by Brenda Hiatt
“Nessa, did you hear me?” Prudence sounded mildly exasperated.
Blinking, Nessa realized she’d forgotten her sister’s presence during her musings. “I’m sorry. What did you say?
“I was merely asking whether you wished to take a light luncheon before we begin our shopping.” She smiled. “You truly must hold Lord Foxhaven in affection to be daydreaming about him only moments after he has gone.”
Nessa only wished her thoughts had been so agreeably employed.
Shopping distracted Nessa from her fears to a great extent, and for the next few weeks she was able to immerse herself in fabrics, lace, ribbons, stockings, and buttons. Prudence appeared to enjoy the process nearly as much as she did, and Nessa made certain her sister added more touches of color to her own wardrobe with her occasional purchases.
Oddly, Nessa felt less inclined toward flamboyance than she had during her first post-mourning shopping spree, though she still tended toward cheerful shades. The gowns she bought now were respectable, but definitely not dull. In fact, more than one modiste complimented her on her keen fashion sense.
Leaving a milliner’s shop about a week after Jack’s departure, she and Prudence encountered Amanda Leverton, who eagerly accepted an invitation to accompany them home for tea.
“I wish to thank you for your kind note of congratulations,” Nessa told her as they arrived back at the Creamcrofts’. Other than that formal little message, she’d heard nothing from Miss Leverton since her betrothal, and had wondered how she and her brother had taken the news.
Amanda’s smile did not quite reach her eyes. “I did not wish you to think Sir Hadley or I might think the less of you, though you did raise his hopes briefly. We realize now, of course, that you and he would not have suited.”
“Of course,” Nessa murmured, hoping her amusement did not show. “I’m pleased that I was not an instrument of pain to Sir Hadley.” She had suspected from the start that his affection was more for her inheritance than her person.
Prudence, meanwhile, had rung for the tea tray and now bade them be seated in the drawing room. Nessa thought her sister looked a bit wary of Miss Leverton, but she was determined that she would cause Prudence no distress. That this was her object soon became apparent.
“Lady Haughton, as your erstwhile advisor, I feel obligated to give you my thoughts on your impending nuptials,” she announced as she took her chair.
Nessa shot a reassuring smile Prudence’s way before replying. “I am all eagerness to hear them, of course.”
“You will both forgive me, I know, for speaking frankly,” she informed them. “Word of Lord Foxhaven’s deplorable reputation must surely have come to your ears by now, so that will be no news. I hope to advise you on how to achieve the maximum happiness that can reasonably be expected in marriage to such a one as he.”
Nessa considered telling the presumptuous wretch to leave, but knew that would embarrass Prudence more than anything this woman might have to say. So she smiled instead, with dangerous sweetness. “How very generous of you to concern yourself so with my happiness.”
“Just so.” Oblivious as ever, Amanda’s smile held more than a hint of self-satisfaction. “My dear Lady Haughton, however great the temptation, you must never attempt to compete with your husband’s various paramours. No, nor even acknowledge that you are aware of their existence. Determined ignorance can be a wife’s best friend in such circumstances.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Nessa saw Prudence’s fan fluttering at a great pace, but she faced her adversary without flinching. “I can certainly see how such advice would benefit yourself, were you in my situation, and therefore I thank you kindly for it. I have noted, however, that many wives who follow your recommended course of action seem far from content in their marriages. You will forgive me then, I know, if I choose my own path in this matter. I have, after all, been married before.”
Miss Leverton appeared momentarily speechless at this startling evidence that Nessa had a mind of her own. Prudence, much to Nessa’s surprise, filled the silence.
“Of course my sister must do as she thinks best. I cannot help but find your counsel on such a matter ill advised, Miss Leverton, as well as impertinent. Whether you are motivated by jealousy or disappointment on your brother’s behalf, I’m afraid I cannot allow you to speak so beneath my roof.”
Amanda rose hastily, her face flaming. “I beg your pardon, indeed, Lady Creamcroft. I have just remembered an engagement elsewhere.”
“You’d best hurry, then,” replied Prudence, her tone as bland as her expression. Amanda Leverton hastened from the room.
When the front door was heard to close behind her, Nessa began to chuckle. “Oh, well done, Prudence! And to think I restrained myself from throwing her out to spare your sensibilities.”
A small smile hovered at the corners of Prudence’s lips, quickly suppressed. “ ’Twas not your place to do so, as this is my home. Her behavior was inexcusable, however, so I had no such compunction. Impudent upstart! I hope you will not allow her words to carry any weight with you, Nessa, and I apologize for ever suggesting that her advice might be of help to you.”
Inordinately pleased to discover that her sister had such backbone, at least when her sense of propriety was offended, Nessa gave her a quick hug. “I know you meant it for the best, Prudence. Let us say no more about it. And now, what say you to a few hands of piquet before we dress for dinner?”
Chapter Twelve
It was a blustery day in early December. Cloud shadows scudded across gently rolling fields as the carriage bore Nessa southeastward—to the next stage of her life. Kent’s reputation as “the garden of England” was scarcely apparent at this season, though it did seem a kinder landscape than Worcestershire, where she’d grown up.
“We must be nearly there,” commented Prudence, sitting across from her. “How fortunate for Lord Foxhaven to have his estates such a comfortable distance from London.”
Nessa had to agree. Even if Jack did leave her here alone, contrary to his promise, she’d feel far less isolated than she had in Warwickshire, knowing that London was but a few hours away.
The carriage slowed, then turned down a smooth drive between two imposing stone gateposts. Peering ahead, Nessa caught her breath. A single shaft of sunlight escaped from the hurrying clouds to illuminate the loveliest edifice she had ever seen. Situated on a slight rise, lovingly sculpted of mellow, rose-hued stone, Fox Manor dominated the surrounding landscape like a benign matriarch smiling upon her extended family.
A little village nestled cozily in a dell half a mile away, stone walls and thatched roofs gleaming cleanly in the brief sunshine. Even the cows in a nearby byre yard looked happy and wholesome. What a contrast to Haughton Abbey or Cherry Oaks, with walls and villages both grimed by the continual smoke from nearby chimney stacks.
Clouds covered the sun again, but that first impression kept Nessa’s spirits from reflecting the comparative bleakness of the now-dull December day. Surely that sunbeam on her first glimpse of her new home was a hopeful omen?
“Why, what a lovely house and park!” Prudence exclaimed.
“I perceive Inigo Jones’ influence in the design,” agreed Philip, pointing out the subdued classical touches ornamenting the three-storied house with its square towers at each corner.
Nessa scarcely heard this brief lesson in architectural history, however, besieged as she was with a sudden attack of shyness at seeing Jack again after a month apart. In another few moments the carriage swept to a stop before the columned portico. Fortifying herself with a deep breath, Nessa allowed her brother-in-law to help her to the graveled drive.
The house was even more imposing at close quarters, though still lovely. Somehow, she’d received the impression from Jack that Fox Manor was a modest country house—which it certainly was not! The double front doors opened, and the owner’s approach cut short her musings on his house.
“Welcome to Fox Manor,” Jack greeted them
with a bow and a flourish. “You’ve made good time, I see. Come inside and get warm.” He sent Nessa a meaning glance, though clearly his words were intended for the whole party. She felt that tingling flutter beginning to stir again.
The Creamcrofts thanked him and moved toward the house, but Nessa said, “Even in December I can scarcely call Kent cold, my lord.” She smiled, meaning it as a compliment, but he frowned slightly.
“I hope that will remain true,” he said, softly enough that the others could not hear. “My mother arrived last night and awaits us in the parlor.”
Nessa’s eyes widened at this news, remembering how Jack had spoken of his mother’s indifference previously. Had Lady Branch come to pass judgment on her son’s choice of a bride? Jack had turned back toward the house so that she could not read his expression, but he had not seemed pleased.
She quickened her pace to walk by his side, just behind Prudence and Philip, wondering what to expect but unable to think of a discreet way to inquire. Her month-long separation from Jack made her awkward in his presence.
They passed into the marble-floored, two-story foyer, and then through a wide, arched doorway on the right. At once a stylish middle-aged woman with improbably black hair rose to greet them.
“This must be Lady Haughton, and Lord and Lady Creamcroft. Welcome to Fox Manor. I am Lord Foxhaven’s mother, Lady Branch,” she said without waiting for Jack to make introductions. “Pray do sit down. I have already rung for tea.”
My, we’ve made ourselves right at home, haven’t we? But Nessa quickly scolded herself for such an uncharitable thought. Surely she should be pleased if Jack’s mother wished to heal the rift between them upon the occasion of his marriage.
“I am delighted to make your acquaintance, Lady Branch,” she responded with what she hoped was a natural smile.
Prudence, of course, said everything that was proper before taking her seat, as did Philip. Jack, however, appeared decidedly ill at ease, though he said nothing beyond a suggestion that they move their chairs closer to the fire to take away the chill of winter travel.
“Oh, yes, I despise traveling in winter myself,” declared Lady Branch, pouring out the tea which had just arrived. “But for an occasion such as this, I felt obliged to exert myself. Lord Foxhaven is my only son, you know.”
“Was your husband, Sir Findlay, unable to come?” Nessa asked politely, wondering whether the woman ever referred to her son by his Christian name. “I should like to meet him as well.”
Lady Branch fidgeted with the edge of her sleeve. “He was busy with estate business,” she explained after the tiniest hesitation. “Otherwise I’m sure—that is, he very much wished to be here.” She kept her gaze averted from Jack’s as she spoke, but turned a shrewd eye upon Nessa.
“Tell me, Lady Haughton, were you but recently come to London when you met my son?”
“Indeed, yes,” Nessa replied. “I’d been there no more than a fortnight when we were introduced.”
“Time to hear of his ascendance to his new position, I presume.”
Nessa took a fortifying sip of her tea before responding, fairly certain now that she understood the direction of Lady Branch’s thoughts. “I confess that, immured in the country as I had been for most of my life, Lord Foxhaven’s very existence had escaped my notice until the evening we met at Lady Mountheath’s musicale.”
“Which fact was very much to my advantage,” Jack put in, moving to sit next to her. “Had she known anything of me prior to our meeting, I doubt not that my suit would have held little hope.” He turned slightly away from his mother. “Would you care for a tour of the house, my dear?”
But Lady Branch would not be put off so easily. “I understand that you were living as a dependent in your sister’s household while in Town, having been very recently widowed.”
Carefully keeping her expression bland, Nessa set down her cup. “I was a guest in my sister’s home, yes, but scarcely dependent. Your sources must have neglected to inform you that my late husband provided quite amply for me upon his passing—which was nigh on fourteen months ago.”
She knew she should not allow Lady Branch’s questions to nettle her, as the woman was doubtless merely concerned for her son, but she could not help feeling a bit defensive.
That Jack was at least equally nettled now became apparent. “Your sudden interest in my affairs is touching, madam, but I’m afraid I cannot allow you to badger my bride-to-be before she has progressed beyond the parlor. I’d much prefer her first impressions of Fox Manor were favorable.”
Standing, he suggested that his guests might like to freshen up in their chambers before going over the house. “The ladies, perhaps, would prefer to wait for a sunnier day to walk outdoors, but if you’d care to see the grounds and fishpond, Creamcroft, you’ll be more than welcome.”
Prudence looked even more relieved than Nessa felt to have the barbed exchange cut short. Rising with alacrity, she expressed eagerness to see the house, taking flawlessly proper leave of Lady Branch, as did Nessa. She preferred to be on good terms with her future mother-in-law, but refused to be intimidated.
Lady Branch’s smile, however, did not reach her eyes. With a silent sigh, Nessa turned away. This battle, apparently, was far from over.
Jack led the way up the broad oaken staircase, seething with barely concealed anger. What the devil was his mother up to, anyway? After ignoring his existence for nearly twenty of his twenty-eight years, she had no business attempting to insert herself back into his life now. Certainly, he would not allow her to make Nessa uncomfortable in any way.
“What a charming prospect,” Lady Creamcroft commented, turning at the top of the stairs to look back toward the great hall below. “Had you a hand in the decorating, Lord Foxhaven?”
He shook his head. “I’ve spent little time here since inheriting, so most of the house is just as my grandfather left it. Fortunately, my grandmother had impeccable taste, and he was wise enough to give her her head in such matters.”
“So what have you been doing for the past month, if not redecorating Fox Manor?” Nessa looked up at him with a glimmer of amusement in her eyes, and Jack found himself inordinately relieved that she showed no sign of unease after his mother’s questioning.
“Trying to get ahead on the estate business, mostly, so I wouldn’t have it hanging over my head for the next few weeks,” he replied candidly. “Also hiring additional servants and ordering extra food to accommodate those we’ve invited for the festivities, that sort of thing—though Havershaw, my steward, has handled most of the details, I confess.
“I have done one bit of decorating, however.” He opened the door to the chamber that was to be Nessa’s, then stood back. “I hope you’ll approve.”
He found himself holding his breath as she took a hesitant step into the room and looked around at the fresh peach-and-green decor he had selected. He’d noticed those colors in her wardrobe repeatedly, so he had operated on the assumption that they were among her favorites. Not for the first time, he asked himself why it should matter so much.
Jack had provided more than one lady friend with lodgings decorated to her tastes, so he had no particular reason to doubt his skill in this area. It was an essential part of the game of courtship men and women played—a game he’d been adept at for years. This was just another round in the same game, though with slightly higher stakes.
Wasn’t it?
“It’s perfect, Jack.” Nessa turned to him, her liquid brown eyes beautifully expressing her pleasure, her lips softly parted in a smile. “You couldn’t have done better if I’d told you precisely how I wanted it. Thank you.”
Slowly, he released his breath. While away from her, he’d managed to convince himself that he’d merely imagined her overwhelming effect upon him. Now he knew he’d only been fooling himself.
“I’m pleased you like it,” he said, holding her gaze—a gaze which seemed to offer him tangible proof of her gratitude. An offer he was far too re
ady to accept, after only half an hour in her presence.
She took a deep breath, her breasts rising and falling provocatively, even under the layers of her winter traveling gown, her expression altering subtly as she interpreted his own. Her color deepened and she dropped her eyes.
Jack hastily cleared his throat. “Lord and Lady Creamcroft, your chambers are just across the way, here.” He indicated their adjoining rooms, wondering if he’d have been wiser to have Nessa stay away until the eve of their wedding. The next three days promised to be exquisite torture.
A short time later, changed and refreshed, his guests emerged from their chambers for the promised tour. Lady Branch insisted upon being one of the party, to Jack’s vexation.
“I haven’t been in this house in twenty years,” she explained. “I’m interested to see if everything is as I remember it.”
As they moved from room to room, floor to floor, however, it became clear—to Jack, at least—that her real motive was to continue digging into Nessa’s background and motivation for marrying him.
“I made Lord Haughton’s acquaintance some years ago,” she commented as they all traversed the length of the ballroom. “It would have been before your marriage, of course, but I recall him as eminently solid and respectable. He must have been a most satisfactory husband—much like my Sir Findlay.”
Nessa murmured something noncommittal, then gestured toward the Rococo plasterwork of the ballroom ceiling. “What a lovely effect that has!” she exclaimed. “Like a light and airy fairyland. I can just imagine how this room must look with all of the candles lit for a ball.”
“Takes a small army of servants to keep it dusted.” Jack spoke teasingly, but then looked around, seeing the ballroom afresh. She was right—it was a beautiful room. But his imagination ran to visualizing Nessa as his hostess here, graciously welcoming the neighboring gentry to their home. It was an oddly appealing image.