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Chapter 6
“Mrs. Foxe,” Lady Daphne called softly, one white hand snaking out of the library door to capture Jessica’s arm with surprising strength as she passed by in the corridor. “I wonder if I might have a word with you?”
Jessica hesitated, puzzled. Up till now, Raeburn’s fiancée had avoided speaking to her whenever possible, the discreet silence almost a palpable barrier between them. She said uncertainly, “I’m sorry, my lady; perhaps another time. I was just on my way to see my daughter for a few moments before I have to change for the excursion this afternoon.”
Daphne’s mouth thinned, as if she were unused to being opposed. She said curtly, “I’m sure the nurse can attend to the child’s needs for now. It is imperative that we talk, you and I.” She drew Jessica into the musty room that was lighted only by the fire in the grate, and after closing the door firmly behind her, she waved to a chair. “Sit down, please.”
Jessica remained standing. “Lady Daphne,” she protested, “when we return from the woods, it will almost be Lottie’s bedtime. Nowadays the hours I have to spend with my child are extremely limited, and I—”
The other woman interrupted impatiently. “I hardly think a few moments will encroach greatly upon your—your maternal duties. I must speak to you privately. More than once I have sent my maid to request that you call on me, but each time the…person who serves you has said that you were otherwise occupied.” She frowned slightly, obviously amazed at the very idea of such a snub.
Jessica heard that brief but telling pause before she mentioned Willa, and it angered her. How easy judgment was for someone like Daphne, who had never known hunger or privation of any sort, had never been brutalized to satisfy some man’s perverted whim…. Jessica resented the woman’s smug sanctimony, and she could well imagine how Willa, deeply sensitive behind the bland facade of her round face, would have reacted to her imperious summonses. Now that Jessica was busy with household affairs, her hours of privacy in her quarters, especially those fleeting moments when, her friend serving as sentry, she was able to work on her cartoons, were increasingly rare. Raeburn’s surveillance had made the correspondence with Clerkenwell difficult, just as John Mason’s uncanny insight had made her fearful of exposure. The man seemed to be showing an unusual interest in her as a person—were the idea not so ludicrous, she might almost think he was pursuing her—but Jessica avoided him whenever she could and continued to cloister herself behind closed drapes with her battered tin casket and her drawing materials, driven to recklessness by the ever-growing certainty that her days at Renard Chase were numbered.
Surprisingly she now found that her greatest obstacle was the effort necessary to summon up the rage and sense of social injustice that had inspired her pen in the past; instead of vitriolic caricatures, her fingers had a distressing tendency to sketch small, affectionate portraits of the man she loved, portraits she had to kiss and consign to the fire…. While she labored, she always instructed the vigilant Willa to deal with interruptions as she saw fit—and if it pleased the girl to rebuff Lady Daphne’s rather haughty personal maid, then so be it….
Jessica could not suppress the faint gleam of triumph that flickered in her green eyes at the realization that for once she had caught out her punctilious rival in a breach of etiquette, but her voice remained steady as she suggested mildly, “My lady, I regret that the many demands upon my time of late have discommoded you; But if I might be so bold, I’d like to point out that since you were the one who sought an audience with me, it was incumbent upon you to arrange your schedule to suit my convenience.”
Daphne’s sallow cheeks reddened at this observation, and her jaw dropped, quickly closing again as she bit back whatever retort she had been about to make. Watching the soft white fingers that clenched and twisted the muslin of her skirt until the flimsy fabric was in danger of being shredded, Jessica suddenly wished grimly that she had held her tongue. She was deliberately baiting the woman, and she had promised Raeburn she would try to get along with his betrothed. The unaccustomed reticence Daphne had heretofore displayed was but a fragile parole against the future, one that could hardly be depended on if Jessica herself did not observe it. With a sigh Jessica said, “Since I am here now, perhaps you’ll tell me what you wanted to talk to me about.”
Lady Daphne regarded her warily until she at last recognized that the truce was still in effect—for the moment, at any rate. She nodded brusquely and said, “Sit down.”
Jessica bristled at her manner. She thought irritably, You’d think she owned the place; then, cringing, she reminded herself that in a few short months, when Lady Daphne became Raeburn’s countess, she would do just that…. With reluctant resignation, Jessica settled onto a straight, high-backed chair, holding herself stiffly. She had no idea what Daphne wanted, but the physical discomfort of her tense posture was a constant reminder that she must not relax her guard either. Outwardly placid, she gazed at Lady Daphne, waiting for her to speak.
Now that the amenities had been resumed, Lady Daphne seemed in no great hurry to break the uneasy silence. Her light blue eyes narrowed as they skimmed over Jessica’s slim figure, evaluating her, studying her with impersonal curiosity as if to deduce her origins—as if, Jessica thought acidly, she were a porcelain figurine produced without a trademark. The silence thickened and lay as heavily on the air as the dank smell of old paper and library paste that the crackling fire could not dispel. Still Daphne did not speak. Jessica began to suspect that she was being challenged in some way, that Daphne was daring her to speak first, like a child attempting to outstare its fellow. Losing patience with juvenile games, Jessica made a restless gesture and said tightly, “My lady, if you have nothing you wish to say, there are some rather pressing household duties that require my presence just as soon as I have seen my daughter….”
Daphne’s smug smirk told Jessica instantly that she had given her the opening she sought. “Of course; your duties,” the woman murmured. “You have been supervising the operation of the household since your return here, have you not?”
Knowing full well that Daphne was as cognizant of the arrangements as she herself was, Jessica shook her head. “I’ve helped out only for the last couple of weeks. Graham thought Mrs. Talmadge might need some assistance…for the holidays, you understand.”
Daphne nodded approvingly. “Then you do realize that your position is only temporary?”
“Naturally,” Jessica said. “I’ve never imagined nor wished it to be otherwise.”
Daphne’s thin lips twitched into a semblance of a smile as she declared archly, “Mrs. Foxe, you have no idea how you have eased my mind. I was fearful that Graham had led you to believe you would be allowed to remain in charge permanently, certainly an enviable position in a residence of this grandeur. I thought that most remiss, even rather cruel, of him.” She paused for emphasis, and her voice grew husky.
“For of necessity, once we are married, the situation will…alter completely.”
Subtle as a bludgeon, Jessica judged drily. She said, “You need have no fear, my lady; I will gladly turn over the keys to you anytime you wish. I have no desire to encroach upon even the slightest of your perquisites. They hold no appeal for me.”
As that prim little speech left her lips Jessica’s long black lashes fluttered down over her cheeks, and she directed her gaze down at her hands, folded with deceptive demureness in her lap. She repeated in sardonic silence, No, my fine Lady Daphne, your rights do not appeal to me—except for the one that I suspect entices you least: the right to sleep with Graham Foxe….
Lady Daphne looked frankly skeptical. “Are you quite sure?” she probed. “I should think any woman would be delirious with joy at the prospect of having control of a property such as Renard Chase.” She glanced about her, admiring the interior of the dark library, the scrolled ceiling highlighted by the wavering firelight, the high arched windows, and her expression softened. Suddenly Jessica recognized the look
she had seen on Daphne’s face in the drawing room several nights before, the look that she had thought was love: so it was, of a kind—but it was not, as Jessica had achingly misinterpreted, an affection, a longing for the man with whom Daphne intended to spend the rest of her life. Rather it was a desire for his house….
Daphne murmured, “I know I have admired Renard Chase since the first time I saw it, some years ago when I stopped here overnight with my father and brother. I was very young, but I remember even then wondering what it would be like to be mistress of all this.”
Her fingers stroked pensively over the Jacobean embroidery embellishing her chair. She seemed to have forgotten to whom she was speaking. She mused, “Odd though you may think me, sometimes I regret that our sex is so unsuited to the independent life; it seems unfair that even an ambitious woman has no alternative to marriage, when men are so…so….” She shuddered delicately. “Yet I suppose the indignities a married woman is forced to endure may well be worthwhile if in return she gains such a prize as this.” Her gaze retraced the room. “So lovely,” she breathed. “By comparison, Crowell Hall…it wants renovation, you know, and like our father before him, William declines to spend his competence on anything but drink and—”
She broke off abruptly and peered sharply at Jessica, who gave no sign of having heard that revealing slip. After a moment Daphne relaxed and gushed brightly, “But Renard Chase: the magnificence of its architecture, its size and elegance, the richness of the furnishings, the paintings…I ask you bluntly, Mrs. Foxe, how can any woman not covet it?”
Jessica listened with dismay to what she guessed must be one of the most revealing speeches Daphne Templeton had ever made. She wondered what impulse had made her speak so candidly to a woman she claimed to despise. Jessica could hardly pretend to be surprised by Daphne’s acquisitive and expedient outlook on marriage—it was, after all, the accepted fashion for her class—but still she found infinitely painful the revelation that the future wife of the man she loved regarded him only as a…an indignity that had to be endured. Despite the conventions of a society marriage, such an attitude seemed a recipe for disaster. Poor Graham, she thought with wistful sorrow; you’re a man of lusty appetites. Will it truly be worth it, do you think, on your wedding night when you have to bed your unwilling but oh-so-suitable bride?
She was finding the conversation increasingly unendurable. Anxious to end it, she said urgently, “My lady, I don’t understand why you tell me these things. I am no threat to you. I have no interest in usurping your position as mistress of Renard Chase.”
Daphne’s thin mouth tightened. “You have lived on your own since your husband’s death, Mrs. Foxe. Until Graham found you and brought you here you enjoyed a freedom most women can only dream about. Are you now trying to convince me that you no longer have a taste to be mistress of your own household?”
“Of course I’m not saying that,” Jessica responded, her thoughts harking back nostalgically to her tiny cottage in Brighton, where, despite the squalor of their surroundings, she and her dependents had lived in unprecedented liberty, answerable to no one. She said fervently, “More than anything else in the world I should like once more to be in charge of my own life—but, I repeat, I do not seek my independence at your cost. You are entirely welcome to Renard Chase!”
It is only his master that I want…. The words reverberated unspoken in Jessica’s brain; then she chided herself sternly. Stop it! she thought, you are fast becoming as puling and maudlin as a heroine in one of Claire’s romances. With a deep, racking breath, Jessica said huskily, “Lady Daphne, I still do not understand what it is that you fear from me. How can I possibly threaten you or your position? I am only the widow of Graham Foxe’s brother; you are going to be his wife.”
For several moments Daphne gazed at Jessica with a blind and vacant expression that indicated her mind was elsewhere. She seemed to be trying to come to some crucial decision. At last her sparse lashes quivered and she again looked sharply at Jessica, her thoughts framed. Flashing a smile of patent insincerity, Lady Daphne said coolly, “I think you misunderstand the situation, Mrs. Foxe. I do not fear you—there is, after all, no way that one such as yourself can harm me—but I do regard you as something of an…annoyance.”
She leaned forward in her chair, and her voice roughened with insinuation. “I will pay you the compliment of speaking frankly; I do not like you and you do not like me. That is hardly extraordinary considering our utterly disparate stations and backgrounds, but in normal circumstances our lack of charity would be of little significance because the two of us would be most unlikely ever to meet…. Unfortunately, the circumstances can hardly be called normal. Because my fiancé’s late brother was enticed into a rash marriage, which can only be regarded as a shocking misalliance, you and I must now meet as equals, relations—and I do not think either of us is over-pleased with the situation.”
“You are too kind, my lady,” Jessica drawled, secretly amused at the woman’s candor. If Daphne had hoped that her words would make her uncomfortable, she had failed. “What you say is all too true—but I confess I still do not understand the point you are endeavoring to make.”
High spots of color painted Daphne’s cheeks as she said tersely, forcefully, “The point, Mrs. Foxe, is that despite Graham’s regrettable indulgence regarding you, and despite the fact that he was willing to acknowledge your brief marriage to his brother, I consider you encroaching and common, an upstart of decidedly dubious morals, and a most unwholesome influence on the mind of an impressionable young person like Claire—or, for that matter, on the children I of course expect someday to have. Bluntly, I do not want you in my house after I am married.”
It was Daphne’s casual mention of children that cut through Jessica’s studied indifference, engendering in her breast a fierce and blinding anger. To imply that she would harm any child of Graham’s…. The truce had well and truly expired, the battle was resumed with a vengeance, and nothing could make her sit quiescent under an assault such as that. Her hands clenched the arms of her chair and she took a deep breath to steady herself to return the salvo.
“Fair enough,” she murmured evenly, green eyes sparking. “I had been expecting something like this…. My dear Lady Daphne, let me return your compliment and say that I consider you a cold, pretentious prig whose insensitivity and affectations will undoubtedly make life at Renard Chase a continual misery for those unfortunate enough to fall under your authority. Believe me, I have no desire to subject myself or my daughter to the kind of treatment we will certainly suffer if we must live under the same roof as you, and I assure you that we will go from these premises as quickly as we can, today if possible. We require only enough time to pack.”
With the air of one who had burnt her bridges, Jessica settled back into her chair and regarded her opponent steadily. She noted with surprise that the triumph she had expected to read in Daphne’s face was lacking, replaced by an expression of puzzled uncertainty. “Go?” Daphne echoed, blinking. “Alone? Now?”
“Of course now,” Jessica retorted sharply, impatiently. “Did you think I would remain here and endure your insults in silence?”
“I had rather thought that…. I was going to suggest an alternative.”
“An alternative?” Jessica asked, momentarily distracted. “What do you mean?”
“I thought perhaps—” Daphne began bravely enough, but under Jessica’s piercing green gaze she soon floundered. “You are, after all, attractive in a way that appeals to men…if a reasonable portion were made available…despite your unfortunate…a husband might yet be found….”
Jessica stared. She had suspected for months that the ultimate aim of the Foxe family—even Claire, although her motives were kinder—was to marry her off, but to have it spelled out so crudely…. She closed her eyes and trembled with revulsion, sickened by the very thought of being wed to any man but Graham, having to submit to the embraces of someone she did not want. Groaning, she demanded, �
�Is this some scheme you have concocted yourself or is”—her voice grew husky as she faced the ultimate betrayal—“is it Graham’s idea?”
Daphne scowled, confused by Jessica’s lack of enthusiasm. “Mine, I suppose—but I should think you would be delighted at the prospect of a good second marriage. Any woman would. I am not proposing that someone unsuitable be foisted off on you. After all, by dint of your alliance with my fiancé’s late brother, you are a family connection—”
Jessica snapped sarcastically, “How kind you are, my lady! I don’t suppose it ever occurred to you that I have no wish to marry again? Well, I don’t—and I won’t! I shall take my child and my servant and leave this house as quickly as it may be arranged.”
Daphne shook her head in genuine bewilderment. “You think to manage without male protection? Is that possible? Where will you go? How will you live?”
“I am not without resources,” Jessica said with obscure dryness.
“You mean you already receive some allowance from your late husband’s estate?”
“No,” Jessica responded quietly, enjoying a moment of smug satisfaction at the thought that she, the despised plebeian, knew how to cope in circumstances that would leave her wellborn rival utterly helpless. “No, that is not what I meant.” She stood up abruptly. “If you will excuse me, I think it is time we terminate this interview. You will want to prepare for the outing this afternoon, and I must return to my room and make my plans.”
Lady Daphne bit her lip, suddenly apprehending that this private conversation had been a most unwise move. She had thought only to put the upstart drawing teacher in her place, and instead she had precipitated a scene that Raeburn, who seemed to cherish an unreasoning affection for his sister-in-law and her brat, was bound to resent deeply, when he heard of it…. She watched her rival cross the room to the door, her tall, slender figure moving with a confidence and grace that bordered on insolence in one of such common breed. But Jessica Foxe was not common, Daphne suddenly acknowledged with painful, jealous insight; she was something quite out of the ordinary—and Raeburn’s anger was bound to fall heavily on anyone responsible for driving her from his home.
The Clergyman's Daughter Page 14