by Brenda Hiatt
Nessa knew Philip’s eagerness stemmed from his wish to protect his wife, but she felt the tiniest bit hurt nonetheless. Did he want her out of their house so badly as all that? But then she considered the rest of what he’d said.
Tame Jack’s remaining wild tendencies? If he truly had any left, her preference would be to coax them back into full vigor. This promised to be a most interesting engagement, whatever befell.
Chapter Nine
Jack hummed to himself as he mounted the stairs to his bedchamber. The evening had gone surprisingly well, all things considered. For a while he thought he’d ruined everything, but it had turned out right after all.
“Congratulate me, Parker,” he greeted his waiting valet. “I am betrothed.”
Though betraying no real surprise, Parker regarded him closely for a moment before responding. Then, breaking into a wide smile, he heartily congratulated his employer. “I am truly happy for you, my lord.”
It was Jack’s turn to attempt deciphering Parker’s visage, but with as little success as usual. “So you think I’ve done the right thing, do you?”
“I do, my lord. I feared for a moment that you had been too precipitate, but I see now it is not the case.”
“How the devil can you know that?” Jack demanded. “I met the woman less than a month ago, after all.”
Parker merely smiled and proceeded to help him out of his coat, but Jack felt oddly reassured. He could not recall a time in their long acquaintance when Parker’s judgment had been faulty.
Lord Peter and Harry presented themselves at Foxhaven House at the unheard-of hour of ten o’clock the next morning, eager for news.
“ ’Sdeath, Harry, did Peter have to drag you from your bed to have you here so early? Get yourself some coffee from the sideboard.”
Harry, decidedly groggy, complied. “Don’t know why Pete couldn’t have told me whatever news after he had it. Rising early ain’t good for my constitution, I’m sure of it. So what is it? Do you leave for Paris in the morning?”
Helping himself to a cup of coffee as well, Lord Peter turned toward Jack with interest. “I scarcely slept for the anticipation, Jack. Out with it!”
Jack leaned back in his chair, extending his legs toward the library hearth. “Both of you clearly need more to occupy your time—and minds. To think that my small doings should hold such fascination for two such purportedly worldly gentlemen …”
The worldly gentlemen advanced menacingly toward him, and he threw up a hand. “Very well, very well. No need to douse me with hot liquids. Lady Haughton and I are betrothed, with the wedding to take place before Yuletide. Satisfied?”
The two faces before him were a study in contrasts, Harry’s evincing distaste and pity, Lord Peter’s disbelieving joy. The latter spoke first.
“Congratulations, old fellow! I knew you had it in you. Well done!” He clasped Jack’s hand and pumped it heartily.
But Harry shook his head gloomily and dropped into a chair. “I was afraid it would come to this. Really going to go through with it, are you? Set up a nursery, the whole bit?”
That thought hadn’t occurred to Jack before, and sobered him abruptly. A nursery? Children? Him, a father? It seemed awfully unlikely, somehow—not to mention more responsibility than he’d bargained for, far outstripping the others that went with his title.
“I, er, yes. I suppose so,” he said lamely. “The announcement may not appear in the papers for a day or two, so I’d prefer you keep the news to yourselves until then, by the way.”
“So, Jack, tell us how you pulled it off,” prompted Lord Peter, pulling a chair close. “I take it your blackmail, whatever it was, was effective?”
Harry raised an eyebrow at that, his interest reviving. “Blackmail, say you? There’s a new courtship technique.”
But Jack shook his head, cursing himself for ever using the word aloud. “Merely a figure of speech, Peter. Oddly enough, Lady Mountheath made herself useful in my cause.”
“What? She never—” began Lord Peter.
“Not intentionally, I assure you. She was apparently rude to Lady Creamcroft on account of her sister’s choice of dancing partners. I managed to parlay Lady Haughton’s anxiety for her sister’s social standing into an agreement to marry me, that is all.” Jack hoped they would be satisfied with that, but he was not to be so fortunate.
“Just like that?” Peter was openly suspicious. “She insisted upon no conditions? No unusual promises?”
Jack grinned, remembering. “Actually, she did.” The moment the words were out, he regretted them, but now he was forced to elaborate. “She, ah, wants me to teach her to waltz.”
“What else?” his friends said together.
“There are times it is damned inconvenient to have close friends,” Jack observed. “There are things a man prefers to keep private, you know.”
“Oh, come, Jack!” Peter protested. “We’ve been with you on this campaign from the outset. Surely we deserve the details of the final coup.”
Now Jack felt distinctly embarrassed, but had to agree he owed that much to his compatriots. “All right, then. I promised not to dictate to her, or leave her alone in the country. It would seem old Haughton was quite the bully, judging by her disinclination to remarry. I’ve no doubt if I were to begin ordering her about she would cry off at once.”
Harry brightened at once. “By Jove, a loophole! Well done, old boy! You can get your inheritance before the wedding, then play the tyrant, eh? I should have known that if anyone could devise a way to have his cake and eat it too, it’d be Jack Ashecroft!” He rose to bow in tribute, spilling the last drops of his coffee on the thick Turkish carpet in the process.
Lord Peter frowned. “That’s not your intent, is it? To have her cry off before the wedding? Paris—”
“What would he want with a wife in Paris?” demanded Harry with a laugh. “If Old Nosey had asked me, I’d have gone like a shot. I hear there’s a grand time to be had. Don’t have the blunt handy to go on my own, or I’d be there now.”
“I don’t doubt it,” said Lord Peter in obvious disgust. “You’d happily drink and wench yourself to death, and be found in some gutter within a sixmonth.”
Harry grinned. “Wouldn’t I, though? And what a way to go! I’d thought to do it here in London, only Jack stopped giving his parties too soon. You’ll need to celebrate your betrothal, though, eh?” He turned hopefully to his host.
But Jack was lost in thought. Did he want to go through with the wedding? Harry was right that he might possibly implement his original plan without doing so. Surely he should snatch at the chance. His freedom had always been very precious to him. All he’d have to do was give Nessa a disgust of him. Merely tossing a few orders her way would no doubt do the trick. After all, it appeared she valued her own freedom as much as he did his. So why should he find such a plan so distasteful?
“Jack?” Harry prompted.
Prodded out of his reverie, Jack shook his head. “The whole plan hinges upon my behaving myself till Christmas, remember? A betrothal orgy hardly qualifies. If I give a party, it’ll be of a more respectable sort—though you’ll still have ample access to my cellars, Harry, so not to worry.”
Harry looked only partially mollified. Lord Peter did not appear pleased at all, however.
“Is that the way of it then, Jack? You don’t mean to go through with the actual wedding?”
Jack met his friend’s eyes and saw the concern in them. “I had planned to carry it out. In fact, I rather doubt old Havershaw will release the trust if I don’t. If he could be convinced, though …”
“Then don’t let Harry’s blather dissuade you,” said Peter firmly—as firmly as Jack had heard him speak since selling out his commission. “If your inclination is to marry Lady Haughton, then you should do it. Have to marry sometime anyway, for the succession. Do you honestly think you can do better?”
He was certain he couldn’t. But could Nessa?
“You’ll wi
sh to write to the present Lord Haughton and to our Cousin Filmore before sending an announcement to the papers, will you not?”
Nessa looked up from her breakfast to regard her sister with raised brows. “Whatever for? I scarcely need the permission of either to wed. I’ve only met Lord Haughton’s nephew once, at the funeral, and Cousin Filmore has shown little interest in how I go on, for all he holds my purse strings.”
Though her husband had left a tidy sum to Nessa, rather to her surprise, he had left it under Lord Cherryhurst’s control—a circumstance that had no doubt irritated Lord Haughton’s heir as much as it had Nessa. Once she married, however, Lord Cherryhurst’s—and Lord Haughton’s—last vestige of control over her would vanish. Regaining control of her fortune had played a large part in her decision—not that Jack needed to know that, of course.
“It simply seems the proper way to go about things,” argued Prudence. “Surely there is no great hurry to make an announcement, so you and Lord Foxhaven will hardly be inconvenienced by observing such a protocol.”
“That’s very thoughtful of you, Prudence, considering that our announcement will likely deflect the gossips’ attention.” Nessa hoped that consideration might moderate Prudence’s resistance to the match. “However, as Lord Foxhaven and I are agreed on a December wedding, I’d really prefer not to wait. I can send notice to both gentlemen in the same post which carries the announcement to the papers.”
But Prudence fixed on only one portion of her reply. “December! This very December that is but a few weeks distant? Oh, Nessa, surely not!”
“Lord Foxhaven wishes me to spend the Christmas season at Fox Manor,” Nessa explained reasonably, but without regard to her betrothed’s true plans, whatever they might be. “We saw no reason to delay the match, once we had agreed it should take place.”
Prudence was clearly aghast, however. “But … but Nessa, only think! You’ll have no time to shop properly for a trousseau, or to arrange for an engagement party without conflicting with other entertainments. And I’m certain you do not wish Society to think that you are rushing into marriage.”
This last, Nessa knew, was the real concern. “ ’Twill be six weeks at least between the announcement and the wedding, Prudence. No one will suspect it to be … necessary, with a delay of that length.”
Her sister flushed scarlet and groped for her fan at such plain speaking, even if it was what she’d been hinting at.
Nessa gave her a moment to compose herself, then continued. “The primary reason for haste—surely one which Society will approve—is that Jack, I mean Lord Foxhaven, has been asked to join the court of King Louis XVIII in Paris as soon as possible. He wishes us to marry first, that I may accompany him. Given that, I cannot think anyone will find our haste unseemly. ’Tis a great honor, after all!” she finished grandly, striving to convince herself as much as her sister.
Prudence appeared suitably impressed by this final argument. “I suppose … Has he really been bidden to the Royal Court?”
“By the Duke of Wellington himself,” Nessa affirmed.
“Oh, my.” Prudence was visibly impressed. “I knew that Lord Foxhaven was a war hero, but I hadn’t realized—that is—but of course he mustn’t refuse. Are you certain you wish to go to Paris, however, Nessa? ’Tis said the Society there is most indecorous.”
“Is it?” she asked with interest.
Prudence nodded, but with obvious reluctance. “I’ll not repeat most of what I have heard, of course, but shocking tales have been drifting back from Paris since the summer. Lord Foxhaven will be right at home, I should think.” She primmed her lips. “But you, Nessa, must be very much on your guard. Truly, I cannot imagine what Papa would have said.”
To forestall another homily, Nessa changed the subject. “I meant to ask you last night, Prudence. Where did you and Philip go when you disappeared during the Hightower’s ball?”
Her sister flushed scarlet and began to stammer something about fresh air. Nessa grinned, but by the time Prudence concluded her disjointed explanation, her mind was busy with other possibilities. If the stories of Paris were true, a stay there could be the very thing to introduce her to a wider—and wilder—world. Perhaps this marriage would not be so unpleasant after all.
Only half an hour after Prudence had read the announcement aloud to Nessa over their breakfast table the next morning, Jack presented himself at the door.
“I’ve come to take my bride-to-be driving,” he explained, smiling past Prudence to Nessa in the way that quickened her pulse. “I thought perhaps she might wish to have a hand in the selection of her engagement ring.”
That sobered Nessa at once, bringing as it did a sense of finality and … bondage. Prudence, however, was most agreeable.
“How kind of you, my lord. I take it there is no family piece you wish her to wear?”
He shook his head with a rueful smile. “ ’Tis still in my mother’s possession, and I fear she’d not take kindly to my reclaiming it. I suppose I should write her, on the off chance that she’ll offer, but it’s an antique-looking thing anyway. At the very least, it would have to be reset, and I wish Nessa to have a bauble to display at once.”
No doubt he meant it as a compliment, but to Nessa both his words and the meaning look he sent her smacked of possessiveness. Again, she felt the walls of a prison closing in on her, and it was all she could do to smile back.
“You have not written your mother of your betrothal?” Prudence exclaimed, missing the interchange. “Oh, my lord, you must do so without delay! Whatever will she think, that we were so forward as to publish an announcement without her knowledge!”
Jack merely shrugged. “I doubt she’ll know, as she never reads the papers when she’s in the country. And even if she did … well, I cannot imagine that it would concern her unduly.”
Nessa regarded him curiously. Clearly he and his mother were not on good terms, but just as clearly—to her, at least—the estrangement was painful to him, though he hid it well. She really knew very little about this man she was pledged to marry.
“Pray get a note off to her today, my lord,” Prudence urged, still distressed. “Women care more about such matters than men realize, I assure you.”
“Very well, I promise to do so. And now, my betrothed, if you will fetch your wrap, we can be on our way.”
Despite her earlier misgivings, Nessa could not but be flattered by his apparently affectionate attention. Of course, it could all be a ruse, for Prudence’s sake … She hurried to get her cloak.
Jack had brought a closed carriage today, as the weather had turned damp and chilly with the approach of November. “I thought we’d begin at New Bond Street, progress to Old, then finish up in Piccadilly,” he explained as they settled themselves inside.
“Goodness! All of that shopping for a single ring?”
The intimacy of the smile he sent her made Nessa catch her breath. “I had a few other things in mind, as well. You’ll want to be well outfitted for Paris, I doubt not. Besides, this will give me a chance to show you off to the fashionable world.”
Nessa bristled at once. “I am not a possession to be displayed for the envy of others, and then tucked safely away in a box,” she warned him.
“Who said anything about possessions or boxes?” He seemed genuinely startled by her response.
Realizing that she had overreacted, she tried, somewhat haltingly, to explain. “Forgive me. But it has been my experience that many husbands treat their wives so—as pretty baubles to wear on their arms in public, and to lock away when not in use. Not an enjoyable existence for the bauble, I assure you.”
Jack frowned. “I had never thought of it in that way, but you are right. Many men do behave so. I begin to perceive your reluctance to remarry.” His eyes searched her face, and she felt it grow warm under his examination. “Will it help if I promise never to regard you as a possession? For I do not, Nessa, truly.”
She met his eyes. “As what do you regard me?”
She held her breath, waiting for his answer.
“A person in your own right,” he replied, “with a mind and will of your own. Rather a strong will, I might add.” His eyes were twinkling now, and she felt her own expression soften in response.
She had hoped he would say he regarded her as an equal, but of course that was absurd. No man ever considered his wife so, not even those who, like Philip, clearly loved their mates. And from what Nessa had seen of fashionable ladies, she could scarcely say they were in the wrong. She inclined her head. “Very well, my lord, that will do—for now.”
A few moments later the carriage pulled to a stop before one of the premier jewelers in London. The experience of selecting her own jewelry was a novel one for Nessa, and she enjoyed it thoroughly. As she tried on the third ring, a large rectangular diamond surrounded by tiny sapphires, she realized that she was the only woman in the shop. Jack was according her an honor—and freedom—very few enjoyed. Gratitude colored the smile she gave him.
“Is that the one, then?” He returned her look warmly.
“Oh!” She looked down again at the ring she wore. “No, ’tis still a bit flashy for my taste, I believe. Perhaps that one, there, with the smaller stone?”
“But my lady,” the jeweler protested, “a man of Lord Foxhaven’s consequence will surely wish—”
“That smaller one,” said Jack decisively, cutting him off. “She is the one who will wear it, not I. What have my wishes to do with it?”
Trying on the smaller diamond, Nessa felt an unexpected lightness of heart. Jack had passed his first test with flying colors.
Soon after, Nessa left the jeweler’s with a lovely but tasteful diamond solitaire on her finger. They progressed down Bond Street on foot, the coachman having been given instructions to pace them. A few shops down, Jack purchased a silk scarf for Nessa, again of her own choosing. She was finding him a far more pleasant shopping companion than her sister.