And to think, she had allowed herself to believe that he’d dragged Lady Adele out of the drawing room in a rare act of gallantry–that he would administer a severe dressing down to the woman. She’d thought it an almost heroic gesture.
But no, he’d only pulled Lady Adele out of their company to kiss her. Clearly, it was something he made a habit of, despite his assertion to the contrary. An unfamiliar pang of jealousy shot through her heart as she tossed a card to the green-felt table. Thank goodness the loathsome woman had taken her leave so abruptly.
Jane sighed, glad she was not hanging out for a husband. What if she’d been swayed by her indisputable attraction to the rakehell? For she could no longer deny the attraction existed. She longed for the return of her sensibilities. She wasn’t herself these days, and it frightened her.
“Have you any news from your brother, Mrs. Tolland?” Lord Westfield asked. Jane looked up from her cards with surprise. She hadn’t realized Lord Westfield was acquainted with Emily’s family.
“Why, yes,” Emily answered with a bright smile. “I received a letter from Anthony just yesterday. He’s getting on well in Hertfordshire.”
“I’m very glad to hear it. I hope to pay him a visit on my way to London in a fortnight.”
“A fortnight?” Emily asked with a grimace. “So soon?”
“Yes, I’m afraid I have some, ahem, pressing concerns to take care of in Town.” He directed his gaze toward Jane. She answered it with a scowl and then returned her attention to her cards.
Ah yes, she thought. That trip to London to secure a bride. He was no longer spared that trip after all. Unless, of course, Lady Adele had agreed to fill the position.
“Wait till you see his two eldest boys, Lord Westfield,” Emily continued. “They’ve grown so big and boisterous. I declare, they remind me of you and Anthony when you were lads, always at fisticuffs.”
Jane looked up over her cards again. “I didn’t realize your acquaintance went back so many years,” she murmured.
“Oh, yes,” Emily answered. “Why, I’ve known Lord Westfield all my life.”
“My family has a lesser estate in Gloucestershire,” Lord Westfield explained. “Neighboring Mrs. Tolland’s childhood home. My brother lives there now. As children, we spent most of the winter months there, as the climate was more suited to my sister’s constitution. Mrs. Tolland’s brother and I went to Eton and Oxford together.”
“And, I must say, Lord Westfield was my greatest champion. Anthony was horrible to me most of the time, relentlessly teasing and torturing me. Lord Westfield soundly boxed his ears a few times on my behalf.” Emily smiled shyly at the earl.
“Is that so?” Jane asked curiously.
“Mrs. Tolland was my late sister’s dearest friend, and spent almost as much time at our home as her own. I came to think of her as a sister,” Lord Westfield said softly.
“Imagine my delight as a bride when I learned that Cecil had taken a residence neighboring Lord Westfield’s ancestral estate. Friends and family in such close proximity.” Emily was beaming, and Jane was relieved to see her spirits so lifted.
“I confess, I imagined that you only came to know Lord Westfield when you married Cecil.” Jane shook her head. Why, Lord Westfield became more and more complex as the days wore on. She was surprised by the sudden thought that perhaps he had pulled Lady Adele out by her ear as a protective measure toward Emily. After all, he’d never been anything but kind and gentle toward her cousin. Of course, the end result had been the same–he’d still managed to find himself in Lady Adele’s arms, shamelessly kissing her.
No longer able to concentrate on her cards, she tossed them to the table and excused herself. The blasted man did nothing but unsettle her, confusing her thoughts and stirring her emotions. She scurried across the room and took a volume of poetry from the shelf. She found a quiet corner and took a seat on the red velvet settee that sat beneath a wide window, flanked by an enormous potted palm. With trembling hands she opened the leather-bound book and began to scan the pages, unable to focus on a single word.
Tentatively, she glanced up, peering over the pages. Her heart practically leapt from her breast as she saw Lord Westfield standing directly across the room from her, leaning against the pianoforte. His gaze was trained on her, a puzzled look darkening his features, as if he were studying her like a specimen under a glass. She shivered and shrunk back behind the palm, returning her attention to the book. The words on the page were nothing but a blur.
Seconds later, she felt the hair on the back of her neck rise and gooseflesh cover her arms. Heart pounding, she lowered the book and looked to the floor, watching in trepidation as a pair of polished Hessians moved toward her. Her hands began to tremble and the book slipped from her lap and onto the floorboards beside her slippers with a thump. Holding her breath, she reached for it, just as another hand snatched it up and held it out to her. She was afraid to raise her eyes and yet, at the same time, couldn’t resist the strong, compelling pull to do just that.
She finally tipped her chin in the air, boldly meeting Lord Westfield’s gaze.
“Byron,” he drawled, his face an irritating blank. “I find his work overly sentimental.”
For a moment she couldn’t move, couldn’t respond. She sat as still as a statue, gazing into the bottomless depths of his eyes, wondering just what kind of hold the man had on her senses.
At last she came to her wits, shaking her head as if to clear it. “As do I. Frightfully over-sentimental.” She reached for the thin volume, his hand brushing hers as he placed it in her palm. Somehow, inexplicably, she felt his fingers stroke the back of her hand as he released the book into her grasp. She sucked in her breath, amazed both by his boldness and the very sensuality of the gesture.
“May I join you?” he asked, his voice rough.
“I...of course.” Had she any choice? He had seated himself by her side before she’d even spoken the words.
“I feel compelled to explain to you what you witnessed tonight in the library.”
“There’s no need for explanations, my lord. It was quite obvious what I’d stumbled upon and not at all proper to discuss it.”
“Miss Rosemoor, I fear that you’ve made some unfortunate judgments about my character and I’d like to set things straight once and for all.”
“Why? What point would it serve? I’m a fair judge of character. I was quickly able to sketch yours, and nothing you say now will change that. Initial impressions are telling, my lord, and very often correct.”
He balled his hands into fists by his sides. “You mean to tell me that your initial summation of character is implacable, regardless of the truth in it?”
“Yes, that’s exactly what I’m saying.” She refused to budge.
“Surely you realize the nonsensical nature of that statement? You cannot possibly be correct each and every time you so hastily judge someone.”
“More often than not, I am.”
He turned his head away from her, his jaw flexing, before turning to face her once more.
“What you witnessed this evening in the library was nothing more than a desperate woman’s unwanted attentions. I would have immediately removed her person from mine whether or not you had entered the room when you did. Her embrace was unwelcome, uninvited, and unpleasant at best.”
“I cannot say it looked that way,” she replied. “Nor is it any of my concern.”
“You’re correct on that count. It isn’t your concern, except that I recently made you an offer of marriage, one which you declined. I don’t wish tonight’s misunderstanding to further serve your need to justify such a foolish refusal. Think what you wish about your own reasons for refusing me, but don’t think my offer anything but honorable and respectful.”
“Respectful? You call that respectful? If I might refresh your memory, my lord, you managed to insult me while you offered yourself up as if you were some prize. I’ve received many proposals of marriage, and none phrased as
unprettily as yours.”
“And yet,” he said softly, “my proposal was perhaps the most honest, most sincere of the lot.”
Jane swallowed hard, astonished by the truth that resonated in his words.
He reached for her hand, drew it from her lap. “If I offended you, Miss Rosemoor, I apologize. I do not tolerate falsehood or pretense. I thought we might suit, yet did not want to mislead you with pretty words and false promises of love. I hope that someday you will come to appreciate that.”
Her cheeks burned and she silently cursed her own stubborn pride–her vanity. She endeavored to speak the truth at all times; why did she not value that trait in others? Was she so far above him, playing games, hoping to lead him on a chase that would inevitably end in his disappointment?
Her eyes misted as she looked up at him, still clasping her hand in his. A slow smile spread across his face–the mask of indifference lifted, the curtain drawn from his eyes. She looked into their depths and saw only honesty, integrity, and sound moral character.
He spoke the truth about Lady Adele–she was surprisingly certain of it. When he gave her hand a gentle squeeze, she returned the pressure, a bittersweet, regretful smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.
“I say, Westfield, what are you and Cousin Jane speaking of so secretly over there?” Cecil called out.
Lord Westfield released her hand at once, resting his beside hers on the settee, his fingers just barely grazing hers.
“Nothing secret at all,” he called out in reply. “Poetry.”
“Byron,” Jane answered brightly, perhaps too brightly. She lifted the book from her lap and held it aloft, aching at the loss of contact with Lord Westfield’s hand.
She felt her stomach flip-flop, keenly aware that something had shifted between them, something subtle but substantial nonetheless. She only hoped it would not make their next meeting all the more difficult.
Chapter 8
“She’s a beauty, Tolland, the finest horseflesh I’ve seen in quite some time. A bargain, too, at that price.” Hayden lowered the brim of his beaver hat as the noon sun rose high in a clear, cloudless sky. “How did you ever get Billingsly to part with her without paying dearly?”
Tolland smirked as he joined Hayden on the narrow, dusty lane that led back to the house. “It would appear that Billings House has found itself in dire straits. Too many unsuccessful nights at the poker table for poor Billingsly, I’m afraid. Being the generous soul that I am, I naturally offered to take the beast off his hands. He jumped at the first price named. I think for five quid more, he would’ve thrown in his wife, as well.”
Hayden chuckled. “Surely she’s worth more than five quid?”
“Well, if she’s anything like her eldest daughter, then she is indeed worth a fair price.” Tolland’s brows rose suggestively. “I can say from experience that the delightful Mrs. Williams is a delectable morsel, indeed.”
At once the fine afternoon was spoilt. Hayden’s chest tightened, unbidden anger flooding his veins. It was all he could do to restrain himself from bloodying the fool’s nose with one perfectly placed punch. But such an action would no doubt require an explanation to Emily, and he would do everything in his power to make sure she remained mercifully unaware of her husband’s infidelities. As it was, he tried his best to rein in the man’s lustful appetites, steering him away from temptation when he could. But he couldn’t spend every bloody moment of his life keeping Emily’s errant husband from straying.
Emily deserved better. He’d been furious when he’d learned of her arranged match with Cecil Tolland, his brother Thomas’s childhood chum. Tolland was a far cry better than Thomas, but still, he was not nearly a fine enough man for Emily. Indeed, Emily was a rare jewel–brilliant on the outside, fair and sweet, yet strong as the finest diamond.
He’d never have made it through those dark months following his sister’s death if it hadn’t been for Emily, sitting by his side and offering him comfort when he thought there was none to be had. She’d been only a girl then, but possessing the quiet wisdom of a woman.
Years later, when Katherine had been snatched from him, he’d thought he would surely go mad with grief. Emily’s family had been there, guests at Richmond Park for his wedding, and again it was Emily who had eventually pulled him from the blackness when no one else could. It had also been there at Richmond Park, in the wake of Katherine’s death, that Emily had first met Cecil Tolland.
Hayden had been unable to convince Emily’s father against the match, as Tolland was heir to a respectable fortune, even with no title to accompany it. Her father had been more than satisfied. He had three other daughters to worry about, after all.
Hayden found a measure of relief when the newly wedded Tolland and Emily settled just down the lane from him, allowing him the opportunity to shield Emily as best as he could from her husband’s true nature.
He clenched his hands into fists by his sides and took a deep, fortifying breath. No, boxing Tolland’s ears wouldn’t help, no matter how dearly he deserved it. He was better served acting as Tolland’s friend, not adversary. It allowed him to watch over Emily without difficulty. With some effort, he managed to subdue his anger as he followed Tolland to the house for a drink.
Silently, he hurried up the front steps and entered the front hall, feeling a surge of anticipation quicken his heart. Would he catch a glimpse of Jane? Five full days had passed since they last met, and his desire to see her grew more insistent, harder to ignore, with each passing day.
“Mr. Tolland?” The stout housekeeper appeared before them, her mouth pursed.
“Yes, Mrs. Smythe?” Tolland doffed his hat, and Hayden followed suit.
“Mr. Winston came while you were out, and desires a word with you. He’s asked that you come to his office in Ashbourne straightaway.” The housekeeper bobbed a curtsey and disappeared down the hall.
“Too bad, Westfield,” Tolland said, replacing his hat on his head. “We’ll have to have that drink another time. Important business, this is. I should go at once.”
Hayden refused to acknowledge the raw disappointment that washed over him. He would not get his wish today.
Tolland rushed out without another word, leaving Hayden standing there alone in the entryway.
“There you are, Cecil. I’m so worried about Emily–you must come at once...”
Hayden turned to face Jane, who stood halfway down the stairs, her face grave and one hand gripping the banister so tightly that her knuckles were white.
“Oh, Lord Westfield. I’m so sorry, I thought you were Cecil.” Slowly, she descended the remaining stairs and stood on the landing.
“So I see. Your disappointment is evident.”
Her brows rose, and she paused before responding. “You must forgive me, my lord. I’m afraid I’m not fit company today.”
Indeed, she looked tired, her features drawn, her brow creased with worry. About Emily, she’d said, when she thought him to be Tolland.
He took a step toward her, his mouth curled into a frown. “Is Mrs. Tolland unwell?”
Miss Rosemoor shook her head. “No, she’s...I’m afraid she’s not at all herself today. I can’t...I’m not certain–”
“Shall I send for the physician? I’ll ride for him myself.” He had taken three strides toward the door before the words were out of his mouth.
“No, I don’t believe she needs the physician. I’m not sure what she needs. Her health seems well enough; it’s her disposition that worries me.” She shook her head again. “Forgive me. I shouldn’t speak of such private matters to you.” Her eyes welled with tears.
He hastened to her side and reached for her hand. “I beg your pardon, Miss Rosemoor, but if you have serious concerns about Mrs. Tolland’s well-being, I implore you to share them with me at once. My friendship with your cousin goes back many years and she’s been a comfort to me in dark times. If there’s any way that I can similarly aid her, you must let me do so. May I see her?”
> “She won’t see anyone, not since yesterday afternoon. Not me, not the nursemaid with Amelia. She hasn’t taken a single meal today and her door remains locked. I think that Cecil–”
“Take me to her.”
“Lord Westfield, you know I cannot. It isn’t at all proper.”
“I don’t give a damn about propriety. Take me to her,” he demanded, the blood rising in his face.
“But Cecil–”
“Has just left for his solicitor’s office in Ashbourne. He won’t return for several hours.” Without waiting for permission, he tossed his hat aside and sprinted up the stairs, taking two at a time. “Mrs. Tolland?” he called out, pausing before a door where a pair of maids stood, wringing their hands before it.
He rapped sharply on the door with his knuckles. “Mrs. Tolland? It’s Lord Westfield. I’d like to speak with you. Please unlock the door.”
There came no reply.
“Please, Mrs. Tolland.” He rattled the doorknob in frustration.
Finally, a faint voice answered from the other side of the door. “Lord Westfield?”
“Yes. Won’t you please let me in?”
“What if she’s not decent?” one of the maids wailed, and Hayden silenced her with an icy glare.
Relief washed over him as footsteps shuffled toward the door. The key turned in the lock with a resounding ‘click.’
Pushing the door open a fraction, he saw Emily standing there, decently attired in a somber gown, a heavy shawl wrapped about her. He turned to glance over one shoulder at Jane, who stood motionless in the hall, her eyes wide with shock. She couldn’t possibly think that anything untoward would occur–not between him and Emily. Surely she knew better. With a shrug, he entered the room and closed the door behind him.
Any explanation would have to wait.
***
Time seemed to stand still as Jane waited for Lord Westfield to emerge from Emily’s room. She’d sent the maids away and asked the housekeeper to prepare a tray for Emily, in case he was able to talk her into eating something.
Unveiled (Undone by Love Book 3) Page 9
