Jocelyn blushed when she noted everyone’s interest in her interactions with his lordship. “I apologize. I fear I was woolgathering. Making lists in my head of the items we require for the additional entertainments. What letter is mine?”
“U.” Michael’s eyebrow rose in question.
Jocelyn added a well-practiced smile to her lips before saying, “I have a basket.”
Lord Hough responded, “What does the basket hold.”
“‘U’ is another difficult letter. The only example I can add to the mix is Upper Rooms, as in Bath.”
James said with a warm memory. “Mrs. Effrom, do you recall when both our houses travelled on holiday to Bath?”
Her mother smiled widely. “The poor city. I am surprised it is still standing. Jocelyn chased you and Emerson through the Pump Room.”
“They stole my journal and meant to read it aloud to those taking the waters.” Instead of knowing embarrassment, Jocelyn joined in the laughter.
Michael said with an answering smile. “I would like to hear more.”
James pointed an accusing finger at her youngest son. “You are stalling, young man, and we will have none of it,” Lord Hough sing-songed in a teasing manner. “For if your mother had the letter u, then I have v. I have a valise in my basket. What do you have in yours, Mr. Effrom?”
Mr. Charles Effrom’s smile widened. “I possess whist cards in my basket.”
Michael protested, “There are no x words.”
Hough corrected, “Try xebec.”
Perplexion marked Michael’s features.
Mr. Lionel Effrom explained, “A small, three-masted Mediterranean sailing vessel.”
From where she sat on the other side of the room, Lady Hough added, “Xylem. It is a woody plant.”
Bemusement laced Jocelyn’s tone. “Xiphi. A sword. It is one of my favorite words from the Greeks.”
“Xyster. A surgeon uses a xyster to scrape bones,” the other Effrom brother offered.
“I have always been fond of Xanthippe,” Lady Mary said with a playful poke of her elbow into Michael’s side. “Heaven forbid you meet a scolding or ill-tempered woman, such as the wife of Socrates.”
“I surrender.” Michael held his hands high. “I have learned not to play word games with my elders.”
“Elders?” Jocelyn pretended offense. “Do you not mean your betters?” Inwardly, she was quite pleased to observe the worry lines around Michael’s eyes disappear as he gave himself up to the freedom to be himself.
Chapter Six
Silence is the perfectest herald of joy.
I were but little happy if I could say how much.
William Shakespeare, Much Ado About Nothing, Act II, Scene i
James tapped on Jocelyn’s door early. He had asked the maid assigned to the guest wing to inform him when Lady Lathrop ordered her breakfast tray. He had waited precisely thirty minutes before he called upon her.
“Ask Lady Lathrop if I might have a few minutes of her time,” he instructed Jocelyn’s maid, when the woman answered his knock.
“Permit his lordship entrance, Ruth,” Jocelyn called.
The maid opened the door wider, and James stepped through. “Pardon the interruption, my lady.” He bowed politely, but James’s eyes fell upon her. No matter how often he looked upon the woman, he never tired of her fine countenance.
For a moment, she returned his steady gaze, before she dropped her eyes. “What brings you so early to my quarters, your lordship?”
James wished to tell her he hoped she might wish him to join her in her still rumpled bed. Instead, he said, “If you remain keen on creating a scavenger hunt for our children’s pleasure, this might be an excellent day to do so. My steward swears we will have snow by Christmas day.”
“What of the others?” she inquired in tones laced with suspicion.
“My mother and yours, along with Lady Mary, mean to call upon the vicar’s wife. Your mother expressed a desire to renew her acquaintance with Mrs. Lesley. Meredith, Lady Constance, and Miss Stephenson asked permission to go into the village. Miss Stephenson declares a desperate need for a ribbon to match the frock she will wear for supper this evening.”
A sweet smile of irony claimed Jocelyn’s lips, and James knew she held the same opinion of Miss Stephenson as did he.
“And what of the other gentlemen? Are you not required to serve as host?”
“Sebastian has bent to Michael’s wishes to ride last year’s course for the hunt. Lathrop and the Effrom brothers expressed a sincere interest in riding the actual course. However, for what my opinion is worth, I suspect, for his wife’s sake, the elder Mr. Effrom wishes to form a stronger alliance with both your sons.”
Jocelyn’s lips pursed to hold back a guffaw of laughter. “But the course changes every year. There is no means to know where the fox will run.”
“Something I am certain Sebastian will remind his charges when the time is right,” James said with a conspiratorial snicker.
Jocelyn smiled. “Your son has something of your nature.”
James’s lips turned upward. “He does, at that.”
“Will I require a pair of serviceable boots and an overskirt? Where do you plan this hunt to take place?” she asked in polite tones.
“I was thinking perhaps the lower garden, the maze, and part of the nature walk. Do you hold preferences?”
“Nothing too difficult nor too easy. Perhaps a clue to lead them to each item.”
“I had considered using different colored rocks. Paint them with a stripe of a dab of color,” he suggested.
She nodded her head as if considering the idea. “With each participant claiming only his or her color.”
It amazed James how they fed each other’s ideas. “Six colored rocks to win.”
“We will give each the same list of clues, but written in a different order.”
“Excellent,” he declared. “No one will be able simply to follow the smartest fellow.”
“Or lady,” she insisted.
“Or lady,” he repeated. With another bow, he said, “I will await you in the foyer.”
“Grab paper and pencil so we can construct the clues as we go,” she called as he departed, to which James raised his hand to acknowledge her idea; however, he did not turn around, for he wore a smile of contentment that Jocelyn would view as his ego speaking to her again. The chase was not over: Although she would be slow to admit it, Jocelyn still held him in familiar regard. Hopefully, today would be a step forward in their coming together.
* * *
“Which will it be?” James asked as he looked upon her fondly. “Six clues or eight?”
Jocelyn stood upon one of the flat stones marking the edge of the pond. She eyed the space with what appeared to be both yearning and confusion. “I like the idea of the grotto being one of the places our families must search, but I do not wish to provide Miss Stephenson with any ideas. The girl is forward enough, and my sons are—”
James stepped closer. “Would you have me speak with your sons? As a man, I can say things that might be awkward for their mother.”
“The girl flirts with Sebastian also,” Jocelyn countered.
“I am fully aware of Miss Stephenson’s intentions,” he assured.
“Perhaps it is you she has set her sights upon,” Jocelyn accused.
He closed the distance between them by half. “I have no desire for a bride who will outlive me by three decades. I want a wife with whom I can share my days and my nights, one who will hold my hand as we grow old together,” he said softly.
“But the grotto,” she whispered.
“I know, love. I cannot look upon it without thinking of you. Of us.”
“Please, James.”
“As you wish, my lady. But the grotto does not need to be the end of us. We were happy here. We spent so many lovely hours here.”
Jocelyn squeezed her eyes shut to block out his words, and it was all he could do not to catch her to him.
“Should I speak to Andrew and Michael?” he asked to change the subject. “Only last evening, I reminded Sebastian he would one day be an earl, and he must choose his countess carefully.”
“More carefully than you.” She started away, but froze in place. Without turning to look at him, she apologized. “I had no right. Forgive me, my lord.”
“Forgive you for speaking the truth?” he asked softly, before catching her hands. Jocelyn made to pull away, but he tightened his grip. It was his time to beg, “Please, Joy.”
“Your marriage is yours to find lacking or to praise. I repeat, it is none of my concern.” Jocelyn enunciated each syllable clearly.
“But I wish it your concern,” he stated just as prominently. “I wish you free to confide in me and me in you.”
“I am free,” she argued.
“You are no longer married,” James insisted. “But you are not free.”
“But I am,” she declared boldly.
“Then prove it.” James edged closer.
“I make my own decisions. I have learned to run an estate.”
“You have shown remarkable intelligence and daring,” he corrected. “But you remain afraid. Afraid to love again. Afraid to trust another.”
Her gaze strayed to the shallow pond. “Perhaps I simply do not choose to renew our youthful relationship,” she asserted. “Perhaps I do not wish to make the same mistakes again.”
“Oh, my dear Joy,” he said with a tug on her fingers to draw her closer. “The only mistake we made in our youth was to follow our parents’ wishes. Otherwise, we were perfect. And I must point out, if you truly did not wish to renew our relationship, your breathing would not have changed and your heartbeat would not pound hard against my fingertips at your wrists.”
“James, please do not do this,” she pleaded upon a raspy whisper.
“Do what? Hold you? Kiss you? One kiss, Jocelyn. Permit me one kiss to prove I still require you in my life. What have you to fear from me?” With his right hand, he skimmed the dampness from her cheeks, suddenly realizing tears filled her eyes. James drew back to study her features. “Is it me you fear, Joy? Or the ghost of your husband?”
She expelled a deep, jagged breath. “One kiss can prove nothing, James. We had our chance, but Fate meant us to have another life.” Her stance stiffened. A silent warning she would not capitulate. “I do not fear either you or Lathrop’s ghost,” she stated with more resolve. “But I must make this clear to you, once and for all, I will never permit another man complete control of my life. I require neither a father nor a husband nor a lover.”
“How do you know?” he challenged. “Although I would prefer to name you as my wife, I would be open to being your lover.”
“I do not wish to argue,” she said sadly. “My mind is set.”
James refused to release her wrists. “Again, permit me one kiss to change your mind. If not, I will ask no more.”
“Do you not see? If I permit this indiscretion, it will change everything. Just like the last time we stood here together, it will change everything. I cannot survive—”
An empty silence followed as her words trailed off, never to be given utterance. “Then you do not desire me?”
Her eyes closed for a few brief seconds, as if she gathered her strength about her. “Do you not understand?” she whispered fiercely. “There is too much at stake. Too many people would be injured by our foolishness. I could not survive having my heart broken a second time or to inflict such pain on those we love. It is too much to ask of me.” With that, she broke free of his hold. Hiking her skirts, Jocelyn ran from the grotto and from him.
“Bloody hell!” he growled as he jammed his fingers into his hair. “Another step backward.”
* * *
Jocelyn peeked around the corner of the drawing room door, but the room appeared empty. She did not think she could withstand another sally upon the earl’s part. She wished she could have claimed the memory of another kiss from the man, but she knew herself not strong enough to keep rejecting him. Desire caught at her throat as the memory of Hough’s closeness sent her breathing off-kilter. She stared at the opposite wall, her imagination forming his lordship’s countenance juxtaposed against the dark wood, a cocksure grin upon his lips—the type of grin which made her heart turn over in her chest and made her want to rush into James’s arms and never come out. “But those days are gone,” she whispered as her eyes filled with fresh tears.
“What is gone?” A warm breath caressed her ear, and the scent of sandalwood filled her lungs.
“Just the thread I needed to finish a fairing I wish to present to Lady Hough.”
Jocelyn could not look at him and speak an untruth, so she crossed the room to pretend to search beneath the cushion on the settee for the missing thread.
“You were never a good liar, Joy,” he said evenly.
When she turned, he was leaning casually against the door frame, arms crossed over his chest.
“I take offense at your accusation, my lord,” she countered.
With a deep sigh, he pushed off the frame to stand before her. “I have come to tell you I surrender. You will have no more troubles from me. I am convinced. You wish nothing to do with me. However, we have agreed to organize a proper Christmastide party for our children, and I hope you can place your qualms aside to see the deed done. We will be residing in the same house, for, perhaps, another five or six days. I will not have you avoiding me or skittering away every time you see me approach.”
“What scheme is this?” she asked suspiciously.
“No scheme, Joy.” He shrugged his shoulders in resignation. “You have rebuked me three times. I know when I am beaten.”
“This is just a show,” she argued. Why had her brother brought this particular man back into her life? “I do not believe you have abandoned your quest to marry me. Your nature would not permit it.”
“Marriage?” His brows drew together in a frown. “I cannot persuade you to share a kiss.” He shook his head in the negative. “You have made yourself perfectly clear. I am not to your taste.”
A part of her wished to scream down his protests, but she knew doing so would prove fruitless. Instead, she assumed the face she had always employed with her late husband. “Then I shall not contradict you regarding my choosing not to resume our relationship beyond that of distant acquaintances. It shall be as you speak, but know I am capable of sharing the responsibilities of our Christmas plans, without sharing myself. When Powell Manor is free of measles, I shall depart. We shall only meet in the future as indifferent acquaintances.”
“Sounds delightful,” he said with a smile she could not read. “Now, if you pardon me, I have estate business to which I must attend. Until supper, my lady.”
With a bow, he was gone, and Jocelyn immediately regretted her decision. All her life she had wanted to be James Highcliffe’s wife, and she had just closed that door again. “He has only acted as you have asked,” she chastised. “His lordship has provided what you have wanted since retaking his acquaintance.” She swallowed the tears rushing to her eyes. “Then why does my heart ache with the idea of never seeing him again?”
* * *
Her nephew, Lord Edward arrived, as expected, and was enthusiastically greeted by all in attendance at Hough House. Although Jocelyn welcomed a renewal of her time spent with Edward, she could not shake the true sense of loss she felt each time her eyes came to rest upon Lord Hough. A man of his word, Hough did not speak more than a dozen words to her during the length of yesterday’s evening entertainments. Nor had he shown her any preference this morning as they piled into three carriages for the short ride into the village for the Flaxen Fair. Feeling suddenly unattached to any of those waiting their turns to step into a carriage, Jocelyn had squeezed in between her mother and Lady Mary in the Effrom coach.
Now, she walked alone at the back of her group as they made their way through the crowds gathered in the village square. It appeared man
y in the neighborhood had chosen to join in the festivities, despite it being a Friday and work remained undone.
Lord Hough, with his mother on his arm, led the way, pausing regularly to accept words of welcome from those in attendance at the fair. It pleased Jocelyn to know the man she loved was so well respected in their part of Yorkshire. Her mother and Mr. Effrom followed, with her mother still being “Lady Powell” in many of the villagers’ minds as she greeted several former neighbors. Hough’s Aunt Mary accepted the arm of Mr. Charles Effrom.
In reality, Jocelyn should have claimed the arm of Mr. Charles or of Lord Bluffton, but she had noted how lively the conversation between Lady Mary and Mr. Effrom, the Younger, had become, and she had avoided the man to please Hough’s aunt. And as to Lord Bluffton, Jocelyn thought herself too old to be seen on the arm of James’s son.
Both Andrew and Michael had protested her walking alone, but Jocelyn had insisted the young people enjoy themselves. Perhaps if Edward had not reiterated his desire to call upon Powell Manor, she would have accepted the arm of one of her sons, but her nephew’s delay in joining them at the fair had provided her a moment to reflect upon her future. As her mother had warned, Andrew and Michael would soon claim their own families, and she would be displaced.
“Look, Aunt,” Constance called as their party turned onto another street. “A fortune teller’s tent. I have never known the fair to have a fortune teller.”
Andrew explained. “We saw a gypsy camp when Michael and I rode out with Lord Bluffton yesterday. Bluffton said the camp customarily arrives during the harvest so the men can find work, but they did not come in the autumn.”
“The gypsies in Kent do not plague us,” Jocelyn remarked. “Your father drove them away many years ago.”
Such was another lesson she had learned at Lathrop’s hands. Jocelyn had always thought the gypsies a delightful diversion. Harrison had not been happy when he discovered she had encouraged them to enjoy the estate’s apple orchard. Lathrop had ordered his men to drive the gypsies off his land and, later, had taken out his disdain upon her by locking her in her room for three days, keeping Jocelyn away from her two small children—something Harrison knew was a greater punishment than the gruel and water he declared to be her meals during that time.
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