Then another, happier thought struck her. She realized that she had already begun to change, so perhaps it would not be so very hard, after all. It was certain that she had relaxed her usual code of conduct with Jon. But, at the thought of Jon, she frowned again, fearing that, with him, she had allowed her behaviour to become a trifle too lax.
Her frown deepened as this train of thought brought to mind something he had said earlier.
Was he interested in Alice? It was certainly possible. As Jon had said, Alice was of marriageable age, and he was only three-and-thirty. Men of his age frequently married girls as young as she. Jane would not have thought a man of his stamp would be interested in marriage, but the fact that he had finally come to put Ethridge Hall to rights might be an indication that he had decided it was time to choose a wife and set up his nursery.
On the other hand, what if it were not marriage he had in mind? What if he meant to offer the girl a... a slip on the shoulder? But somehow she could not believe that Jon would behave in so base a way. He might be a demon with the ladies, but he would not stoop to seducing innocent young females. Still, for the time being, she had the girl under her care and therefore was responsible for protecting her.
Jane suddenly found herself wishing Alice at Jericho; anywhere but here. She knew jealousy was an unworthy emotion, and one to which she had no right, since she had no claim on Jon. But knowing a thing and doing something about it were very different.
Oh dear, what a muddle she was making.
Leaning towards her reflection in the mirror, she said aloud, “You foolish creature! You are behaving like a perfect ninnyhammer. It is time you stopped feeling sorry for yourself and began using some of the good sense you have always thought you possessed.”
Staring a moment longer, she added, “And you are going to begin by getting rid of this useless object!” She pulled the lacy cap from her head and flung it aside. She might be a spinster, but that did not mean she must go out of her way to look like one.
Feeling much better, she went to her wardrobe and began searching through her gowns for a more becoming one.
Striking a balance between all her opposing needs and desires would be something like walking a tightrope, but somehow she would manage. And with her new image, plus the return of her good sense, she was confident that she was equal to the challenges facing her.
CHAPTER NINE
As a first step towards achieving her new goals, Jane went directly from her chamber to Alice’s, determined to put things right between them—and not a moment too soon.
Alice, now dressed for travelling, was straining to close one of her bandboxes, which she had obviously packed herself, for the edge of a muslin garment could be seen poking out from under the recalcitrant lid. She looked up from her task with a guilty expression and said defiantly, “I am going to Brighton, to join Papa.”
Refraining from asking how the girl intended to get there on her own, or how she thought she might manage with no more than could be stuffed into one bandbox, Jane said mildly, “How glad I am that I caught you in time then. Do you think we might talk for a few minutes before you go?”
“I suppose a few minutes will not matter, one way or the other,” Alice conceded.
Jane stepped across the room and sat down on the side of the bed, then patted the place beside her. After a moment, Alice sat down next to her.
“Actually, I came to apologize to you,” Jane told her.
“You did?” asked Alice, unable to hide her surprise.
“Indeed,” said Jane. “What with St. Clair being here, and so ill, I fear I have been under a great deal of strain. As a result, you and I seem to have got off on the wrong foot. I was rather hoping we might change that and start anew.”
Frowning slightly, Alice said slowly, “Well, I don’t know. I don’t think I wish to become a proper lady, after all. I know it is what Papa desires, but I do not see why I must change. Anyway,” she added, “he will come round once he understands how much I dislike it.”
Rather than answering that, Jane said, “Tell me, Alice. Do you wish for a London Season, and eventually, marriage?”
Looking shocked, the girl declared, “Of course! I certainly do not intend to be an old maid. But I don’t see why I must learn all those stuffy rules in order to get a husband. I am very pretty. Everyone says so.”
Inwardly wincing at such blatant conceit, as well as at her tactless remark, Jane calmly agreed. “Indeed, you are extremely pretty. And that might be enough, if you are not particular about who it is that you marry.”
“What do you mean?” asked Alice suspiciously.
“Well, you are in possession of a very generous dowry. With that and your looks, you should have no trouble attaching a husband. I am sure there are any number of fortune-hunters in London who will not care a whit for how you conduct yourself.
“However,” she continued, ignoring Alice’s sudden frown, “it is unfortunate but true that gentlemen of the first consequence, when choosing a bride, tend to look for females who will not embarrass them by their behaviour. Although your beauty might attract them at first, in the end they will choose a true lady over a sad romp every time.”
Alice’s frown deepened, and after several long minutes, she said reluctantly, “Oh, very well. But must I spend every moment at those stupid lessons?”
Keeping all trace of victory from her voice, Jane said, “I don’t suppose that is necessary, but you must spend some time at them.”
Alice replied sulkily, “Yes, but Papa allowed me to bring Firefly, my mare, with me, and I have not even seen her since I arrived. I am used to riding her every day.”
Really! The girl sounded as though she had been cooped up here for days. But Jane merely said, “I’ll make a bargain with you, Alice. If you will agree to devote at least one hour in the morning and two in the afternoon to your lessons, I think we might give ourselves the treat of riding each morning before breakfast.”
“Oh, capital!” cried Alice. “And St. Clair shall go with us.”
“I fear that will not be possible,” Jane told her quickly. “At least not for some time. You must remember that he has been very ill.”
“Oh,” said Alice, clearly disappointed. But then a sunny smile brightened her face. “But he will be able to go with us for our picnic on Saturday, will he not? We can take a carriage, so he needn’t worry about riding.”
“Certainly he may, if he cares to.”
“Oh, he will,” declared Alice with all the assurance of one who has seldom been denied anything. “I shall ask him.”
No longer feeling quite so kindly disposed towards the girl, Jane took her leave of Alice, who had already rung for her maid to come and unpack her bandbox.
Jane soon scolded herself out of her jealousy, although not without difficulty, and as she headed for the kitchen, she was even smiling a little. She was anticipating how St. Clair would laugh when he heard of her latest success in the art of bribery.
As it happened, however, she had no opportunity to speak privately with him during the next few days. She was called out several times to tend ill neighbours and since she had forbidden herself to go to his chamber, she saw him only at meals. In addition, when he was not resting, he was closeted in the estate room.
Had he truly been the highwayman, such a circumstance might have afforded her a great deal of gratification. As it was, she could only wonder what it was that he found so fascinating in a set of musty old account books.
It occurred to her that he seemed to be going out of his way to observe all the proprieties with her. She didn’t know whether to be amused or vexed at such a turnabout, since it was he who had so often lured her into throwing caution to the wind before Alice’s arrival.
But even had she gone against her better judgement and visited his room, she would not have been alone with him. The man, Kearny, whom she assumed to be his valet, had now become a member of the household and seemed always to be hovering protectively around hi
s master.
By the time Saturday finally arrived, she was looking forward to their picnic almost as eagerly as Alice, for St. Clair had not only agreed to accompany them, but had declared that nothing could keep him from it. Even the knowledge that she would be sharing him with Alice could not dim Jane’s pleasure at the thought of spending an hour or two with him in the relaxed atmosphere of such an outing.
Fortunately, St. Clair had sent for his own curricle, and they agreed to use it since Jane’s was found to have a cracked axle. The day was far too lovely for them to be closed up in the carriage, which did not seem appropriate for such an excursion in any case. In fact, the picnic basket had already been packed and placed in St. Clair’s vehicle when Melrose announced a caller.
Upon being told that the visitor was Mrs. Micklethorp, Jane was not only annoyed at this delay in their plans, but thoroughly surprised. The vicar’s wife seldom troubled to make the journey all the way out to Meadowbrook. She enjoyed visiting with Jane and Agatha, but, being a trifle indolent, she preferred to let them come to her.
Jane feared that she knew the reason for this unprecedented visit, but she made her way to the drawing-room with as much polite composure as she could muster. She was all the more certain that she had guessed correctly when she saw Mrs. Micklethorp’s forbidding countenance. Usually that lady was the most amiable of creatures, despite her penchant for gossip.
“My dear Jane,” said Mrs. Micklethorp, scarcely giving her hostess time to shut the door. “I came as soon as I heard, and I must tell you that I was never so shocked in my life! You know how much I dislike interfering in other people’s lives, but in this case, I feel that I should be neglecting my duty were I to remain silent.”
While she drew breath to continue, Jane asked hastily, in the vain hope of postponing the inevitable, “Would you care for some tea, Mrs. Micklethorp?”
“No, no!” said that lady. Then, “Well, perhaps just one cup, and possibly one or two of those delicious little cakes your cook is so good at making.”
Jane walked to the bell-pull, but her guest was not to be put off. She said, “But you must not try to divert me from my purpose, Jane.”
Sighing, Jane moved to a nearby chair and reluctantly prepared to hear the woman out. “I collect you have not come merely for a visit. And that being so, what is your purpose, Mrs. Micklethorp?”
“I think you know that very well, my dear, but in case you do not—Jane, how could you take that man into your home and allow him to run tame here for an entire sennight? And, if what I hear is true, he is still here!”
“If you are referring to Lord St. Clair,” said Jane with cool civility, “I had little choice in the matter. He was inadvertently shot by my own coachman, so naturally I felt responsible. And since he needed immediate care, and Meadowbrook was so close, it seemed the most reasonable thing to do.”
“So I was told and, knowing you as I do, I would think nothing of it were he anyone else. But, my dear, you know his reputation.”
“Certainly I know that he has one, although no one has ever bothered to tell me just what he has done to deserve it.”
“Well,” declared Mrs. Micklethorp, colouring, “for one thing, he is a notorious libertine. And, though you know little of the world despite your years, I am sure you know what that means.”
“Oh yes,” said Jane, her smile forced. “I believe the term refers to a man who is noted for his many—” she cast about in her mind for the proper word “—light o’loves. But from the little I do know of the world, in that way he is very much like many gentlemen of the ton. The only difference is that he is more open and honest about his affairs.”
Jane was feeling all the dismay and mortification she would have expected to feel at finding herself in a position to be lectured to and gossiped about. What she had not expected, however, was to feel such anger and indignation. But she thought she could safely say that she knew St. Clair better, by now, than Mrs. Micklethorp or any other of her neighbours. And she could not meekly allow him to be attacked in this way.
Mrs. Micklethorp’s colour had risen even higher, and she said, “I see that this is more serious than I feared. He has already begun corrupting you.”
Seeing how alarmingly red her guest’s face had become, and fearing she might be in danger of suffering an apoplexy, Jane decided that conciliation would serve her better than anger. Leaning forward earnestly, she said, “Dear Mrs. Micklethorp, I know that your intentions are of the best and that you speak only out of concern for me, but I assure you that the viscount has not corrupted me. Far from it! I have found him to be most...” She wanted to say “gentlemanly” but found she could not quite manage that. Instead, she lamely substituted, “Likeable and charming.”
“Oh, yes. I do not doubt that. Charm, after all, is a rake’s stock in trade,” said Mrs. Micklethorp scathingly. Then with an air of martyrdom, she continued, “Well, I see there is no help for it. I must tell you the whole truth about him, no matter how distasteful it is to me. You are a maiden lady, Jane, and no one has wished to sully your ears with such a sordid tale. But if that is the only way to bring you to your senses, I must not permit a concern for delicacy to stand in my way.”
Ever since she had first begun hearing of St. Clair, Jane had wondered what he could have done to earn such a reputation. She knew there was more to it than just the fact that he was a rake. During her one Season, she had discovered that London was well populated with rakes, most of whom were accepted into the first circles of Society.
At least they were accepted so long as they were reasonably discreet about their peccadilloes, which, apparently, St. Clair was not. But, even so, the ton, particularly the ladies, had a certain peculiar fondness for the breed, and it was they who ruled Society.
But now that she was about to be told the real reason for St. Clair’s ostracism, she found herself extremely reluctant to hear it. Where the devil was Melrose with that tea? she wondered crossly as Mrs. Micklethorp leaned forward to say with ill-concealed relish, “It happened many years ago, of course, although his youth cannot excuse what he did. I shall not mention the young lady’s name, but I assure you, she came of an excellent family, and St. Clair—”
At that moment, there came a scratching at the door, followed by Melrose’s entrance with the tea tray. Jane was so grateful that she could have embraced him. She was even more gratified when Agatha entered the room on his heels.
Her face wreathed in smiles, Agatha sailed across the room to seat herself beside the visitor. “My dear Mrs. Micklethorp,” she said. “What a pleasant surprise this is. You have not visited us in ages.”
“No,” said that lady in a rather disconcerted manner. “Well, as the vicar’s wife, I have many obligations, you know. And I see you so often when you visit Dunby that there is no need— But I did wish to have a word with Jane.”
“Very thoughtful of you,” said Agatha, beginning to pour the tea. Then, after handing their guest a cup, she looked at Jane. “Should you not be leaving now, Jane? You are already quite late for your appointment.”
“Oh, yes,” said Jane, rising hastily. “Please excuse me, Mrs. Micklethorp. I do appreciate your concern and I assure you that I shall think about what you have said. But I have promised this time to young Alice Brant, and I cannot disappoint her.”
The vicar’s wife opened her mouth, but before she could speak, Agatha said, “Now you just run along, love, and do not worry about us. Mrs. Micklethorp and I shall manage nicely on our own and enjoy a comfortable coze.”
Jane wasted not a moment in taking her advice. Just before closing the drawing-room door behind her, she heard Agatha saying, “Now, you must try one of these new cakes Cook has made. I know you are partial to her others, but this is a new recipe, and...”
Leaning her forehead against the cool wood of the door, Jane released her breath in a small puff of laughter. Poor Mrs. Micklethorp was no match for Agatha. Once her companion set her mind to it, she could outmaneuver and ou
t-gossip even the most accomplished tale-tattler.
She turned, then, to find St. Clair watching her from across the entry hall with answering laughter in his eyes.
He said, “It is about time! I was beginning to think I would be obliged to come and rescue you myself.”
Jane smiled. “I don’t think that would have been a good notion. I am afraid our vicar’s wife has a rather unflattering opinion of you.”
He looked at her sharply but merely said, “Been blackening my character, has she?”
“No more than usual,” said Jane lightly. Then, looking round, she asked, “But where is Alice?”
“Outside, champing at the bit,” he replied. “So you had best step lively, my girl.”
“Oh, my, yes. Just let me get my bonnet and I shall be ready.”
Outside, Jane was somewhat surprised to find Alice mounted on her mare, and more than a little pleased at the thought that just she and St. Clair would be sharing the curricle. She had been wondering how the three of them would manage in a vehicle meant to seat only two comfortably.
There was no question of her being private with him, however, as Alice chose to ride beside the carriage, chattering and flirting outrageously with him most of the time. For all that, Jane was content, speaking only now and then to give directions.
It was one of those idyllic summer days, sunny and warm, with a hint of a breeze. The sky was incredibly blue, dotted here and there with fluffy white clouds wherein one could see all manner of fantastic and magical shapes.
Jane drew a deep breath and marveled that she had never before been so acutely conscious of the myriad and delightful smells of summertime in Yorkshire. But most of all, she was aware of the man beside her, whose scent was so peculiarly his own, and somehow, more pleasing than all the rest.
The Highwayman Page 9