladies had begun to pall. But what other life was available to him?
His best friends had all married and rarely came to town, and although he very much enjoyed his visits to their country homes, Raleigh felt the interloper when viewing their close familiarity. Conversely, he detested his own family seat, where his parents ruled humorlessly and a passel of female relatives picked at him to provide an heir for the future.
He longed for his own home, be it no bigger than Casterleigh. Even something much smaller but more personal might very well suit his needs, but he hadn’t the blunt. Indeed, he had little more than his monthly allowance, and it seemed he was always struggling to make it last.
Deborah Simmons Page 2