by Jane Ashford
“Since she was staying quietly in the village, I asked her to come along and help stave off the Wandrells.”
“And none of you thought to mention her background to me?”
“I said I would tell you,” Jean replied. “I meant to. Then I was distracted by…other things.”
Those seductive other things were plain in her eyes. Benjamin acknowledged that the distraction had been significant. Still, the fact that he’d been left out, in his own house, stung. Particularly where Jean was concerned.
“It was designed as a temporary measure,” said his uncle. “A stopgap. I didn’t realize we’d have an active…adversary. If I had…” The older man shrugged. “Well, I don’t know what I would have done in that case. I thought matters would be settled in a few days.”
“Matters?” asked Mrs. Thorpe.
Lord Macklin indicated the younger couple with a sidelong glance. Mrs. Thorpe nodded.
Benjamin couldn’t quite sort out what he was feeling. “I ought to have been told,” he said, gazing at Jean as he spoke.
“I didn’t not tell you. I forgot.”
She sounded defensive rather than sorry. This bothered Benjamin more than Mrs. Thorpe’s profession.
“I was so concerned that the absence of a chaperone would cause spiteful gossip,” said his uncle. “Perhaps I acted too hastily.”
“No one in the village knows who I am,” said Mrs. Thorpe. “Your neighbor won’t easily find out. Though I’m happy to go, naturally, if you like.”
Which would only rouse more questions, Benjamin thought, and bring back their original problem. “We’ll leave things as they are.” He didn’t wish to discuss the flaws in his uncle’s plan. He hadn’t examined it very closely, after all. He, too, had been distracted. By a love that apparently could hurt as well as delight.
Seventeen
In her bedchamber, Jean waited with vast impatience for the house to go quiet. She wanted, needed, to be alone with Benjamin, and there had been no opportunity after Mrs. Thorpe’s secret came out. People would keep on talking, quite uselessly, not going away and leaving them to each other. It might have driven Jean distracted if she hadn’t had her own methods in mind. Which were much better anyway, she thought. They would have all the time, and privacy she desired.
After what seemed an eternity, Jean opened her door, listened to silence, and slipped into the corridor. She reached Benjamin’s room without incident, knocked, and went in without waiting for a reply.
He stood beside the bed, still dressed in shirt and breeches, about to put on his nightshirt. For a long moment, they simply looked at each other.
“I’m sorry,” said Jean. “I didn’t say that earlier. I should have.”
Benjamin gazed at her. In the flickering candlelight, he looked more than ever like the stained-glass Galahad she’d thought of when she first saw him. His—still unshorn—hair contributed to the impression, she realized. “We’ve told each other secrets,” he said.
“We have.” She’d revealed things to him that no one else on Earth knew about her.
“We’ve shared opinions freely.”
“Extremely freely, at times.”
This won her a tiny smile. “So I was…startled to find that you’d kept a rather significant fact from me.”
Jean didn’t say again that she’d simply forgotten. She didn’t even argue that the discovery of love had thrust Mrs. Thorpe right out of her mind. Though quite true, these were not the point. “I don’t blame you,” she replied. “I’d feel the same—or worse, probably—if our positions were reversed. I made a mistake. I’ll do my best never to repeat it.” She put all her tender feelings for him into the words.
Benjamin’s expression shifted. “In the future,” he said.
“The future, yes.” She drew out that last word.
He blinked, dark lashes obscuring, then revealing those wonderful blue-gray eyes. What Jean saw in them made her heart pound. He took a visible breath. “You shouldn’t be here,” he said.
“You don’t sound positive.”
“Because I’m so very glad you are. Though I shouldn’t be.”
“I’m very tired of shouldn’t.”
“Mustn’t,” he said.
“Can’t,” she countered.
“Won’t,” he replied with a wry smile. “I’m particularly tired of won’t.”
“Ah, but I came to tell you something else as well.”
“What?”
Now that the moment was upon her, Jean felt shy. Or worse, she felt as if she was teetering on the edge of a cliff and didn’t know whether a hand would reach out to catch her. But she was also determined to move forward into that future they’d mentioned, one way or another. She gathered her courage. “I love you,” she said.
He stood still just long enough for her to worry. Then he surged forward and swept her into his arms. “I love you,” he said. “Desperately.”
The only answer to that was kisses. A flurry, a submergence of kisses.
And then there were garments to shed and bed linens to throw back. They practically leapt into the great bed together, where they indulged in more kisses and caresses and murmured endearments that fired desire. And thus they led each other, step by step, from longing to aching need to a crescendo of release. “My love,” exclaimed Benjamin as he held her.
“My love,” she agreed breathlessly.
They lay sated and entwined as their heartbeats gradually slowed. The details of the room came back into focus—the candlelight, the cool air, and the scent of potpourri.
“So I accept,” Jean said.
“Accept what?” he asked lazily.
“Your offer.”
He rose on one elbow to look down at her.
“I assume it’s still good.”
He thought of teasing her, but he was too distracted by delight. “Absolutely.”
“You might say it again. Bits of it were a little…slipshod.”
“Shall I kneel?” He would have hung from the canopy and sung the words in verse if she wished it.
They both peered over the edge of the great bed. “It’s rather high,” Jean said.
“I’m not certain my head would reach the top of the bedding.”
“I’d have to bend over to see you. Not the picture of a proposal one wants to remember.”
“So I’m all right where I am?”
Jean nestled against him. “Perfectly.”
“And will you do me the honor of being my wife?”
“Yes,” she said.
He could hardly believe it. But there’d been no trace of doubt in her voice.
“I won’t promise to obey you though,” Jean added.
“I wouldn’t believe you if you did.”
She raised her eyebrows at him. “Are you saying I would break my word?”
“I’m saying that you should not be subjected to the dilemma. We will omit the word ‘obey’ from the ceremony.”
“If the parson will let us.”
“I’ll find one who will.”
“You are quite wonderful, aren’t you?”
“I’ll try to make certain you always think so.”
Jean settled more closely in the crook of his arm. “But we mustn’t think each other perfection. Mrs. Thorpe says that’s infatuation, not love.”
Benjamin couldn’t resist. “A sage as well as an actress, is she?”
His new fiancée made a face at him.
“Something to watch out for,” he went on. “I’m well aware that you’re not perfect, however.”
“Are you indeed?” Jean pretended indignation, but she was far too happy to be convincing.
Benjamin smiled down at her. “You sometimes make hasty judgments.”
“Well, you’re stubborn.”
“T
rue. Not as stubborn as your hair, however.” He ran his fingers through one wild, curling strand.
“My hair is not my fault!”
“Your hair is magnificent.”
“You wouldn’t say so if you had to keep it in order.”
“Yes I would. And will…always.”
“You’re argumentative,” said Jean with a smile.
“I admit it.” He smiled back. “It seems we’re safe from the perils of infatuation.”
“Whatever they may be.”
“Disappointment, I imagine.”
“Disillusionment.”
“A better word.”
“Thank you.”
He laughed and kissed her, and then there was no more conversation for quite some time.
• • •
Benjamin and Jean met at breakfast the following morning as if nothing in particular had happened during the night. They’d agreed that news of their coming alliance must be conveyed to one person first, before any other announcement could be made.
“What if he objects?” asked Jean as they walked up the stairs together after their meal.
“He won’t,” replied Benjamin.
“You can’t be sure. He’s unpredictable. If he doesn’t want me here—”
“I think he does.” Benjamin held up a hand to forestall any further objections. “You’ve changed his life as much as mine. Geoffrey is uncannily intelligent. He must know this. We will—the three of us—overcome any difficulties.”
“Without…oppression.”
“Absolutely.”
They didn’t find Geoffrey in the nursery, however. Lily was alone there, rearranging the clutter of books and toys on a tall shelf.
“Hello, Lily,” said Jean.
The girl jumped, dropping a book and putting a hand to her chest. “Beg pardon, I didn’t hear you, my lord, miss.” She picked up the book and gestured with it. “I’m tidying up. I expect this Miss Warren’ll think I’m hopeless. Probably send me off to work in the scullery.” Her young face creased with anxiety.
“I’m sure she’ll be glad of your help,” said Jean. For a moment she worried about Lily’s fate. Then she realized, with a flicker of surprise, that it was in her hands as the new mistress of Furness Hall. She hadn’t gotten used to that idea yet. “You’ll be all right,” she said. Lily couldn’t know this was a promise, but Jean did.
“Where’s Geoffrey?” asked Benjamin.
“He and Tom went down to the stables. Cook let them have some carrots.” Lily clutched the book. “Master Geoffrey said she did. He might have stole them.”
“We’ll go and find him there,” said Benjamin. With a nod, he led Jean out. “I’ll be glad to have someone more capable in charge of the nursery,” he added when they were out of earshot. “Clearly the post is beyond her.”
“Lily stepped in to help when no one else would,” Jean replied. “She’s eager and hardworking. I shall tell Miss Warren so and ask her to train Lily for larger opportunities.”
Benjamin stopped and looked at her. He stood on a lower stair, so their eyes were on a level.
“What?” Her expression was quizzical.
“I suddenly saw that future we spoke of, opening up like a panorama before me. And I felt such…surprise and delight.”
She nodded, throat suddenly tight with emotion.
He laughed and embraced her, lifting her to her toes on the step. “Let’s get on with it,” he said, taking her hand and pulling her along.
In the stables, they found Geoffrey talking to Fergus while Tom groomed Molly nearby. Any carrots, stolen or otherwise, had already been consumed. “Come and take a walk with us,” Benjamin said to his son.
Geoffrey gazed up at him. “I didn’t do anything.”
“Unlikely. But this isn’t about you.”
“It’s about all of us,” Jean said.
The boy looked from one of them to the other. “Can Fergus come?”
“Not this time.” Benjamin held out his hand. Geoffrey slowly took it and allowed himself to be led outside. They crossed the cobbled yard and entered the garden.
“They were old carrots,” said Geoffrey. “From the back of the root cellar. Wi-zened. Tom said they were wi-zened and only fit for horses.”
“I expect Fergus enjoyed them,” said Jean.
“We gave Molly some, too.”
“Good.”
Benjamin stopped at a stone bench. He sat and drew Geoffrey to him. “We have some news to tell you,” he said. “Miss Saunders and I are getting married.”
Jean sat as well. It was better not to loom over a child.
Geoffrey looked at her, then back at his father.
“That means she’ll stay here and live with us,” Benjamin added.
“She’ll be your wife,” said the boy. “Like when Wright got married.”
“And Jemina came to live in the gamekeeper’s cottage,” Benjamin agreed.
“Will there be a baby like Tess?”
Jean’s cheeks heated, but Benjamin took the question in stride. “There might be, after a while,” he said. “We hope there will be. A sister or brother for you. Perhaps more than one.”
“But you will always be the eldest and very much attended to and loved,” said Jean. “We want you to be happy, Geoffrey.”
He considered this. “I’d rather have a brother.”
Benjamin smiled. “We’ll do our best, but we can’t make any guarantee. A sister is a distinct possibility.”
The boy’s nod was resigned, as if he’d expected no more. Then he brightened. “Can I have the kitten then?”
And with this, it seemed the hurdle was passed. Geoffrey’s expression was calculating but untroubled.
“We’ll share Tab,” said Jean.
“In the nursery,” he answered, bargaining.
The cat needed more space, Jean thought. She continually felt guilty shutting the door in his face when she left her bedchamber. And she was going to be busier from now on. Tab would enjoy the nursery. She’d make sure Geoffrey treated him well. “Yes,” she said.
Geoffrey grinned.
Benjamin rose. She followed suit. Geoffrey scampered ahead as they walked back toward the stables. “Does he think he traded approval of our marriage for the cat?” Benjamin asked.
“It almost seemed so.”
“Cheap at the price,” he joked.
She wrinkled her nose at him. “At least he looked pleased.”
“He would be stupid not to be, and Geoffrey is anything but stupid.”
They found Lord Macklin and Mrs. Thorpe and gave them the good news, with predictably celebratory results. Benjamin announced it to the rest of the household later that day. “Send someone over to the Wandrells and tell them,” he instructed the housekeeper after general congratulations.
“So soon?” Jean asked.
“We must share our happiness with our nearest neighbors,” Benjamin replied. His uncle and Mrs. Thorpe nodded. “And discourage any more evening visits. Or research projects.”
A messenger was dispatched, and wine and ale broken out to toast the new mistress. Word would be spreading across the estate, Benjamin thought, like ripples in a pond. Most people would be glad, though none as glad as he was. He began calculating how long it would be before he could get Jean all to himself again.
It turned out to be hours. But at last they slipped away to the library, nestling on the settee where they had kissed when barely acquainted. Benjamin kissed his new fiancée now and would kiss her again, he thought, at every opportunity.
“Do you think Anna Wandrell will be made unhappy by our engagement?” Jean asked after a while.
“I never gave her any reason to be,” he said.
“That is an evasive answer.”
“Mrs. Wandrell will b
e angry.” He repeated the tale Teddy Wandrell had told him. “And so I suppose she’ll scold Anna. Even though Anna did nothing wrong.”
“We must do something to help her!”
“I don’t see what we can do. I imagine they’ll settle the matter between themselves.”
“You refuse to fight oppression?”
“A strong word.”
Jean pulled away from him, spine rigid, eyes flashing. “Not strong enough! When a parent becomes a tyrant, something should be done. Why should they have absolute power over their children? It’s a disgrace.” She went on in this vein for a while. Gradually her outrage cooled. “You’re very quiet,” she noted then.
“Letting you have your say.”
“You think I’m exaggerating.”
“About Anna Wandrell, yes. Her mother may be irascible, but Anna has endured no more than many young ladies whose families are looking to settle their futures. And I suspect her brother will take her side. Her father, too, perhaps.”
“She shouldn’t need defenders. And she should be able to choose her destiny. And how it is to be achieved.”
“That is a rare gift which very few people are granted. And not only young ladies.”
Jean drooped a little. “I suppose that’s true. But how many even try?”
“Well, they don’t have your resolution. Very few could march in here the way you did and capture me.”
“I did no such thing!”
“You scooped me up like an expert angler landing a trout.”
“Leaving you flopping about and gasping for breath?”
“Certainly gasping,” he replied.
His look made her flush. “It wasn’t like that.”
“Well, I may have helped out here and there. I was certainly happy to…capitulate.”
“That’s what you call it?”
“Unconditional surrender.”
The tender way he said this caused a prolonged pause in the conversation. Some minutes later, Jean surfaced, breathless, pushing back the curls that had fallen over her forehead. “We were talking of overbearing parents.”
“Were we? Surely not.” He pulled her closer.
“Well, we began there.”
“And moved on to more pleasurable matters,” he interrupted, dropping another kiss on her intrepid hair.