Scandalous Brides

by Annette Blair

  Nessa regarded Jack questioningly. “What was that about? Have you been antagonizing Prudence in some way?”

  He had been frowning after her sister, but summoned a smile—with an effort, she thought— when he turned to face her. “Antagonizing? I? Certainly not. Perhaps she is still waiting for me to prove I have reformed my ways.”

  “You're most likely right,” Nessa agreed. “Prudence still feels herself responsible for me at times, I believe.”

  “Commendable, of course, but I should hope unnecessary. My lady wife, let me congratulate you upon what you've accomplished. I wish now I'd taken bets on how quickly the transformation of this house could be achieved—I might have been able to double our fortune!”

  Nessa dimpled at the compliment. “I trust I have not depleted it to the extent that such measures will be necessary.”

  Jack walked across the room to survey her writing desk. “I see you are in the throes of invitation-writing. We are still on for next Tuesday night, I presume?” Without turning to see her nod, he picked up the address list and perused it, then gave a low whistle.

  “Very ambitious, my dear! Do you really believe most of these paragons will be willing to set foot under the notorious Jack Ashecroft's roof?”

  Nessa crossed to stand beside him. “Not all will come, of course. Prudence tells me that the Prince Regent is indisposed just now. But if even one of the royal dukes attends, it will set the seal on your acceptance, so I felt it imperative to extend the invitations.”

  She did not add that Edward, Duke of Kent, had been an intimate of both her father and Lord Haughton, and was at least somewhat likely to attend on that consideration. No sense elevating Jack's hopes just yet.

  His hopes, however, did not appear in need of elevating. He grinned at her. “So you have some of the gambler in you after all, Nessa! I suspected it when you revealed yourself such an excellent whist player, but now I see you're willing to play for much higher stakes.”

  She sniffed at him in mock reproof. “My lord, I assure you that the eminently respectable Marchioness of Foxhaven would never deign to engage in deep play. 'Twould be most unseemly!” But her lips twitched even as she spoke.

  “Would it indeed? And what of this?” He suddenly caught her to him for a kiss that was anything but seemly, in full view of the open parlor door.

  She giggled when he finally released her, though she darted a glance out the door to be certain no passing servants had witnessed their embrace. “Should word get about that Lord Foxhaven treats his wife with such affectionate abandon, it could wreck all, of course. Such behavior, my good sir, should be reserved for the bedchamber.”

  “Madam!” he exclaimed in feigned shock. “Are you propositioning me, and before dinner?”

  Nessa gave him a look of wide-eyed innocence. “Dinner will not be for an hour and more, my lord, I assure you.”

  His eyes narrowed to devilish slits of glittering blue. “In that case, we must find some way to pass the time, must we not? I've a mind to see the new decor of your chamber, my lady—in intimate detail.”

  “I'd been hoping you'd ask.” And she accompanied him upstairs most willingly, more than ready to resume her interrupted education.

  ~ ~ ~

  THE DAY OF THE Foxhaven soiree dawned dull, with fog and freezing drizzle. Nessa prayed the weather would not keep everyone at home— though surely Londoners must be well accustomed to this vile winter climate. At least Prudence had been able to assure her that no other important functions were being held this evening to draw off attendance.

  Food and flowers were delivered, but the weather worsened as the day drew on. Nessa's anxiety increased, and she was just as happy Jack was not at home to witness it. Parliament was back in session now and rather to her surprise he had made a regular habit of occupying his seat in the House of Lords. Thus, she had still seen little of him during the daytime, though their nights together were more satisfactory than ever.

  Still, Nessa was beginning to wonder whether lovemaking, however skilled, was truly enough to sustain a marriage. She and Jack traded witticisms across the dinner table, of course, and she found that nearly as pleasant as their time in bed, but they rarely discussed anything of substance. At times, in fact, she almost had the impression that Jack was avoiding anything approaching serious conversation. There was much she still did not know about him, she had to admit.

  She walked once more to the drawing room window, which afforded a fine view of Berkley Square below. Just as she reached it, a shy beam of sunlight escaped the lowering clouds to turn the drizzle to silver for a moment. Nessa's heart lifted in response. Everything would turn out right, she was certain, if she just had faith and patience.

  A few hours later, it seemed that her optimism was justified. Only an hour into the soirée, the ballroom was filled nearly to capacity, which was quite a feat as thin of company as London yet was. And only moments ago, the Duke of Kent had arrived, just as she had hoped. She still found him overbearing and pompous and far too similar in demeanor to her father for comfort, but his presence must put an incontestable stamp of approval upon the evening—and upon Lord and Lady Foxhaven.

  “My dear, I congratulate you yet again,” murmured Jack in her ear during a brief lull. “Not that I ever really doubted you, of course.”

  “Did you not?” She gazed around at the thronged ballroom from her place at the open double doors, where she and Jack still stood to greet their guests. “I confess I spent much of the day doubting intensely, and am most relieved to find my fears were groundless.”

  More guests arrived then to add to the crush, among them, Lord and Lady Mountheath. Both parties managed to behave as though their uncomfortable last encounter had never taken place.

  “I heard you had done wonders with the house over the past month,” said Lady Mountheath after cool but cordial greetings were exchanged, “and I see 'tis true. Of course—” Her eyes widened and her words ceased. Surreptitiously following her gaze, Nessa realized she had just caught sight of the royal duke.

  “Thank you, my lady,” Nessa responded, keeping her expression solemn with an effort.

  Recovering herself with a start, Lady Mountheath colored slightly before continuing, explaining that she had not been inside Foxhaven House for several years. After she left them to join the throng, Jack began to chuckle.

  “Shh!” Nessa cautioned him. “You'll start me laughing too, and then all my hard work to restore you to respectability will be for naught.”

  “Hardly that, I think. Why, with one of the royals and Lady Mountheath here, our social position should be well nigh unassailable, should it not?”

  “I admit, I never expected Lady Mountheath to attend. I only sent the invitation for fear it might cause gossip if I did not.”

  Jack draped an arm over her shoulders and gave her a quick squeeze. “As always, your judgment was unerring.” Before Nessa could protest such a public display of affection, the Creamcrofts approached, accompanied by the Heathertons.

  “Oh, Nessa, I'm so proud of you!” whispered Prudence excitedly, when she reached her sister's side. “Such a success! The papers will be full of it tomorrow. I had no idea so many of the ton were even in London!”

  Mrs. Heatherton agreed. “I daresay nearly every important personage in residence is here tonight. A triumph, Lady Foxhaven. No doubt about it.”

  “A most enjoyable evening, if a bit crowded,” chimed in Mr. Heatherton, a good-natured, heavy set man nearing middle age. “The food is first-rate, the servants most attentive—no glass allowed to go empty. And, of course, it always increases everyone's enjoyment to be around happy newlyweds. So much to be said for a love match! Can't imagine why some old biddies frown on them.” He winked at his own wife, and Mrs. Heatherton's plain but pleasant face flushed, making her almost pretty.

  Though Jack had released her when the foursome approached, Nessa's shoulder tingled where his arm had so recently lain. She willed her own color not to rise. Love match?
Was that what people assumed? But of course, they must. What other explanation would occur to people, after all? Certainly not the true one. She did not dare to meet Jack's eyes.

  “You are all most kind,” she responded warmly, relieved to detect no quaver in her voice. “I merely put a lifetime of training to good use, and am as delighted as anyone that it has turned out so well.”

  “My wife is too modest.” Jack's voice was warm with approval, so Nessa dared a glance at him. “She oversaw every detail, both of the redecorating of Foxhaven House and of the preparations for tonight. I doubt a stray leaf from one of the flower arrangements could have escaped her notice.”

  His smile was as warm as his voice, and Nessa relaxed. He seemed unaffected by Mr. Heatherton's assumption, so she would not allow it to fluster her. Really, she was being unforgivably silly.

  “Will you not come join your guests now, both of you?” Prudence suggested. “You've more than done your duty, standing here an hour and more. Come and sample some of the excellent refreshments you have provided.”

  Nessa thought her sister seemed a shade less constrained in Jack's presence than previously, and she was glad of it. She wished for no friction between her two favorite people. “Yes, I believe we shall. My lord?”

  Jack was more than willing to abandon his post, so they moved slowly toward the laden tables at the far end of the ballroom, exchanging pleasantries and fielding compliments from innumerable guest as they went. “Charming,” “Such a pleasant couple,” and similar comments followed in their wake.

  While Nessa could not claim to thoroughly enjoy the balance of the evening, so preoccupied was she in supervising the servants and caterers, she felt no small measure of satisfaction. Bringing this off had been work, hard work, but it had been well repaid. She had kept her promise, both to Jack and to herself.

  The royal duke had departed, and several other guests were queuing up to take leave of their hosts as well, when a flash of color by the door drew Nessa's attention. Dressed in a clinging gown of red even more vivid than her hair, Miranda Dempsey wafted into the room. Nessa sensed Jack's sudden tenseness, though he made no other sign that he had seen the late arrival.

  Whatever the woman had been to her husband in the past, Nessa would no more risk a scandal tonight than Lady Mountheath had on one previous occasion. Graciously, she greeted the uninvited guest. “My dear Mrs. Dempsey, how kind of you to come.”

  Though the woman seemed rather startled by her reception, she managed a curtsy—a shade less deep than Nessa's rank required, but not so perfunctory as to be an insult. “Thank you, Lady Foxhaven, Lord Foxhaven.” She gazed lingeringly at him. “I apologize for my lateness.”

  Jack bowed stiffly but said nothing, so Nessa smiled brightly to make up for her husband's reticence and assured her that she need think nothing of it. Returning her smile rather uncertainly, Mrs. Dempsey moved off into the crowd to make way for the next couple taking their leave.

  Less than half an hour later, Mrs. Dempsey departed as well, looking, Nessa thought with secret satisfaction, rather nettled. Jack had not left her own side since the woman's arrival, nor spoken a word to her. The crowd had thinned considerably by now—only a dozen or so couples remained.

  “I must make certain the caterer understands what he is to do with the uneaten food,” she murmured to Jack when they found themselves briefly alone near the door. “I'll be back in a moment.”

  Just as she reached the tables, Prudence joined her. “You were splendid, Nessa,” she whispered in a surprisingly conspiratorial tone. “You kept your composure admirably. But the nerve of that woman! How could she be so bold?”

  “Mrs. Dempsey, you mean?” Nessa spoke lightly, though it unnerved her to think Prudence should have such precise knowledge of Jack's past indiscretions. “No doubt 'twas a rather desperate bid for Jack's attention. I could almost feel sorry for her.”

  Prudence stared. “Sorry! For a woman who has enjoyed more of your husband's time than you have these past weeks? That is carrying charity to unprecedented lengths, I must say.”

  Nessa felt a cold fist squeeze her heart. Though her breath came fast, she ruthlessly schooled her expression into one of only polite interest. “I'm sure you exaggerate, Prudence. Jack has been spending the bulk of his time in Parliament.” Hasn't he? She prayed her sister would not contradict her.

  Nor did she. “Yes, that was an exaggeration. I'm sorry, Nessa.” Her words were as much sympathy as apology, though, and did little to soothe Nessa's sudden pain.

  Mechanically, she gave the caterer his final instructions, then returned to where the last guests were taking their leave. She said all that was proper, but her mind was in chaos.

  Sensitized now by Prudence's words, she thought she detected pity in many of the departing guests' faces. Did all London know more about her husband's doings than she did herself? Always she had despised the willful blindness of libertines' wives, and here she was, as blind as any of them!

  “That's the last of them,” exclaimed Jack gleefully as the front door closed behind the final guests. “The house is ours again, and I intend to take full advantage of it. To quote Mrs. Heatherton, 'A triumph, Lady Foxhaven. No doubt about it.'“ He swept her an exaggerated bow.

  “So everyone has said.” She felt not the least bit triumphant, however.

  Jack, however, was clearly in high spirits. “Because it is true. Will you join me in a waltz?” Playfully, he held out his arms, though the only music was the tinkle of plates and glasses as they were collected by the servants.

  Nessa felt a tightening in her throat. Could he truly act so if what Prudence had implied were true? “I'm sorry, Jack, but I have the most abominable headache. Perhaps another time.”

  Immediately he was all concern. “Oh, my darling, why did you not say so? I feared you were taking too much upon yourself. I'll take you right up to bed, then come back to supervise the cleanup myself.”

  The tightening in her throat became a lump. Afraid to speak for fear of loosing the tears that threatened, she merely nodded and allowed him to lead her up the stairs. She maintained a stoic silence while Simmons undressed her, unwilling to betray her emotions and perhaps provoke unwanted confidences from the abigail. Clucking over how tired her mistress must be, Simmons helped her to complete her toilette in short order, then tucked her into bed.

  Alone in the darkened room, Nessa finally allowed her tears to flow. Exhaustion soon provided relief, however, and despite her turmoil she fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

  Thin sunlight awakened her, filtering through the partially drawn peach curtains. Stirring, Nessa realized that Jack lay beside her, still soundly asleep. The events of last night came flooding back—both the triumph and the heartache. In the light of morning, however, with a good night's sleep behind her, Nessa felt far less ready to believe the worst—or to let it devastate her even if it proved to be true.

  For a moment she smiled down at her husband's slumbering form, marveling at how boyish and innocent he appeared, when she knew he was neither. Moving gingerly so as not to wake him, she slipped out of bed and dressed in a simple gown that did not require Simmons' assistance. Pulling her hair back with a matching ribbon, she softly opened the door and went downstairs for breakfast and uninterrupted thought.

  By the time Jack joined her, nearly an hour later, she had come to a decision.

  “Prudence tells me you have been spending considerable time with Mrs. Dempsey of late,” she informed him before she could change her mind.

  Jack paused in the act of taking his seat and glanced about, as though to assure himself that they were alone in the room. “She has been to call already this morning?”

  Nessa narrowed her eyes slightly. Was he stalling? “No, she mentioned it last night. Apparently 'tis common knowledge.” Prudence had not actually said that, but she did not think she had imagined the pitying glances from their guests as they left.

  “Hardly that, I should think!” exclaimed Jack. Th
en, apparently realizing what he'd said, he muttered an oath. “Nessa it's not what you think, I promise you.”

  “How do you know what I think?” she demanded, stung by his near admission. “Until last night, I thought you were spending all of those hours on government business.”

  “I—I was, in a way.” He leaned forward to take her hand where it lay on the table, but she snatched it away. “Honestly, Nessa, my time with Miranda— and I did not enjoy it, I assure you—was for the purpose of discovering certain information for the Home Office.”

  “How convenient.” Her tone was as biting as she could make it. “And were you successful, or will you require yet more trysts on behalf of the Crown?” She hadn't known she was capable of such sarcasm.

  “No, no, it is over, I promise you.” He regarded her uncertainly. “You don't believe me.”

  “Whether I do or not is of little moment, Jack. I have spent all my waking hours for the past three weeks—nay, longer than that, considering our time at Fox Manor— attempting to elevate you to respectability despite your well-deserved reputation. I have done my part in our bargain, Jack, but all the while you have been sabotaging my efforts.”

  He looked uneasy now, as well he should. “What do you intend to do?”

  “What I please,” she snapped. “I no longer consider myself bound by my promise to play the respectable wife for the sake of a reputation for which you clearly care so little.”

  Standing, she made a regal exit, leaving him to ponder just what she meant by that.

  As it happened, she had no earthly idea herself.

  SEVENTEEN

  JACK STARED AFTER Nessa, stunned to his bones. Not for several seconds did he realize his mouth had dropped open. Belatedly, he closed it, still staring at the doorway she had just vacated.

  This was a hell of a wrinkle.

  Just when he'd finally fulfilled his awkward obligation to the Duke of Wellington, when he could finally devote all of his energies to his marriage, this had to happen. He thought he'd made it clear to Miranda that any further relationship was out of the question— but she was unwilling to take the hint, as evidenced by her uninvited appearance last night.