The Last Rogue
Deborah Simmons
10TH ANNIVERSARYRaleigh Hadn't Gambled On Finding A Virgin In His Bed - but when he awoke next to Jane Trowbridge, he knew all bets for bachelorhood were off. Now, instead of a love match, he'd gotten a sparring partner. Jane had never imagined herself anyone's lawfully wedded wife, and now ironic fate had bound her to a hedonistic viscount who was a Tulip of the Ton.Still, could a man who only pursued pleasure find any pleasure pursuing her? And could she restrain her maidenly blushes long enough to let him… ?
Table of Contents
Cover Page (#ua5184cb9-7a86-5c14-ab9c-86ab83bc5cdb)
Praise (#u91d143de-d015-5199-bfc7-048a1949353a)
Title Page (#u98d75878-5d46-5f9e-8c30-d89ef5d73c7e)
Dedication (#ua084f2c8-abbd-511c-a7e5-ec3a3c7d722f)
Excerpt (#u59a62388-c57c-5d48-b1bf-124e9fc4db48)
Chapter One (#u575e9682-c5ec-5f75-84cd-80f7e3bc322f)
Chapter Two (#u9dfc1229-8d30-5e10-b297-be79c1255f9a)
Chapter Three (#uac8817c7-7b7c-51f9-9b6c-a0bf1c3b67e9)
Chapter Four (#u9ca32a35-913f-5227-b005-aa102479e2e0)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Author (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
10
ANNIVERSARY
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The Last Rogue
Deborah Simmons
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
For Jennifer Lynn, with love
“Jane, you imp, you have read some of those horrid novels, after all!”
Raleigh accused with a wicked grin.
Jane found herself standing motionless as he approached her with more purpose than she had ever seen before. For a moment, she simply stared at him warily, then, recovering slightly, she backed away, only to find herself up against one of the stacks of old London Times that reached well above her head.
He descended on her with the look of a wolf, his eyes heavy lidded, his smile at once both beguiling and dangerous. Leaning forward, he rested one hand on either side of her head, trapping her between them, and Jane felt a startling rush of excitement. She had always thought of Raleigh as a vain, useless sort, but she was coming to realize that he possessed a power that went beyond his charm.
And now he looked positively lethal!
Chapter One (#ulink_eaede98a-7ffd-5859-8d6e-dd995ef34e05)
“Ahhh!”
Deverell Fairfax, Viscount Raleigh, turned over, his head pounding viciously as a hideous shriek was followed by a tremendous clatter. What the devil? His servants had orders not to wake him before noon, and as he cracked one eye open he saw a flood of light that looked suspiciously like early-morning sun through bright yellow draperies.
His lashes drifted closed once more, shutting out the worst of the light, while he attempted to regain his blissful state of slumber, but the hammering in his temples continued unabated and a thundering of footsteps echoed outside his chamber. Dash it all, who is here? he thought groggily. Better yet, where was here? For as he came more awake, Raleigh became distinctly aware that his surroundings were not those of his London town house.
Turning onto his back, Raleigh blinked at the ceiling, where vaguely familiar saffron and blue silk hangings slowly came into focus. The faint scent of flowers made him wonder if he were not in a lady’s chamber. Gad, he could not recall. Putting a hand to his aching forehead, he racked his brain. He remembered receiving a summons from his father and drowning his displeasure in a bottle or two. Or three.
Lud, he must have gotten completely foxed. He had been lonely, missing all of his friends, now married, and he had decided he would much rather see one of them than his parents, and so he had taken off in a hired coach, without his valet or any servants. Had he even packed a trunk?
Raleigh groaned. Lifting his fingers from his throbbing temples, he stretched out an arm, groping among the bedclothes for some sign of a companion who might enlighten him. When his questing hand found someone, he blinked in her direction, but all he saw was a lumpy form covered in blankets. Had he worn the poor woman out during the night that she slept so soundly, or was she suffering the ill effects of imbibing as well as he?
Sighing, Raleigh pushed himself up on one elbow to get a better look at her, but his perusal was interrupted when a horrified squeal erupted from across the room, followed by a deep bellow that rang in his skull like a hammer.
“My God, Raleigh! What’s the meaning of this?”
“Oh, my goodness, Jane!”
Recognizing the feminine voice, as well as the bellow, Raleigh winced. Apparently, he had made it to Casterleigh, the Sussex home of the earl of Wycliffe and his wife, Charlotte. As to the source of their distress, Raleigh had only to glance at his bedmate, who had finally roused herself. She had her back to him, displaying a long, thick braid that bore no resemblance to the flowing tresses of his paramours.
A sinking feeling descended upon him as Raleigh watched her fumble with something at the bedside table, and it was soon borne out, for when she faced him again, she was wearing spectacles and the outraged expression of Charlotte’s younger sister. Groaning, he fell back upon the pillows in disbelief.
What the devil was he doing with Plain Jane?
His head threatening to burst, Raleigh somehow managed to dress himself without assistance, after his companion, wearing a prim, long white nightrail, was hustled from the chamber. He still couldn’t figure out how the chit had gotten into his bedroom—or what might have happened there. Raleigh shuddered at the thought, his memory returning in bits and pieces that refused to include Charlotte’s sister. Lud, some might call him a rogue but he hoped he was not so far gone as to molest young girls, let alone the sister-in-law of one of his friends. And she a vicar’s daughter!
Groaning, Raleigh looked down at his twisted neck cloth and gave up on tying it to his satisfaction. At least he had possessed the foresight to bring a trunk. Heaving a sigh of disgust at his less-than-perfect appearance, Raleigh wandered into the adjoining sitting room, where the participants in this morning’s debacle had hastily assembled.
No one appeared to notice his entrance, for Charlotte was already talking, rather desperately, to her husband. “I told Jane to sleep there because you always insist that guests be lodged in the yellow bedroom, and I did not want to upset your routine by making other arrangements.”
Raleigh would have smiled if his head hadn’t hurt so badly, for Wycliffe’s strict attention to detail was well-known, though he had relaxed his rigid schedule since his marriage. The viscount’s amusement faded when Charlotte resumed her speech in what seemed like an excessively loud tone. Couldn’t she lower her voice? he wondered as he touched his throbbing temples.
“She came yesterday afternoon to help with the twins. They were so fussy and restless, they must both be bringing in teeth!” Turning toward Raleigh she said, “Max keeps telling me to hire a nanny, but we never had one at the vicarage, and I am loath to entrust my babies, or even Barto, who is all of three now, to someone else’s care.”
“Charlotte.” Wycliffe’s booming voice brought her attention back to her husband and the matter at hand, while making Raleigh wince.
Charlotte glanced at her husband helplessly. “In the evening when it began to rain and blow so terribly, I told Jane that she must stay. I lent her…something to wear and planned to send someone down to the vicarage in the morning for her clothes. Indeed, one of the maids, Libby, I believe, was right behind Ann, who had brought up a tray when…”
“They opened the door, and instead of quietly informing you of what they had seen, they screamed and dropped their burdens all over the parquet floor,” Wycliffe said with disgust. Raleigh couldn’t decide if the earl was more distressed by what the maids found in the bedroom or by the spilled breakfast. He had always accused Charlotte of causing mishaps involving foodstuffs.
“I agree that they could have shown more discretion,” Charlotte said, “but I cannot fault them for being startled. And I am still confused about Raleigh. How did you get here?” she asked.
Raleigh smiled ruefully. “I’m afraid that’s not quite clear. I received a summons to the family seat, but sometime during the night, I appear to have changed direction.” He remembered going to his club, but finding no comfort there. It seemed filled with strangers and upstart cits, while his friends were ensconced in the country, getting heirs. He, alone among his circle, was still making the rounds of parties and gambling hells, though he could hardly claim to like it. Sadly flat, it all seemed these days.
Several bottles later he had decided to forgo his sonly duty in favor of visiting one of his married friends. Although Wroth lived closest to London, one simply did not just pop in on the marquis of Wroth. Ever. And so Raleigh had considered Cornwall or Sussex, eventually tossing a coin as to his destination. “It appears to have been a last-minute decision,” he admitted.
“You know you are welcome any time,” Charlotte hastened to assure him. “But how did you…get in?” she asked him, looking a bit awkward. Apparently, Wycliffe’s countess turned a blind eye toward housebreaking as long as she knew the perpetrator.
“I hate to disappoint you, but I came in through the front door—opened by Wycliffe,” Raleigh said, relieved when she transferred her questioning gaze to her husband.
“I had but recently arrived home, having been delayed by the weather,” Wycliffe explained, “and Richardson was the only one about. I dismissed him since it was so late, and so when the knock came, I answered it myself. Seeing that Raleigh was in no state to communicate, I sent him up to the guest room. No one told me Jane was there!”
“What about your valet?” Raleigh asked.
“I do not use Levering at night,” Wycliffe answered, a slight flush climbing up his neck. Raleigh’s budding grin was forestalled by the earl’s grim visage. “But what of you? Couldn’t you tell the…room was occupied?”
“Not when that deep in my cups!”
“’Cups?’ You mean he was…drunk?” his heretofore silent bedmate asked in shocked tones. Eyes open wide behind her glasses, Jane Trowbridge shivered visibly, though Raleigh couldn’t see that his sobriety—or lack thereof—could have affected her in the slightest.
Unless he’d done something while blissfully unaware. Alarmed, Raleigh surveyed her up and down, from her prim hair, pulled back tightly from her face, down the length of her drab gown to her sensible shoes. No, surely he was never that inebriated. Leaning back against the settee cushions, he studied her closely. “Yes, I admit that I was castaway, but what is your excuse? Didn’t you notice someone crawling in beside you?”
Raleigh had the distinct pleasure of seeing her gasp and flush before Charlotte hastily broke in. “At the vicarage, the younger children often came to us during a storm, so Jane would hardly mark it as unusual to have…uh…company.”
Choking back a sharp retort, Raleigh found he did not care to be likened to one of the vicarage children. He was about to protest that he in no way resembled those shabby youths when Jane looked down into her lap and uttered a low admission. “The bed was soft, the house quiet, but for the rain, which was rather comforting. I suppose that I slept like a stone.”
Hmm, Raleigh thought. From what he had seen of the noisy, crowded vicarage, he could hardly fault the chit for seeking peace, and he could take some small comfort in the knowledge that if he was indistinguishable from one of her siblings, at least he didn’t snore.
“Well, the damage is done,” Wycliffe said. “Now we must decide what we are going to do about it” He gazed straight at Raleigh, who experienced another queasy, sinking feeling as he looked into his friend’s face. Although his glib tongue could probably be induced to spout out a variety of remedies, it suddenly felt thick and stuck to the roof of his mouth. A sense of doom enveloped him as Raleigh realized only one answer would satisfy Wycliffe.
Darting a quick glance at Jane, he sucked in a sharp breath to right his reeling head. Surely the girl was too young for what he suspected Wycliffe had in mind? Clearing his throat, he found his voice. “I think that all depends on several factors,” he said, watching Wycliffe’s expression darken. “For instance, just how old is the, uh, lady in question?”
Charlotte sent him a sympathetic look that made him feel even more like a man bound for the gallows. “Jane is eighteen now, Raleigh,” she said, and his stomach rolled. He turned to blink at the bespectacled chit in astonishment When had she grown up? He remembered her always as one of Charlotte’s innumerable child siblings, who often frequented Casterleigh during his visits. Eighteen?
His palms began to sweat, and a cold, clammy feeling echoed in his gut, for Raleigh knew well what a stickler Wycliffe was for honorable behavior. The two maids who had woken him with their shrieks had, no doubt, spread the tale throughout the house by now. And from there it would go through the village and back to the girl’s father, the vicar himself.
Raleigh thought of kindly John Trowbridge and stifled a groan. It appeared that he could either lose his respect and his friendships or his freedom, and so he forced his groggy thoughts toward his mouth, eager to have the business concluded before his stomach rebelled further.
“I suppose there’s nothing else for it but to come up to scratch,” he declared. Then, turning to Jane, he bowed his aching head. “I say, Miss Trowbridge, would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”
Having at last forced out the question he had never entertained in connection with Plain Jane, Raleigh had a glimpse of shocked eyes behind rounded glass before he proceeded to cast up his accounts all over Wycliffe’s prized parquet floor.
Jane was aghast, her normally placid disposition so highly agitated that she paced back and forth across the thick Aubusson carpet in the yellow bedroom while trying to reason with her sister. “You cannot truly expect me to marry him!” she exclaimed once again, but the look of compassion on Charlotte’s face made her turn aside.
It was all her own fault. Rain or no, she should have gone home to her hard, narrow cot at the vicarage. Usually, Jane disdained her sister’s luxuries, but last night she had weakened, giving in to the temptation of the huge, soft, sweetly scented feather bed. And now she was paying the price of her lack of character!
She had slept like a rock, cradled in the cushioned warmth, the wind and rain only a faint sound against the tall windows. There had been no arguments from James and Thomas in the next room to be shushed, no night cries from Jenny to be soothed or worries over what Kit might be up to—only an odd sort of comfort that she had never expected to find in such a lavish setting.
She had not even marked the presence of someone else until all the shrieking started this morning. Goodness knows the bed was large enough for half a dozen people to rest without disturbance. “It was all a mistake. Nothing…happened,” she muttered.
“I know, dear, but I’m afraid that doesn’t have much to do with it,” Charlotte said. “Believe me, in society, it is all outward appearances. A married woman can carry on all sorts of dalliances if she is discreet about it, while a miss must not even be touched by a hint of impropriety!”
“But Charlotte, this isn’t London—only a tiny corner of Sussex! It was an honest mistake, no harm done, and who will be the wiser?”
Charlotte shook her head, her lovely face full of sympathy, but Jane also recognized the set of her chin. As sweet as she was, Charlotte could also be determined. Witness her marriage to an earl far above her station, Jane thought glumly. And now she looked frightfully resolute.
“You were seen, Jane. The servants are already spreading the tale, presumably, and you know how gossip flies through Upper. It will be all over the countryside in a trice, and if you don’t marry him, you will be ruined, Jane. Ruined!”
Jane turned away, her thoughts bleak. “Does it really matter?” she asked softly.
“Of course, it matters!” Charlotte took her by the shoulders and turned her around. “Why would you say such a thing?” she asked, genuinely bewildered.
Jane could not meet her eyes. “I am well aware that I am not the beauty of the family,” she said, swallowing hard against the truth she had always known.
“Neither are you a gorgon!” Charlotte protested. “And believe me, beauty does not guarantee happiness. It is more of a burden than anything else.”
Jane shook her head, unconvinced. “You were always surrounded by suitors, while I have had nary a one.”
“You have no suitors because you have discouraged every boy within miles, Jane, and well you know it! I thought you were being extremely particular, as I was, so I said nothing even after you refused a season in London! Never would I have suspected that you do not recognize your own worth. You are a lovely girl, and any man would be proud to take you as a wife.”
When Charlotte released her, Jane shook her head once more. Everyone knew that of the vicar’s daughters, Charlotte was the beauty, with young Carrie and Jenny well on their way to matching her. Sarah and Jane were the plain ones, and though Sarah was devoted to her great oaf of a husband, Alf, Jane had always been determined never to marry, to neither be disappointed nor disappoint. She had her garden and her books and her duties at the vicarage.
“Perhaps this incident is all for the best, for now I will have an excuse for my lack of prospects. Being ruined, I can live quietly, helping Papa,” Jane said softly. Although such an existence seemed quite reasonable and was what she had always planned, Jane was surprised to feel a tightening in her chest at the finality of it.
“A pariah at age eighteen?” Charlotte asked in horrified tones. “Jane, you are too young to make such a decision, to throw away your future irrevocably. And what of Papa and the little ones? How can the villagers be expected to listen to his sermons when his own daughter goes astray? How will you do your errands when most of the good people will cross the street rather than greet you? Will you make the children suffer because of you, a latter-day Lizzy Beaton?”
“Lizzy Beaton’s reputation is well earned!” Jane said of the poor pox-ridden woman who lived nearby. Although the vicar made sure the woman had food, the villagers avoided her, even those male citizens who had once frequented her hovel.
“And how will you prove that you were not compromised when you were seen in bed with a naked man?” Charlotte asked.
Was he naked? Jane nearly started at that news. She had not been wearing her glasses, naturally, and by the time she got them on, her companion had been modestly covered by a drawn-up blanket. She shook her head at the irony of it all. Only she was so plain as to be ignored by an undressed, drunken male!
“You can hardly compare me to Lizzy Beaton,” Jane argued, though not as forcefully as she would have liked. She knew she was blameless, and she could, no doubt, convince her kindhearted father of her innocence, but Charlotte was right. Most people were not as forgiving as dear Papa. Jane had a hollow feeling in her heart as she realized that although he would gladly shelter her, she could not hide away at the vicarage, if it would cause him—or her siblings—harm.
She blinked, determined not to weep at this horrible turn of events. She was going to have to marry him! “Oh, if it were anyone but Raleigh!” she said aloud, sinking into one of the cabriolet armchairs that were scattered about the room. Raleigh was too handsome, too frivolous, too dandified, too titled, too everything. “Why could it not have been Mr. Cambridge?” she asked, her voice cracking. “He is so distinguished.”
“Indeed, he’s old enough to have sired your father,” Charlotte said dryly. “Raleigh is a much better match. Why, he is still in his twenties, a viscount and someday to be an earl!”
“Don’t remind me,” Jane said glumly. She had no wish for material gain, or a life in London where people were wicked and full of excess, where married women had dalliances and men drank so much they did not know where they were sleeping—or with whom.
“Jane.” Charlotte knelt before her and took her hands. “I know that for some reason you don’t think much of him, but Raleigh is one of the finest men I know. He is good and kind and honorable, and I am proud to call him friend.” Jane inhaled slowly. “I would be even prouder to call him my brother,” Charlotte said, her full lips curving upward at the corners.
Jane let out her breath in a great sigh. What chance did she have against a determined Charlotte and her husband? She was surrounded by concerned family, and yet she had never felt so alone. What choice was there for her?
“Very well,” she said, her heart sinking down to her toes. “I will marry him, if Papa will do it.”
John Trowbridge looked rather bewildered when called to the Great House and presented with the special license for one of his own daughters. Leaving out the sordid details, Charlotte told him that Jane and Raleigh had been compromised, but as they had shared a fondness for each other for some time, all were in agreement to wed.
Perhaps, if her father had been as adamant as the others, demanding that she marry immediately, Jane might have had the courage to defy them all. But, instead, Papa pulled her aside and told her very gently that she did not have to go through with anything unless she truly loved Raleigh. Ignoring the ludicrous notion of her harboring any affection for the glib-tongued viscount, Jane put her arms around her father and hugged him tight, fighting back the tears. Yes, I have to do this, she thought to herself. Not for myself, but for you, and the boys, and Carrie and Jenny. And Charlotte and Wycliffe.
Jane was a dutiful girl, and she did her duty. She stood throughout the brief ceremony, with Raleigh stiff and unhappy beside her, and suffered the congratulations of everyone there, all of them far more pleased than either bride or groom. She pretended to eat an elaborate celebratory repast off Wycliffe’s elegant china and let the younger children fill themselves with cake.
It was only when a servant arrived with a trunk of her meager belongings that the enormity of her action, and its consequences, struck home. Between all the chatter and preparations that led up to the wedding, Jane had not had time to really think about her future. Rather, she had vaguely assumed that things would go on much as before, with her being married in name only, while Raleigh returned to London.
Now, abruptly, she was informed that she must make haste to leave for the viscount’s family seat. At the pronouncement, Jane stared so numbly at her husband that Charlotte whisked her off again to the yellow bedroom, which she was quickly growing to despise, ostensibly to assist her final packing.
In reality, Charlotte had chafed her cold hands, while sending a maid to fetch some clothes to add to Jane’s poor supply. “When I think of all the times I asked you to let me have some fine gowns made for you! Well, there’s nothing for it now, but to take what you have. Raleigh will have to spring for a new wardrobe!” she said, smiling.
Jane said nothing when the maid returned with an armful of nightrails. From experience, she knew that Charlotte’s clothing would be voluminous on her. However, this time it was not the size but the flimsy nature of the gowns that caught her attention. They were so worn as to be nearly transparent!
“I cannot wear those,” Jane whispered as the maid left.
“Of course you can,” Charlotte said with a forced heartiness that made Jane immediately suspicious of her motives.
“Why are you giving them to me?” she asked.
Charlotte blushed, making Jane even more leery. “In absence of our mother, I thought I would take it upon myself to give you some advice for your wedding night,” she said cheerfully.
Although Jane had a vague idea of reproduction, gleaned from the animals that populated the farms and hillsides, she was appalled to learn that human procreation worked in generally the same manner. Hastily dismissing the subject, Jane turned away, but Charlotte seemed intent upon embellishing the bald facts with rather disgusting details. Refusing to listen, Jane was grateful when a knock at the door and the sound of a baby crying drew Charlotte away.
“Jane, all I can say is that it is wonderful with someone you love, wonderful beyond imagining,” Charlotte said before taking one of the twins from a maid.
Nodding just to be rid of her, Jane turned back to her packing, without making the obvious comment. But I don’t love him. And I never will. Swallowing against a sudden thickness in her throat, Jane resolutely packed the scandalous garments, though she knew she would never wear them.
Nor would she permit the kind of liberties that her sister had discussed so candidly. Charlotte and Wycliffe and Raleigh himself might have gotten her to take his name, but the rest of her would remain her own.
Chapter Two (#ulink_ec6b57fe-6c8a-56fb-944f-cd8174a098f1)
Charlotte stood beside her husband as they watched the coach travel into the distance. It was one of their own since Raleigh had arrived in a hired conveyance, but easily spared. Her dear papa often said that Wycliffe had more horseflesh than the entire village. He did seem to possess an excess of both steeds and vehicles, but now Charlotte was glad that she could provide a little something toward her sister’s comfort.
Charlotte had felt a nagging disquiet ever since she had risen, but had put it down to worry about the twins. When she heard the maid scream, she had raced upstairs, filled with terror, only to know a certain relief that no one was dead or injured.
Only compromised.
Charlotte sighed. Although she had seen no other possible course, she had definite misgivings about the match. Raleigh was rather frivolous, while Jane was so serious. Charlotte had never known the viscount to rusticate for long, yet Jane, disdaining London, knew little else. “Do you think we did the right thing?” she asked her husband softly.
“We had no choice,” Max said, and Charlotte took some comfort from his words. Yet she knew there were always options, and if Jane had been adamant or Raleigh unsuitable, she would not have pushed for the marriage.
“Was Raleigh very unhappy?” she asked, remembering the usually carefree viscount’s glum countenance.
“He will soon discover his good fortune,” Max said, and Charlotte could not help but note that her husband had avoided answering her directly. Before she could protest, he added, “Jane is a lovely girl, well-mannered and kindhearted.”
Charlotte nodded. “I know, but she is so accustomed to being the plain one that she cannot see she has grown into an attractive young woman.”
“Anyone would suffer being compared to you,” Max said loyally as he put his arm around her.
Charlotte smiled, but her heart remained heavy. “And so much was made of how I resembled Mama that I fear Jane cannot recognize any other type of beauty.”
“Raleigh has no such prejudices, and he will soon have her decked out in the latest of gowns, if he can manage it,” Max said.
The viscount was definitely a tulip of fashion, Charlotte silently agreed, but she was not sure whether he could bring Jane around to his viewpoint. Still, Jane could hardly go about in society without more—and better—clothing. “Surely you do not think Jane will refuse to dress appropriately?” she asked with some concern.
“No,” Max said wryly. “I mean that our Raleigh is never very flush in the pocket.”
Charlotte felt a chill despite the warm breeze. “But he always has fine garments and horses, that town house…” Her words trailed off as her uneasiness grew.
“The town house belongs to his father, who has always kept Raleigh on very tight purse strings. Of course, the family seat is entailed, so it will someday be Raleigh’s, but I have no idea how much money is tied up with the estate itself.”
Charlotte straightened, disliking the turn of the conversation. “What are you saying?” she asked.
Max frowned as he gazed off into the distance. “As far as I know, Raleigh hasn’t a feather to fly with.”
Charlotte groaned. “Oh, Max! How could you let them marry?”
“His situation is not that uncommon, Charlotte. And he’s not in a bad way…yet.”
Charlotte was afraid to look at him, fearful of the serious tone of his voice, and the nagging feeling she had known all day blossomed into full-blown alarm. “Yet?” she whispered.
Max drew her close, and Charlotte braced herself for what could only be ill news. “The earl is a bit of a stickler, as is his wife.” Max paused. “Although I pray it won’t come to that, if Raleigh’s parents are displeased with Jane, there is always the possibility that he may be cut off without a cent.”
With a low gasp, Charlotte leaned against her husband’s chest, heedless of the eyes of any guests who lingered on the grounds. Although she had grown up in a loving household, she had learned the vagaries of the London elite, and in her experience most of the ton were vultures waiting to feed off their next victim. And poor Jane, fresh from the country, would be ripe for the pecking. Turning wide eyes on her husband, Charlotte cried aloud in guilt and panic. “Oh, Max, what have we done?”
Raleigh leaned back against the soft cushions and closed his eyes, relishing the return of something akin to reasonable health. Ever since casting up his accounts this morning, he had begun to feel better. Charlotte had filled him with some odious tea to get him through the ceremony, and he had hoped to recover fully after a nap in the coach. But now that his head and stomach were improved, Raleigh found himself more keenly aware of his situation, so much so that sleep eluded him.
This time he had really done it.
He had been in scrapes before—running up debts, gambling and even overturning a mail coach that he had driven on a dare in his youth. Yet all other incidents paled in comparison to his current predicament. How the devil had he got himself into it? Raleigh groaned.
One too many bottles, he suspected. Odd that the more one consumed, the more one had to drink to reach the same level of blissful ignorance. And the longer it took to recover from a bad bout. His head had been pounding so hard this morning that he would have agreed to anything just to stop Wycliffe from shouting. And Wycliffe never raised his voice. Feeling wretched and vaguely guilty, Raleigh had gone along with it all, but now that he was not so ill, he felt something else entirely.
Resentment, a rather alien emotion, simmered in Raleigh’s breast. It was hard to blame Wycliffe and Charlotte, whom he knew and liked, for his present circumstances—far easier to blame Jane, whom he barely knew and didn’t like. Lifting his head, Raleigh dared a glance at the female across from him. She was sitting rigidly straight upon the seat, her hands clasped tightly in her lap and her face resolutely turned toward the window in a deliberate effort to avoid him even within the close confines of the vehicle. Raleigh was not surprised. She had not looked at him with any equanimity all day, or indeed, for as long as he could remember.
He had seen her before, of course, having been to Casterleigh many times since Wycliffe’s marriage. He had always been vastly entertained by Charlotte’s numerous siblings, but Jane tended to fade into the background among the more lively brothers and sisters. A grubby urchin, she was always digging in the garden or buried in a book. Quiet, serious and bespectacled, she was the type who either bored him to tears with her lack of animation or irritated him by scolding the little ones.
Lud, he had known her since she was but a child herself! Indeed, he hadn’t even realized that she had grown up—to the advanced age of eighteen, no less. Lifting his quizzing glass, Raleigh studied her more closely. She was wearing a hideous bonnet sadly out of fashion and a drab little traveling dress with matching spencer. Although her skin was clear, her nondescript hair was pulled so tightly from her face that he wondered it did not pain her. Maybe it did, for her lips appeared to be locked into a perpetual frown.
Dropping his gaze, Raleigh decided that she possessed some curves, though certainly nothing like her sister’s voluptuous form. The exact details were difficult to determine beneath the loose jacket. Intent upon his visual assessment of his bride’s endowments, Raleigh did not even realize she had moved until he was startled by a sudden, loud sniff that drew his attention to her face. In the wake of the withering glance that settled upon him with alarming contempt, his quizzing glance almost fell from his fingers.
“Will you please cease ogling my person?” Her voice was soft, low and pleasantly pitched, but so full of venom that Raleigh could not immediately think of an appropriate retort. He simply watched in amazement as she drew herself up even more stiffly and turned toward the window, as if giving him the cut direct in his own equipage. Well, truth to tell, this was not exactly his own carriage, but still…
Raleigh frowned, certain he had never met a more disagreeable female. He had expected the creature to be plain and dull, but certainly not so annoying! Were not the plain and dull women also more likely to be mild and obedient? Lud, but it was his great misfortune to be saddled with the one wretched creature who was not! Seized by a wholly unnatural temper, Raleigh silently railed at his bride, his situation, his parents and fate in general.
The paroxysm, though cathartic, was not like him, for normally he was the most amiable of men—fun-loving Raleigh, everyone’s boon companion, always ready to laugh. Yet his so-called good nature was becoming sorely tried of late. What had seemed so entertaining ten years ago was more of a dead bore as he approached his thirtieth birthday. London’s endless round of parties and gambling and drinking, racing curricles, preening in the latest fashions and flirting with the ladies had begun to pall. But what other life was available to him?
His best friends had all married and rarely came to town, and although he very much enjoyed his visits to their country homes, Raleigh felt the interloper when viewing their close familiarity. Conversely, he detested his own family seat, where his parents ruled humorlessly and a passel of female relatives picked at him to provide an heir for the future.
He longed for his own home, be it no bigger than Casterleigh. Even something much smaller but more personal might very well suit his needs, but he hadn’t the blunt. Indeed, he had little more than his monthly allowance, and it seemed he was always struggling to make it last.
Regretfully, Raleigh wished he had followed Wycliffe’s advice years ago and invested some of it. The earl was always increasing his huge fortune with some clever venture and urging his friends to join him, but Raleigh’s allowance never stretched that far. He had his tailor to pay and his gambling debts, his horses and their upkeep. It all seemed a waste now, he thought, his mind more focused than it had been in years. Perhaps this recent debacle had awakened him to the truth—or the massive dose of liquor had cleared his brain.
Whatever the cause, Raleigh rued the free-spending habits that kept him dependent upon his tightfisted father, but he had effectively burned his bridges behind him. His parents had been urging him to marry an heiress for years, and he had feared the recent summons was an order to wed some hatchet-faced female. The notion, so unpalatable only a day ago, now seemed a sensible solution to his monetary woes.
Unfortunately, that course was no longer open to him, for instead of a fresh infusion of wealth, he brought a penniless girl into the family. And not only was she bereft of fortune, but of lineage, as well. A simple vicar’s daughter, Plain Jane ought to send his parents into apoplexy! Would they cut him off entirely? Surely not, Raleigh thought, but the idea was enough to make him groan.
Another loud sniff made him open one eye and contemplate his bride in abject misery. But rather than offer him sympathy or inquire as to his troubles, she gave him a quelling look that reminded him of his great-aunt Hephzibah. Raleigh shuddered. Lowering his lashes once more, he groaned again in deliberate disregard for his companion’s contempt. His only comfort was that he had surely reached the absolute depths of misfortune and could hardly be supposed to sink any lower.
Unless, of course, his parents, upon taking one look at his unsuitable bride, disowned him.
Jane awoke with a start, shocked to have drifted off in the coach, but then, she had proved herself capable of dozing whenever and wherever, had she not? Frowning, she looked over at Raleigh and was relieved to find him resting as well. There was something unnerving about sleeping in front of another person. It bespoke a vulnerability that she did not care to expose to the man she had married. Last night they had both been oblivious in the yellow room’s big bed, but now…Jane shivered. She did not like people looking at her, judging and comparing her, and she was grateful for his inattention.
Although mindful of her own dislike for staring, Jane could not help but take the opportunity to consider her husband. He was sprawled along the seat in complete abandon, careless even when unawares, Jane thought disdainfully. One arm rested beneath his head, while one long leg lay across the cushions in a most unseemly manner.
Dandy. Although she had rarely been to London, Jane had seen such men before. Of course, Wycliffe was a study in elegance, too refined to be one, but not Raleigh. Raleigh had always looked too well groomed to be anything except one of those young bucks who put devotion to fashion above all else, constantly preening and posturing with his quizzing glass! His gloves had always been unsoiled, his handkerchief spotless, his boots immaculate. To a young girl often filthy from gardening, it had been intimidating, and Jane keenly recalled her youthful resentment at his constant perfection.
He had changed little in the ensuing years. While Jane had learned to indulge her love for flowers with more care, she was still sometimes dusty from digging in the earth. Raleigh, on the other hand, was impossibly clean, his hair never out of place, his garments never wrinkled. And although other visitors to Casterleigh usually reeked of the stables, Raleigh even smelled clean, a combination of soap and cologne and his own special scent.
Lack of industriousness, Jane thought piously. From his frequent, lengthy stays, it was apparent that the viscount had no real duties with which to occupy himself. Better that a man carry the odor of honest labor, Jane told herself, than be such a sad layabout.
It appeared that the extent of Raleigh’s exertions involved standing still for his tailor, or perhaps not even that, for his clothes could hardly said to be of a proper fit. His discreetly patterned waistcoat looked so snug, Jane was surprised the man could draw a decent breath. And his doeskin pantaloons were definitely too tight, clinging like another skin to his muscled thighs before disappearing into his gleaming hessians.
Drawing in a sharp breath, Jane focused her attention back upon his face, framed by his absurdly high, stiff collar, and she paused to silently decry his elaborately tied cravat. It was the only loose item of apparel he wore, for even his scarlet coat threatened to burst at the seams of shoulders Jane had never before noticed as being quite so broad.
After taking another quick breath, Jane gazed again at his face, composed even in sleep. Naturally, the man could be counted upon not to do anything so mundane as to snore or drool. Nor did his countenance grow slack, for it was nearly dusk and the golden glow inside the couch positively kissed his features, even and appealing.
But not to her. Never to her, she vowed. With a sniff of disgust, Jane looked out the window only to swallow a gasp, for coming into view was a vast building, a huge Palladian edifice that she knew with sickening dread could only be Raleigh’s home, Westfield Park. A vast face of stone rose upward three stories—four in the severe, square towers that marked the building’s corners—its innumerable windows capturing the setting sun, blinding her so that she had to blink back tears.
She was to serve as mistress of this huge, cold place someday? Jane must have made a sound of distress at the thought, for Raleigh stirred, righting himself gracefully. Without meeting his gaze, she turned to stare resolutely out the window, while trying to marshal her courage. Somehow, because of his careless manner, Raleigh had always seemed less of a nobleman than Wycliffe, but now she was forcibly reminded that the viscount would inherit an earldom when his father died. And an estate larger than she had ever dreamed.
Jane felt sick.
“How do I look?” The absurd question made her glance toward Raleigh, who was smoothing his scarlet coat and running a hand over his carefully arranged hair.
“Like a man obsessed with his appearance!” Jane snapped.
“Good!” he answered, flashing her an unrepentant grin that would have melted the heart of a lesser woman. Jane did not flinch. She had opened her mouth to utter a scathing set-down when the coach rolled to a stop, and she clung uncertainly to the cushions as Raleigh swept past her.
“Try to look as mild and unassuming as you always did at Casterleigh,” the viscount muttered as he dropped to the ground and reached for her. “Agree with whatever they say, smile and nod, and maybe we can escape without losing everything.”
Stiffening, Jane lifted her chin and allowed him to help her out. He took her arm in a feigned show of solicitousness, and her fear fled, replaced by irritation at both his insincere actions and his curt instructions. What had he meant by his words? Did he think she would shame him? Although she might not come from the kind of wealthy, spoiled existence that had been his, Jane was certain her manners were far superior. Her father was a decent and kind man who had raised his children to follow in his footsteps, and Jane held her head high as Raleigh led her up the stairs.
The door was already open, a slender, white-haired gentleman standing smartly at attention beside it. “Good evening, Pridham,” Raleigh said casually.
“My lord.”
“Would you tell my parents that I have arrived?”
“Most certainly, my lord.” Jane felt the flicker of a cold glance toward her and stiffened once more. “And whom shall I say is accompanying you?”
Raleigh cleared his throat. “My, uh, wife.”
Only the nearly imperceptible jerk of the butler’s head revealed his apparent disapproval, and Jane turned an inquiring look his way. But he was too well trained to respond, and with a curt nod, closed the door behind them.
“Very good, my lord. If you will be so kind as to follow me, I shall show you into the salon at once.” Although Jane was certain that Raleigh knew his direction in his own home, the man silently led them forward, and they followed just as quietly.
Walking through cavernous rooms decorated with rococo plasterwork and elegant furniture, Jane felt her trepidation return. Her chest tightened painfully as they were led into a spacious salon, where festoons and emblems of music and the arts lined the walls. Enormous pier glasses with carved, gilt frames were hung over delicate side tables, and some sort of thick, expensive carpet covered the floor. Jane found that she was holding her breath, but exhaled it slowly when she realized that except for the elaborate furnishings, the room was empty.
“I shall inform the earl and countess of your arrival,” the butler said, leaving Jane to stare after him. Accustomed as she was to the easy camaraderie of the vicarage, she could not believe that they had been ushered here to wait, like guests, at the pleasure of Raleigh’s parents. What kind of people were they? Although she knew not the answer, she felt a touch of sympathy for her husband and firmly quelled it. After all, Jane was certain he would prefer his life of chill privilege to the loving near-poverty in which she had been raised.
They waited in charged silence for long minutes, Raleigh moving restlessly around the room, while Jane perched on the edge of a chair covered in such beautiful silk damask that she was afraid to crease it. Several times she opened her mouth to ask him about his parents and the injunction he had given her, but just as often she closed it, considering herself mannerless to discuss those whose home she was visiting.
“Deverell!” A gray-haired matron spoke from the doorway, her voice so steely as to make Jane nearly flinch. Although of medium height and weight, she seemed to tower over the apartment as would a queen her subjects. Dressed in the finest of black satin, draped in pearls and sporting a turban with long, black ostrich plumes on her head, she rather resembled a raven, but when she fastened her piercing gray eyes on Jane, her demeanor clearly suggested a vulture.
Jane swallowed.
“What is this?” the countess asked. Although she looked at Jane, she spoke to Raleigh. “Pridham ran to us with a Banbury tale of a wife. I assured him it was all nonsense.” Jane could hardly imagine the staid butler running anywhere, but she remained silent. She, for one, was not going to dispute the countess’s claim that news of her son’s marriage was nonsense.
“Yes, you must stop having one over on the servants, Deverell,” said the man who came to stand beside Raleigh’s mother. Taller and more robust than his wife, the earl appeared only slightly less intimidating. Pompous was the word that came to Jane’s mind as he settled a stern gaze upon his son. “You always did treat them with disrespect. Unbecoming a man of your station. Reflects ill on the family,” he intoned.
Jane swallowed harder as she tried to reconcile these haughty creatures with her own warm family. Even Wycliffe’s mother, although rather frivolous, was friendly in her own sort of way. But these two were positively forbidding. Neither had stepped forward to welcome their son, but presided over the salon like a pair of solemnfaced icons.
“As you say, Father. I vow I will never ill-use the servants again, but Pridham was right. May I present my wife, formerly Miss Trowbridge, now Viscountess Raleigh.” So far Raleigh’s parents had apparently deemed Jane unworthy of their continued regard, and belatedly she realized her good fortune, for when their heads turned her way in stilted horror, it was all she could do not to squirm beneath their sharp scrutiny.
“Surely you jest,” the countess said, looking Jane up and down as if she were no more than a passing peasant.
“Trowbridge? Can’t say I recall the name,” said the earl in puzzled accents.
“I doubt if you would know it, sir,” Raleigh said. To Jane’s surprise, he crossed the room to stop behind her chair. She felt the heat from his hands as they settled on the edge at her back, though she did not know if he had come to offer comfort or restrain her, should she ignore his advice. Truth be told, she was already tempted, for how could one nod and smile under the force of such contempt?
“Her sister is Countess Wycliffe,” Raleigh said.
“Wycliffe? But I thought he married a beauty, some vicar’s daughter,” the earl said. Staring incredulously at Jane, he made it clear that he could not believe she was related to anyone possessing a pleasing countenance. Jane recognized the look and despised it. It ignited a slow-burning anger in her breast, one her father would not approve of, but fueled with the heat of past hurts.
“Deverell! You cannot mean it!” The countess choked, glancing from her son to Jane as if to deny the truth. Apparently, something in Raleigh’s face must have convinced her, for her expression abruptly changed from scorning disbelief to something cold and terrible.
His father was more to the point. “It can be annulled, of course,” he assured his wife, his frigid glare making his feelings obvious.
“Of course,” Raleigh said with equanimity. Her own anger increasing, Jane viewed his amiable tone with contempt. Had she ever heard him raise his voice, or did it require too much effort? Would he stand up for her, or was this what he wanted, a swift end to their disastrous union? Although she knew it would probably be for the best, Jane felt a sudden, painful disappointment that made her start forward.
Raleigh’s fingers settled on her shoulder, and she felt their warmth through his gloves and her clothing. She could not remember his touching her except during that dreadful, hasty ceremony, and the unusual sensation the gesture engendered made her forget to wonder if he was offering comfort or restraint.
She felt stupidly, senselessly giddy, as if the butterflies from her garden had been unleashed inside of her. Light-headed and wholly incapable of speech, she could only sit there numbly as Raleigh continued. “Possible, of course, but it might be a bit difficult,” he drawled.
Jane saw the countess’s frown and the narrowing of the earl’s eyes, though she could not understand their swift reaction to Raleigh’s simple sentence. “All a bit sudden, wasn’t it?” the earl remarked caustically. He shook his head. “And I had my eye on an heiress for you.”
“Certainly not some Plain Jane of a vicar’s daughter. What’s your name, gel?” the countess asked.
“Jane,” she answered, lifting her chin and forcing herself to look directly into the woman’s cold blue eyes.
“Humph! And bold country manners, too, I see,” the countess said, studying Jane with more interest. “So what have you to say for yourself, Miss, with your lack of breeding, money and bloodlines?”
“My bloodlines are just as good as yours, my lady,” Jane replied. “My mother is descended from the earls of Avundel. And my breeding, if anything, is far better, for my father is a man of God, and if it were not for his teachings to be kind to all creatures, I would tell you what I really think of you, your son and this ridiculous alliance.”
When stunned silence descended upon the entire room, Jane had time to regret her outburst. She and Sarah, among all the Trowbridges, had always been models of propriety and restraint, and her dear papa would be sadly disappointed to learn of her behavior. What had come over her? Turning her head, Jane shot a quick glance over her shoulder at Raleigh, who was grinning at her in the strangest way, and then, swallowing hard, she dared to look at his father.
“Has some spirit, does she?” the earl asked of no one in particular. “At least she stands up for herself. What do you think, m’dear?” he asked, turning to his wife. The small endearment was oddly humanizing, though Jane found it difficult to imagine these two harsh people possessing any tender feelings.
“Humph!” the countess said, scowling. “A little too saucy, if you ask me, but I suppose we should be glad he has finally married.” She fixed her steely gaze even more firmly upon Jane. “I hear your sister has already given Wycliffe two sons and a daughter.”
“A boy and a set of twins,” Jane said, surprised by the turn of the conversation.
“Well, I hope you prove yourself to be as good a breeder, for it is high time my son got himself an heir,” the countess said. Shocked at such plain speaking, Jane swallowed a gasp and bowed her head.
“Has a responsibility to the family, you know,” the earl said, in a gentler tone. When Jane had composed herself again, she looked up, only to find them both peering at her person as if to judge her birthing capabilities. Flushing scarlet, Jane opened her mouth to protest that there would be no heirs from her body, when Raleigh, obviously leery of what she might say, spoke quickly.
“I’m certain that Jane will prove to be an exemplary wife,” he said, and Jane wondered if she was the only one who recognized his wry tone.
“Humph!” Clasping her hands in front of her, the countess moved toward the settee, where she lowered herself majestically. “We shall expect an heir soon, but in the meantime, there is the small matter of Uncle Cornelius that must be attended to at once.”
“Quite so!” the earl added. He, too, took a seat, as if the matter of his son’s marriage had somehow been settled, while Jane blinked in bemusement.
“Cornelius Holroyd?” Raleigh asked, his surprise evident. “But I thought he was estranged from the entire family.”
“As did I,” said his mother, and Jane felt an immediate kinship with the relative who merited nearly as much disapproval as herself. “Apparently, he was seized with sudden nostalgia sometime during the past years, for he has left you something in his will.”
Jane registered the loss of the black-sheep member of the family with regret. She was, it appeared, the only one to do so.
“Me?” Raleigh said, moving gracefully to take the chair beside her. “But I’ve never even met the man.”
His mother frowned. “Be that as it may, since my brother died, you are his only living male relative. He must have learned of your birth at some point and decided to recognize you, though what, exactly, you have inherited, I hesitate to hazard a guess,” she added, her distaste evident.
“He has left you his estate, Craven Hall,” the earl announced. Jane, watching each of the participants with interest, noted Raleigh’s astonishment and his mother’s disgust, while the earl seemed irritated by the entire matter.
“A wretched wreck, no doubt!” the countess exclaimed. “The man was a veritable recluse who refused to discard anything. From what my mother said, the Hall was a filthy disgrace and ready to fall down around his ears at any moment.”
Beside her, Jane saw Raleigh’s disappointment, swiftly disguised, and knew not what to make of it. For people such as these, one property more or less was nothing, and yet Raleigh was behaving as if it was important. Was he so greedy, or was there another reason for his expression? Again, Jane felt woefully inadequate to fill her role, to ever fit in among these worldly, wealthy and titled members of the ton.
“Probably left you more debts than anything else,” the earl announced sourly as he crossed his legs.
Again, Jane sensed Raleigh’s disappointment and felt her own frustration. Somehow, those little flickers of unease flashing across his normally carefree countenance caused an ache in her chest, though she had no idea why his feelings, whatever they might be, should affect her in the least.
“What would you have me do?” he said lightly, as usual, but Jane suspected a deeper concern than he displayed. Was Raleigh more complex than she had always thought, or was he simply annoyed by the nuisance of his great-uncle’s death?
“Take yourself off to Northumberland—godforsaken place—and get a look at the Hall. Have it torn down, sold or whatever is necessary to pay his debts,” the earl said, as if he begrudged the departed even that.
“And, pray, do not spend a penny of your father’s money on it,” the countess added.
Jane found their disrespect for the dead appalling. “Is the man even to have a proper burial?” she asked. All eyes turned to her in surprise, as if they had forgotten her very existence, and she felt herself blushing once more. Only stern force of will kept her chin up and her gaze level.
“And what of Jane?” Raleigh said, as if giving voice to the thoughts of all the other occupants of the salon.
“You may keep her,” the countess said, rising from her seat in haughty splendor. Before Jane could blink, stupefied at such monumental arrogance, she continued regally, “Since you saw fit to arrive after supper, I shall have something sent up to your rooms. What happened to your valet?” she asked, with a look of disapprobation. Then she waved a bejeweled hand. “No, I think I would rather not know. I shall provide a maid for your…wife.” Pausing to eye Jane with lingering distaste, she turned to her son. “You may leave on the morrow.”
It was a decree. Jane knew it without even glancing at Raleigh, but she wasn’t sure whether to feel relieved or horrified by her apparent acceptance into the household. Had she been wont to follow Raleigh’s parents from the room, she might have been more encouraged.
“The gel’s got strength of character,” the earl said to his wife as they headed toward their apartments. “Maybe she’ll settle him down.”
“Humph,” the countess said, with an expression of disgust. “We can only hope.”
Chapter Three (#ulink_fc31eb1a-52bb-596f-8451-89a304905646)
Raleigh plunged into the cold veal pie, ham and vegetable pudding with gusto. He had swallowed nothing but that odious tea all day and was feeling sufficiently recovered to partake of a hearty repast, his enjoyment heightened by his surroundings. Instead of eating in the drafty dining hall, where the service was slow and the company stiff, he was ensconced in the small sitting room that opened onto his chambers.
And he had only one companion.
Raleigh darted a swift glance at his bride, still surprised that she had joined him. After the table was set, he rather expected her to flee to her room with her plate rather than sit down with him. But she was here, eating daintily, her back as rigid as ever. Did the girl never relax?
Catching him studying her, she sent him a withering glare that made him feel like a callow boy peeping into the maids’ dormitory. Lud, wasn’t he even supposed to look at her? Turning back to his food, Raleigh cut into a fat Bolognese sausage, only to feel his bride’s eyes upon him. Apparently, she was free to watch him, though he was not granted the same privilege! Ignoring her attention, he ate his potatoes, but as he chewed, he became aware of a distinctive disdain emanating from his partner.
It grew until he could bear it no longer. “What? Have I a spot on my cravat?” Raleigh asked finally, leaning back and spreading his arms wide. He took some small measure of gratification in her faint blush.
“No, I am simply surprised at the amount of food you, uh, consume,” she said, reaching for her water glass. She had refused the wine, naturally. It appeared that Jane’s palate was just as dull as the rest of her.
“I enjoy eating,” Raleigh admitted. Although not what one would call a sensualist, he liked his pleasures: good food, fine bottles, expensive clothes, prime horseflesh and lovely women. Not necessarily in that order. Drawing in a breath, Raleigh decided that he did not care to pursue that line of thought at the moment.
“What did you think of my parents?” he asked, genuinely curious. Raleigh was still not certain whether to be relieved or heartened by the tentative approval his wife had been awarded. Although he felt a bit cowardly for it, he wondered if an annulment might not have been best all the way around, for Jane seemed no more contented with the match than he. It was still possible, of course. Raleigh had not failed to notice the way the cloistering of the newlyweds away from the other relatives in residence at Westfield Park left the future of the marriage open to question. But without the full force of his parents’ ire behind him, how could he explain an annulment to Wycliffe and Charlotte?
Idly, Raleigh wondered if he ought to broach the subject with Jane, but how could he do so politely? And even if he managed to suggest such a course without offending her, was she, at eighteen, the proper judge of what was best for her own future? She seemed woefully ignorant of society or its demands.
In the next instant, she proved him correct by frowning at him. “I found your parents excessively arrogant,” she said, lifting her chin as though daring him to gainsay her.
Instead, Raleigh laughed at her accurate assessment. For all her faults, at least Jane did not mince words. “Yes, they are excessively arrogant. And rigid and narrow-minded,” he added. His eyes widening in surprise, Raleigh leaned back to stare at her as if seeing her for the first time. “Lud, have I married my mother?” he teased.
Thoroughly enjoying her reaction to his words, Raleigh saw shock cross her features only to be swiftly replaced by an expression of distaste and then effrontery. “I could hardly be said to possess the same prejudices as the countess!” she protested, a flush staining her cheeks.
Gad, she looked almost human with that rosy glow and her eyes—what color were they?—flashing fire behind the ever-present glasses. Raleigh watched her with interest. “Don’t you think so?” he asked gently.
He knew the moment that she understood his barb, for fresh heat washed over her clear skin and her lips parted for a reply before pursing abruptly into a tight line. “I refuse to argue with you,” she said in a pious tone that would have done his mother proud.
Raleigh shook his head. At last he had found something entertaining about the chit, and she would deprive him of it. Demned perverse of her. With an indolent shrug, he set himself to the task of finishing his supper, and the minutes passed in silence while she fiddled with her spoon. She had eaten no more than would sustain a bird, yet refused every dish he offered until he wondered what bedeviled her.
“My lord,” she finally said, and Raleigh was so surprised by the address that he nearly spilled his wine.
Lud, did the chit think she had to spout such formality even when they were married? The very idea made him uncomfortable, for he had always been casual about his title—too casual, according to his parents. “Raleigh, please, or…uh, Deverell,” he muttered.
Even as the words left his mouth, he regretted them. Since no one called him Deverell except for his relatives, he had come to view the name with less than equanimity. Shuddering, he waited for her to continue, but she seemed to be particularly engrossed in a tray of sweetmeats. “Have one,” he said, leaning forward to reach for a fat tart, dusted with sugar.
“Oh, no, really I could not,” she replied, turning her face away as if he were a snake that had crawled into her garden brandishing an apple. Raleigh shook his head in bemusement. Hardly any food, no wine and no dessert What possible enjoyment did the girl get from life? Adhering to no such strictures himself, Raleigh broke the pastry in half and popped a portion into his mouth.
“Mmm.” He made a deliberate show of enjoying the treat, going so far as to lick his lips as he relaxed in his chair. But what began as a harmless tease turned into something else entirely when he saw her gaze follow the movements of his tongue and linger there. An odd ripple of excitement ran through him and he paused, lifting his eyes to hers in surprise. But then she turned her face away again in apparent disgust, and Raleigh wondered if he had imagined the entire episode. Swallowing hard, he began on the other half, chewing noisily.
“Really!” Jane said sharply, and this time he received a withering look that gave him the kind of heady triumph he had felt when, as a boy, he had tormented his great-aunt Hephzibah with small fauna and poor table manners. He grinned.
“My lord…Raleigh. The inheritance. It disturbs you,” she said, and the last bit of tart went down crookedly to lodge in Raleigh’s belly like a rock. Devil take the chit, now she had really managed to ruin his evening! He had been feeling better—well-fed and at ease, his interview with his parents behind him—when what should she do but remind him of his straitened circumstances?
With a sigh, Raleigh rose from his seat, and taking his wineglass with him, moved to sprawl on the more comfortable Grecian squab couch. Reclining casually against the cushions and tilting his head back, he decided it was time for The Truth. “I fear, dear wife, that you haven’t married well,” he intoned in a fair impression of the earl.
“What are you talking about?” she asked in brittle accents. Closing his eyes, Raleigh did not respond immediately, but tried to imagine her speaking more gently. Memory argued that she must have been kind to her younger siblings, yet that clipped tone was all he ever heard. Indeed, Jane appeared to possess only two emotions: disgust and irritation. It was impossible to envision her thrilled or enraptured or ecstatic. A low bubble of laughter escaped his throat at the very thought, but rather than suffer a scolding for it, he endeavored to turn his mind back to the more serious subject at hand.
“I mean that until the earl pops off I am quite without funds,” he explained patiently. “Unfortunately for those expectations, the males in our family are extremely longlived—so don’t count on being a widow soon—and as much as I dislike the old sod, I wouldn’t wish him dead.”
Raleigh opened one eye and saw that she was shocked, whether by his words or by their financial status, he wasn’t sure. Then she drew herself up even straighter. “I have no need for wealth. I have always lived simply,” she said in that prim way that managed to annoy him. With his present inclination toward self-pity, Raleigh took her lofty avowal as a slur upon his own free-spending habits.
“Unfortunately, we all cannot be such paragons as yourself,” he said, immediately regretting his rudeness. Opening both eyes, Raleigh lifted his head only to marvel at the picture she made, seated straight in the shield-back chair, stiff and unyielding. She had not even removed that wretched hat, and he resisted the urge to pull it from her head like a naughty boy. If she had been any other woman, he might have, releasing that poor hair of hers. Perhaps if it were loosened her face would relax. Her whole body might relax.
Impossible! No doubt she slept sitting up, ramrod straight and eyes open. A grin tugged at the corners of his mouth only to fade at the memory of her as nothing but a rounded lump beside him under the covers. Raleigh drew in a breath as his thoughts crept insidiously from the berth they had shared unknowingly to this evening’s sleeping arrangements. Like it or not, this strange, dull creature was his wife, and this was his wedding night. Raleigh took a long drink.
He liked women. And unlike some men, he never had developed a preference for a certain type, enjoying the female form in all its guises and infinite variety. Indeed, Raleigh had only one requirement for the ladies he took to his bed: that they have a sense of humor. Unfortunately, Jane’s apparently had deserted her at birth, along with any kind of warmth that might make up for the lack.
Peering at her surreptitiously, Raleigh decided that Jane was not really unattractive, but her disposition was so utterly foreign to him that he was not certain he could be counted upon to rise to the occasion. Despite a prodigious imagination, he could not envision the playful, skilled caresses that had earned him a fair reputation as a lover turning Jane into an eager mate. And the idea of touching a woman who was not only unresponsive, but disdainful, was repugnant to him. All too readily, Raleigh could picture Jane closing her eyes and urging him to be quick about it.
He shuddered, so repulsed by the notion that he was seized by a sudden urge to flee. He had enough problems without having to worry about performing under such circumstances. Not only was he nearly penniless, but now it appeared that he was to be saddled with some wretched relative’s debts.
Sighing, Raleigh acknowledged that only he could find a way to inherit less than nothing. He thought of all those years he had casually collected decent winnings at the tables and decided that his luck, once rather consistent, was running bad with a vengeance—beginning with this morning when he awoke in the yellow bedroom at Casterleigh.
His unhappy thoughts, turning once more toward that sore subject, sent him surging to his feet. “You must be tired,” he said abruptly when Jane gazed at him with some alarm. “I’ll leave you to your rest.” Although he could almost hear Wycliffe calling him a coward, Raleigh refused to look his wife in the eye. He had no aspirations toward bravery and would rather shirk his duty than spend the next few hours cajoling a squawking virgin into bed.
With one more swift nod in her direction, he turned on his heel and tried not to run from the chamber.
Raleigh sighed and stretched out his legs, heartily sick of riding in a coach, even this finely sprung vehicle his father had provided for the trip to Northumberland. Darting a swift glance at his wife to assure himself that she slept, he lifted his booted feet to rest them on the seat beside her. Lud, she would have his head for such informality, if she were awake.
Strange creature. Although a simple vicar’s daughter, sometimes she seemed as rigid and haughty as his mother. Raleigh was fairly certain she would rather have joined the maid who was ensconced in the smaller conveyance behind them than be closeted with him again, but his parents’ presence seeing them off this afternoon had apparently stilled her protests.
They had passed most of the past few hours in silence, Jane straining her neck to stare out the window, while Raleigh studiously avoided looking at her. He had brought along a book, Countess Ravenscar’s latest, which her husband, Sebastian, was to have had a hand in, but even Prudence’s prose could not keep his mind engaged, the rattling chains and wailing ghosts she described not nearly as odious as his own situation.
And so the volume lay discarded beside him as his attention was drawn irresistibly to his new wife. Now that she was unaware, Raleigh took the opportunity to study her, ignoring the vague guilt he felt at his perusal. Jane radiated a fierce touch-me-not attitude that extended into look-at-me-not and made him wonder how she could be sister to Charlotte, who was so easy and charming. Why, even the eldest sibling, Sarah, though rather a prickly pear, seemed to warm up after a bit But Jane had always kept her distance, as if she did not approve of anyone, especially him.
Since his wedding, the deep well of memory had produced images of her throughout his visits to Casterleigh, images of a slim child, quiet and studious, presenting him with a mutinous expression. “Hmm.” The low hum escaped his throat as Raleigh distinctly recalled standing in the foyer at Wycliffe’s Sussex home, pausing in the act of pulling off his gloves when he noticed the girl’s hostility. Surprised, he had been struck dumb for a moment, and then she was off, slipping away with a swish of dullcolored skirt.
For the life of him, Raleigh could never determine what he had done to earn her displeasure. Indeed, it was a shock to learn that anyone—besides his relatives—viewed him less than amiably. He was accounted a good friend, an amusing companion and generally decent fellow. Lud, he had no enemies. Yet a slip of a girl had given him the cut direct.
And she had grown into a woman whose opinion of him seemed little better. Although Raleigh could detect no lingering animosity in his Plain Jane, her contempt was prodigious enough to make up for it. “Hmm.” Not exactly what one looked for in a wife, Raleigh decided. Never one to stand in judgment himself, he wondered what gave this simple little vicar’s daughter such arrogance as to disdain him.
She was not much to look at, he thought, defiantly studying her as she slept. She had pillowed her cheek on one palm, an oddly disarming gesture that made her seem vulnerable. Ha! Raleigh choked back a laugh. The haughty chit was as unfeeling as a rock and about as much fun.
Her spectacles had slipped, revealing thick lashes that he had not suspected, and Raleigh realized that he had no idea what color her eyes were, only that they could not be the same unusual spring green of Charlotte’s or he would have noted it. Charlotte, of course, was a goddess, while Jane was more like one of those half-female monsters in the myths Wycliffe loved so well.
Actually, with her glasses and slender figure, she resembled her father, Raleigh admitted, but even though he held that kind, intelligent man in respect, Raleigh did not care to marry him. At least she wasn’t balding, he thought ruefully. Then he started forward in sudden alarm, his feet dropping to the floor as he wondered if she might be losing her hair, for she seemed to keep it covered with a nearly religious fervor. But no, he had glimpsed her braid, thick and full, down her straight back the morning of the wedding.
Raleigh sighed, relieved that Jane was in full possession of her locks, even if he rarely saw them. Inching toward the edge of his seat, he sought to determine her hair’s color, and found, to his delight, that a single, stray strand had escaped imprisonment to fall across one cheek. The fugitive revealed itself to be a rich, dark golden tone that gleamed when struck by the light.
Raleigh jerked back in surprise. Certainly it wasn’t the same daffodil yellow as her sister’s, nor did it curl in that cloudlike manner that Charlotte’s did, but it was not quite as dull as he had supposed.
Leaning forward once more, Raleigh wondered if he had misjudged her proportions also. His mother, horrified at his wife’s attire, had thrust one of his sister’s reworked gowns upon her, and he had to admit that the change was rather startling. Perhaps it was the garment, a mulberry traveling suit, that gave her hair sudden life. It was such a vivid change from the somber browns and grays Jane seemed to inhabit that she looked like a different person.
On the outside. She had exhibited her usual stubbornness when confronted with her new clothing, but since his mother had already instructed the maid to pack her other garments, Jane had had no choice but to comply. Raleigh grinned. Sometimes, one simply had to stand back and admire the countess’s methods—especially when one was not on the receiving end of them!
A soft sigh escaped her at that moment, and inexplicably, Raleigh was drawn toward it, his attention focused on her dainty mouth. Her lips, gently parted, were for once not pulled down in disapproval. They, too, seemed to reflect the color of her costume, becoming flush with life’s blood, soft and inviting.
Clearing his throat, Raleigh followed the line of her body lower. She had fashioned a scarf around her neck, but it had shifted during her sleep and he could see the pale gleam of skin. He sucked in a harsh breath. Somehow, just a glimpse of Jane’s usually covered flesh was shockingly enticing, probably because she hid so much of it. These days, when the fashions called for low-cut bodices and spilling breasts, Jane was an anomaly.
Adjusting his position, Raleigh tried to discern the curve of her bosom beneath the arm that rested across it. If his breath came a little quickly and his cheeks reddened like a schoolboy’s, it was only because Jane would probably do him murder if she discovered him looking at her body. She was his wife and more than discreetly clothed, but Raleigh knew full well she would view his perusal as a violation of her privacy.
Perhaps it was the flavor of the forbidden that lent his task such urgency, but Raleigh found himself drawing in a deep breath and leaning forward as far as he could. Unfortunately, his ill luck continued to run true, for at that exact moment, the road dipped, one wheel of the couch dropped suddenly, and Raleigh was jolted out of his seat to fall into the sleeping body of his bride.
When she awoke, breathless and sputtering, Raleigh sprawled back across the cushions opposite her with a pained expression. “Demned roads!” he cried indignantly. “A man can’t get a bit of rest!”
Groggy with sleep, Jane nonetheless shot him a suspicious glance that made him bite back a grin. Innocently laying his head back, Raleigh closed his eyes, but his thoughts were not quite as pure as he pretended, for he had discovered one thing when thrust forcefully into the arms of his wife.
She was a lot softer than she looked.
Jane trudged into the small parlor at the inn. She could not remember ever having felt so tired. Although the room was clean and cozy, the air redolent with the smell of good food, she could barely work up the energy to sit straight upon one of the chairs drawn before a small, worn oak table.
She realized, with a heavy heart, that the boys would have been thrilled to be on the road, but they, along with Charlotte and Carrie and Kit were the adventurous sort. She and dear, solid Sarah seemed to be the lone members of the family who craved hearth and home, happy, like their father, to putter about the house.
Yet Jane had spent the past two days rattling her bones in a coach, with only more long travel ahead of her in the stifling vehicle, feeling bored and hot and sorry for herself. She hated the close confines and longed for her own little spot of garden so much that she felt like weeping. She had tried to escape into dreams, but they were strange and restless, and after waking to find her husband in her lap this afternoon, Jane had been unable to close her eyes.
Raleigh was such a caution, she had immediately suspected him of some prank, but the roads were dreadful, and sometimes she had found it difficult to keep her own seat. She only wished that she had been awake to feel—no! Her cheeks flushed at the thought. She certainly did not crave any contact with her husband, and it was apparent that he was of a like mind.
For last night he had not come to her.
Jane had waited, half angry and half terrified at the notion of his touching her, of his doing the things Charlotte had talked about, only to fall asleep near dawn, alone in the huge bed at Westfield Park. At the memory, Jane shivered in reaction, for she should have known better than to wait. Hadn’t she learned long ago to harbor no expectations?
The bald truth was that she was too plain and provincial to appeal to anyone, even such a loose screw as Viscount Raleigh. The old, familiar despair washed over her, threatening to drown her, though she told herself she didn’t care. Raleigh meant nothing to her, and, indeed, she should be rejoicing over his neglect, for he was a coxcomb who had not a clear thought in his claret-addled brain.
The sound of his voice brought her upright, and Jane looked away into the empty grate, searching for telltale ashes from its last usage. “I have ordered us a nice roast goose, some tongue and a beef pie,” he said jovially, as if he positively thrived on sitting cooped up in a carriage all day. He probably did, for it certainly required no effort on his part, and Raleigh excelled at doing nothing.
“And do I get something to eat, too?” Jane asked, her voice brittle.
“What’s this? The wench makes a joke! By Jove, I don’t believe it!” Raleigh crowed like a child with a treat. “There’s hope for you yet, love.” The careless endearment ran along Jane’s strained nerves to hang in the silence that followed until she could bear it no longer. Sensing his eyes upon her, she pushed up from her seat.
“Stop ogling me!” she snapped, walking toward the window.
“As you say,” Raleigh muttered. Was that hurt she heard in his tone? Impossible! The man was a thoughtless japer, who danced through life without a care, and Jane was certain that her trifling words could not affect him in the slightest. “You’ll forgive me, if I wish a breath of fresh air,” he said with unfamiliar brusqueness. It made Jane feel like calling him back and apologizing. But for what? For hating his eyes upon her, judging and condemning?
Still, Jane might have gone after him, but for the arrival of the maid that the countess had thrust upon her. The French-born Madeleine might boast an exceptional education, followed by extensive training at Westfield Park, but she made her new mistress ill at ease. Jane was not accustomed to such personal attention, even at Casterleigh, and she got the distinct impression that Madeleine was not eager to leave her prestigious household for less lofty service.
After her attempts at conversation were met with little response, Jane fell silent, and in the ensuing quiet, she had a good long while to regret her earlier temper. She knew she spoke sharply to Raleigh out of her own fears and melancholy, but this marriage was not his fault, and he had been more than civil toward her. He deserved the same.
Determined to be more her father’s daughter, Jane waited for her husband to join her, but supper arrived without the viscount. The maid, dispatched to check on him, returned to announce coolly that Jane was to take her meal without him. And so she did, feeling oddly bereft without his presence. No doubt he was drinking and carousing in the common room, Jane told herself disdainfully, but somehow she could not shrug off a glimmer of guilt that she had sent him away with her tart tongue.
There were times, living in the vicarage, surrounded by siblings, when Jane had longed for peace and quiet, and that urge probably accounted for her escape into her gardening. But now, alone in a strange place and facing an uncertain future, she took no pleasure from her solitude.
Nor was she pleased to discover that she was sharing a room with the rather forbidding Madeleine. Although Jane knew she ought to be relieved to escape the awkward business of being confined with her new husband, somehow Raleigh’s amiable presence seemed preferable to the maid’s haughty superiority.
Nonsense, Jane told herself as she crawled alone into the big bed. It hardly mattered who was with her, for after her fitful night at Westfield Park, she should sleep like a stone. However, such escape did not immediately come. Noises from the yard below seemed loud through the open window, and despite her weariness, Jane lay stiffly on the lumpy bed with her eyes wide open.
For the first time since waking up yesterday morning in Charlotte’s yellow bedroom, she was homesick. She yearned for the comforting sound of the boys’ voices, raised in a low argument, Carrie’s soft chatter or the warmth of Jenny, crawling beside her after a nightmare.
Shutting her eyes against the tears that threatened, Jane told herself that she was not alone, but the maid’s even breathing from the corner cot bespoke her sleep and offered no comfort. Indeed, the longer Jane lay awake, the more she found herself longing for the one familiar face in her changing world.
It was the face of perfection, with heavy-lidded blue eyes that always held a mocking gleam—as if their owner was secretly amused by everything, including himself. Yet his disarming grin was free from malice. Indeed, it was hard to imagine Raleigh in a temper. Still, he had avoided her this evening, Jane knew full well. Was he displeased by their marriage or angry over her sharp remarks? Or was it simply the way of things? What if he meant to avoid her…forever? Charlotte often spoke of such marriages, where the spouses lived separately.
Jane felt nervous sweat break out upon her brow as she realized that she had no idea what Raleigh had planned for her. Aware that he was to go to Northumberland, she had simply assumed that she would accompany him, but what if he left her in London, alone and friendless? Worse yet, what if he sent her back to Westfield Park? The thought of trying to live with his parents made her perspire in earnest.
Now she regretted those long hours in the coach when she might have discussed their situation more openly instead of disdaining Raleigh’s very presence. Whether she liked it or not, marriage bound her to him, and as her husband he wielded enormous power over her life. The thought made Jane shiver with fear and regret. She should have argued with Charlotte and defied them all, instead of wedding this than! In the darkness of a strange inn, far away from home, Jane could not even remember why she had ever weakened.
And now it was too late. Jane let the tears flow readily as the full import of her situation sank down upon her like a weight, cold, heavy and unyielding. What had she done? And what could the future hold except loneliness?
Chapter Four (#ulink_619c9f00-dd2b-5e7f-b9af-3b69152734c0)
Raleigh strode toward the coach without his usual careless grace. He had been forced to dress himself, after having borrowed one of his parents’ servants for the task yesterday, and he vowed never again to get so drunk that he left on a trip without his valet.
He had kept that stricture firmly in mind last night when the conviviality of his fellow patrons tempted him to indulge too well, for he did not want to get himself in another scrape—or any deeper into this one. When, sometime after finishing his first bottle, he found his thoughts drifting more and more frequently to his virginal bride, whose stiff demeanor, he had discovered, did not extend to her gently curved body, Raleigh had taken himself firmly off to bed—alone.
And so this morning he had arisen feeling pleased with himself for both his good judgment and well-being, having managed to avoid the headache that sometimes plagued him after a night of too much drinking. Unfortunately, his neck cloth had given him difficulties and his coat needed pressing, which soured his mood. He hated to appear at anything less than his best, even if he could look forward to nothing but a day of travel with his wife.
Raleigh’s steps slowed, and he wished for a moment that he had the blunt to hire a horse to ride alongside the carriage. Although usually content to relax in the luxuriously appointed vehicle, he had a yearning to escape his suddenly waspish wife. Lud, the chit’s form might be softer than he had ever imagined, but her tongue was far sharper. Raleigh shuddered, then nearly groaned aloud as he saw the driver help her into the main coach. All hopes that she would choose to sit with her maid died a swift death as he steeled himself to join her.
“Good morning,” he said as cheerfully as he could at this early hour. “I trust you breakfasted well.” Having sent a tray up to her chamber so that he could eat in the common room among his fellows, Raleigh was hoping she would view his act as one of thoughtfulness.
Apparently not. From the sour expression on her face, one would have thought Jane had dined solely upon lemons, and Raleigh braced himself for a set-down. But she only nodded and thanked him, which made him study her more closely. Her face was pale, making Raleigh hope that she wasn’t coming down with anything. Lud, what would he do with a sick female?
“And you?” she asked, raising her gaze to his. Raleigh was startled by the force of it, evident even through the spectacles, and he found himself wondering what she would look like without them. He had never noticed their color, but now, seeing her bathed in the sunlight filtering through the windows, Raleigh realized that her eyes were, indeed, green. Not the unusual springtime shade of Charlotte’s, they were a richer, more sultry color that reminded him of lush plants he had seen only in conservatories.
Jane exotic? The notion brought him up short, and Raleigh realized he was staring at her. Glancing away, he tried to remember what she had asked him. Eh, yes, breakfast!
“Hmm. Quite so. Simple fare, but filling!” he said, patting his stomach. Then he had the odd experience of seeing her attention dip to his flat abdomen and linger there a moment before fleeing. Gad, she was probably taking offense at his vulgarity. At a loss, Raleigh cleared his throat and wondered how the deuce they were to get on when she objected to nearly everything he said.
“Lord…uh, Raleigh,” she began, looking studiously down into her lap. Raleigh again prepared himself for a rebuke, some nonsense about not drawing attention to his person, he suspected. Sometimes it was hard to believe that she was younger than he, when her sensibilities were more closely attuned to those of his maiden aunts.
“Yes?” he prodded when she seemed reluctant to continue.
Her face sober as a judge’s, she stared down at the hands entwined in her lap as if preparing for some momentous discourse, and Raleigh wondered if she had helped the good vicar with his sermons. Surely his slight infraction did not merit such a dour countenance? He wanted to tip up her chin, but resisted the urge firmly. Lud, the chit would have his head if he touched her!
“I would like to apologize for my sharp words yesterday,” she said abruptly, startling Raleigh from his reflection. “I was weary of traveling and…all, but should not have made you suffer for my ill mood.”
Astonished, Raleigh grinned and leaned back against the cushions in delight. First a joke and now an apology! Would wonders never cease? Perhaps his Jane was not as bad as all that. “Think nothing of it. I’m dreadfully bored myself,” Raleigh said, immediately regretting the admission. He had practically accused her of being dull, which, of course, she was. Still and all, a man should have better manners.
“I would like to know, if you would be so good as to tell me,” she said, lifting her head finally to meet his gaze, “what are you going to do with me?”
“Do with you?” Raleigh sputtered, his eyes widening. Was she demanding her marital rights?
“If your plan is to leave me in London, I would much rather go back to the vicarage or stay with Charlotte,” she said softly.
Raleigh drew his brows together in puzzlement. What was the chit talking about? “London? Why would I leave you there?” he asked aloud, though he could think of several reasons without too much effort. To his credit, they had not crossed his mind before, but even if they had, he couldn’t very well abandon the girl. After all, she was his wife.
“I don’t blame you for wanting to forgo Northumberland,” he said, settling into the corner and laying one leg along his seat. “Deuced long trip, but we’re in this together, I should think. If you don’t mind, I would have you come with me. I may need some moral support when I see the wretched place.”
“Moral support?” she asked, eyeing him warily.
The tone of her voice made it sound like something wicked, and Raleigh laughed. “A shoulder to cry on,” he explained, clutching his chest in mock despair.
Obviously, Jane did not share his amusement. “Aren’t you ever serious?” she asked.
“Lud, no,” Raleigh replied. “Why would I want to be serious? My father and mother are humorless enough for the whole family. Dashed boring, I say, and probably bad for one’s liver.”
Jane made a sniffing sound that informed him quite readily of her disagreement. “I cannot believe that reducing everything to a jest is healthy for one’s person or character.”
Raleigh lifted his quizzing glass, even though he knew she would squawk about it. “And just what have you found to be so somber about?” he queried.
Flushing, she turned her head away. “Life is serious.”
Raleigh dropped the glass, for it wasn’t much fun to quiz her when she didn’t object. Pushing aside an odd sense of disappointment at her failure to rise to his bait, he wondered what Jane, in her brief existence, had found so somber. Had she struggled through a youthful illness? On the occasions he had seen her, she had appeared hale, if quiet.
Suddenly, Raleigh was struck by how very little he did know about her, and he felt guilty for the lack. He really ought to discover more, now that she was his wife. Forever. The thought was a bit intimidating, and he pushed it aside, preferring to concentrate on today. “No, Jane,” he said. “Life is only serious, if you make it so.”
When she frowned and gazed out the window, Raleigh cursed his errant tongue. “But let us not quarrel,” he urged. “We have hours until we reach London. Tell me of your brothers and sisters and growing up at the vicarage.”
His intention was twofold, to draw her out so that they stopped spending their days in awkward silence and to learn something about the woman he had married. What had made Jane so different from her siblings? Perhaps, if he knew more about his wife, he could find some way to improve her mood, not only for his sake, but for her own. Although he was usually too indolent to rouse himself to a challenge, Raleigh felt an odd urge to do something for this somber female.
He had his pet projects. Much to the amusement—and sometimes discomfiture—of his friends, he often played matchmaker for couples he thought particularly well suited. However, Jane was already wed, and love, unfortunately, was out of the question. Pausing a moment to regret that, Raleigh wondered if he could still effect some change in her attitude.
He did not have the wherewithal to lavish gifts upon her, and Jane did not seem the type to desire them anyway. Dressed in some dowdy brown thing today, she obviously disdained fine clothing, an appalling trait that Raleigh tried his best to overlook. Nor would she be impressed with society, he sensed, or his position in it.
How then could he best serve her? Watching the hesitation that crossed her clean profile, Raleigh longed to see her tight lips relaxed, her wrinkled brow smoothed, and he realized what he must do. Lifting his arms behind his head, he leaned against the cushions with a contented grin.
Perhaps he could not make Jane happy, but the least he could do was try to get the girl to smile.
By the time they reached London, Jane was hoarse. When her attention was finally claimed by the city around them, she realized, dazedly, that she had never talked so much in her life. And while she stared out the window, unseeing, at the crowded streets, she wondered how he had done it.
When Raleigh had first asked her to tell him about her family, Jane was tempted not to comply out of sheer stubbornness. He had never shown the slightest interest in her before, had he? But his declaration that they were “in this together” had touched her somehow.
She told herself that the phrase had meant nothing to him, that it was just another of his careless remarks, but still she took comfort in his words. And she could not deny her relief to learn he did not mean to leave her in London.
And so she had begun, haltingly at first, to give him answer, and to her surprise, it became easy. She, who rarely spoke at length even to her sisters, found herself readily in conversation. It was a disquieting discovery, and she blamed Raleigh. She knew he was thought to be a witty, engaging sort, of course, but she had never suspected him to be such a wonderful listener. It had thrown her off balance, Jane admitted ruefully.
She knew that a dandy like the viscount could not possibly care the slightest about Kit’s dog or Carrie’s cats, yet he seemed genuinely interested. If she paused, he urged her on with questions. Although she would never have thought it possible, he knew all the names of her brothers and sisters, asking after each one particularly. Either he had a prodigious memory, or he really liked them…
The knowledge unsettled her, although Jane told herself that his regard for them did not extend to her. Unfortunately, she was certain that he would never query them about her in this manner. Yet she continued, unable to gracefully end the conversation and not sufficiently skilled to turn it toward her companion.
Every so often she stumbled, unnerved to see him watching her under those heavy-lidded eyes. Although Jane told herself she must grow accustomed to his perusal, she was still uncomfortable under his regard. He showed no outward signs of disdain, but Jane was well used to being judged, and she would avoid it, if she could. Alone with him in the coach, however, Jane did not see how to escape the blue gaze that rested on her with a casual familiarity she did not want to allow.
Jane swallowed, her throat dry from all her speech, and stared out at the sights and sounds of London, hoping they would draw his attention away from her. But he appeared to have little interest in the city, and she could not concentrate on her surroundings in his presence, especially when she felt the faint prickle of his eyes on her.
His careless sprawl along the seat did not help matters, for Jane found herself keenly aware of the way his gloved hand rested along one muscled thigh. She recalled the touch of those fingers on her shoulders as she sat before his parents, and the memory unnerved her further. Jerking her gaze away, she told herself that only a rogue would spread himself so blatantly upon the cushions. A gentleman would behave more modestly. Even if the only other occupant were his wife?
Jane could feel herself beginning to perspire when at last they reached their destination. It was the West End, Raleigh told her in his usual amiable voice, though the name hardly seemed fit to describe the clean, paved streets and elegant squares lined with stately homes of mellow brick. Raleigh’s town house rose four stories from the ground, and Jane eyed it in trepidation, hoping it was not as forbidding as Westfield Park.
It was not. The welcoming smile of the footman at the door seemed to set the tone for the residence. All of the servants looked more human, greeting Raleigh with genuine pleasure rather than the rigid restraint. Obviously, this was his domain more than his father’s, and Jane could only breathe a sigh of relief at the discovery. Although luxurious, the interior was less lofty and smelled of beeswax and potpourri. The hallway and reception rooms boasted marble statuary and delicately carved cornices, but on the upper level colorful wallpaper and gently curved furnishings were more delightful than intimidating.
Jane had just peeked into one such sitting area when a small, wiry gentleman, impeccably groomed, came hurrying toward them. “My lord!” he cried, and to Jane’s surprise, Raleigh rushed forward to greet him.
“Antoine! Oh, thank God! I feared you had left me!” he said, throwing his arms around the smaller fellow. Who was this? Jane wondered. Was he a relative?
“No, my lord, but I was considerably vexed when I learned of your departure.” He had a small, dark mustache that twitched when he spoke, as if to rebuke the viscount.
“I had a cup too much,” Raleigh admitted with a grin. “But look at me! I am at a loss without you,” he said, spreading his arms wide.
The little man stepped back and shuddered in horror as he inspected Raleigh’s person, though Jane could not imagine what he could find to fault in her husband’s perfect appearance. The viscount’s dark blue coat fit him superbly, stretching across shoulders that needed no padding. They seemed higher than normal, and with a start, Jane realized that Raleigh was much taller than she had thought. She had so often seen him with the towering Wycliffe that she had failed to notice his own exceptional proportions. Though slender, he must reach at least six feet in height.
Suddenly, he turned toward her, and Jane, embarrassed to be caught studying his person, blushed crimson. Raleigh, if he noted it, did not comment on her discomposure, but swept an arm toward the waiting gentleman. “Jane, I would like you to meet my valet, Antoine, the inventor of the Exceptional,” he said, grinning proudly.
His valet? Jane swallowed a startled gasp. Raleigh was making such a fuss over his valet? Then again, why should she be surprised? Such theatrical antics should be expected from a vain creature who put his looks above all else. “The Exceptional?” she asked.
“One of the most imitated of neck cloth designs,” Raleigh explained, while the little fellow preened visibly. “Antoine, this is the viscountess, my wife.”
“Your wife!” the valet exclaimed, lifting his hands to his face in what looked like horror. Watching his bright gaze dart from her wrinkled traveling clothes to her face, Jane lifted her chin, as if daring him to comment on the unlikely match. His small eyes appeared to bulge from his head before he recovered his composure.
“Your wife. But, of course! Congratulations, my lady, my lord. This is exceptional news! But you have just arrived. Would you care to repair your appearance?” he asked. Although the little man continued to view Raleigh askance, Jane suspected he was aiming his question at her. Stiffening at the implied insult, she felt her pleasure in the town house fade, proclaiming her out of place once more.
“Eh?” Raleigh asked, absently. “No, you can fix me up when I dress for dinner.”
“But, my lord—”
Raleigh cut off the servant with a languid wave of dismissal. “In a bit, Antoine. I wish to show my wife around first.”
And he did. Jane felt the tension in her dissipate as Raleigh gave her a tour of the house. As usual, he was amiable and amusing, uttering foolish comments and jests, but making her feel as if she belonged here somehow. They ended up in the study, where he threw himself down into a wing chair and put his booted feet upon the shining surface of the satinwood desk.
Swallowing a scold at such conduct, Jane perched on the window seat, enjoying the scents from the walled garden. She would have to investigate it before they left, but it was dark now and she was content to sit quietly while Raleigh looked through his correspondence.
For a while the room was silent, and Jane wondered if she ought to make her exit. Charlotte had told her that most men spent their time away—with business, clubs or worse—leaving their spouses to shop and pay calls. The knowledge both frightened and saddened Jane, for she did not want to live like that. What would Raleigh do? Although he certainly had no business to conduct, he could go out drinking or gaming, and what could she do about it?
Just as she began to sink deep into morose speculation, her husband startled her with a shout. “Gad, look at this!” he said, and Jane turned her head in time to see a scrap of white float to the carpet near her feet. Leaning over, she retrieved an elaborately engraved invitation to a summer ball to be held at Bradley House.
“Odious affair,” Raleigh said over his shoulder. “Glad we’ll miss it!” His comment was followed by another flutter of paper. And another. “Wretched squeeze! Dreadful boor!” he noted. While Jane watched in astonishment, her husband carelessly tossed invitations toward her as if they were some of her brothers’ paper creations.
Reaching out to try to snatch them from the air, Jane realized how foolish she must appear and put her hands in her lap to frown at him instead. He grinned, unrepentant. “Gad, it’s deadly dull here in the summer!” he complained, even as the litter of planned routs and soirees scattered the thick carpet between them.
“It almost makes me look forward to Northumberland,” Raleigh said. “Almost,” he qualified, flashing her an irreverent smile. Then he turned to his desk, leaning back to tip his seat dangerously. Jane opened her mouth to tell him to keep the chair on the floor only to close it again when she realized he was neither James nor Kit, but a man full-grown and heedless of proper behavior.
Unfortunately, she was finding it increasingly difficult to remain put out with him for long. Today she had been the object of the viscount’s undivided attention, and the feeling was heady. His reputation for charm was well earned, although Jane hastened to assure herself that she wasn’t in danger of succumbing to it.
Still, she had to admit that she would rather have his companionship than not. Raleigh was so full of good humor that it seemed to fill the room, enveloping her like a warm breeze. His spirits were vitalizing, not the kind that sapped her of her strength like a day of dealing with energetic Kit. No, this was something different, a kind of gentle pulsing that bespoke an easiness that she had not often found at the vicarage.
Jane felt a swift guilt at the thought, but it rang true. Although her father was kind and caring, he was a busy man, and after her mother’s death, she had always to help with the younger ones. She loved them all, but at times there was so much to do and so much noise that she craved a peace she found only in her garden.
When that same elusive sense of peace settled over her here in the gentle candlelight of the town house study, Jane tried to deny it. She was tired, after all, and not herself. Else why would she feel a strange contentment in the company of a man so vain that his most pressing concern was the knot in his neck cloth?
Yet the sensation persisted until she went to her room to change for supper, forcing Jane to admit that Raleigh made it easy to be with him—and uneasy without him. Her steps faltered in front of her own door, while her gaze followed him to his, and she knew a sudden urge to follow him, to stay with him rather than greet her haughty maid.
Startled by the turn of her thoughts, Jane shook off the odd fancy that was, no doubt, the product of her strange surroundings. Raleigh was the only familiar face here; it was natural that she should cling to him. But not wise. With new determination, Jane lifted her chin and went her own way, pasting on a smile for Madeleine.
“My lady! I’ve laid out a lovely gown for you,” the maid said, holding up an elaborately flowered and flounced confection that made Jane gulp back a cry of dismay. She would look like a goose in such frills. And she never wore pastels.
“That is not mine,” she protested faintly.
“Yes, it is, my lady. The countess’s maid brought several garments to me before we left Westfield Park. They once belonged to the viscount’s sister, but she will not miss them. Each spring and fall she has an entirely new wardrobe created especially for her, so as to keep abreast of the current fashions.” The woman gave Jane a dark look that spoke volumes about her own hopelessly out-of-date costumes.
“Where is she now?” Jane asked.
“I believe she is visiting friends, an extended house party, so has not yet learned of her brother’s marriage.”
Jane wondered what Raleigh’s sister’s reaction would be. Did she take after her brother or her parents? Picturing either a cold, arrogant miss or a vain, bird-witted flirt, she shivered. “Well, I hardly need to be dressed so elaborately this evening,” Jane said. It was late, much later than mealtime at the vicarage, and after her sleepless night, she knew she would not be up much longer. She looked through the trunk and pulled out one of her own gowns, a simple gray bombazine.
“But my lady—” Jane halted the maid’s protest with a firm look. Sighing as if put upon, Madeleine shook out the wrinkled fabric. “The countess believes in dressing appropriately for every occasion, even though no guests are in attendance,” she noted.
Jane ignored the comment, for she really did not care what the countess did. She had never aspired to be a noblewoman, and she was not going to wear unsuitable clothing just because she had been forced to take a title. Nor would she ever wish to pattern her life after Raleigh’s parents.
It was not as if she were wholly ignorant of the ton, for back in Sussex, she and her siblings had made the Great House their second home. But there no one remembered to call Max “my lord.” Even though he was an earl, they were always welcome to visit, and Charlotte, beyond dressing more beautifully, had little changed when she became a countess. And Raleigh had always been, well, Raleigh—even more careless and easygoing than Max. Too careless and easygoing, Jane thought, as she remembered what a favorite he had been of her siblings.
“Please, my lady, your…hair,” Madeleine moaned. “That hat will simply not do for dinner.” Practically wrestling Jane into the small chair that sat in front of an inlaid table topped with a gilt-edged mirror, she removed the offending item with a frown of distaste, as if she would like to discard it permanently.
For a moment, Jane was left before the mirror, and although she hated the sight of it, she forced herself to look, to see the truth rather than hide behind a falsehood. Here, in Raleigh’s town house, she saw a somber girl with spectacles, her dull hair pulled tightly atop her head. It was the same plain countenance that always stared back at her, for no change in scenery could alter it.
Turning away, Jane began to rise, but Madeleine stopped her with a shriek of outrage. “Wait, my lady! Your hair, I must dress it!”
“No,” Jane said stiffly. “There is no need.” There is no point, she almost added before lifting her chin and standing. She was who she was, and she would not be ashamed.
“But, my lady, at least let me loosen it! Some curls about your face would be just the thing. It is what all the ladies are wearing.”
Jane laughed, without amusement, as she walked to the door. “Believe me, Madeleine, there is nothing in this world that can induce my hair to curl. It is straight as a board.”
“But, my lady—”
Ignoring the maid’s protests, Jane stepped into the hallway. She had no intention of sitting still for such efforts, the kind for which Charlotte regularly pleaded. She always refused her sister, and she would refuse Madeleine, as well. Charlotte might pretend otherwise, but Jane knew that no amount of fussing would alter her appearance, and she had long ago accepted her own limitations.
Better to view the world with eyes wide open than delude oneself. And with that thought, Jane grimly began descending the stairs to supper, her formerly gay temperament sadly tempered by that small reminder. She had but taken a few steps when she was further dismayed to spy another gentleman standing below with Raleigh. Halting, Jane gripped the railing as an unfamiliar sensation seized her.
It was not jealousy.
She had never been jealous of her beautiful sisters. Why, then, should she feel a prick of pique upon seeing Raleigh with his arm casually draped around a stranger? Because it meant the end of her idyllic hours alone with him? Jane drew in a sharp breath and scoffed at herself. Idyllic? Hardly. Companionable, perhaps. And certainly she had known that Raleigh would not entertain her forever. He was a popular fellow, judging from the number of invitations she had seen, so she could hardly expect him to closet himself here with her. Even if she was his wife.
“No, you must stay. I insist!” Raleigh said to the other man. Although they had not yet seen her, their words drifted up to her ears, and Jane heard Raleigh call for another plate to be set. Suppressing an errant twinge of disappointment, Jane forced herself to move. And immediately regretted it.
“I say, Raleigh, who’s that?” the stranger called out loudly upon seeing her. Although she could ignore such poor manners, Jane drew up short when he lifted a quizzing glass to study her. “Lud, isn’t your sister a bit old for a governess?” he asked.
Jane lifted her chin. It had been a long time since she had been talked about in such a fashion, when some matron would cluck over “poor Jane, the plain one.” Then, it had taken all of Jane’s Christian charity not to thrust out her tongue. Now, of course, she was an adult and well beyond such childish tantrums, but the old bitterness returned.
Would all Raleigh’s friends treat her this way? An hour ago she had been content, but now Jane wondered how she could ever fit into her husband’s world. And if this was the way of it, wasn’t she better off in Sussex? Perhaps this clever gentleman could provide Raleigh with a shoulder to cry on in Northumberland, while she returned home!
Oddly enough, the notion was not as comforting as it should have been, and Jane decided to wait before committing herself to either course. Refusing to be cowed, she continued her descent, greeting the two men at the bottom of the stairs with a curt nod. Although she glimpsed a flicker of concern in Raleigh’s eyes, Jane told herself he was probably worrying about the state of his neck cloth. Certainly not his wife.
“Now, Pimperington, would a mere governess conduct herself with such hauteur?” Raleigh said, watching her with a disconcerting degree of familiarity.
“Eh, what?” the man asked, looking from Raleigh to her.
“This lady is not a tutor, but a viscountess. My viscountess,” Raleigh said with a smile. “My lady, may I present Mr. Pimperington.”
Jane had to admire Raleigh’s acting ability, for even she was nearly taken in by the proprietary pride in his voice. Unfortunately, she knew it was all a hum.
“What’s that? Gad, you don’t mean she’s your wife?” the man said in startled accents. Lifting his quizzing glass once more, he studied Jane up and down in a way that made her want to shove the offending object down his throat.
“I’m sorry, but I don’t allow those in my home,” she said.
“Eh? What’s that?” Pimperington asked.
“The glass,” Jane said, louder, pointing. “It will have to go.” And then, ignoring Raleigh’s appreciative chuckle and his guest’s gasp of surprise, she swept past them both in the general direction of the dining hall. Behind her she heard Pimperington’s loud grumble. “What’s wrong with my glass?”
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