Nessa scarcely heard this brief lesson in architectural history, however, besieged as she was with a sudden attack of shyness at seeing Jack again after a month apart. In another few moments the carriage swept to a stop before the columned portico. Fortifying herself with a deep breath, Nessa allowed her brother-in-law to help her to the graveled drive.
The house was even more imposing at close quarters, though still lovely. Somehow, she'd received the impression from Jack that Fox Manor was a modest country house—which it certainly was not! The double front doors opened, and the owner's approach cut short her musings on his house.
“Welcome to Fox Manor,” Jack greeted them with a bow and a flourish. “You've made good time, I see. Come inside and get warm.” He sent Nessa a meaning glance, though clearly his words were intended for the whole party. She felt that tingling flutter beginning to stir again.
The Creamcrofts thanked him and moved toward the house, but Nessa said, “Even in December I can scarcely call Kent cold, my lord.” She smiled, meaning it as a compliment, but he frowned slightly.
“I hope that will remain true,” he said, softly enough that the others could not hear. “My mother arrived last night and awaits us in the parlor.”
Nessa's eyes widened at this news, remembering how Jack had spoken of his mother's indifference previously. Had Lady Branch come to pass judgment on her son's choice of a bride? Jack had turned back toward the house so that she could not read his expression, but he had not seemed pleased.
She quickened her pace to walk by his side, just behind Prudence and Philip, wondering what to expect but unable to think of a discreet way to inquire. Her month-long separation from Jack made her awkward in his presence.
They passed into the marble floored, two story foyer, and then through a wide, arched doorway on the right. At once a stylish middle-aged woman with improbably black hair rose to greet them.
“This must be Lady Haughton, and Lord and Lady Creamcroft. Welcome to Fox Manor. I am Lord Foxhaven's mother, Lady Branch,” she said without waiting for Jack to make introductions. “Pray do sit down. I have already rung for tea.”
My, we've made ourselves right at home, haven't we? But Nessa quickly scolded herself for such an uncharitable thought. Surely she should be pleased if Jack's mother wished to heal the rift between them upon the occasion of his marriage.
“I am delighted to make your acquaintance, Lady Branch,” she responded with what she hoped was a natural smile.
Prudence, of course, said everything that was proper before taking her seat, as did Philip. Jack, however, appeared decidedly ill at ease, though he said nothing beyond a suggestion that they move their chairs closer to the fire to take away the chill of winter travel.
“Oh, yes, I despise traveling in winter myself,” declared Lady Branch, pouring out the tea which had just arrived. “But for an occasion such as this, I felt obliged to exert myself. Lord Foxhaven is my only son, you know.”
“Was your husband, Sir Findlay, unable to come?” Nessa asked politely, wondering whether the woman ever referred to her son by his Christian name. “I should like to meet him as well.”
Lady Branch fidgeted with the edge of her sleeve. “He was busy with estate business,” she explained after the tiniest hesitation. “Otherwise I'm sure—that is, he very much wished to be here.” She kept her gaze averted from Jack's as she spoke, but turned a shrewd eye upon Nessa.
“Tell me, Lady Haughton, were you but recently come to London when you met my son?”
“Indeed, yes,” Nessa replied. “I'd been there no more than a fortnight when we were introduced.”
“Time to hear of his ascendance to his new position, I presume.”
Nessa took a fortifying sip of her tea before responding, fairly certain now that she understood the direction of Lady Branch's thoughts. “I confess that, immured in the country as I had been for most of my life, Lord Foxhaven's very existence had escaped my notice until the evening we met at Lady Mountheath's musicale.”
“Which fact was very much to my advantage,” Jack put in, moving to sit next to her. “Had she known anything of me prior to our meeting, I doubt not that my suit would have held little hope.” He turned slightly away from his mother. “Would you care for a tour of the house, my dear?”
But Lady Branch would not be put off so easily. “I understand that you were living as a dependent in your sister's household while in Town, having been very recently widowed.”
Carefully keeping her expression bland, Nessa set down her cup. “I was a guest in my sister's home, yes, but scarcely dependent. Your sources must have neglected to inform you that my late husband provided quite amply for me upon his passing—which was nigh on fourteen months ago.”
She knew she should not allow Lady Branch's questions to nettle her, as the woman was doubtless merely concerned for her son, but she could not help feeling a bit defensive.
That Jack was at least equally nettled now became apparent. “Your sudden interest in my affairs is touching, madam, but I'm afraid I cannot allow you to badger my bride-to-be before she has progressed beyond the parlor. I'd much prefer her first impressions of Fox Manor were favorable.”
Standing, he suggested that his guests might like to freshen up in their chambers before going over the house. “The ladies, perhaps, would prefer to wait for a sunnier day to walk outdoors, but if you'd care to see the grounds and fishpond, Creamcroft, you'll be more than welcome.”
Prudence looked even more relieved than Nessa felt to have the barbed exchange cut short. Rising with alacrity, she expressed eagerness to see the house, taking flawlessly proper leave of Lady Branch, as did Nessa. She preferred to be on good terms with her future mother-in-law, but refused to be intimidated.
Lady Branch's smile, however did not reach her eyes. With a silent sigh, Nessa turned away. This battle, apparently, was far from over.
~ ~ ~
JACK LED THE WAY up the broad oaken staircase, seething with barely concealed anger. What the devil was his mother up to, anyway? After ignoring his existence for nearly twenty of his twenty-eight years, she had no business attempting to insert herself back into his life now. Certainly, he would not allow her to make Nessa uncomfortable in any way.
“What a charming prospect,” Lady Creamcroft commented, turning at the top of the stairs to look back toward the great hall below. “Had you a hand in the decorating, Lord Foxhaven?”
He shook his head. “I've spent little time here since inheriting, so most of the house is just as my grandfather left it. Fortunately, my grandmother had impeccable taste, and he was wise enough to give her her head in such matters.”
“So what have you been doing for the past month, if not redecorating Fox Manor?” Nessa looked up at him with a glimmer of amusement in her eyes, and Jack found himself inordinately relieved that she showed no sign of unease after his mother's questioning.
“Trying to get ahead on the estate business, mostly, so I wouldn't have it hanging over my head for the next few weeks,” he replied candidly. “Also hiring additional servants and ordering extra food to accommodate those we've invited for the festivities, that sort of thing—though Havershaw, my steward, has handled most of the details, I confess.
“I have done one bit of decorating, however.” He opened the door to the chamber that was to be Nessa's, then stood back. “I hope you'll approve.”
He found himself holding his breath as she took a hesitant step into the room and looked around at the fresh peach and green decor he had selected. He'd noticed those colors in her wardrobe repeatedly, so he had operated on the assumption that they were among her favorites. Not for the first time, he asked himself why it should matter so much.
Jack had provided more than one lady friend with lodgings decorated to her tastes, so he had no particular reason to doubt his skill in this area. It was an essential part of the game of courtship men and women played—a game he'd been adept at for years. This was just another round in the same game, th
ough with slightly higher stakes.
Wasn't it?
“It's perfect, Jack.” Nessa turned to him, her liquid brown eyes beautifully expressing her pleasure, her lips softly parted in a smile. “You couldn't have done better if I'd told you precisely how I wanted it. Thank you.”
Slowly, he released his breath. While away from her, he'd managed to convince himself that he'd merely imagined her overwhelming effect upon him. Now he knew he'd only been fooling himself.
“I'm pleased you like it,” he said, holding her gaze—a gaze which seemed to offer him tangible proof of her gratitude. An offer he was far too ready to accept, after only half an hour in her presence.
She took a deep breath, her breasts rising and falling provocatively, even under the layers of her winter traveling gown, her expression altering subtly as she interpreted his own. Her color deepened and she dropped her eyes.
Jack hastily cleared his throat. “Lord and Lady Creamcroft, your chambers are just across the way, here.” He indicated their adjoining rooms, wondering if he'd have been wiser to have Nessa stay away until the eve of their wedding.
The next three days promised to be exquisite torture.
A short time later, changed and refreshed, his guests emerged from their chambers for the promised tour. Lady Branch insisted upon being one of the party, to Jack's vexation.
“I haven't been in this house in twenty years,” she explained. “I'm interested to see if everything is as I remember it.”
As they moved from room to room, floor to floor, however, it became clear—to Jack, at least—that her real motive was to continue digging into Nessa's background and motivation for marrying him.
“I made Lord Haughton's acquaintance some years ago,” she commented as they all traversed the length of the ballroom. “It would have been before your marriage, of course, but I recall him as eminently solid and respectable. He must have been a most satisfactory husband— much like my Sir Findlay.”
Nessa murmured something noncommittal, then gestured toward the Rococo plasterwork of the ballroom ceiling. “What a lovely effect that has!” she exclaimed. “Like a light and airy fairyland. I can just imagine how this room must look with all of the candles lit for a ball.”
“Takes a small army of servants to keep it dusted, though.” Jack spoke teasingly, but then looked around, seeing the ballroom afresh. She was right—it was a beautiful room. But his imagination ran to visualizing Nessa as his hostess here, graciously welcoming the neighboring gentry to their home. It was an oddly appealing image.
His mother snorted delicately. “That's what servants are for, of course. But Lady Haughton, I cannot help but wonder… That is… Do you not worry that after growing accustomed to a husband such as the late Lord Haughton, you may find yourself, well, disappointed by one who may not measure up to his standard?”
Nessa turned to her in evident surprise. “My dear Lady Branch! Surely you are not suggesting that your own son could possibly fall into that category?”
Jack silently ground his teeth. This was far, far worse than he'd imagined—nor could he think of a way to intervene, as he himself was now the topic of conversation. He glanced frantically toward the Creamcrofts, who were studying the giltwork with an interest all out of proportion to the workmanship.
His mother lowered her voice now, but Jack had no trouble hearing her next words, much as he'd have preferred not to. “It must seem terribly unmaternal of me, I know, but ten years of marriage to Lord Foxhaven's father showed me just how unsettling it can be to find oneself dependent upon a rake and a gamester. Of course, it is entirely possible that Lord Geoffrey's son may by now have got the better of those propensities he inherited. For your sake, I do hope so.”
Jack groaned inwardly, though he could at least hope that the Creamcrofts were now out of earshot of his mother's words. He'd barely managed to convince Nessa that his rakish ways were behind him. But now, with his own mother bringing evidence against him…
“Lady Branch, I assure you that I am fully aware of your son's previous reputation,” Nessa responded firmly. “I go into this union with my eyes open, and feel that he and I shall suit very well indeed. I hope that in time you will discover those sterling qualities in your son that I have already come to appreciate.”
His mother stared, openmouthed, and Jack had all he could do to refrain from doing the same. Keeping the jubilation from his voice with an effort, he said, “I thank you, my dear, for that endorsement, and will do everything in my power to live up to it.”
Nessa met his eyes then, with an expression that said as clearly as words: You will. You'd better.
“I find myself suddenly fatigued,” declared Lady Branch before Nessa could respond aloud. “I believe I shall retire to my chamber until dinner.” With a swirl of skirts, she swept from the room, her rigid back expressing her indignation at what had passed.
The four people remaining released a collective sigh of relief. “Shall we move on to the gallery?” Jack suggested.
The others agreed with alacrity, apparently well content to pretend that the recent exchange had never taken place.
~ ~ ~
NESSA CONTINUED HER tour of Fox Manor, attending to Jack's comments about the rooms and furnishings. All were lovely, but she was far more intrigued by the man at her side. What had it been like, growing up with a mother who must have always expected the worst of him? She'd thought her own childhood repressive, but at least her parents had believed her capable of reasonable, respectable behavior— believed her incapable of anything else, in fact. She felt a sudden spurt of panic. How little she knew about this man she was about to marry!
“That's really all that is worth seeing indoors,” Jack said all too soon. “The gardens and grounds are fairly extensive, but of course this is not the pleasantest season to view them.” He glanced out the window of the morning room, where they had concluded. “We may get a drizzle in an hour or so, but if any of you would care to see what we can in the meantime? Creamcroft?”
Philip demurred, however, when Prudence confessed herself wearied. “I believe I'll defer it if you don't mind, Foxhaven, and take Lady Creamcroft upstairs to rest for a bit. She's not been used to much travel of late.”
“My apologies! I should not have dragged you over the entire house so soon after your arrival. Of course you'll want to rest before dinner.” He turned expectantly toward Nessa, clearly expecting her to accompany the Creamcrofts.
She smiled up at him, however. “I am not in the least tired, my lord. If you are still willing, I should very much like to see as much of the gardens as the weather will allow.” It was a bit daring, she knew, but she wanted to ask him a question or two without prying ears about.
“Certainly, my lady.” He seemed genuinely pleased at her response. With a bow to the Creamcrofts, he led her out of the room through French doors, which opened onto a stone terrace. “The ornamental gardens are ahead and to the left, the kitchen garden to the right, and the orchard beyond both. Which would you like to see first?”
“Is there a maze?” She thought she'd glimpsed one from one of the upper windows earlier.
“In a manner of speaking.” Placing her hand in the crook of his arm, he headed straight down the path. “It's more ornament than puzzle, and not really tall enough to get lost in, but rather interesting all the same.”
Nessa fell into step beside him. “As a child, I always wished for a maze, but my father considered them frivolous.”
“What did Lord Cherryhurst not consider frivolous?” The question was rhetorical but Nessa answered him anyway.
“Sewing, so long as it had a purpose besides the purely ornamental; embroidery, however, was frowned upon. Bible reading, of course—”
“Except for the Song of Solomon,” Jack put in mischievously.
She grinned up at him. “Yes, except for that. It was expressly forbidden—in fact, my father removed it from the family Bible so that we girls would not be tempted to read it in his abse
nce.” Jack looked as though he couldn't decide whether to laugh or swear, so Nessa hurried on. “Singing was an approved activity, so long as it was limited to hymns. Dancing was not, though he did finally consent to allow us to learn the minuet and a few country dances.”
“At your urging, I'll wager.”
Nessa nodded, remembering how much difficulty she'd had getting Prudence to add her pleas to her own. Finally, with their mother's grudging support, they had persuaded him. One of the few such victories she could recall.
“But enough about my childhood. What of yours? To hear your mother speak, it would seem that little frivolity was allowed you, either.”
They had reached the maze now. Its thick hedge of yew was green even now, and while it was a little less than Jack's height, Nessa could not see over it. He pointed to the entrance and she nodded eagerly. Not until they were within the deep green walls did he reply to her question.
“While my father lived, frivolity was not only allowed, it was the order of the day. My mother spoke truth when she called him a gamester and a rake, I suppose, but I primarily recall him as an entertaining companion. Not until after his death did I understand how little she approved of our lifestyle.”
Nessa frowned. “Was she forced to marry him, then? How old were you when he died?”
“Eight. And I don't doubt she married him willingly enough. He was thoroughly charming, as well as the second son of a marquis. But I presume he lost heavily at the tables, judging by the frequency with which we moved, always to cheaper lodgings. My grandfather, I believe, had washed his hands of him years before.”
Nessa tried to imagine what Jack's life had been like, living, if not quite on the brink of poverty, then without many of the things she'd always taken for granted. But with a father who did not condemn his every errant thought, who had been “an entertaining companion.” On the whole, she believed she envied him.
“And after he died?”
“Mother dismissed most of the servants and rented out one of the extra rooms. She must have written to my grandfather, for he stepped in soon afterward, making such exigencies unnecessary. As she was as thrifty as my father had been extravagant, we never lacked again—at least, not in material things.”
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