Candice Hern

by The Regency Rakes Trilogy

  "Mary," Emily said in an anxious tone, "you must give him time. His heart is hardened by that unfortunate episode. But it was a long, long time ago, and I am convinced he will eventually open his heart to you. How could he fail to do so?" She smiled warmly. "In the meantime, I wonder if it might not be a good idea for you to encourage him to speak of Suzanne? It might bring you closer together and could help him to put the past finally behind him."

  "I doubt he will want to speak of it," Mary said, feeling suddenly very uncomfortable. "After all, he has never mentioned it before." She took a long sip of tea and sighed. "But perhaps you are right. Perhaps one day I will broach the subject and see how he reacts."

  It was, however, the last thing she intended to do. Dragging up old wounds from Jack's past could potentially lead to questions about her own past, about her father. Questions she had no desire to answer. If Jack was fond of her now, what would he think of her if he knew what she had allowed herself to endure in her father's castle all those years? What sort of pathetic coward would he think her if he knew how she had come by the crooked nose he claimed to find so adorable? Or the pale alabaster skin he so often praised?

  She did not want Jack to know these things. She did not want anyone to know these things. Though she had a new life now, she would forever be ashamed of her past. She could not bear the thought of Jack's contempt if he were ever to learn what a poor, weak creature she really was.

  If he was at least fond of her now, there was no possibility he could ever love her if he knew the truth of her nature. And she must be doubly cautious to guard her own heart as well. If there was to be any hope for a comfortable arrangement between them, they must each put their pasts behind them. Resurrecting old wounds could only lead to renewed pain.

  She would not tell him about her father.

  And she would never ask him about Suzanne.

  Chapter 13

  "I have not seen this in an age," Olivia said as she held up a coral-colored Norwich shawl retrieved from the depths of the mahogany clothespress. "You ought to take it along, I think."

  Mary reached for her shawl and ran her fingers over its fine texture. "Yes, I shall probably need every wrap I own for those cool Devon evenings." She placed the shawl among the pile of garments and accessories heaped upon a chaise in her dressing room, where she and Olivia were deciding which items of her wardrobe to take to Pemworth Hall. Every so often her maid, Sally, came to remove the pile of clothes for airing or cleaning prior to being carefully packed in trunks for the journey to Devon.

  Mary had experienced an uncharacteristic bout of nerves over the trip to Jack's primary estate, where she would meet her future mother-in-law and other members of Jack's family. It was one thing to be accepted among London Society where she was well known. But to face Jack's family, who must surely have been expecting someone quite different for his bride, caused Mary a good deal of consternation.

  Jack had been very reassuring when he had sensed her uneasiness. "Mama will adore you, my dear," he had said. "You must forgive her, though, if she seems a bit reserved at first. You must understand that she has been overcome with grief this last year. I am certain, however," he said with a roguish grin, "that a wedding will greatly improve her spirits."

  And so she and Olivia were preparing for the trip to Pemworth Hall, where in three weeks' time she and Jack would be married in the family chapel.

  "What about these, Mary? Shall you be needing them as well?"

  Olivia smiled as she held out a sturdy pair of brown leather half boots that had certainly seen better days. Olivia often teased Mary about this particular pair of boots, telling her that a woman of her wealth could surely afford to replace things when they became worn.

  "Oh, by all means," Mary replied, retrieving the faded, scuffed boots from Olivia and clasping them fondly. "They are my most comfortable boots, you know. Jack tells me there are some rugged walks along the shorelines and I am sure they will be just the thing."

  "Has he told you much of Pemworth?"

  "Oh, indeed," Mary said. "He has spoken at length about what to expect in terms of the house, the grounds, the servants, the tenants—everything. It is obvious he loves the place. He grew up there, you know. Whenever he speaks of Pemworth, it always leads to some tale of his youth or childhood." She chuckled as she recalled some of Jack's more amusing anecdotes. "I have learned much about him these past few weeks."

  It was true. Though she had set out to avoid discussions of the past, such stories always seemed to crop up. He loved to speak of his childhood at Pemworth. Occasionally he would ask some general question about her own childhood. She had become adept at short, noncommittal responses, followed by the ruthless steering of the conversation toward other topics. Nevertheless, she had relished Jack's fond reminiscences. She found she had an almost insatiable desire to learn more about her future husband.

  Of course, the more she learned the closer she came to falling in love with him.

  "I am pleased you are spending so much time together, getting to know one another," Olivia said as she shook out a linen chemisette and added it to the pile. "It will make it easier for you in the early days of your marriage. Fewer surprises."

  "The only thing I have found surprising thus far," Mary said as she rummaged through a drawer of laces and ribbons, "is how fondly he speaks of his home and family. I am sure you will agree there has always been a cynical edge to Jack's charm. But I believe I have uncovered his soft spot. He has spoken warmly, and at length, about his happy childhood with loving parents and lively siblings." Mary looked up, winding a length of pink ribbon around her fingers. "I wonder what it must have been like—growing up with a family who loved and cared for each other."

  Her gaze accidentally encountered Olivia's concerned frown, and she quickly turned back to the ribbons. She was sorry she had spoken that thought aloud, but it was one that crossed her mind often lately. She was truly fascinated by Jack's stories of home and family. He might as well have told her he had been raised by a band of gypsies; it could not have been more foreign to her. She certainly had no personal experience of the sort of unconditional love implied in Jack's stories of his parents and brothers. She had always believed her mother would have loved her, had she lived. Her portrait at Assheton Castle had suggested a sweetness of character and gentle nature. Mary herself had loved the mother she had never known—or, more precisely, the idea of her mother—but had never truly experienced the sort of love she imagined Jack had received as a child. She had not even felt such love with Peter, the brash young suitor to whom she had given her heart and body. He had not offered her love, merely an opportunity to escape her father. Which was a good enough reason at the time to feel love for him.

  "Mary?" Olivia's stern voice broke into Mary's reverie. "I trust you are not giving into envy that the marquess is more fortunate in his family than you have been."

  "If I were to do that," Mary said with a chuckle, "I would no doubt be consumed with envy for every person I meet. No, no, my dear. I am not repining my own difficulties, only trying to imagine how different life must have been growing up as part of a family such as Jack's. Besides," she said, her voice sobering, "my own misfortunes can be nothing compared to his. After all, he lost most of that loving family. Very tragically."

  "Poor man," Olivia said. "Has he spoken much of the accident?"

  "Not directly," Mary replied. "I have, though, often noted a flicker of sadness in his eyes when he speaks of his father or brothers. But then he speaks cheerfully of building a family of our own to romp the shores of South Devon. At such times I am almost overwhelmed with longing to bring him that happiness."

  When Jack spoke of Devon or his childhood, Mary was reminded of Emily's description of the dreamy, idealistic, happy young man Jack had once been. She could almost believe it when he embarked on a remarkably poetic description of the beauties of Devon. More and more she was convinced he had turned his back completely on that naive young romantic—driven, she su
pposed, by the rejection of his fiancée—and had deliberately embarked upon a life of reckless libertinism that had since become second nature to him. She found herself longing to bring him back to a more peaceful contentment, to resurrect that happy dreamer. She felt sure that, given time, she could make him love her.

  "Is that what you want, to make him love you?" Olivia asked.

  Mary was mortified to realize she had spoken her thoughts aloud. "No," she said quickly, "I did not mean it. That is not what I want or expect. I will take whatever Jack has to give, and I will do my best to make him happy."

  Silently, though, she thought with some surprise that she indeed wanted him to love her.

  Just once in her life she wanted to understand what it meant to be loved.

  * * *

  After two days on the road they had at last reached the grounds of Pemworth. Jack rode his stallion alongside the carriage that held Mary and Mrs. Bannister as they wound their way through the lush green park. He realized suddenly how anxious he was for Mary to see his principal home, how important it was for her to love it as much as he did. He may have had less than admirable motives for wanting to marry her, but he intended to do his best to make her comfortable. It was the least he could do, considering all that she was providing him.

  They were soon at the gatehouse, where they were heartily met by Old Crook and his wife, who had kept the gates at Pemworth for most of Jack's life. They were obviously expected, and the Crooks were very anxious to meet his future marchioness. After introductions and congratulations, they resumed their way through the winding avenue of lime trees. Jack cantered alongside the carriage, chattering with Mary through the open carriage window, pointing out the red deer that stocked the park as well as some of the more interesting plantings arranged by Capability Brown in the last century.

  Some considerable distance later, the rolling woodland parted to reveal the splendor of Pemworth Hall. Jack was gratified by Mary's gasp of surprise at her first sight of the magnificent Elizabethan structure.

  "Oh, Jack!" she exclaimed. "How beautiful!"

  Indeed, the old place looked quite lovely from this distance, its pink tufa stone glistening in the sunlight, its triple row of mullioned windows reflecting the shimmer of the ornamental pond, its array of fanciful chimney stacks animating the skyline. The sight never failed to fill his heart with longing. He watched as Mary's face lit up with pleasure as they approached the Hall. He only hoped she would still be as pleased when she noticed the shabbiness and signs of neglect that would become obvious as they drew closer.

  Thanks to Mary's fortune, he had no doubt that before too much longer some of that shabbiness would be eliminated. Pemworth would be restored to its original glory.

  Bless you, Mary.

  When they came to a stop at the center of the curved driveway, Jack dismounted and assisted the ladies out of the carriage. They were met at once by Grimes, the elderly butler, and Mrs. Taggert, the housekeeper. There was obviously an air of suppressed excitement among the staff over the impending nuptials. As Mrs. Taggert led them into the Great Hall, Grimes supervised a pitifully small number of footmen and grooms—the staff had been greatly reduced over the past year—as they unloaded the carriages.

  The Great Hall was one of the few rooms at Pemworth that remained intact in its original Elizabethan grandeur. The massive hammer-beamed ceiling soared two floors above them, and huge tapestries lined the walls above the carved oak paneling. The tapestries were faded, the paneling dull and cracked, and the black-and-white marble floor showed cracks and chips. It was nevertheless a grand room, and Mary squeezed his arm and began to express her appreciation of its beauty when the double oak doors at the opposite end of the hall were flung open with a crash. Two small girls and several dogs of various breeds came barreling into the Hall, followed closely by three women.

  "Uncle Jack! Uncle Jack!" exclaimed the smallest of the girls as she dashed forward holding her skirts up above her chubby knees.

  Jack quickly relinquished Mary's arm and knelt down to scoop up his youngest niece. "Hullo, Lizzy," he said, giving the child a kiss on her upraised cheek.

  "I have a new pet frog," she said. "Would you like to see it?"

  "Perhaps later, Lizzy," he said, grinning at Mary. "First, allow me to introduce you. Lady Mary Haviland, Mrs. Bannister, this is my niece, Lady Elizabeth Raeburn."

  More introductions followed in the confused and clamorous atmosphere of children, dogs, and servants. Jack gave his mother a long embrace and was pleased to watch her expression of surprise and approval as she was introduced to Mary. Alicia, James's widow, was as haughty and cold as ever, offering two limp fingers to Mary and a nod to Mrs. Bannister. Sophie, her ten-year-old daughter, was, he was sorry to note, looking as wan and solemn as when he had last seen her. The poor little thing had never quite made sense of the loss of her father and brother. Charlotte, Frederick's widow and four-year-old Lizzy's mother, was more effusive in her welcome to Mary, but then he had always liked Charlotte.

  "We shall let you get settled, my dears," his mother said, "and hope you will join us all for tea in the yellow drawing room."

  His nieces had been ushered out along with the dogs by their governess and nanny, and his sisters-in-law headed toward the drawing room. His mother took Mary's arm as she led her up the carved oak staircase toward the living quarters on the second floor. The two women chattered together easily while Jack trailed behind.

  "I trust your journey was reasonably comfortable, my dear," his mother said. "The roads here in Devon can be rather beastly at times."

  Mary laughed. "I have a very solicitous coachman, my lady. Even so, I believe your son must have given strict orders not to jostle us unnecessarily, as we fairly crawled over certain patches of rutted lane."

  "As well he should," his mother said, tossing a glance over her shoulder and smiling at him. "He was acting on my instructions, after all, to convey you to your new home in a leisurely, comfortable fashion."

  "I am at your service, mesdames," Jack said as they navigated the long corridor of the west wing.

  "I am glad to hear you say so, my dear," his mother said. "I shall expect you to acquaint Mary with all the grounds and tenant farms and such, while I introduce her to the special requirements of running this old place. I am so pleased you were able to come a few weeks early, my dear," she said, patting Mary's arm. "It will give us time to get to know each other."

  "I am looking forward to it, my lady," Mary said, flashing one of her brilliant smiles. "Though Jack has spoken so much of Pemworth and his family that I feel I already know you all."

  "Then we must concentrate on those things he would not tell you," his mother whispered, leaning her head close to Mary, who laughed.

  Jack was pleased to note Mary's apparent ease with his mother. He knew she had been a bit nervous about this meeting, but Jack had been certain it would go well. He had never known Mary to be awkward or shy in anyone's presence. He was especially relieved, however, at how well his mother had taken to Mary, though he had never really worried about that, either. Everyone liked Mary.

  He was also pleased to see that Mary was given one of the more beautiful suites, with a view over the back gardens to the sea beyond. The two women shooed him away to his own suite, but he returned sometime later to escort Mary and Mrs. Bannister to the yellow drawing room.

  "Oh, Jack," Mary said as he led her through the house, "Pemworth is absolutely beautiful. No wonder you love it so."

  He found himself extraordinarily gratified by her praise and pleased to think that she would probably become as fond of the place as he was. When they reached the yellow drawing room— an astute choice on his mother's part, as it was the one room in the old house that showed few signs of shabbiness or wear—he saw that they were to be joined by the vicar and his wife. It was a lively and talkative group for tea, with everyone obviously anxious to know all about Mary.

  His future bride handled herself very well. Even the dour v
icar was apparently charmed by her cheerful vivacity, Jack thought as he watched the man smile flirtatiously at Mary. But then, how could anyone fail to smile in her presence? She brought a little sunshine into every room she entered. As he watched Mary's face light up with a broad smile, he marveled that he had ever thought her plain. She was positively glowing at the moment in her bright aquamarine dress. His eyes were drawn to her mouth, stretched across her face in her usual smile. He had once thought that mouth too wide and the lips too full. Now, suddenly, all he could think of was how velvety soft those lips had felt beneath his. He chuckled to himself as he realized with some surprise that he actually found his future bride attractive after all.

  Jack watched as Mary chatted with his mother, her big eyes dancing with some amusement, her distinctive laugh filling the air. He was astonished to see his mother pat Mary's hand and laugh with her. The poor thing had been so sad and frail since her bereavement, he had often feared for her health. But as he watched, she showed the first signs of joy he had seen in over a year. He was moved more than he could say by that smile on his mother's face.

  Bless you, Mary.

  After a short time his two nieces were allowed to join the adults. Both girls dove hungrily into the platter of strawberry tarts topped with the distinctive yellow clotted cream for which Devon was famous. Lizzy launched herself onto her mother's lap, but the solemn-faced Sophie planted herself on the needlepoint settee next to Jack.

  "I am happy to see you again, Uncle Jack," she said around a mouthful of tart.

  "And I you, Sophie," Jack said as he tousled her dark curls.

  "You are to be married?" she asked. "To that lady over there?"

  "Yes, Sophie. Lady Mary will soon be your aunt."

  "That's nice," Sophie said. "I like her. She has a nice face."

  "She does, doesn't she?" Jack said with a grin as he glanced again in Mary's direction. "I am glad you like her."