by Julia Parks
“Then she has been living alone all these years. How dreadful for her.”
His bark of laughter had nothing to do with amusement. “She has had my uncle for company, the illustrious Earl of Cheswick.”
Jane recalled his harsh descriptions of the Earls of Cheswick, their only passion being for money and power. She shivered.
Putting on her best social expression, she said kindly, “You must bring her to visit when she arrives.”
He pulled his horse to a stop. Jane followed his lead, easily holding Sinbad still, despite the horse’s preference for action.
“I shall do that,” said the viscount quietly. Then, becoming brisk, he added, “I suppose we should return now.”
For an instant, Jane felt a stab of disappointment. “Yes, we wouldn’t want to ruin your reputation.” She regretted the churlish words immediately. Why did this man have such an unfortunate effect on her manners? And morals, a wicked voice echoed in her mind.
He bent a sardonic gaze on her. “My reputation? I told you at the ball that I am no gentleman, so we need have no fear on that score. Are you perhaps telling me you are no lady?”
Knowing a blush would be her response, Jane tapped her riding crop on Sinbad’s rump and sent him flying down the hill to the stables.
The Viscount Devlin followed at a leisurely pace.
b
By the time Jane and Lord Devlin entered the gold salon, the refreshments served to Cousin Roland and her aunt and Cherry had been consumed. Jane knew well that Cherry could never resist the delicious cakes Cook prepared, but she attributed the emptiness of the tray to Roland.
“Jane, how naughty of you to monopolize Lord Devlin,” said Aunt Sophie, extending her hand to the viscount who bowed over it gracefully. Her aunt sighed audibly.
“We thought you had decided to ride back to that dreadful abbey with him,” said Cherry, her words spoken a trifle sharply despite her trill of laughter.
“I should think you know me better than that,” said Jane.
She might have added more, but Lord Devlin asked, “Abbey? What abbey is this?”
“Just some old ruin on the edge of the estate. It is hardly worthy of a second glance, but Jane sets great store by it,” said Cherry, eager to engage the elegant lord in conversation.
Jane poured out the fresh tea Pipkin brought and handed a cup to Lord Devlin. Aunt Sophie pressed the new tray of cakes on their guest before passing it to Roland again.
Jane rolled her eyes. She was getting hungry and would have appreciated one of those light biscuits, but she didn’t wish to call attention to herself by getting up and fetching it. And as usual, her Aunt Sophie never had a thought for another female except Cherry when there was an eligible bachelor in the vicinity.
“I would enjoy visiting such an interesting relic, Miss Pettigrew. Perhaps you would consent to accompany me on a ride and show it to me?”
Cherry looked dubious despite the attractive offer, and Jane bit the side of her lip to smother her amusement. Cherry disliked riding every bit as much as Cousin Roland did, though she dearly loved dressing in an elegant riding habit and being the centre of attention.
“l don’t like the idea of your riding so far without a chaperon.” Aunt Sophie came to Cherry’s rescue and turned a simpering smile on Lord Devlin. “My daughter is not out yet, formally, though it is but a matter of weeks before we journey to London, sir. Perhaps Jane and Cousin Roland would care to go.”
Jane opened her mouth to reject such a proposal when Roland began to cough, his napkin not quite catching the crumbs that spewed forth. Lord Devlin, who was seated beside him, beat him forcefully on the back until the spell had passed.
Jane watched the proceeding with a frown. She could have sworn Lord Devlin’s heel applied to Roland’s slippered foot had precipitated the coughing spell. But she must have been mistaken.
When Roland had been soothed with sympathy and tea, he said hoarsely, “We’d love to go on the outing, providing, of course, I can take m’phaeton. I’m quite an out and outer with the ribbons, but I don’t care for sitting on top of some bony nag.”
“I’m sure that can be arranged, though it will make your outing much longer to go around by the road. Why don’t I have Cook pack a picnic basket, and you young people can make a day of it.” Aunt Sophie Pettigrew cast an ingenuous glance at Jane.
All eyes then turned to Jane. She would have been ungracious had she vetoed their plans, so she reluctantly agreed. Lord Devlin and Roland Havelock exchanged satisfied looks as the outing was slated for the following day.
The gentlemen took their leave shortly afterwards.
b
Drew Peterson, Lord Devlin, pushed away from the table after consuming a delicious meal in the small breakfast room of his hired house in the elegant square called Laura Place.
The house was spacious for a town house, but it was not the home Drew sought for his widowed mother. Not that she would disapprove; she never questioned anything her son or husband did, and in the past ten years living with the despotic Earl of Cheswick, her brother-in-law, she had learned total submission.
This was why Drew sought other lodgings outside of town, so his mother might have her privacy yet still be close enough to socialize if she wished. There was the key word—her wishes were to be respected at all costs. He ran a distracted hand through his already disordered hair. God, how she must have suffered, locked away with his selfish, vicious old man of an uncle, who cared for nothing but money and power.
Each time Drew thought of his sweet, timid mother, the guilt for neglecting her during his banishment hit him anew. His hands formed into fists, but his helpless anger was directed at himself more than his uncle. He could have sent for her. He had made enough money in his own right to be self-sufficient. Still, the fact remained, he simply hadn’t thought of her sorrow or loneliness.
But now, he meant to set her up in style. In Bath, she would be accepted as she never had been in London. The daughter of a country curate, she had married his father, the Honourable William Peterson, for love. But life had not proved easy for them. His father had enough money to make their lives comfortable, but money had not been enough for his father. His father had grown weary of explaining his wife’s humble background. He had held it against her that she had not brought position or a dowry to their marriage.
When Faith Peterson had begun to apologize for her very existence, the love that had fostered their match was forgotten. Drew’s earliest memories of his mother were of her tears as his father slammed out the door. Those same tears had sent him off to the Indies, an unhappy, bewildered young man.
But now he was back, summoned by his uncle. Through an unfortunate accident that had taken off his twin cousins at once, he was now heir to the Earl of Cheswick and all the wealth and responsibility the title entailed. And never again would his mother be made to suffer humiliation.
There was a knock on the door. Since he was expecting no one, it was with impatience that he gestured to the footman to admit the visitor.
“My Lord Devlin, I count myself fortunate to find you at home.”
“What do you want, Havelock?” Drew’s impatience showed as he motioned to the servant to withdraw.
Roland Havelock lowered his considerable bulk into a dainty chair, and Devlin cringed lest it break. A smile flashed across his features as he recalled Miss Lindsay’s revelations about her cousin’s pony. He could still recall the music of her laughter, and he wondered if she knew how sensuous she was.
Too bad she was a lady. He wouldn’t mind a bit of a romp with such a handful. But, though Drew protested that he was not a gentleman, he drew the line at trifling with young ladies of good ton. And he refused to consider marriage. Someday he would have to set up his nursery, but not yet.
Reluctantly, he turned his attention to his guest.
“I believe I am doing you a favour tomorrow, Devlin, and I wondered what was in it for me.”
Devlin could barely keep a
look of distaste from his features. This man was just the sort he normally avoided, and he had to remember that he might need the man’s services.
“As I told you before, Havelock, I wish to see the area surrounding Bath, and Heartland is as good a place to start as any other.”
“Yes, so you told me. You’re looking for a place to buy for your mother. But, I can tell you, you’re wasting your time at Heartland. My cousin would no more sell it than the prince would go back to his wife.” A wheezing laugh accompanied this witticism, and Drew frowned.
“Perhaps, but since I find Miss Lindsay and Miss Pettigrew quite charming, I continue to look forward to our proposed picnic. I find myself curious about something, Havelock.”
“What is that?” said his guest, accepting the proffered glass of port Devlin extended.
“How is it that Miss Lindsay inherited Heartland? The property must not be entailed?”
“No, not entailed, but it may as well be.” Havelock’s voice filled with bitterness. “Heartland has been handed down to the eldest daughter of each generation. Hence, there is no perpetual family name associated with the estate.
“Supposedly the tradition got started because of some connection to the original St. Valentine. In order that the eldest daughter of the family might always marry for love, she received the estate, or some such nonsense. Heartland was inherited by my grandmother when she was only sixteen. She married at eighteen after meeting my grandfather at the Valentine’s Ball. He was the younger son of a baronet. All he brought to the marriage was a small estate in Sussex. But I am boring you with family history.” Havelock’s snake-like eyes peered intently at Drew as though trying to ferret out the reason for his interest.
“Not at all, I find it fascinating. Tell me, how are you cousin to the Misses Lindsay and Pettigrew?”
“Grandmother produced three children: Jane’s mother, the eldest daughter; Cherry’s father; and my mother. Jane’s mother, had she lived, would have inherited Heartland; therefore, it passed to Jane on my grandmother’s death last year.”
“And the small estate in Sussex?”
“Went to Cherry’s father, then to her. An estate manager has been handling it the past ten years. It’s enough to give Cherry a respectable dowry, but not like Heartland.” Each time Roland Havelock pronounced the name of the estate, he couldn’t keep the envy and bitterness from his voice.
Drew’s devilish sense of humour led him to ask, “Miss Lindsay is not exactly in the first blush of youth, and she’s still unmarried. What happens when she dies? There’ll be no daughter to pass it on to.”
Havelock appeared much struck by this question and took several minutes before responding. “I suppose it would go to the only other female descendant.”
“Miss Pettigrew?”
“No, she’s only the daughter of a son of the family. It would have to go to my mother.”
“Who would probably no longer be among the living by the time Miss Lindsay consents to meet her maker.”
Havelock, who had been speaking as if only to himself, looked up sharply. He laughed self-consciously and shrugged. “I suppose then it will be a matter for the solicitors to decide. But I have kept you too long, sir. I must be going.”
“Very well. Just remember we leave at ten.”
“I look forward to it, Lord Devlin.”
Drew sat staring at the fire for some time after the oily Mr. Havelock had left. But his thoughts were not on their late conversation. Instead, he puzzled over Miss Lindsay.
How had such an intriguing young woman managed to escape matrimony during her Seasons in London? For surely she had at least one since Miss Pettigrew was to have hers. Did Miss Jane Lindsay not care for gentlemen? But that was impossible—though she might deny it, she had certainly enjoyed their encounters, even that passionate kiss they had exchanged.
And though he had been able to tell she lacked experience, still she must have been kissed before or she would have been too shocked by his passion to return it. And she had definitely returned his kiss.
Drew drank deeply of his port. He would have to quit thinking about Miss Lindsay; she was too unsettling, both to his mind and his body. Standing, he set his glass deliberately on the mantel and strode from the room and out of the house, startling his new butler.
A brisk walk by the river would soon cure his physical and mental preoccupation with the enticing Miss Jane Lindsay.
b
“Jane! What are we to do?” Cherry flung open Jane’s door quite unannounced.
Jane looked up from her dressing table and exchanged an amused look with Tucker who was arranging Jane’s long, straight hair in a becoming snood.
“Do sit down, Cherry, and tell me what has occurred to make you so out of breath. You look positively blown.”
Anxiously, Cherry bent down and surveyed her beautiful face in the mirror. Satisfied that she still appeared to advantage, she pulled up a nearby chair. “The most dreadful thing has happened; Lord Pierce and his sister Mary have come to call.”
“Dreadful? Is that really you speaking?”
“Surely you can’t have forgotten! We are to have a picnic today, this very morning, with Lord Devlin!”
“And Cousin Roland,” added Jane dryly.
“Yes, yes, of course,” said Cherry impatiently. “What are we to do with Lord Pierce and Mary?”
“We could lock them out and not let them in.”
“Now you are making fun of me,” said Cherry, the pout on her lips only enhancing her beauty.
“Pray, don’t be a goose. We shall invite them along, of course. I feel certain Mary would like to go, and you know how Lord Pierce feels about being in your company.”
Cherry frowned, considering this new situation.
“Besides,” said Jane, “you have nothing to fear in the way of competition from the sweet—but let us be frank—plain Mary Aubrey.” Jane let this bit of information sink in before continuing. The addition of two more people on their outing could only improve it. “Furthermore, I should think you would revel in the attentions of two handsome bachelors vying for your consideration all day long.”
There, that had done it. Cherry’s frown vanished and was replaced by an expression that could only be compared to the cat that had drunk the cream.
“I shall send word to Cook so she may add to the feast, and then I’ll go and ask Lord Pierce and Mary. They will be delighted with the scheme!”
Jane shook her head as her cousin disappeared in a flurry of silk.
“You know how much I love my cousin, Tucker, but I daresay it will be much more peaceful around here when she and my aunt leave for London next month.”
“Amen to that,” said the old retainer.
When Jane entered the gold salon fifteen minutes later, she found all their guests waiting. She was conscious of all eyes turning her way and felt relieved she had chosen her hunter-green riding habit; its manly cut masked her generous bosom and gave her confidence.
Greeting each guest in turn, she sat beside Mary Aubrey. “You look very elegant these days, Mary. I must compliment you on your choice of colour. It is very becoming.”
Mary Aubrey might be plain, but she was neither vain nor stupid. She smiled and thanked her, adding, “I do hope we are not intruding but Peter would go, you know.” She nodded to the window embrasure where Cherry was seated, Lord Pierce standing over her, hanging on every word.
Jane laughed quietly. “I am happy to have you, for now I’ll have someone to talk to at luncheon.”
Lord Devlin, who had been following their conversation, said with exaggerated gallantry, “Fie, Miss Lindsay, as though you would be neglected. I swear you are fishing for compliments.”
Jane silently thanked him for not saying “again,” for she would not have put it past him to embarrass her.
“Now we need not worry about anyone feeling neglected.” Jane rose to her feet. “We had better be going. I do hope the weather holds.”
“It must,�
� pronounced Lord Pierce dramatically then blushed as all eyes turned toward him and Miss Pettigrew.
Somehow—Jane felt certain it was Cherry’s doing—it was decided that Miss Aubrey and Cousin Roland should ride in his phaeton while Cherry accompanied Lord Pierce in his equipage.
Jane stood impatiently with her horse as all this was arranged. She chanced a look at Lord Devlin and his lips were twisted in a sardonic smile. He caught her eye and issued a silent invitation as he raised his riding crop and pointed at the hillside. Jane caught her lower lip between her teeth, debating.
Should she ride to the abbey cross-country even though it meant being alone with Lord Devlin? Or would it be wiser to endure the tedium of following the road behind two phaetons, one driven by her ham-handed Cousin Roland?
She looked from the carriages to the viscount. With that wicked raised brow, he challenged her to accept his invitation.
“You enjoy your drive. Lord Devlin and I are going cross-country. We’ll meet you at the abbey,” called Jane as she signalled Sinbad to be off, not risking anyone questioning the propriety of what she was doing, especially her own conscience.
Once again, Lord Devlin had led her to act in a manner contrary to her true nature. What was it about the man that she ceased to behave herself?
The question haunted her as she galloped up the hill and sailed over the first fence. She could hear Lord Devlin’s horse right behind her. When it felt as if she was running from the man, she deliberately slowed Sinbad to a sedate trot and let his lordship come abreast of her.
“You are an intrepid rider, Miss Lindsay. Not many women I know would even attempt such a jump, downhill as it is.”
“I have gone over it so often, I suppose I have forgotten the times when I didn’t quite make it. I notice you didn’t hesitate, Lord Devlin.”
“And have you think me a coward as well as ungentlemanly? I should think not!”
She caught the gleam in his eyes and shook her head.
“You can’t fool me, Lord Devlin. You enjoyed that run and the jump. I believe you enjoy many things that others might consider dangerous or even outrageous.”