After some moments, he shifted his gaze to the object of his thoughts, sitting serene and content only feet away, her face intermittently lit by the street-lamps as she watched the houses slip past. The wheels rang on the cobblestones as he pondered his problem, his gaze fixed, unwaveringly, on the face of his bride-to-be.
As the carriage slowed for the turn into Green Street, Jason stirred. “If tomorrow is fine, perhaps you’d care to drive to Merton with me? My great-aunt Elmira lives there; she’s an invalid and will be unable to attend our wedding but she’s an avid gossip and will be livid not to have met you.”
He ignored Agatha’s stunned stare, his attention on Lenore.
Lenore brightened, her spirits lifting at the thought of a drive in the country. Fresh country air was something she was already missing, although she had no intentions of admitting to such weakness. “I’d be delighted to accompany you, my lord.” She smiled, feeling as if the final cachet had been added to her evening. “I would not have it thought that we were in any way backward with our attentions to your family.”
“You need have no fear of that,” Jason returned somewhat ascerbically. “My family, as you will learn, would never permit it.”
As the carriage slowed before his aunt’s house, Jason allowed himself a small, self-deprecatory smile. The course he had just set his feet upon was not one he would, of his own volition, have followed. However, given that his peace for the rest of his life might depend on the outcome, three weeks of his time seemed a small price to pay.
FOR LENORE, the weeks following the announcement of their betrothal passed in a constant whirl. Visits were crammed between engagements of every conceivable sort—balls, parties, routs, drums. The obligatory appearance at Almack’s was accomplished; she was greatly disappointed by the bare rooms and the refreshments she had no hesitation in stigmatising as meagre. Also wedged between ton-ish dissipations was a reunion with Amelia; her cousin agreed to act as matron of honour and was duly introduced to Lafarge to be fitted for her gown. Lenore had two fittings of her wedding-gown and the severely cut maroon velvet carriage dress she would wear on her departure from the wedding breakfast, all squeezed into her last hectic week. The only periods of calm in her disordered world were those she spent with Eversleigh.
She had initially been surprised to find him assiduous in his attendance upon her, dutifully escorting his aunt and herself to every evening engagement, frequently taking her driving in the Park, arranging an evening at the theatre to see Keane, always by her side whenever the occasion permitted. He also organised outings which took her out of the bustle of the ton, for which she was more grateful than she felt it wise to reveal. They drove in Richmond Park and visited numerous beauty spots. He took her for a tour around London in his curricle, pointing out the sights the guide-books acclaimed, walking with her in St Paul’s and along the leafy avenues by the river.
When, however, unnerved by her response to his continuing thoughtfulness, to the sense of protection she felt when he was by her side, she had hesitantly commented to Agatha on the unexpectedness of his constancy, her mentor had dismissed the point with an airy wave. “Hardly surprising. Never a fool, Jason.”
The cryptic comment did nothing to ease Lenore’s inner wariness; as the days passed, it grew, along with a suspicion that her fears of marriage were well on the way to being realised.
And then, before she had time to come to grips with her affliction, her wedding eve was upon her.
IT WAS PRECISELY three weeks after Lady Attlebridge’s ball. In the dim light of a crescent moon, Jason strolled the balcony of the Bishop of Salisbury’s palace, looking back over the days of his betrothal, very thankful they were about to end. He would be glad to leave behind the unexpected uncertainty which had prompted him to keep Lenore close, spending as much time with her as propriety allowed. The endeavour had stretched his talents to the full. He had even sent Moggs out for a guide-book.
His admiration for his betrothed had increased dramatically. He was reasonably sure she did not enjoy life in London—she had been right in predicting her dislike. Her transparent enjoyment of the days they had spent out of the capital or in pursuits outside the ton had contrasted with her considered appreciation of their evenings’ entertainments. However, not even his sharp eyes had detected the slightest crack in the smoothly serene fade she showed to the world. Her performance had been faultless. The subtle change when, alone with him, she laid aside her social mask, was one he had learned to savour.
Smiling, Jason looked up at the stars, diamonds scattered in the black velvet sky. He owed Agatha a debt, not least for refraining from comment on his unfashionable predilection for his fiancée’s company. Needless to say, Frederick thought he had run daft.
The end of the balcony rose out of the dark. Jason leaned on the railing and breathed deeply. Away to the left, beyond the glow of the town’s street-lamps, he could see the pinpricks of light that marked Ashby Lodge, the home of his cousin Cyril. The Lester Hall household had been quartered here; Lenore had returned to spend the last night before her wedding under the same roof as her father.
Tomorrow, they would wed amid the pomp and ceremony traditional in his family. The town was crammed with members of the ton who, as Agatha had predicted, had returned from all corners of the land to attend. The wedding breakfast would be held here, under Henry’s auspices, after which he and Lenore would depart for the Abbey.
Straightening, his lips curving, Jason considered the future, conscious of nothing more than keen anticipation. No sense of mourning for his hedonistic freedom, no last-minute hesitations. Casting one last look across the treetops to where his betrothed was no doubt sound asleep in a high-necked, long-sleeved nightgown, quite unlike the one she would wear tomorrow night, he grinned and turned back towards the house.
He was well satisfied with the way things had fallen out. Not just as he had hoped but rather more than he had expected.
REPLETE, lulled into a pleasant daze by the steady rocking of the coach, Lenore reviewed her wedding with sleepy content. The event had been remarkable if for no other reason than that she had had no hand in organising it. Her opinions, certainly, had been solicited—by Agatha, by Jack and even by Eversleigh, the latter with a pointed care which had set her lips twitching. Agatha and the reliable Compton, a neat, very serious man of middle age who hid his capabilities behind gold-rimmed glasses, had borne the brunt of the task; from beginning to end, all she had to do was follow instructions—a novel and oddly agreeable experience. She had been free to enjoy her wedding, to savour to the full the fluttering nerves that had assailed her as she had walked down the aisle, her hand on Jack’s sleeve. Muted whispers over her gown had rippled through the congregation, bringing a thin frown to the Bishop’s face. She had hardly noticed, her attention commanded by her husband-to-be, standing tall and straight before the steps. Frederick Marshall had stood beside him, a happy coincidence given Amelia’s role. When Jack gave her hand into Eversleigh’s care, her fingers had shaken; his hand had closed firmly over hers, stilling the movement, steadying her nerves. From that moment on, all had flowed smoothly.
Happily content, Lenore yawned. The only action she had been responsible for that day was the careful aim she had taken when she had paused on the steps of the carriage, surrounded by wellwishers, and thrown her bouquet. If she had not caught it, the large posy of rosebuds and hothouse blooms would have hit Amelia in the face. The memory of Amelia blushing delightfully with Frederick Marshall by her side, his dark head bent as he congratulated her, brought a satisfied smile to Lenore’s face.
As the carriage rolled on, the regular beat of the hooves of the four chestnuts drawing it caught her attention. Both horses and carriage were a wedding gift from her husband. She slanted a glance at him, seated beside her on the pale green leather, his long legs stretched out, his hands folded over his waist, his chin sunk in his cravat, his eyes shut. Lenore grinned. Allowing her gaze to roam the carriage, noting the bright bra
ss fittings and velvet cushions and hangings, she recalled the looks of envy it had elicited from the belles of the ton. Few could boast husbands who thought of such extravagant gifts; diamonds were easy, individualised carriages and horses required rather more thought. Casting an affectionate glance at her sleeping spouse, Lenore smiled.
Turning her gaze once more to the scenery, flashing past, she wondered how long it would be before they reached the Abbey. Already the sun was starting to slip from its zenith.
“You should try to get some sleep.” Jason, far from sleep himself, opened his eyes. “We’re still hours from the Abbey.”
“Oh?” Lenore swung to face him. “Will it be dark when we get there?”
“Close. But I told Horton to stop at the top of the drive—from there, you can see the house clearly. There should be light enough to view it.”
Lenore mouthed an, “Oh,” noting that her husband’s eyes were once more shut. His words focused her mind on the evening, a subject she had thus far avoided. She considered the likely schedule, too nervous to ask for confirmation. She would have to meet the servants, and have a quick look about the main rooms before supervising her unpacking. After that would come dinner. Determined not to let her imagination undermine her confidence, Lenore firmly stopped her thoughts at that point. Eversleigh—Jason—was probably right. A nap would not go amiss. Settling into her corner, warm in her sleek velvet carriage dress, she closed her eyes. Gradually, the excitement of the day fell away. Lulled by the gentle swaying of the carriage, she slept.
She half awoke when a particularly deep rut sent her sliding into Jason. His arms closed about her, stopping her fall. Instead of releasing her, he shifted her, pulling her into a more comfortable position against him, her head on his shoulder. Sleep-fogged, Lenore saw no reason to protest. His body provided a firm cushion against which she could rest, his arms about her ensured her safety. Lenore drifted back into slumber, entirely content in her husband’s arms.
Jason was far less satisfied with her position, wondering what form of temporary insanity had prompted him to draw her so close. But he could not bring himself to push her away. She shifted in her sleep, snuggling her cheek into his shoulder, one small hand slipping beneath his coat to rest against the fine linen covering his chest. Jason closed his eyes, willing away his reaction. After a long moment, he squinted down at her, shaking his head in resignation. Then, settling his chin on her coiled braids, he closed his eyes and, fully awake, indulged his dreams.
He shook her gently awake as the carriage rocked to a halt just beyond the main gates of his principal estate. “The light’s fading but I think we’re in time.”
Blinking, Lenore followed as he descended from the carriage, turning to hand her down. Directly before them, the sun was dying in a cloud of bright purple and rose, sinking behind the opposite rim of the valley. Below, gentle slopes surrounded enormous gardens, laid out about a massive pile of stone—Eversleigh Abbey. Stepping to the lip of the bank, Lenore recalled her husband had described his home as Gothic. Towering turrets stood at the four points of the main building, smaller ones marked the ends of the wings. A dome rose from somewhere behind the main entrance, itself an arched and heavily ornamented structure. The broad sweep of the fade faced the drive, the wings at right angles to the main building, enclosed more gardens. Cast in grey stone, Eversleigh Abbey dominated its landscape yet seemed curiously a part of it, as if the stone had grown roots. Her home, Lenore thought, and felt a shivery surge of excitement grip her.
“There used to be a fourth side to the courtyard, of course,” Jason said from beside her. “There are cloisters around the inner side of the east and west wings.”
“From when it was a monastery?”
He nodded.
“Where is the library housed?”
Jason raised his brows.
Ignoring his supercilious expression, Lenore pointedly lifted one brow and waited.
With a reluctant smile, Jason capitulated. “The main building, west corner.” He pointed to two huge arched windows set into the fade. “There are more windows on the west.”
As they watched, lights started to appear in the house. Two large lamps were carried out and set in brackets to light the front steps.
“Come. They’ll be waiting. We should go down.”
Jason took her arm and Lenore turned, consumed by an almost childish eagerness to see her new home.
By the time the carriage pulled up on the broad sweep of gravel before the front steps, twilight had taken hold. Handed down from the carriage, Lenore looked up at the massive oak doors and the soaring stone arch above them. She peered about, trying to discern the features of the gardens before the house.
“They won’t disappear during the night,” Jason commented drily.
Accepting that truth, Lenore allowed him to lead her up the steps. Long before they had reached them, the doors were swung wide. The hall within was ablaze with light. A chandelier depending from the huge central beams threw light into every corner. Tiled in grey and white, the large rectangular room was filled with a small crowd of people. The butler, at the head of the assembled company, bowed majestically.
“Welcome, Your Grace.” Then he bowed again. “Your Grace.”
For a moment, Lenore wondered why he had repeated himself. Then she realised and blushed. Jason, an understanding smile on his face, led her forward.
“Allow me to present you to your staff, my dear. This is Morgan, who has been with us forever. His father was butler before him. And this is Mrs. Potts.”
Lenore smiled and nodded, acknowledging the greetings of each servant as Morgan and the reassuringly cheerful Mrs Potts conducted her down the line. Behind her, she heard Jason issuing quiet orders to his valet, the one named Moggs. He had been with Jason at Salisbury but had come down ahead of them with Trencher and the luggage. The introductions seemed interminable; Lenore juggled names and occupations, resolving to ask for a list at the earliest opportunity. At the end of the line, Jason took her hand, dismissing the gathering with a nod.
Glancing down at her, his expression resigned, he lifted an enquiring brow. “I suppose I had better show you the library before you set out to discover it yourself and get lost.”
Lenore smiled sweetly, gracefully taking his proffered arm as he turned towards an archway. By the time they reached the library door, she was grateful for his forethought. Many of the main rooms were interconnecting; the way far from direct. If left to herself, she would certainly have got lost.
The library was enormous; the small fire burning in the hearth did nothing to dispel its cavernous shadows. Jason strolled forward and lit a branch of candles. Then he took her hand and led her on a circuit of the room, holding the candlestick high to light their way.
“There must be thousands and thousands of books here.” Lenore’s hushed whisper drifted into the stillness.
“Very likely,” Jason replied. “I’ve no idea of the number—I thought I’d leave that to you.”
“Are they in any order?”
“Only vaguely. My father always seemed to simply know where things were, rather than work to any plan.”
Forming her own plans to bring order to what appeared one step away from chaos, Lenore let her eyes roam upwards, to where rows of books seemed to disappear into shadows. Staring up, she realised the ceiling was a very long way away and the wall did not seem to meet it. “Is there a gallery up there?”
Jason glanced upwards. “Yes. It goes all the way around.” He turned her about and pointed to where a set of wooden stars led up. “Those lead to it.”
Turning about, eyes wide, Lenore realised the gallery ran along above the windows, too. It would be a perfect place to have her desk.
Viewing the total absorption that had laid hold of his wife, Jason, his fingers locked about hers, recrossed the long room. Placing the candlestick down on the table by the fireplace, he snuffed the three candles with the silver snuffer that lay beside the tinderbox.
“Yes, of course.” Quelling her skittering pulse, Lenore glided beside him, a host of impetuous and far too revealing questions hovering on her lips. She was perfectly certain he would have made plans for the evening—she was not at all certain if knowing them would help her.
At the top of the grand staircase, Jason turned her to her right. “Your apartments are along here.” He stopped at a polished oak door and opened it, standing back for her to precede him. Lenore went through, into her bedroom.
It was all in greens and golds, soft colours blending and contrasting with the ivory wallpaper. The furniture was of polished oak, gleaming in the light from the candles scattered in candelabra and sconces throughout the room. All the knobs she could see were brass, including those at the corners of the huge tester bed. Drapes of pale green gauze depended in scallops from the frame above the bed; the counterpane was of silk in the identical shade of green. Velvet of a darker green curtained the windows while the stools and chairs were upholstered in amber velvet.
Slowly, Lenore turned, eyes round as she drank in the subtle elegance, her lips parting in wordless approval. Her gaze met her husband’s. Jason lifted his brows in mute question.
“It’s lovely!”
Pleased, more by the delight in her eyes than by her words, Jason smiled. Placing an iron shackle over his inclinations, he shut the corridor door behind him and strolled to a door on the left. “I’ll leave you to get settled. The bell-pull’s by the mantelpiece.” He paused, his hand on the doorknob, his gaze, beyond his control, roving over her. “Until later, Lenore.”
Stephanie Laurens Rogues' Reform Bundle Page 17
