by Lisa Berne
“And me also, Jane?” he asked, rather shyly.
“You also.”
“I missed you like anything. I couldn’t eat because of missing you, and because I have a—” Anthony broke off in surprise. “It’s gone.”
“What’s gone?”
“The nasty truncheon-like feeling in my stomach, taking up all the room in there. By Jove, I’m ravenous.”
“I’ve got some apples I squirreled away.”
“Excellent. I’ve got something too.” Anthony got up and went to his rucksack. He opened the drawstring closure and carefully withdrew a large pasteboard box which he brought over to Jane. “This is for you.” And he saw with the most incredible burst of joy in his heart that she was looking up at him with her gray eyes twinkling in the way he loved so much.
“Is it what I think it is?”
“Yes. To make up for being such a dreadful, selfish, pompous ass that day we said goodbye.”
“Thank you very much, Anthony.” She took the box and put it on her lap, then pulled off the lid. “Oh, they look delicious.”
“Is this gift weakening your resolve?”
“Just a little, but in a good way. Would you bring the apples over? They’re on the table next to my bed.”
So Anthony got the apples and sat down again next to Jane, and together they ate the apples and quite a few chocolates. Jane told him about some of the interesting people she had met, whom she thought he might enjoy meeting also, as well as about some places where they could go with Wakefield. Anthony told her all the local news, and topped it off with the miraculous transformation of Margaret’s cat which had Jane exclaiming in wonder.
“Yes, it purrs like anything now,” said Anthony. “And it seems to have struck up quite a friendship with Snuffles.” He took a bite of apple, chewed, then suddenly said around it:
“Good Lord, I nearly forgot to tell you, Jane. Your great-grandfather’s cure for apple blight worked.”
“It did?” Jane beamed. “How marvelous.”
“Yes, and McTavish is going to try it to get rid of caterpillars in the succession house. Doesn’t it make you wonder if any other of your great-grandfather’s remedies actually work?”
“I can think of something else that did.”
Anthony took another bite of apple. “Really? What is it?”
“Do you remember the title of the chapbook I brought with me from Nantwich? It’s called Four Hundred Practical Aspects of Vinegar As Used to Reduce Corpulence, Purify the Humours, Improve the Complexion, and Attract a Most Desirable Spouse.” She smiled. “Well, and here you are.”
“Jane,” he said, “that’s a dangerous thing to say to a man when you’re wearing such a charming frilly insubstantial thing and with a bed right nearby.”
“Yes, it is tempting, isn’t it?” she agreed, twinkling at him.
“So tempting, in fact, that I probably should go. Will I see you tomorrow?”
“Yes, you will. Could you come by around noon? I’ll talk to Great-grandmother beforehand, but I think the three of us should talk together, too.”
“I’ll be there.”
They stood up, and Jane got him his greatcoat and hat, which he put on, and together they walked to the casement window.
“It’s still raining,” she said. “Will you be able to climb down safely?”
“Yes. Jane, may I kiss you before I go?”
“I was hoping you would.”
“Were you really?”
“Oh, yes.” Jane tilted her beautiful daisy-like face up to him and Anthony didn’t hesitate. He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her, and she brought her arms up and around him too, and kissed him back, and it felt at once entirely familiar and incredibly new, and also wonderful beyond words, and it took the most tremendous amount of will not to pick Jane up and carry her over to that tempting bed and help her off with all her clothes and rip off his own as well, and feast his eyes on every magnificent inch of her (for starters), but if she could have resolve, he decided, he would also.
Finally, reluctantly, he pulled away, and saw with immense satisfaction that Jane was glowing and rather breathless.
“Oh, Anthony,” she said.
“Yes, Jane?”
“Parting is such sweet sorrow.”
“It is, but we’re not going to end up like poor old Romeo and Juliet, that’s for certain. Well, goodnight. I’ll see you tomorrow. I say, that does sound ripping. ‘Tomorrow.’ Or, really, ‘later on today,’ which is even better.”
“Yes, it is.” Jane opened the window and he stepped out onto the balcony, turning once to quickly kiss her again, one more time, and then he slung a leg over the railing, nimbly climbed down, and landed on the pavement stones as neat as a cat.
He glanced up.
There was Jane, smiling down at him, and Anthony felt so happy and so hopeful that he floated back to the Farr townhouse as if on gossamer wings, not caring whether or not he was the worst duke, or only a terrible one, or maybe even, possibly, a mediocre one, because he knew that he was, regardless, the happiest and most hopeful and constant man in the world.
Jane told Great-grandmother the next morning that she and the Duke had come to an understanding. They weren’t betrothed, but they might be. Only time would tell.
Great-grandmother was shocked, and then she was appalled, and then she was bitterly disappointed. She had, she said, wanted someone better for Jane—someone of a much higher caliber, someone of whom Titus would have approved.
Gently Jane replied that while she greatly appreciated Great-grandmother’s ambitions on her behalf, it was, perhaps, worth remembering that Titus himself had pursued his own happiness, regardless of what anyone else might think or say, and wasn’t it possible that he would have wanted his granddaughter to do the same? Besides, she added, if things worked out between herself and the Duke, she’d be living right next door, and wasn’t that better than if she ended up married to someone who lived far to the north of England, or in Europe?
So persuasive was Jane that Henrietta—while not yet reconciled to the possibility of her darling great-granddaughter marrying the Duke—admitted that all this gadding about in search of a worthy match (and especially these past few days) had been a trifle fatiguing, and she would prefer a less hectic schedule that permitted her to take her daily afternoon nap which was always very restorative.
She also confessed to a grudging admiration of the Duke’s daring and resourcefulness in climbing up to Jane’s room, as it was, she said, something that her own dear Richard would have done. She refused to say more on the subject, but Jane did see in her eyes the tiniest spark of a nostalgic smile.
Thus when the Duke arrived promptly at noon, bearing very pretty bouquets for each of them, Great-grandmother received him with a guarded civility, and when eventually he told her about his intention to claim his seat in Parliament, and to try and knock some sense into people’s heads (metaphorically speaking) about the Corn Laws, she was so much in agreement with him that when he rose to his feet to take his leave of them, she actually gave him her hand to kiss. He shot a startled look at Jane, but nonetheless bowed over Great-grandmother’s hand with such courtly old-fashioned grace that later, when the two of them were alone again, Great-grandmother remarked, with elaborate casualness, that although she wished the Duke would tie his neckcloth more carefully, he did have about him a certain air of distinction, and she also recalled that Gabriel had had many positive things to say about the Duke including the fact that he was an excellent landlord to his tenant farmers, knew a great deal about timber management, held all the proper views on drainage trenches, and always donated generously to local causes.
Lady Margaret, Jane remarked back with equal casualness (and also perfect truth), apparently believed that he was the worst duke in the world, and Great-grandmother at once replied that Lady Margaret’s opinion on anything—whether it was about flowers, interior decoration, places in which to hold picnics, or her brother—was deserving
of little to no attention.
Perhaps, Great-grandmother went on, the Duke would care to join them on a little expedition to the Royal Academy of Art, and she would not object if he accompanied them to Carlton House, as she would be glad of his arm to lean on among the crowds which were always so dense and bothersome.
With this Jane was more than satisfied.
The ton was quick to notice that the fascinating Miss Jane Kent, known by one and all to be the apple of her great-grandmother Mrs. Henrietta Penhallow’s eye, was all at once being accompanied everywhere by the equally fascinating Duke of Radcliffe who had never before been seen in London Society.
As the Duke was the possessor of an old and distinguished title, fabulously wealthy, unattached, and in his own unconventional way quite good-looking, he was widely viewed as a stellar new addition to the Marriage Mart and a significant number of ladies privately vowed to set their caps at him.
However, these ladies were destined to be disappointed, for the Duke, while polite, evinced no discernable interest in them as potential objects of his affection, and besides, as soon as his son Wakefield arrived in Town, he—accompanied by Miss Kent—was seen at fewer Society events and more often at venues of interest to children, such as the Egyptian Hall, the famous maze at Hampton Court, the Tower of London, a balloon ascension at Hyde Park, and (several times) at Gunter’s Tea Shop, famous for its pastries, confections, sweetmeats, and ices, where, it was rumored, the three of them racked up some impressively extravagant bills.
Six weeks after his momentous conversation with Jane on that rainy night, Anthony (who had joyfully eaten enough in London to regain all the weight he had lost during his extended period of misery), along with Wakefield and Bunch, returned home to Hastings and to an incredibly emotional reunion (on Wakefield’s part) with all the dogs, but most especially Snuffles, and additionally his aunt Margaret’s cat whom he had given the sobriquet of “Boots” and which the cat seemed to actually respond to from time to time. Jane and her great-grandmother were leaving London shortly as well, only they were stopping in Bath for a fortnight so that Mrs. Penhallow could drink the rejuvenating waters and introduce Jane to all her acquaintance there.
Summer was at its peak of glory, and vigorously Anthony plunged back into his usual pursuits as well as some new ones.
He oversaw the repapering of the wallpaper in the family dining-room (a soft sunny yellow), he personally helped dig some much-needed drainage trenches beyond the southwestern fields, he went fishing with Wakefield and he strode cheerfully up and down the blooming fragrant lime-walk, relishing the complete and entire absence of Margaret’s usual ghastly parade of houseguests.
Moreover, thanks to McTavish’s diligence in applying vinegar treatments the caterpillars in the succession house had been vanquished, the pumpkins in their cozy green patches were growing like anything, and the Duchess, who was continuing to plump up nicely, seemed genuinely glad to see him again, manifesting this by a delightful spate of grunts and the wriggling of her curly pink tail.
Plus, Margaret, who in his extended absence had taken to wearing clothes that were somehow an even blacker shade of black (making Anthony wonder if she wasn’t taking the defection of her cat rather too hard), had regularly been making her way over to the vicarage where she was, according to Wakefield who had winkled the information out of the dour housekeeper Mrs. McKenzie, spending a good deal of time closeted in Mr. Pressley’s study in private conversation, all of which resulted in a curiously subdued demeanor on Margaret’s part and therefore considerably less conflict and hostility at home. Wakefield said to Anthony that Mrs. McKenzie said it all started after Mr. Pressley gave a sermon on the theme of redemption and second chances which had rendered the entire congregation spellbound.
Then Jane came back and things got even better.
Quite often she came over to Hastings with Wakefield after lessons were over, and stayed for luncheon, billiards, strolls about the grounds, and, of course, visits to see the Duchess. Wakefield showed Jane how to play battledores and shuttlecocks (after which the three of them had some very spirited games), and also how to roll a hoop, and she showed them both a couple of deft maneuvers to try when skipping stones at the lake.
Anthony rode over to Surmont Hall quite a bit, where old Mrs. Penhallow had more or less stopped eyeing him satirically, and occasionally he and Jane were able to slip away to some private place where they kissed each other like maniacs.
Summer began to wane.
The days were getting cooler, the pumpkins were getting bigger, and the Duchess was getting fatter.
All signs pointed to a glorious autumn.
Even though he wanted to, and had to repress the impulse many times a day, Anthony never said a word to Jane about his proposal of marriage, hoping that, by word and by deed, she would realize that he was a constant lover. He had wondered, once or twice when he woke up in the dead of night, if there would prove to be some fatal flaw in his character that made it impossible for him to remain steadfast and faithful in his love for Jane, something along the lines of Romeo’s phenomenal stupidity in not poking Juliet with a stick, but as the weeks passed it well and truly became clear that those horribly long months of wretchedness before he had gone to London had taught him a lesson quite thoroughly—one that would last him the rest of his life. About things that really mattered.
And so, when the harvest fête came around, and the Hastings pumpkin lost out, yet again, to Miss Humphrey’s gorgeous Cucurbita pepo, Anthony was able to congratulate her warmly and with only the slightest tinge of envy, and to console the depressed McTavish with an order to tear down Margaret’s ruin which had begun to reek in a very alarming way—a task which cheered McTavish no end, and while he was busy ripping away dead vines, he entertained himself with ambitious plans for next year’s crop of pumpkins and also a new and even more artistic shrub in the shape of Lady Godiva riding on her horse.
To no one’s surprise, the Duchess won the Fattest Pig contest again, receiving the large blue silk ribbon around her enormous neck with such humble radiance that Johns actually burst into tears and then he shook the hands of everyone around him, one of whom happened to be Cremwell the Penhallow pigman, and another of whom happened to be Jane. Johns dabbed at his streaming eyes, loudly blew his nose in a giant handkerchief, and also with humble radiance apologized to her for harboring unjust suspicions, saying that it was redonculous of him and he should have known from the start that she was a good ’un.
Jane graciously accepted his apology, congratulated him on his tremendous win, and went back to eating her large Bath bun which was light and sweet and dotted with caraway seeds.
How beautiful Jane looked, thought Anthony admiringly as he stood next to the Duchess in her clean shining pen. Jane was wearing a forest-green pelisse and a charming high-poke bonnet of the same color; her cheeks were rosy in the cool autumnal breeze and her eyes glowed silver.
Then those beautiful eyes came to meet his and she smiled, and Anthony felt so happy that he had to take a few moments to bask in his own happiness before indicating to Jane, with a subtle gesture to the side of his face, that there was a caraway seed lodged in one corner of her lovely mouth. She licked it away and calmly proceeded to take another bite of her bun.
As for the fiercely contested accolade of Best Flowers, the judges made an unprecedented decision by declaring a tie among Lady Margaret (Siberian irises), Miss Humphrey (delphiniums), and Mrs. Henrietta Penhallow (roses de Provins). To Anthony’s astonishment, he saw that not only was Margaret being civil to Miss Humphrey, she was also wearing a hat he had never seen on her before, a rather dashing dove-gray confection garnished with a frivolous loop of violet ribbon, and when Miss Humphrey complimented her on it, Margaret actually smiled and said thank you very much, and even asked if Miss Humphrey might be willing to share some tips on winter propagation techniques, for which she was much famed throughout the county.
Would wonders never cease, Anthony thought,
and promptly thought it again when five minutes later Mrs. Roger walked past arm-in-arm with her husband and smiled at him, a far cry from the menacing stare with which she had favored him during (as he called it in his mind) his awful Time of the Truncheon, after which he spotted Wakefield rolling a hoop with such newfound dexterity that he rolled it into nothing and no one, a nice change from last year. His eyes met Jane’s again and they shared another smile.
All in all, an absolutely splendid fête.
Chapter 21
Jane scooped up the last of her blancmange and then put her empty bowl and spoon down onto the tray Anthony had ferried over from the house and which lay on a conveniently placed stump near the pig-cote. Anthony was still eating his blancmange, and the Duchess, over at her trough, still had a ways to go on hers, but this was not surprising as Anthony had given her a much larger amount, which seemed only fair since she was much larger than either of them.
“That was delicious,” Jane said, and Anthony looked up from his bowl and smiled at her.
“I’m glad you liked it.”
“Oh, I do. Almost as much as apple puffs.” She leaned her elbows on the stone balustrade of the Duchess’ pen. It was a cold, clear day in February, and a soft blanket of new snow lay on the ground, sparkling a little in the sun. But Jane was warm and snug in her heavy pelisse and cozy hat and sturdy lined half-boots. She watched as the Duchess finally emerged from her stance at the trough, her snout covered in blancmange and looking as peaceful and satisfied as Jane herself had felt after finishing her bowl.
“What are you thinking about?” asked Anthony, and Jane turned her head to look up at him. He had put his own bowl and spoon onto the tray and now stood straight and tall, looking incredibly handsome in his greatcoat and tall hat with the ends of his tawny hair splayed out across his collar. It was strange to remember that when she had first met him—a year ago now—she hadn’t at once found him delightfully attractive. Which just went to say something important about first impressions.