by Edith Layton
They parted as good business associates should, he; thought, with a handshake so firm that it would have gladdened Miss Eastwood’s heart.
It was only when he was on the pavement again, heading in the direction of his own house, that he thought, with a sensed of wonderment, that Miss Eastwood had been quite correct. It was ridiculous. All of it. And he was growing heartily weary of it.
13
As Griffin Hall was only a day’s ride from London, Jessica first saw it as glorious sunset wreathed it with rosy light. But it didn’t need that spectacular assist from nature to give it stature. She thought it the most imposing home she had ever seen. It stood upon a grassy rise, huge and white and serene. It looked almost, she thought fancifully as she peered from the coach window, like some sort of hallowed ancient temple. But unworldly though she was, even she could clearly see that this particular ancient temple would have easily housed a hundred Druids without letting the hems of their ceremonial robes touch.
“Of course,” Lady Grantham said as she watched her awestruck young visitor’s face, “it isn’t in the latest mode. It’s been in the family for generations and hasn’t half the flash or modern conveniences that the great edifice Alex has been about erecting these past years has got. But,” she added comfortably, “we like it.”
Jessica wondered what there was that anyone could not admire about such a place. It was more of an artistic composition than a mere dwelling. Even the sunset seemed no fortuitous accident, but rather part of the original plans for the place. The towering trees appeared to have been carefully set in their places by some giant artist’s hand just so that they could cast the proper shadows upon particular verdant stretches of lawn, and even the several peacocks parading in the park like animated lady’s fans seemed to have been judiciously arranged to lend an extra dash of color to the whole.
This was not a thing like the rustic country home Jessica had envisioned and she wondered that her hostess had thought she might have more freedom and relaxation here. For, she decided as the coach went sedately along the long and winding gravel drive, Griffin Hall, at first stare, seemed more intimidating than London itself had been.
The physical part of the journey had been easy enough, but it could not have been said to have been a truly pleasant day. Lady Grantham and Ollie had been their usual selves, but none of the others had been quite natural. Thomas Preston had ridden alone and apart from the others, the only bright thing about him the sunlight glancing off his erect golden g head. Anton had seemed happy to be upon his sleek gray mount, so happy, in fact, that he did not cease chattering all the while, even calling light comments to them each time he rode past their window. And Lord Leith had so busied himself with the details of their travels that he had no time or word for any of them. When they had broken their journey at a wayside inn for lunch, the unspoken tensions had put an end to any idea of easy camaraderie.
So it was a much-subdued Miss Eastwood who stepped forth from the carriage with her hostess to be shown to her rooms.
Once Anton and Tom and Sir Selby had gone off with various manservants, Lady Grantham removed her hat and let out a vast sigh of relief as she unceremoniously sank to a divan in a sunset-filled sitting room.
“Lord, Alex,” she puffed, “never again, I vow it. What an uncomfortable journey. I chattered like a magpie to dispel the gloom until Ollie was staring at me as though I’d lost my wits. And so I should have, if we had gone a pace farther: Thomas Preston sat mute as a thundercloud brewing upon the horizon, but he couldn’t have gotten a word in edgewise if he had wanted to, for all the babbling Anton was doing. And as for Jessica, she acted as though she were being taken to perdition rather than to Griffin Hall. And you, my dear boy, played least in sight through the entire affair. What has gotten into everyone? If this is the way we mean to go on, I’d as lief pack it in and turn around for town again.”
“Never fear,” her nephew said, smiling, “I am convinced it was a momentary aberration. Some people show their nervousness by rattling on, as Anton did. He is, after all, in the tenuous position of being a foreign gentleman invited to a virtual stranger’s country home. Some become shy, as undoubtedly Thomas Preston did. Jessica likely felt uneasy about being taken here so soon after her adventuring in town. And, Aunt, this great mound of yours is a bit staggering at first glance. I’m not sure that any of your guests have ever passed a night in such a place. When I was young, I used to think I was visiting the palace whenever I arrived. I distinctly recall always whispering for the first day, for fear of waking the King.”
“Nonsense,” Lady Grantham said irritably. “You came from just as pleasant a home. And anyway,” she went on hurriedly, suddenly remembering the true condition of her nephew’s childhood home, when his father began to sell off all the family belongings to pay for his eldest son’s indiscretions, “they were behaving oddly even before they clapped an eye on Griffin Hall.”
“I am convinced that all will be well when they grow accustomed to their surroundings,” her nephew said calmly, as though the problem had already left his mind.
Lady Grantham noted his boredom and said with some acidity, “Well, they never shall if you don’t come out of the clouds. You scarcely had a word for anyone all day. Joseph knew the road as well as his own palm, there was no need for you to hover about him constantly. And as there are no brigands about in broad daylight, I cannot see why you rode guard as though we were carrying the Crown Jewels in the baggage.”
“I shall mend my manners straightaway,” Lord Leith replied, but with such patent disinterest that his aunt literally threw up her hands in disgust.
The tall gentleman chuckled at that and then went up to his rooms to arrange things, as he said, and to dress for dinner. But, he thought even as he left her, the things most in need of ordering were his thoughts. He had deliberately not spoken a great deal while they were in transit. It was not as though he were so simpleminded that he could not ride and speak at the same time, he told himself with a self-deprecating grin as he rested his hands upon his window’s sill and gazed down at the tranquil approaching evening. It was that he had grown into the habit of thinking a thing through before he took any action. That was a lesson he had learned in a hard school during those years abroad.
He had undertaken the task of educating Ollie’s protégée into the art of acceptable feminine behavior at first out of a sense of obligation and then because the entire effort amused him greatly. But as is so often the case when one immerses oneself in a task completely, amusement soon gave way to real interest. Miss Eastwood was the most uncommon female he had ever encountered, but he recalled with a frown, he had realized that from the first.
As he had gotten to know her, he had come to admire those very things that made her so unfeminine: her lack of vanity, her courage, her forthrightness, and her gallantry. She might have made a fine young fellow, but he had the uneasy feeling that she might make a finer woman someday because of those very attributes that he was supposed to discourage.
Damn, he thought in annoyance, I like the baggage just as she is. But it was clear to him that she was in the process of changing even as he thought of her. What he had set in motion was gaining a momentum of its own. The fine clothes he ordered did not make her preen like one of those strutting peacocks, he watched it only made her delightfully aware of her own attractions. The attentions he made sure she received in London had not turned her head, but only helped her make the sad discovery that most people judged mostly by appearances.
The two gentlemen who now hovered about her were ingredients of her education, but he had not requested their services and he could not yet fathom their impact upon her. Thomas Preston was at least open about his intentions. He wanted her for her forthcoming fortune. And that, the tall gentleman decided, his face growing still, he would never permit. Surely she deserved better. Anton, that delightfully amusing, facile fellow, seemed to want no more than to clasp her to the bosom of her long-lost family. But he had seen a con
sidering look in Anton’s eyes at odd moments, and he wondered if that was the only bosom Anton wished to clasp her to.
These thoughts still nagged at him as he turned to summon his valet to help him change for dinner, for he decided that he had dwelt upon the subject long enough. He was not after all, her father.
The fact that she was becoming uncommonly desirable was, admittedly, often disturbing. But there was nothing new in that. He had known innumerable desirable females and yet remained wise enough to sate desire only with those whose state or station precluded marriage. So far as matrimony went, he felt it could continue on is way without him. Lord Leith’s brother may have gotten the title and inheritance, but his own birth as second son, plus the wages he had earned in his years of exile, had given him the freedom to wed where he would. But he would not.
Yet the odd Miss Eastwood most decidedly did not want the services of either husband or lover. In fact, he thought with only a little annoyance, she seemed to dislike any physical contact with him.
The slight sound of his valet tapping upon his door eased his thoughts from their deepening channels. He would, he decided as he absently requested a bath be drawn, look after her interests as a brother should, for he was only trying to secure her happiness in much the same way that he would for any young person he had grown fond of. He decided with relief that he felt it such a paramount, pressing duty only because of the trials he had suffered because his own brother had not so exerted himself for him.
When Sir Selby’s valet, freed for the task by his employer, knocked upon Mr. Preston’s door to offer his services, he was politely told that there was no need for him.
“In fact,” Mr. Preston said, “you know we old army fellows can take care of ourselves. Unless,” he added, giving the man his best white-toothed grin, “we come into a title, of course.”
The valet had accepted the lighthearted answer and taken himself off to the kitchens for some gossip to fill his unexpected free time. It was because of such proclivities that Mr. Preston had disdained his help in the first place. Because, he told himself as he shut the door and went back to the task of dressing himself, it was bad enough to have to watch one’s step every moment without one’s missteps being the subject of idle servants’ banter as well. Although he had come from a good family, there were leagues of differences between a country squire’s establishment and a palatial home such as the one he now found himself within.
He washed and dressed quickly, with a neat economy of motion that left little time wasted. Thus, when he had done, and examined himself in the glass for faults and found none, he discovered that he had time to spare. As it would be socially incorrect to lounge about belowstairs as though he were so hungry he could not bear to wait for dinner, he sat in a chair in his room until he judged it would be late enough to make it seem as if he had just recalled the hour. But he did not relax.
There was so much latent energy in his trim frame that he appeared to be poised for some more dire activity than a pleasant country dinner. He was a man of decision and he could scarcely bear to wait to put his most recent decision into action. Events had taken him far in time, place, and mind since he had struck his bargain with the noxious Cribb. He still planned to wed Jess, he thought with a grim smile, it was only that unexpected impediments had come into play against him. But if he knew anything, it was the maneuverings of war, and if it were to be a battle, he was the man for it.
That Leith disapproved of him was no matter, for Jess herself did not entirely approve of Leith. And it would be the work of a moment to show Jess that she was only a passing interest of the tall gentleman’s, and an obligation rather than an interest at that. No, it was Anton who troubled him. For he could not explain that young man’s motives at all. Was it cousinly affection that glued him to Jess’s side, or was it something more? And if something more, why?
It was true that Jess was becoming something quite out of the ordinary in looks, but not even her dearest champion could claim that she had a patch on some of the great Society beauties that a gentleman like Anton had access to. She had none of the graces, wiles, and fascination of those females. She was still in many ways, no matter what the costumes she now affected, more lad than lass. But lass enough for him, Tom thought, a rare real smile softening his tight lean face.
He had few illusions about her gender. He had a need for females, but he fulfilled that need as he would any other appetite. And he would no more refine the next day upon any female he had spent a most enjoyable night with than he would rhapsodize and moon over an excellent roast he had partaken of the night before. In much the same way that, if no gourmet repast presented itself when he grew hungry, he would devour inferior dishes, he placed no high premium upon any bed companion. He liked to think of himself as a practical man. But he never actually thought of females as a class, as being precisely human. He had little interest in them aside from the bodily pleasures they presented.
But Jess was different. For all her new trappings, he had almost to remind himself at times that she was not just another bright young fellow. She would suit him perfectly. And, he decided, rising now that the twilight shadows were forming, for as an ex-army man the sky was a surer clock for him than any Swiss masterpiece, he would have her. He would no longer sulk or hide when Anton came upon the scene. Upon reflection, it was he himself who held all the cards. He knew her father and the bond that had been forged between them. He knew just how strong that bond could be, and he could remind Jess of it whenever she thought to lapse. And best of all, he thought as he went to join the others, he could do all with a clear conscience. For with all her fortune, he was clearly the best man for her, for hadn’t he been told often enough that he was a man’s man?
Anton von Keller heard the door to the next room open and close, and his valet, from his place by his own half-open door, whispered to tell him that Mr. Preston had gone down to join the others. With a sigh of satisfaction, Anton stood. A glance in the mirror told him that all was well. He had spent the better part of an hour dressing, but it was well worth it. He smiled as he thought of how Jessica would be impressed with his good appearance, and as he had taken care to be the last to arrive before dinner, she could hardly miss noticing. It was odd how she did not sum up a man with her eyes as all the ladies of his acquaintance did. But then, he shrugged, she was English, after all. But only half-English, he reminded himself.
It was very good, he thought as he stepped from his rooms, that she was lovely, a copy of her mother. And even better than she had never lost her heart to anyone. The cold Lord Leith had no interest in her. The anxious Mr. Preston had too much. As Papa had predicted, it had been a worthwhile journey, even if it had taken him from his loved accustomed pastimes. But to have a wife who was the image of Mira! That was well worth any arduous travel. And if she did not as yet acknowledge that link, he would be sure to remind her.
Blood will tell, he told himself as he sauntered down the long stairs, and if it will not, he thought gaily, I shall.
Lady Grantham was well-pleased with dinner. It was a great success. The food, of course, did not matter. But the conversation was sparkling. Alex was at his top form, amusing and gracious. Ollie was clearly enjoying himself. Mr. Preston had come out of his blue dismals and was most congenial. Anton, of course, was a superb dining companion, as usual. But Jessica was transformed by their turnabout. She was in great spirits and looks. It was too bad, Lady Grantham thought as she and Jessica rose to leave the gentlemen to , their port, that such occasions could not be pressed between the leaves of a book, to be taken out and savored in some fashion long after they were over and done.
She smiled at Jessica as they sat in the music room and awaited the others. The girl was blooming, she thought with almost maternal pride. Her countenance was clear and open. Her magnificent hair had been arranged a la Sappho, and its high color exquisitely set off the periwinkle-blue gown she wore. And bless Madame Celeste, but the chit’s high tip-tilted breasts were clearly defin
ed by the clever cut of the gown, which Jessica had put on only because she deemed the neckline high enough for propriety. We’ll get her hitched in spite of herself, Lady Grantham gloated as she tried to turn an unremarkable face to the girl.
“We couldn’t bear to leave the lovelies alone,” Sir Selby chortled as he entered the room, as he always did, bless him, Lady Grantham sighed.
“No, indeed,” Anton echoed, “for this custom of drinking alone when there are delightful ladies by themselves is quite ... British,” he faltered. “Which is not to say that it is not a very delightful custom,” he went on hastily, “but in my homeland, we should never leave such beauties alone, for fear of losing them.”
“It is a vast place,” Lord Leith said reflectively, “but to my knowledge we have never lost a guest. Some have strayed, to be sure, but none have actually been misplaced.”
“But they could be stolen, it is not so?” Anton said with a great show of slyness, as amid the general laughter he sat down next to Jessica on the divan.
“Not Jess,” Tom said heartily, “for it would take a whole regiment to carry her off if she did not want to go.”
Jessica laughingly agreed and motioned for Tom to come and sit at her other side. Lord Leith stood and chatted with Sir Selby. Lady Grantham was content to relax in a comfortable chair and enjoy the company. But Jessica soon found that her neck was growing strained with having to turn first to Anton and then to Tom. For, though she sat back far enough so that the two gentlemen could converse, neither seemed to have any interest in talking to each other and both tried to keep up separate conversations with her.
As Tom awaited her reply as to plans for riding in the morning, and Anton bent closer to hear what she thought of the weather, Jessica’s gaze chanced to fall upon the pianoforte.
“Oh, Ma’am,” she breathed in a sort of desperation to Lady Grantham, “do you think you could prevail upon Lord Leith to play at the pianoforte? For he is the most excellent musician.”
