by Jane Toombs
When he refused to meet her demands—to be fair to her, and he had always been fair in all his dealings with women as well as men, he might better term them her expectations rather than her demands since she was clever enough never to state them outright—and declined to offer her marriage, what did she do? Just as a ocean voyager who, after watching the ship bearing her hopes for the future slowly sink beneath the waves, grasps at any floating flotsam, at any stray driftage, she in her desperation immediately reached out and took hold of Mr. Gavin Spencer.
And welcome to him, I say. I shall fare very well without Justine Riggs.
There are, after all, many other desirable young women in this world, women who combine beauty, amiability and talent. Phillippa, to name only one, if a man can learn to abide her inane chatter; and Marianne, even though her giggle quickly begins to grate on one's nerves; and Clothilde, whose shameless flirtatiousness will certainly cease when she marries—unless it becomes even more flagrant. Then there is and Claire, whose generous dowry will make it possible for any sensible and far-seeing man such as himself to overlook her unbounded affection for her, at last count, twenty-eight house cats.
A man had to try to ignore the minor faults of women, for what man was perfect? Each had his faults, both great and small, in fact he must have them himself although he was unable to enumerate any at the moment. Reaching the top of a low hill, Quentin reined in his horse to gaze down at the village of Tyburn and, a mile farther on, the curling ribbon of the road to London. He had promised himself he would not look back, either figuratively or literally, but now he broke that promise by turning in his seat for a last glimpse of Kinsdale Manor.
To Quentin, the Manor, with its overgrown topiary garden, its brick chimneys leaning at rakish angles and the rampant growth of ivy that threatened to blind the house by covering each and every one of its windows, seemed as drear and forlorn as his own mood.
He was about to turn away and drive down the hill into Tyburn when he saw a lone horseman approaching the country house along a lane beyond the Manor. Gavin Spencer.
Whatever his faults, Quentin conceded, the man did know how to sit a horse. And how in character for Spencer to waste so little time in calling on his bride-to-be. In all likelihood the marriage would follow within the month and Mr. and Mrs. Spencer would depart from England for parts unknown before the leaves turned.
While he, Quentin, would be left with Whitechapel Road and whatever consolation he might obtain there. Despite his vow not to dwell on the past, he wondered whether Spencer might very well be getting the better of the bargain. Acknowledging with a sigh his feeling of incompleteness, Quentin flipped the ribbons and started down the hill to Tyburn, aware that in some way he had left a vital part of himself behind at Kinsdale Manor with Justine Riggs.
* * * *
At the Manor, Bessie, Daphne's abigail, was the first to note Gavin Spencer's approach. “Well, fancy that,” she said with evident admiration. “He looks like the lord of the earth."
When Daphne came to stand beside her maid at the bed chamber window, she could only agree that Gavin Spencer cut a dashing figure. Surpassingly fashionable in a vivid blue waistcoat and a gold cravat, to her he seemed to be the wild Viking warrior of her imaginings tamed and transformed into an urbane English gentleman.
His elegant dress combined with his sober demeanor told her that his was to be more than a social call. After giving instructions to Bessie and repeating them twice, she summoned Ogden and Gerard to the drawing room and, meeting them there, told the two men what she had seen and what she suspected.
"A proposal of marriage from Spencer?” an agape Ogden repeated. “So soon?"
"I devoutly hope so,” Daphne said.
"Gavin Spencer is a man accustomed to seizing the moment,” Gerard reminded Ogden, “a man who strikes while the iron is hot."
There was a tapping at the door and Bessie entered to whisper a few words in Daphne's ear.
"You see,” she cried as soon as her maid left the room, her voice raised in triumph, “I was quite correct. Mr. Spencer has asked to pay his respects to Prudence and at this moment is being shown to her sitting room."
Gerard nodded. “To win her permission to speak to Justine. There can be no other logical explanation."
"Capital, capital.” Ogden rubbed his hands together. “Shall we toast the success of our modest enterprise? We three, with the help of Prudence, of course, are responsible for this happy turn of events."
"We should not assume success quite yet,” Daphne warned him, “you forget that Justine must first accept Mr. Spencer's suit. The final nail still remains to be hammered into place. No chain can be stronger than its weakest link."
"Is there any doubt what her answer will be?” Gerard asked. “We decided, after considerable investigation, that he was the ideal candidate for her hand and my respect for the man grows with each passing day. Besides, Justine has no other prospects."
Ogden started to speak, stopped, rumbled deep in his throat. “It has never been my pleasure,” he said at last, “to encounter a more perverse young lady than Miss Justine Riggs. What we all agree she should do may have no bearing whatsoever on what she will do."
"And so,” Daphne said, “it behooves us to guide her to the proper decision. While Mr. Spencer is closeted with Prudence, let all three of us encourage her to arrive at the only reasonable response. Do you agree?"
Both men nodded.
"Since Prudence will give her permission without giving the matter much thought,” Daphne said, “we have precious little time and so we must not dally. Justine is, I believe, in the conservatory."
* * * *
At that very moment Justine, her white muslin morning dress clinging to her body in the hot moist air, was gazing in puzzled concern into a bird cage hanging at one end of the conservatory, a large room containing Gerard's collection of vines and broad-leafed tropical plants, their tendrils and branches reaching up toward a skylight in the roof. Inside the silver cage, a canary sat silent and unmoving on his perch. Although Justine had visited the conservatory several times since coming to the Manor, she had never heard the bird sing.
Her heart going out to what she saw as the bird's unhappiness, on impulse she unlatched the cage door, swung it open and stepped back. The canary fluttered to the opening where it hesitated, darting its head uncertainly to right and left before returning to its accustomed place on the perch. Hearing a sound behind her, Justine turned to find Daphne, Ogden, and Gerard entering the conservatory.
As soon as they were all seated, Justine on an iron bench, the others on chairs, Daphne said with a note of urgency, “Mr. Spencer is at this very moment conversing with Prudence and the subject of that conversation is, we are certain, none other than yourself."
Justine gasped. Although she had been half expecting something of the sort, she was still surprised that Gavin had wasted so little time in approaching Prudence. Since she had believed she would have time to give his proposal the most careful consideration—she was almost certain that was what brought him here—she now felt a sense of being unduly and unfairly hurried.
Without preamble, Daphne said, “I need not remind you it is the duty of a young lady to wed."
Gerard nodded. “Not only is it her duty, but in all likelihood marriage will be the source of her greatest happiness. Of all the years of my life, and there have been more than three score, the happiest year by far, and unfortunately there was only one, was when I experienced the comfort and bliss of a congenial marriage to an angelic young lady."
Ogden frowned, blinked, clasped his hands and then said, “I find myself unable to imagine a more appropriate suitor than Mr. Gavin Spencer. He is, in the opinion of all who know him as well as to my way of thinking, a true paragon."
Justine, feeling herself beset from all sides, could only nod her head.
"My greatest regret,” Daphne said with a sigh, “is that I never married. A woman may write novels that are admired by thousand
s of readers but, if she never marries, she must be counted a failure. A woman may devote her life to charitable societies and the performance of good works but, if she never marries, the world can only offer her the most grudging praise. A woman may be witty and charming and amiable for all of her days, but if she never marries, she has wasted her talents on barren soil."
"Surely,” Justine objected, “you overstate the perils of spinsterhood. There must be something to be said for being beholden only to yourself."
"Overstate? I believe I understate,” Daphne told her. “Unless she is most fortunate, unless she has kind friends and generous relatives, a spinster is doomed to a life of loneliness and, more often than not, poverty."
"I have always deeply regretted,” Gerard said, “and especially as the years have ever more rapidly slipped away, that I never had any children. How else is it possible for a man or a woman to leave a lasting imprint on the future than through marrying and raising a family?"
"And in Mr. Gavin Spencer,” Ogden put in with an emphatic nod, “we have a gentleman admired by all, the cynosure of every eye whether male or female, a man most women would agree to marry in a trice if only fortunate enough to be given the opportunity."
That, Justine admitted to herself, was undoubtedly true.
"And you must never forget,” Daphne said, “that when a woman marries, she not only benefits herself but her family as well. Or, when there is no immediate family, as is, alas, your situation, she benefits those who have been her friends and benefactors. Only through marriage is a young lady able to cease being a burden to those who have lavished their love and care upon her."
Justine nodded her agreement since, more than any other argument she had heard, this one struck home. She realized she was under an enormous obligation to Prudence Baldwin and that only through an advantageous marriage could she ever hope to repay that debt.
Hearing Daphne draw in a quick breath, she followed her gaze to the doorway.
Gavin Spencer, smiling, bowed to them all.
"We really must excuse ourselves,” Daphne told him with a flutter of her hand. Murmuring apologies and talking vaguely of going for a ramble in the park, she hurried Ogden and Gerard from the conservatory.
As Justine watched him with a feeling of unease, Gavin walked slowly to her and raised her hand to his lips. If he was about to propose marriage, and she strongly suspected he was, what should her reply be? There was only one reasonable answer she could give him and yet, unhappily aware she was being hastened toward matrimony by her friends, she felt an urge to be unreasonable.
Gavin was about to sit on the bench beside her when he noticed the open door of the canary cage. Stepping away from her with a murmured apology, he latched the door shut. “The bird is so accustomed to being fed and cared for by humans, she could never survive outside her cage."
Although she had to agree with him, Justine asked herself if the canary, so unhappy in its cage, might not prefer a few days of freedom to a life of imprisonment.
Gavin, returning to sit at her side, remarked briefly on the sultry weather and the success of the masquerade ball, carefully observing her response, much as a military commander might reconnoiter an enemy position before launching his attack. Finally taking her hand in his, he said, “As you are probably aware, Justine, I come to you after a most cordial interview with Mrs. Baldwin. Your guardian gave me nothing but encouragement."
He paused as though expecting Justine to comment, but when she said nothing he plunged resolutely on. “I have grown exceedingly fond of you in a very brief time, my dear Justine, and have come to admire not only your beauty but your independence of spirit as well. For many years I have been aware of the disadvantages of bachelorhood, have recognized the rewards of journeying through life with an amiable companion such as yourself. I could, I suppose, deliver a lengthy speech praising you and extolling the merits of marriage, but I happen to be a man who believes in being direct.” Raising her hand to his lips, he said, “Will you, Justine, do me the honor of becoming my wife?"
Drawing her hand away, Justine started to speak only to stop and look away from him, uncharacteristically at a loss for words.
Gavin broke the silence. “I realize I may be behaving rashly by approaching you after such a brief acquaintance, but at the ball last night you gave me every reason to hope, nay, to expect, you would give me a favorable reply."
Justine rose and walked to the bird cage where she stared, unseeing, at the songless canary. Had she somehow encouraged Gavin by her behavior at the ball? she asked herself, striving to remember all that had occurred there. With a shock, she realized that when she recalled the masquerade, most of the evening was a pleasant blur, the elegant dancers, Gavin's daring leap from balcony to balcony and her meeting with Mrs. Spencer in Gavin's mother's chambers. On the other hand, the few minutes she had spent in a bitter dispute with Quentin remained crystal clear in her mind.
Quentin was, no matter how often she might try to reject the notion or how vehemently she might deny the fact, the man she loved now and would love forever. Without Quentin, her future was ashes. To accept Gavin's proposal would be unfair not only to herself but to Gavin as well.
Turning to him, she said, “You do me great honor, but I must decline, not because I lack respect for you, or fault you in any way, but because I lack feelings of tenderness for you."
"If you were to take a few days to give the matter more thought—"
Justine immediately shook her head. She started to reach out to touch his sleeve, but drew her hand away. “No, time will only confirm my feelings."
"I could not fail to notice,” he said with a tinge of bitterness, “that when I touch you, you instinctively move away and when I take your hand you withdraw it as soon as you possibly can. It occurs to me that you, like many young women, are uncomfortable when confronted with the less spiritual aspects of marriage, with what might be viewed as the satisfaction of male lusts rather than the more affectionate expressions of love."
Justine stared at him in confusion. She might be curious as well as the least bit apprehensive about what awaited her in the marriage bed, but she failed to find the idea of the union of a man and a woman who loved one another in any way repugnant.
"If you are uncomfortable,” Gavin went on, obviously choosing his words with great care, “I can assure you that in my case any fears you may have in that regard are completely groundless. The consuming passions of my life happen to be exploration and discovery, all of my energies are consumed in my work and my other interests. Therefore you, Justine, although you would be my wife and my companion, would be spared the forced intimacy you may fear. There are those who, if they knew the truth about me, would look askance, nay, they would condemn me out of hand, but this is the way God made me and this is the way, for better or worse, I am."
Was he trying to assuage what he suspected to be her fears, or was he revealing his true nature? Since Gavin had never dissembled even when it was in his best interests to do so, she supposed he was being truthful now. Although not quite certain what his words implied—in fact she was made vaguely uncomfortable by them—she did know that this final appeal of his had missed its mark.
"Mr. Spencer,” she said softly, intending to spare hurting him if at all possible, “my answer must be, will always be, the same, and any further discussion will fail to alter that answer and can only result in pain for both of us."
He sighed and bowed in acknowledgment and acceptance. “I wish—” he began, but seemed to think better of making any further protest and turned away from Justine and walked stiffly from the conservatory.
* * * *
Lord Alton watched Gavin Spencer leave the Manor, deducing from Spencer's scowl of chagrin and disappointment that his mission had been unsuccessful. How intriguing, he told himself, especially since the night before he had seen Quentin Fletcher in a high dudgeon after speaking with Justine and earlier this morning he had observed a disgruntled Quentin Fletcher depart,
bag and baggage. Removing a jeweled snuffbox from the pocket of his waistcoat, Lord Alton took a pinch of snuff and inserted it in his right nostril. Taking another pinch, he inserted it in his left nostril. With his mouth closed, he breathed in deeply. After sneezing lustily, he dabbed the spittle from his face with a lace handkerchief.
Spencer was gone, Fletcher was gone. Realizing that this left him in sole possession of the field, Lord Alton smiled. Quite unexpectedly, he found himself without competition. Not that he expected to accomplish his goal through honorable means, for Lord Alton had never considered himself to be an honorable man. One of his great strengths, in his opinion, was that he had never been troubled by a conscience; another was his willingness to go to any lengths to have his way; still another was his lack of scruples.
His goal was simple—he wanted Justine Riggs and, with Fletcher and Spencer both gone, his time had come. He knew he must act swiftly since in the next day or two the house party guests at the Manor would be on their way back to London. The vague outlines of a scheme to accomplish his ends was already taking shape in his mind.
A bit more thought followed by careful preparation and then Justine, willingly or not, would be his.
CHAPTER 16
Lord Alton sat in the half-light of his chambers at Kinsdale Manor with the drapes drawn, his chin resting on his steepled hands. For as long as he could remember, he had shunned the daylight, finding that darkness gave him an almost sensual pleasure. When in London he often prowled the echoing streets late at night, seeking the unexpected encounter or the bizarre entertainment, eager to sample the secret, erotic delights offered by the dark underside of the city.