“It’s the suite you shared with Andy,” Raeburn said. “I told you nothing would change.” He glanced at Mrs. Talmadge. “You did order those rooms to be put ready for my sister-in-law, did you not?”
“As always, I followed your directions to the letter, Graham,” the woman said deferentially, but her spotty upper lip was as hard as her eyes. “If Mrs. Foxe wishes to go up now, I’ll summon one of the nursery maids to take the child—”
Jessica’s head jerked up. “No!” she said sharply, signaling Willa to come closer. Taking her bundled daughter into her own arms, she announced with quiet force, “Lottie stays with me. She’s never been away from my side.”
Raeburn’s scowl deepened, his gray eyes darkening beneath the thick, fair brows as he watched Jessica dandle the baby against her breast. Calmly he suggested, “You would be able to rest better if you did not have to constantly supervise the child.”
“I am used to supervising her,” Jessica said. “And when I’m resting, Willa can—”
“My dear Graham,” Mrs. Talmadge said, a gloating smile in her voice, “perhaps you should reassure Mrs. Foxe that the staff in the nursery will take excellent care of the infant. Despite the limited time at my disposal, I personally interviewed every one of the maids, as you instructed me.”
Jessica’s green eyes widened. She retreated from Raeburn, clutching Lottie convulsively to her bosom. “Graham, how dare you make plans for my child without consulting me?” she demanded.
“Jess, it’s not the way you think,” he began uncomfortably.
“Not the way I think? How else can it be?” Her voice was growing high and hysterical, much to the fascination of the listening servants. “You promised me nothing would be changed, but already you’ve—”
Mrs. Talmadge interjected, “Graham, perhaps you ought to explain to Mrs. Foxe that no matter what her past…circumstances have been, it is not usual for ladies in her position to—”
Raeburn glanced down at the woman’s gloating face. “Dammit, Flora, shut up!” he growled.
He turned again to Jessica, but she was looking meaningfully at her maid, “We will leave at—” she began in a low, urgent voice, but he waved her to silence.
“You’re going nowhere but to your room, Jess,” he said. “After you’ve rested, you may inspect the nursery at your leisure to ensure that everything and everyone meet your approval. But you do neither Lottie nor yourself any good by arguing with me, especially when you are patently—not yourself.”
Jessica hesitated, an instinctive retort hovering uncertainly on her lips. Then, as she glanced from Raeburn to Mrs. Talmadge and back again, she sighed with resignation. He was right. She could not fight him, not now, not yet. The day of battle would arrive soon enough; at the moment her cause would be better served by marshaling her forces as she waited. “I will do as you wish, Graham,” she said with unaccustomed meekness, and Raeburn frowned at her suspiciously.
Suddenly Claire broke the uneasy silence by suggesting softly, “Jessica, why don’t you let your servant take Lottie up to the nursery? I’m sure you trust her to see that the baby is settled comfortably, and she can report back to you afterward. In the meantime, I’ll show you to your room, if you don’t mind. I’d love the chance for a private little coze with you. We have so much to talk about.”
Jessica smiled gratefully at her young sister-in-law, warmed by her quiet tact. Indeed the girl was growing up quickly in these awkward circumstances, Jessica admitted wryly, Claire seemed to be displaying more maturity than she herself was…. “Thank you, I’d like that,” she said, and when she and Claire mounted the wide staircase, with Willa and the baby close behind, Jessica did not look at Raeburn again.
* * * *
“Does it distress you to use these rooms now that Andy’s gone?” Claire asked frankly a few days later. Her bright hair gleamed in the unexpectedly warm pool of sunlight that pouted in through the high arched windows of Jessica’s sitting room, and she watched fondly as Jessica burped Lottie and cuddled her for a few precious moments before sending her back to the nursery.
Jessica had conceded that the women appointed to care for her daughter could not be faulted in their diligence, and the uninterrupted nights of sleep were reviving her more than she was willing to admit, but she treasured the hours when she alone had charge of her child, and so far she had allowed only Willa and Claire to intrude upon them.
When Jessica looked up, puzzled, Claire waved her slim hand to indicate the interior of the suite and said, “When Graham sent word that you were to have your old room back, I thought at first that it was a good idea—no matter what Aunt Talmadge said—but since then I’ve been worried that you might be unhappy here, that it would make you sad, remembering the time when you lived here with Andy.”
Jessica shook her head and leaned back in the chair. “No, Claire,” she reassured quietly, with a wistful smile, “no, this room does not bother me. I will admit that when I first stepped inside again, there was a moment or two…. But that soon passed. A year is a long time, and so many things have happened since then.” She glanced sharply at Claire. “Do I sound callous, my dear? I don’t mean to. It’s just that sometimes when I remember being married to Andrew, it’s as if—as if it had happened to somebody else.” Her hands tightened gently around her daughter. “Only Lottie reminds me that it was all very real.” She watched Claire anxiously, afraid that the girl would be offended by her casual attitude toward her brother’s death, and in the last few days Claire’s undemanding friendship had become very important to Jessica.
But to Jessica’s surprise, Claire nodded sagely. “I think I know what you mean,” she said. “When I look back and remember the things I said, the way I behaved, I have trouble believing that I could ever have been such a selfish, hateful brat. I was so—so stupidly jealous of you.”
“You thought I had stolen Andrew from you,” Jessica prompted.
Claire grimaced, her young face drooping. “Yes, that’s it exactly. It seems so obvious now that I don’t understand why I didn’t see it then. Andy and I had always been so close. As you know, our mother died when I was born; I used to wonder if our father blamed me for her death, and that was why he was always so distant…. I remember asking Graham about it once, and he said no, I was being silly, and then he hugged me. Funny, but I don’t remember our real father ever hugging me. In some ways Graham seemed more like….” She sighed. “I love Graham too, but he was always so much older than Andy and me, and after he succeeded to the title, he was away most of the time. That just left Andy and me. We used to talk about what we would do when we were all grown up, how the two of us would travel on the Continent, maybe even go to America together….” Her voice faltered, and she lifted her velvety brown eyes to Jessica, pleading for understanding. “The only trouble was Andy grew up long before I did, and while I was still in the schoolroom, he found you.”
Jessica watched the girl compassionately, her heart responding to the plaintive note in her voice, the same note she had once heard in her husband’s voice. Claire was so very like Andrew…. Jessica said, “I understand, Claire, and it really doesn’t matter anymore.”
“Oh, but it does!” Claire insisted, determined now to make a full confession. “You don’t know what I did, Jess. I used to spy on you and Andy when you met in the portrait gallery after my drawing lessons. I was just waiting to see him kiss you so I could run to Aunt Talmadge and tell her. But I never could catch him touching you—”
“He never did, not then,” Jessica murmured.
Claire nodded absently. “I guessed he was being careful…. But one day after you’d gone, I saw him standing in the gallery with this funny look on his face, and I heard him say distinctly, ‘Jess and I could go to America’—and I—I exploded. America was our dream, his and mine, and now he was talking about taking you there! I came out of the place where I was hiding, and I told him that I was going to tell Aunt Talmadge about the two of you. He said, “You stupid chit, t
here’s nothing to tell, and anyway, I don’t give a damn about a silly old witch like Aunt Talmadge.’ “
Claire paused again, breathless, and she muttered wryly, “I guess that’s when it dawned on me that my brother had become a man. I was still scared witless by my aunt, while he….” She shrugged, and her face shadowed with remorse again. “That’s when I did the thing that shames me most, Jess,” she said drearily, “I was still furious with him, certain that he’d betrayed me, and I said, ‘You may not care about Aunt Talmadge, but I bet you’ll give a damn’—I remember how wickedly daring I felt, saying that word—‘you’ll give a damn when you hear that I wrote to Graham and told him you were making eyes at a vulgar little—’ ”
Claire broke off, blushing. After a moment she continued, “Andrew just stared at me for a long time, then he demanded, ‘What have you done, you little snitch?’ and before I could say anything, he snapped, ‘Well, you needn’t have bothered, because I’ll write to Graham myself and tell him you’re a liar and I’m going to marry Jess whether he likes it or not!’ Within a matter of days, Graham was back from London, storming around in a vile rage, and you and Andy had runaway to Scotland….”
When this recitation ended, the sun-drenched sitting room was silent, except for the cooing of the baby. Jessica relaxed in her chair, eyes closed, absently stroking her daughter’s fiery curls as she mused over what Claire had told her. At last she had the answer to the riddle that had puzzled her for more than a year and a half, the question of why Andrew had applied to his brother for permission to marry her, long before their courtship had progressed to a point where such an action could reasonably be expected. A little girl’s malicious jealousy had precipitated that rash action and, consequently, Jessica and Andrew’s equally rash reaction to Raeburn’s violent opposition. Jessica had thought many times over the past year that if only Andrew had spoken to her first, had told her what he planned to do, she would have discouraged him from even thinking about marriage, much less speaking to his brother about it. And if they had not married, how much less heartbreak there would be….
Claire said humbly, “I’m sorry, Jessica. Please believe me I’d never want to hurt you now.”
Jessica looked at Claire, then at the child sleeping in her arms. Lottie’s hair was almost the exact color Claire’s had been when Jessica first met her. When the baby grew up, except for her emerald-bright eyes, she was going to look very much like her aunt. Funny to think that in a very roundabout way Claire was responsible for Lottie’s existence…. With a smile of ironic gratitude that Jessica knew her sister-in-law would never understand, she said, “Forget it, Claire. You were a child then. When we are little we all do things that embarrass us later, after we’re grown.”
At that moment one of the nursery maids appeared at the door, and Jessica handed over her daughter reluctantly. When the woman had taken Lottie away, Jessica turned back to Claire, whose eyes had brightened as her melancholy mood passed. She stroked the skirt of her gown self-consciously. “Do you think I’m all grown up, Jess?” she asked wistfully.
“I think you’re becoming a beautiful young woman,” Jessica said honestly. “In a couple more years….”
“A couple more years,” Claire echoed with a groan. “You sound just like Graham. I’m seventeen now, old enough to marry, old enough for my come-out, if only Graham would let me.” She leaned forward in her chair, her eyes flashing with indignation, and Jessica could tell that she was about to be the recipient of some long-simmering confidence. Claire declared hotly, “Oh, blast Graham, anyway! For absolutely ages I’ve expected that I’d get to make my debut next spring. Everyone did. It was all planned. Since I haven’t any close female relations, Graham was going to get Lady Bergen to sponsor me—she’s a viscountess, widowed and rather poor, but very respectable, and she’s done this sort of thing before—and I knew exactly the kind of dress I wanted to wear when I was presented, and the kind of flowers we’d use to decorate the town house for my ball, and all that—and now all of a sudden I have to wait another whole year, and it’s all Graham’s fault! Oh, I never dreamed he’d be such a selfish beast….”
When Claire paused her gushing long enough to take a breath, Jessica frowned and inquired, “But whatever is the problem? Graham seems indulgent enough. Why has he decreed that you must wait?”
“Because he’s getting married, silly,” Claire retorted in exasperation. “He and that—that ape-leader Daphne Templeton have decided to wed the day after Easter, and by the time they get back from their honeymoon, the Season will be almost over. Obviously Lady Bergen can’t do anything with Graham not around to pay the bills, so he says I must delay another year, and then his wife can present me.” Claire snorted. “With my luck, old Daphne will be increasing by then, and Graham will tell me I’ll have to wait yet another year until she’s fit to sponsor me. Mustn’t do anything to hazard the heir, you know…. Of course, Graham being the way he is, it may be a dozen years before she’s fit for aught but waddling around with a belly like a whale, although after the women he’s had, like that singer, why he’d want to bed a—”
“Claire!” Jessica exclaimed, blushing hotly at the images the girl’s words put in her mind. “You mustn’t talk that way. It isn’t—it isn’t suitable.”
Unrepentantly Claire scoffed. “Oh, Jess, don’t be missish. You know what men are like. You’re a married woman.”
“Yes, but you’re not,” Jessica said sternly, “and anything you’ve heard is just hearsay, idle gossip, unfit for—”
“Oh, it’s more than hearsay.” Claire laughed, her brown eyes taking on a sly gleam as she glanced toward the sitting-room door to ensure that it was closed. Her girlish voice became low and insinuating, “You know I love Graham dearly, Jess, and I’ll be the first to admit that when he’s here at Renard Chase with me, he’s a—an absolute pattern card of rectitude, but I know for a fact that when he’s in London, he’s not nearly so—so upright. In fact, he’s so notorious that the satirists draw caricatures of him! When he came down from Town the last time, a couple of months ago, one of the grooms who had gone with him brought back some of the cartoons, and he showed them to me. I didn’t understand the point, exactly, but Fred explained them to me. For instance, there was this one picture of Graham as a centaur—it was kind of strange and spiteful but very funny, and it looked just like him, with even the horse part resembling his gray stallion—and he was carrying off this fat woman who….”
Jessica closed her eyes, wishing she could shut out Claire’s eager description as easily. Oh, yes, she was familiar with that cartoon. The original was on the third shelf of her wardrobe, behind a hatbox, locked in a battered tin casket along with all her other sketches…. That one had been one of Erinys’ earlier efforts, drawn, as it happened, not long before Lottie was born, when Jessica’s discomfort and apprehension at her forthcoming confinement had made her pen especially venomous…. Satire was primarily a male interest, a fact which Jessica had used to protect her anonymity; consequently it had never occurred to her that Claire might have occasion to see any of her work. Despite the girl’s uneasy laughter, Jessica wondered if the vicious satire on someone she loved had hurt her. To soothe the pang of remorse growing in her breast, Jessica said sharply, “I doubt your brother would appreciate your being so familiar with a groom, Claire.”
Claire stared, her eyes dark and large in her pale face. “Oh, Jess,” she protested huskily, “you wouldn’t say anything to Graham, would you? Fred might lose his position if you…. Besides, there’s nothing to tell—” Her voice choked off as she grimaced curiously, and Jessica, watching the girl, wondered with ironic amusement if she were recalling that once Andrew had pleaded with those exact words….
Jessica began, “Of course I won’t—” but her words were interrupted by a knock at the door. She turned, frowning, as a liveried footman stuck his head inside. “Your pardon, Mrs. Foxe, but your cases have arrived, and the master ordered us to bring them up to you.”
> “My cases?” Jessica repeated, confused, as menservants trooped into the room lugging a succession of leather-and-brass trunks, all obviously new, obviously heavy. “What is this?” she murmured, but before anyone could venture an answer, Willa slipped into the room, back early from her half holiday, and took charge of the situation. In the uproar, Jessica had time only to cock one fine eyebrow inquiringly at her friend and murmur, “Were you able to mail the parcel?”
“Yes, Miss Jess,” Willa answered in an undertone. “It took some doing, but they agreed to hold any letters addressed to ‘J.F.’ until the next time I come to the village.”
“Thank you,” Jessica said, and she stood out of the way as Willa began to order the footmen about. Soon the men had departed, leaving Jessica and Claire to gape in astonishment as Willa unlocked case after case packed to overflowing with silk and satin and muslin dresses, velvet cloaks and pelisses trimmed with fur. One trunk contained beribboned slippers to match the dresses and trim ankle boots with contrasting slashings. A second was laden with lacy undergarments of cobweb delicacy, a third with gloves and plumes and fans. Soon Jessica’s bed was covered with a rainbow of rich fabrics, everything beautiful, exquisitely made, of the first stare of fashion. Claire gurgled like a playful child, and even Willa’s round face glowed with feminine delight. Jessica gazed at the bounty surrounding her and she wailed, “But—but he promised!”
Claire glanced up from a jade-colored velvet frock trimmed with swans down and stared at Jessica. “What on earth is wrong with you? Don’t you like Graham’s surprise? When he told me he had ordered some things for you, I had no idea he meant anything so grand.”
Jessica took a deep breath. She splayed her fingers over the skirt of her gray bombazine day dress, and she was surprised to find that they were shaking. In a tremulous voice she whispered hoarsely, “Of course I like the clothes, Claire. A person would have to be blind not to. Everything is incredibly beautiful. But I told Graham while we were still in London…. I thought he understood…that—that I’m not ready to put aside my mourning clothes, not…just yet.” As she spoke her thick lashes drooped heavily on her cheeks, and she realized with wistful self-knowledge that she mourned not so much for her late husband as for the death of her girlish dreams….
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