Percy Elton sat next to Millicent. Douglas could not recall when he had met anyone more loathsome. Sly and shifty-eyed, the man’s greatest interest in life appeared to be ogling the ladies. Douglas could only imagine how much the countess must want to be rid of him.
Rennie insisted Douglas come with him. He had to admit it didn’t take much persuasion. Not that he liked spending his evening gorging himself and enduring silly prattle. He had come because of her. He looked directly across the table. There she sat, properly solemn-faced, properly attired in black. Earlier there was some mention about a letter from her father in America. Very good news, it seemed. She seemed subdued even then, but now she’d grown even more quiet and was most definitely avoiding his gaze. Even so, all evening he was hard-put not to look at her. Stare, actually. Since their intimacy of yesterday, he thought of little else. That had to stop. He could not, would not, allow himself to become involved with a woman. He knew when he killed little Sarah he could never live the pleasurable life of an ordinary man. What he did that awful night was so despicable, so utterly beyond redemption, he could never allow himself the joys of marriage, children, a happy family life. Work was his salvation. He would build canals until he grew tired of it, if he ever did. If so, he would join the Navy and sail the oceans wide until, if God agreed, he would be swept overboard by a giant wave in a violent storm, a fitting end, indeed, for the drunken fool who had taken the life of a little girl. Oh, God, that awful woman was addressing him. “Beg pardon, madam, what did you say?”
Beatrice Elton returned a cold lift of her eyebrow. “I said, Mister Cartland, I have heard you are building a canal for Lord Rennie.”
“That is correct.” He did not want to discuss his canals with this bird-brained woman who could not care less.
Jane spoke up, practically the first time all evening she had opened her mouth except to eat. “Mister Cartland is an expert on water. In fact, he thinks we might have a terrible flood.” She sent him a dazzling smile. “Is that not right, Mister Cartland?”
Curse the woman. She had said that just to rile him. “It could happen.” He hoped for a quick change of subject, but no, Beatrice Elton regarded him with a skeptical eye.
“Our silly little river?” She laughed and everyone joined in, even Rennie, who he thought was his friend.
He ignored the laughter. “Given the right conditions, that silly little river could change into a raging torrent in a matter of hours.”
From the head of the table, James Elton, who ordinarily sat silent, addressed his wife. “He’s right, my dear. Local history records a horrific flood of the River Hulm a few centuries ago. As the story goes, the third earl and his wife were compelled to run to higher ground, the water lapping at their heels.” He paused and frowned. “Or was it the fourth earl?”
Beatrice waved a dismissive hand. “What does it matter? It all happened a long time ago and has no relation to our modern times.” She addressed Jane. “Considering that your dower house sits by the river, we would not want a flood, now would we?”
“No, indeed not, Beatrice.” Jane smiled pleasantly, as if touched by her sister-in-law’s concern. Douglas easily perceived the wariness that lay beneath the smile. Well it should. Beatrice Elton wanted to be a countess so bad she could taste it, and she was dying to get Jane out of the house. He wondered what the woman would do if Jane really was carrying the earl’s heir. If she was, she better beware. He would not put anything past that Elton woman.
Rennie spoke up. “Don’t forget I live on higher ground.” He cast sheep’s eyes at Millicent. “If it floods, Miss Hart, I shall come and rescue you.”
Rennie, you poor sod, she doesn’t even like you.
Millicent fluttered her long lashes. “How kind of you, Lord Rennie. In case the flood comes, I shall feel quite safe, remembering your offer.”
She was making fun of his friend, but what could he do? If Rennie wanted to make a fool of himself, who was he to stop him? A shame, though. Rennie was obviously in love. A girl as shallow as Millicent would never be able to appreciate the warm and generous heart that lay behind his poor friend’s pock-marked face and awkward demeanor.
Douglas heaved a silent sigh. The night had just begun. Next, brandy with the gentlemen, then the inevitable cards with the ladies, and he’d probably get stuck with that insufferable woman who fancied herself the countess. When all he really wanted to do was maneuver Jane into a dark corner. Stupid, stupid. What was he thinking? He would never marry, so where would this lead? All he knew was, he had to get her alone, hold her in his arms again. That was all that mattered, and he didn’t care to look beyond.
* * * *
“This is all because of Beatrice,” said Mama, “and I’m still not sure we’re doing the proper thing.”
After dinner, in the drawing room, Jane sat at one of the Whist tables; the foursome consisted of herself, Granny, Douglas and her mother, who held a deck of cards in hand and went on to inquire, “If we’re in mourning, is it proper to play cards?”
Granny was Douglas’ partner. “Who cares? Just deal.” She loved playing Whist, especially when a bit of a wager was involved.
“Don’t worry, Mama. After all, according to Beatrice this was a memorial dinner for his lordship. I’m sure he would have wanted us to enjoy ourselves.” Douglas sat on Jane’s right. She looked to him for confirmation.”Do you not agree, Mister Cartland?”
“Absolutely We owe it to Lord Lansdown to carry on. We all know what a heart of gold he had. He would be devastated if he saw his loved ones sitting around mourning, denying themselves any fun.”
“Well, if you put it that way, I suppose he wouldn’t mind.” Mama started dealing the cards.
Jane exchanged an amused glance with Douglas. His subtle humor might fly right over Mama’s head, but it was one of the things she liked about him. He seemed to understand what she was thinking, too. In fact, the more she knew him, the more she found common ground. Then, of course, there was yesterday ... She looked at his hands. They were not the soft, white hands of a gentleman. Instead, they were tanned, strong and looked so very capable. This evening they held cards. Yesterday they were on her breasts ... Her flesh tingled. A pleasurable tug warmed the pit of her stomach, just thinking about how she had lain beneath him, breasts exposed, so caught up in a passion she had never felt before.
And very much wanted to feel again.
“Pay attention, Jane. It’s your turn.”
“Of course, Mother.” She threw down a card, hardly caring if it trumped or not. Damn him. She had better come to her senses, and fast. She needed to remind herself she wasn’t going to see him again, and with good reason.
All evening long she was acutely aware of Douglas’ presence. She kept telling herself there would be no chance of seeing him alone, which was most certainly for the best. Later, though, when the card playing ended and some of the guests left, she encountered him alone outside the drawing room. Her pulse began to race.
“Where can we talk?” he asked.
She knew she ought to tell him they had nothing to discuss, but the intensity in his voice made her give up any thought of saying so, and she led him into the dark, empty library.
The minute she closed the doors and turned to face him, her heart started pounding in her chest. No way could she control it. She could barely make out the features of his face in the darkened room, lit only by weak moonlight streaming through an open window. “What is there to say?” She hoped he couldn’t hear the shakiness in her voice.
He reached out and caught her hand in his. “You have been avoiding me all evening.”
“I told you—”
“I know what you told me. Stop talking.” His arms encircled her in a swift motion that locked her tight against him. He bent her back and, with stunning urgency, crushed his mouth to hers. With nary a thought of resistance, she wrapped her arms around his neck and savored the moment, feeling sweet currents of desire course through her body. Soon his tongue pushed
her lips aside to explore her mouth. It slid across the inside of her lips, touched her tongue, explored all the recesses of her mouth. She never had a man’s tongue in her mouth before and would never have guessed how pleasurable it would be, how the feel of him inside her would be ... She pushed closer against him, feeling his strong muscles, wanting more, until at last, as if both could endure no more, they broke apart.
They stared at each other, gasping for air. There was something wrong with her legs. They were all wobbly and her knees felt weak. “We must stop,” she gasped. “I simply can’t ... not when they think I might be carrying the heir ... Sir Archibald ... this just isn’t the time ...”
He stepped back, crossed his arms and regarded her. She couldn’t see his face too well but sensed his skepticism. “How long will this ridiculous wait go on?”
“What a tactful way to put it.”
“When?”
“Tomorrow is the day.”
“Tomorrow,” he repeated thoughtfully. “The world awaits, your ladyship.”
She heard the distant sound of voices, most likely more guests departing. “This is insanity. I must go, and I don’t want to see you anymore.”
He stepped to the door and opened it wide. Peering through, she caught a glimpse of something or someone she couldn’t make out, much like a shadow moving swiftly away. She could almost swear someone had been at the door listening, but why even mention it? Whoever it was would be gone now. Probably Percy. She wouldn’t put anything past her shifty-eyed nephew.
“After you, Countess.” Douglas waved her through. “I shall be gone a few days. I hope by the time I return your problems will all be resolved.”
When she awoke the next morning, her first thought was, this is the day! A quick check told her not yet. The day was young. She was always right on time. In fact, she could count on coming ’round like the monthly arrival of the full moon.
Thoughts of Douglas Cartland filled her mind. How could she not think about him, not feel the aching need to be with him? She needed to clear her head. A good ride on Beauty was the answer. She could enjoy the brisk air of the early morning, and besides, maybe a bit of jogging in the saddle would bring on her monthly. She had another reason, too, for wanting to get away. Sometimes it seemed the dark, stone walls of Chatfield Court were closing in on her. It was such a dark place, and cold, too, even in summer. Beatrice’s constant, bothersome presence didn’t help. In fact, Jane didn’t much care to see her mother this morning, either, not after her remarks about her father and America yesterday.
She dressed in her riding habit and slipped out of the mansion. Soon she had saddled Beauty and was ready to go. Which way? She left the courtyard. She decided she would try something new today—the other side of the river. At least she would not have to worry about making skittish Beauty cross the wooden bridge. The animal could easily walk across the River Hulm, which was now so shallow she would hardly get her hooves wet.
Jane crossed the river and found a good trail on the other side. Keeping Beauty trotting at a brisk pace, she passed the pasture where the very same cows who had regarded Douglas and her with so much curiosity grazed. “Hello, girls.” She gave a merry little wave as she passed by. A good thing those cows couldn’t talk. She was amused at her little joke. A field of corn lay beyond the pasture. Halfway past it, she saw two figures in the field picking ears of corn from the tall stalks and sticking them into gunny sacks. One was a boy of twelve or so, and the other was Meg, her chambermaid. Jane reined Beauty to a stop, raised her arm and waved. “Hello, Meg Twimby!”
Meg dropped her sack of corn and walked over to where Jane sat on her horse. She wiped a damp brow with her arm. “’Pon my word, if it isn’t the countess! I see you crossed the river.”
“Just trying something new.” Jane patted Beauty’s withers. “This is my horse, Beauty.”
“Oh, I’ve seen her in the stables, ma’am, and a fine horse she is.” Meg pointed at a nearby birch tree. “Do you have a moment? Come, let’s sit in the shade for a while. Picking corn is hard work. I need a rest.” Her forehead creased in a sudden frown. “I hope it’s all right. I mean, you being the countess and all, and me a chambermaid.”
“Don’t be silly. I need a rest, too.” Not true, of course, but she instinctively liked this girl and wished to share a visit. Besides, did she really want to be a snob like her mother?
Jane slid off Beauty and tethered her to a tree. She and Meg settled in the shade beneath. Sitting cross-legged, shielding her eyes from the sun, Jane pointed at the young boy still picking corn. “Is that your brother?”
“That’s Jonathan, who’s twelve.”
“Do you have any other brothers?”
Meg’s broad face lit at the mention of her family. ““My older brother, Jeremy, is twenty-two. I have another brother, Matthew, who’s home taking care of our little sister, Molly. She’s two, and our little darling.”
“Your mother and father?”
“My mum is gone now, died two years ago when Molly was born. Then there’s my dad. He’s not in good health right now, but he’ll get better soon. We’re your tenants, as I guess you know.”
Jane had only a vague idea of her husband’s holdings. He never discussed them with her, nor ever said a word about his tenants or what rents he received. “I must confess to abysmal ignorance on the subject.”
“Well, m’lady, your family owns the land. We rent three hundred acres and grow mostly corn and some beans. We graze cows, sheep and one very ornery goat. My family’s been paying rent to the many Earls of Lansdown for generations. It’s just a shame that—”
Meg’s abrupt pause made her ask, “What is a shame?”
“Nothing. I misspoke.”
“So you work on your farm as well as at Chatfield Court?”
“Oh, yes, your ladyship. Since my mother is gone, I do all the cooking and cleaning, and I help my brothers with the other chores, too, seeing as my dad is so poorly.” She made a dismissive gesture. “But I’m talking about myself too much. It’s your turn.”
Jane chuckled. “Don’t you already know about me? Hasn’t just about every intimate detail of my life been bandied about below the stairs?”
“Almost, I suppose.” Meg’s eyes twinkled. “We know, for instance, you are waiting to see if you have a bun in the oven.”
Jane threw her head back and laughed aloud. “I might have known. Nothing is sacred.”
“Oh, madam, I have gone too far. Please excuse—”
“Nonsense. Don’t apologize. I don’t object to your honesty, I welcome it. As to your question, today is supposed to be the day, but it hasn’t happened yet.”
“Do you want the baby?”
The question startled her. Except for Douglas, no one else had ever thought to ask. In fact, if anyone else asked such a question, she would have considered it rude. But she sensed that Meg, like Douglas, asked out of genuine concern, not mere curiosity. “That’s a difficult question to answer. My mother would be dancing in the streets if I were to produce a male heir. As for me, in the remote possibility I’m carrying the earl’s child, it will be much anticipated and loved, but the truth is, I don’t want it, and for more reasons than one.”
Meg smiled sympathetically. “Too bad we women don’t have more say in the matter.”
“Ah, how very, very true.”
They continued talking, Jane enjoying every minute she spent with this warm and friendly farm girl. She might be plain-faced, but her depth of understanding exceeded that of most of the giddy girls Jane had known in her London days. At last Meg asked, “Can you come and see our house? It won’t take long. You can meet Jupiter and I’ll give you a glass of buttermilk.”
Jane readily agreed. Leading Beauty, she followed Meg to the yard of a rather wretched-looking cottage. Meg led Beauty to a makeshift shelter—it could hardly be called a stable—built against the side wall of the cottage, and tethered her next to one of the saddest looking horses Jane had ever seen. The crea
ture had to be well beyond thirty years of age, with a shaggy mane, big belly and an extreme swayback. “Is this Jupiter?”
Meg’s eyes brightened. “I hoped you would get a chance to meet him. Is he not handsome?” She proudly patted Jupiter on his rump. “If I had my way, he would never pull another plough again. Just take me riding.”
Jane frantically searched her mind for something honest but complimentary to say. “I’m glad I finally got the chance to meet Jupiter. One thing I’ve noticed about him—he has the most friendly eyes. Bright, happy eyes, as if he’s enjoying his life.”
Apparently she had given the right reply because Meg beamed with pleasure. “Come inside and I will give you that buttermilk.”
How horrible. Jane gingerly picked her way across a muddy yard surrounded by a stone fence. Aside from a few chickens running loose, the yard contained nothing except the dried-up remnants of what was once a garden. Following Meg, she stooped to get through the low doorway and stepped into a dim room with a floor of rough stones and a huge stone fireplace. The only light filtered down from two small, high windows. The furniture consisted of a few rickety wooden chairs and a table—bare except for a tin dinner service. Straw mattresses lined the walls. This is where they sleep? She was appalled.
A little girl of around two with chubby cheeks and blond curly hair tottered to meet Meg, arms outstretched. Meg scooped her up. “This is our darling Molly.” She nodded toward a slender boy of around seven. “This is Matthew, whose help I could not do without.” She pointed to one of the straw mattresses where a man lay with his eyes closed. He was so thin and emaciated Jane hadn’t even noticed him. “I want you to meet my father, Edwin Twimby. “Father, this is the Countess of Lansdown herself, come to see us.”
The Last of Lady Lansdown Page 10
