by Julia Parks
“Who is it?”
“I don’t know for sure, Mr. Havelock, but my guess is Bow Street.”
“A Runner,” breathed Havelock, his face turning white.
“That’s my guess. And I think Lord Devlin is behind ’is bein’ there. Plus the fact that I’m never left to my own devices any more. Finding a time to get away ’ere was almost impossible.”
“You made sure you weren’t followed, didn’t you?”
“Of course, I did. But what do you want me t’ do now?”
“Nothing, absolutely nothing. And I shall go away for a time.”
“I say, ye’re not goin’ t’ leave me there? What with that looby of a footman, Mickey, and that Bible-quoting butler, I’m ready to murder the whole lot of ’em!”
“Restrain yourself, Sims. For the time being, anyway, don’t worry. I won’t forget about you.”
“No, you don’t dare forget about me,” mumbled Sims.
“Here now! I’ve paid you well, plus what you’re earning working Heartland.”
“Yes, but it’s not like it is in London, is it? In London, there were all sorts of ways to get me ’ands on a spot o’ money.”
“Someday, Sims, you shall have all the money you need. I’ll make you my estate manager—someday.”
b
Three weeks passed. Nothing untoward occurred, and the Bow Street Runner was inclined to disbelieve there was a danger. Bailey never relaxed his vigilance but as he told Drew, “Ain’t nothin’ t’ see.”
Drew was more often in Jane’s company, but they were never alone. Even when they went riding, the groom accompanied them. Drew didn’t ask Jane why this was so. He assumed Jane followed her maid’s advice. Since he kept such a close watch over her and tried to keep her ignorant of the surveillance, he felt doubly responsible for her. If anyone suspected how often he was in or about Heartland, Jane’s reputation would be in shreds. So, he often took his mother or invited Jane to Bath to join a group of friends at cards, attend the assemblies, and once, even to go to the Pump Room.
If Drew had paused to consider the nature of their relationship, he might have been puzzled by Jane’s behaviour toward him, especially if one recalled their previous stormy encounters—encounters that often included fire and passion.
b
Jane was content with the comfortable friendship she and Drew had found. She was more than willing to forego passion—it was much too disturbing to her peace of mind. Their more relaxed relationship helped her to trust him and to trust her judgement of him. After all, Jane was accustomed to male friends—it was only the passionate suitors she had come to mistrust over the years.
It had been the idea of Drew paying court to her that was so disturbing. Drew didn’t fit into the two categories of her past suitors—fortune hunter or social climbing cit. Then she received a letter from her friend in London, which upheld Drew’s claim to personal wealth. Sally had been quite emphatic—Lord Devlin was as rich as Golden Ball in his own right, never counting what he would inherit with his title, Earl of Cheswick. And socially, he would raise her to his level, not the other way around.
This tidbit of information would have gladdened the heart of a more self-centred lady. But to Jane, the news was unsettling. If Drew wasn’t a fortune hunter, then why was he at such pains to make love to her? Could he truly love her? Jane didn’t dismiss the idea, but she was unable to accept this unequivocally. The possibility that he was merely trying to win her approval to buy Heartland was doubtful. She was sure he had accepted defeat on that question. Lurking in the back of her mind, the thought that he wished to do her harm seemed too ludicrous to examine.
So Jane welcomed the cooling of their relationship to friendship. This was something she could accept from him. Late at night, when trying to arrange the covers for sleep, perhaps she allowed herself to miss his kisses, but her life was certainly more calm…normal.
Under Drew’s subtle nurturing, Jane’s social role changed. She had always been the consummate guest or hostess at any social event, but she looked in disdain at what she termed silly flirtation. Her own manner had been perpetually reserved. Now, she laughed more easily, and she even flirted with Drew’s friends. Giles Stanton demanded at least two dances at each assembly or ball, and Farley began to neglect the card room and its libations in order to fetch her punch or other refreshments. Drew silently watched, a slight smile curving his lips.
b
Jane sang softly as she bathed. She really hadn’t allowed enough time to dress before her guests arrived, but she refused to rush. Drew wouldn’t mind. He no longer found anything she said or did worth starting an argument. He had changed toward her.
This change had aroused her curiosity at first. Then it had piqued her pride. How she had baited him with outrageous comments on a myriad of topics but to no avail. He would occasionally raise one of those wicked brows.
Let’s see. It’s his left one, I think.
She smiled and her hand paused, letting the warm water from the soft sponge trail down her breasts and stomach. Now, after a week or two, she had grown accustomed to this new situation and accepted it.
The door opened and Tucker entered, carrying a warm towel. Holding out the towel, the maid teased, “Thinkin’ of Mr. Stanton, perhaps, or Mr. Farley?”
Jane stepped out of the tub and was enveloped in the soft cloth.
“No, not Mr. Stanton. Or Mr. Farley Oh, they’re both handsome men, and quite charming, but neither one touches my heart.”
“Who does?”
Jane laughed. “No one, as you well know.”
“Not even a very tall, dark man?” Tucker busied herself in the wardrobe.
“If you mean Lord Devlin, Tucker, you may say the name. I promise you I shan’t swoon. Lord Devlin is a friend, only a friend. And I am quite content to have it so.”
“As you say, Miss Jane.”
Jane restrained a childish urge to stick out her tongue at the maid’s back.
“You’ll be wearing the yellow silk?”
“Yes. And you had better put up my hair. Though it’s to be an informal evening, I mustn’t let our guests think my appearance too casual.”
The entertainment was informal enough. She had invited nineteen people for an afternoon of croquet followed by an enormous buffet and dancing, should anyone wish to dance. The rector and his wife would be attending, and Mrs. Hall liked nothing better than playing a lively tune for the young people.
Also on the guest list were Mary Aubrey, who was a guest at the rector’s house while her family extended their stay in London, and Mr. Primrose, her fiancé. Drew was bringing his mother and his two friends. The rest of the guests were neighbours who, like the Ashmores, had just returned from a brief stay in London. It would be an amiable group, all the guests acquainted with one another and the atmosphere relaxed. It was, in short, just the sort of evening Jane enjoyed most.
Jane descended the long, curving staircase, carrying her straw bonnet by its yellow satin ribbons. Her thoughts were occupied with last minute details, and she failed to notice Drew watching her progress until the last moment.
“Oh! Drew, you startled me,” she said as her foot touched the bottom step.
He held out his hand, his gaze warm as he looked her over from head to toe. Jane shifted from one foot to the other, that old feeling of breathlessness building under his relentless scrutiny. Then his quick grin put her at ease as it always did. It was odd, how intimidating his expression could seem until he smiled. It was like a transformation.
“I do believe that pale shade of yellow is prettier on you than on anyone else I have ever seen. It does something strange to those green eyes of yours. They look rather like a cat’s eyes. I shall expect you to purr instead of speak.”
“I suppose that is meant to be a compliment, Drew,” said Jane. “But I must warn you, if I wished to take it the other way, I could.”
“Yes, I suppose I could have meant it as a subtle insult; only you know me better t
han that. I am never subtle when it comes to abuse.”
With another of his disarming smiles, he tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow. She laughed and moved along the corridor. “Yes, I am only too aware, though you seem to have turned over a new leaf.”
Drew paused and turned to face her. Did she read some challenge in his eyes?
“Perhaps,” he began slowly, “I am only lulling you into a false sense of security. Then, when you least expect it, I shall ridicule you unmercifully.”
“Thank you for the warning, my dear sir. Forewarned is forearmed, so they say.” Jane hoped her face wasn’t flushed under his disturbing gaze.
“Drew, do quit beleaguering Miss Lindsay and let her join her guests,” called his mother from the doorway of the gold salon.
He extended his arm again, and Jane laid a gloved hand on his sleeve. She was surprised by the flutter of her heart this simple courtesy produced. She was over that unsettling childishness, surely. She looked up at Drew and returned his smile. It must have been their lively exchange.
The games began, and several times Jane caught Drew staring at her, his eyes lit by an unidentifiable emotion. Each time she frowned, unable to satisfy her curiosity. Had the moon changed? Or had he slept in a room with an open window, the moonlight falling on his face? Nurse had told her either could change human emotions. It was nonsense, of course, but what other explanation could there be?
Jane bent over and swung her mallet expertly. She was rather good at the game, having played it often with her grandmother. She had to learn the rules anew when she’d grown up; as a child, her grandmother’s rules had been structured to let Jane win. Though the game was old, it wasn’t yet a traditional entertainment, so Jane often had to teach new guests how to play. But Drew knew how. He had told her it was often played in the Indies.
“Miss Lindsay, I say, tell me again where I’m supposed to hit the thing with this stick,” said Mr. Farley, his tones making him sound like a whining little boy.
“Through this hoop, Mr. Farley. No, no, one doesn’t hold the mallet like a billiard cue. Hold it like so,” said Jane, placing her hands over his on the mallet. Out of the comer of her eye, Jane saw Drew take a step in her direction. Then he stopped and turned his back.
b
Jane was unaware, but Farley was grinning as he peered at Drew over the top of her head. A small growl escaped his throat.
“He’s got more hair than wit if he means to anger you, Drew,” said Giles Stanton quietly. “Pay him no mind.”
“I shan’t. He’s just being annoying because he didn’t have anything but tea before he began to play. Farley a bit on the go is much worthier than a cold-sober Farley,” laughed Drew.
“Glad you understand. But Drew, one other thing—not that I wish to advise, but—”
“Then don’t.”
“Yes, well, but I must,” said Giles. “Aren’t you taking things a little too slowly with Miss Lindsay? I mean, you’ve nothing to fear from me or Farley, but there are others who might not be so agreeable.”
“I appreciate your concern, Giles, but I believe you can trust me in this. Miss Lindsay is not one to be hurried along. I’ll know when the time has come.”
“I hope you’re right.” Giles moved away to make his next play.
“I hope so, too,” murmured Drew.
b
The late afternoon was mercifully cool as they finished their games and entered the house. Jane had turned the ballroom into a comfortable, inviting oasis for their evening of dining and entertainment. The French doors along the back wall had been thrown open, and in the gathering twilight, Chinese lanterns were lit outside, should any guests feel inclined to take a stroll. One end of the huge ballroom held a buffet table that groaned under the weight of chilled lobster, pork tenderloin, duck a l’orange, tender asparagus and artichokes, tomato aspic, cheeses, fresh fruits, and Mrs. Brown’s delicate pastries. Keeping the seating informal, Jane had brought in an oval table large enough to accommodate the entire party. Farther along the length of the room, there were groupings of comfortable chairs and sofas with plush Aubusson carpets underfoot. Next came game tables for those who wished to play cards. The pianoforte stood between the card tables and the seating areas, facing the remainder of the ballroom. This portion had been left uncarpeted, its gleaming marble floor ready for the first dancers.
“What a delightful idea,” said Mrs. Ashmore, surveying the ballroom. “‘Now I can keep one eye on my daughter while having a comfortable chat with my friends.”
“Very wise of you, Jane,” put in Mrs. Hall, the rector’s merry wife. “And I will so enjoy playing for the young people if you wish to dance. How kind of you to arrange the instrument so I can watch. Wasn’t that considerate of Miss Lindsay, Gerald?”
Gerald, better known to his parishioners as Rector Hall, nodded solemnly. Jane took no offence. Rector Hall—she’d always thought the name sounded like a girls’ school—rarely displayed any emotion. Somehow, his countenance made his fire-and-brimstone sermons seem more effective.
Jane steered her guests to the buffet table where footmen hovered to serve the guests or carry plates. Pipkin presided over this operation with his usual aplomb.
The guests sat randomly around the huge table. Mr. Farley secured the chair on Jane’s right, and said loudly, “Rather like King Arthur, what?”
From her other side, Giles Stanton smiled gallantly and said to Jane, “I daresay they didn’t have the pleasure of such beauty at the knights’ table.”
“How kind, Mr. Stanton.” Jane flashed him a smile; then her gaze drifted along the table.
Directly opposite was Drew. He looked especially handsome in his grey superfine coat and black waistcoat. Nestled in the folds of his snowy cravat was a single ruby. The jewel sparkled at her, and Jane blinked, looking up from the ruby to those sensuous lips and patrician nose. As she studied him, Jane realized Drew was returning her scrutiny, his eyes gleaming like onyx in the candlelight. She raised her chin, refusing to be cowed. He turned as if reluctant to answer his neighbour, Lydia Ashmore. Jane addressed some inane comment to Mr. Farley and took a bite of marinated artichokes. She wrinkled her nose in distaste; she had never really cared for artichokes.
Six couples took to the dance floor as Mrs. Hall tried the keyboard with an energetic introduction to a country-dance. The squire’s round wife sent her daughters off with a smile and settled her considerable bulk on a nearby sofa. She was soon joined by Mrs. Ashmore and Drew’s mother. Sir Humphrey, the neighbourhood’s scholarly widower, had been eyeing Mrs. Peterson, but as she was engrossed in conversation with the other ladies, he sighed and turned away.
b
Drew leaned against one of the six fireplaces, an excellent vantage point to observe the dancers while he conversed with Mr. Ashmore and the squire. Sir Humphrey soon joined in as words became heated regarding Parliament’s latest efforts to deal with the postwar poverty and starvation.
“What do you say, Devlin?” asked the squire.
“I’m afraid I haven’t studied the situation as deeply as you gentlemen. I returned to England only last year, but I do feel very strongly that we should take care of our former soldiers.”
“Here, here!”
“But you can’t just give them things,” protested Mr. Ashmore, a tough-minded businessman despite his noble ancestry.
“It has been the same throughout history,” said Sir Humphrey. “The aftermath of war is poverty. But surely, at this stage of civilization, we can find ways to help, to rehabilitate these fine men into our society.”
“I agree,” said Drew. “Something other than charity. Factories are sprouting up here and there—”
“Yes, and their damned machines throw honest men out of work!” declared the squire.
“For a time, perhaps, but in the long run, more machines mean more goods, profits, and therefore, factories,” asserted Mr. Ashmore.
The conversation rose and fell along with the strains of th
e country-dances and the waltzes, and Drew was distracted from the conversation by watching Giles and Jane glide around the dance floor. Next it was Farley’s turn, a country-dance. Then the rector’s foppish cousin, Nigel Hall, claimed her for the Boulanger.
The squire proposed a hand of cards, and Drew moved to the card tables. Taking the seat facing the dancers, he was able to continue his observation.
What was it about Jane that held him captive? He could name a number of females who were more beautiful. But there was something, some quality that held him as firmly as the bars of Newgate. He knew he loved her. But why?
“I say, Devlin, are you playing?” inquired Sir Humphrey.
“What? Oh, yes, of course.” Drew tried to pay attention to the game, but his mind was soon wandering again.
Finally, Mrs. Hall began another lilting waltz. If he weren’t so far away, he might have swept Jane into his arms, forgetting his resolution to remain aloof. He knew he would have held her much too close. And Jane? Would she have rested her head on his shoulder?
But this was all conjecture, for the squire’s puppy of a son had stammered out his request for Jane’s hand in the waltz. Jane accepted, of course. It was all a polite hostess could do. Yet, as she placed her gloved hands in the young man’s, her green eyes sought out Drew. She smiled. Oh, it was ever so slightly, but Drew knew they had shared one of those silent, intimate moments when two people were so closely attuned that no words are necessary.
He would speak to her that night before he left.
Mrs. Hall abandoned the pianoforte when tea was served, but she promised to play one last waltz afterwards. The perfect opportunity.
Drew moved toward the sofa where Jane chatted with Mary Aubrey and Lydia Ashmore. He accepted the cup of tea Jane offered, but he didn’t interrupt their conversation about indispensable items for setting up one’s household. Giles Stanton and Farley wandered over and engaged him in conversation, but Drew kept an eye on Jane.
Pipkin entered the ballroom, moving silently across the thick carpets to stand behind Jane. She paused and looked up expectantly.