by Danice Allen
Jean-Luc took the seat she offered and said ruefully, “I think I would rather you were at least a little bit afraid of me. Think of my reputation, Miss Darlington!”
Sam laughed again, already feeling less encumbered by her troubles. “You are good for me, Jean-Luc,” she told him, impulsively grabbing his hand and squeezing it. “You make me laugh.”
But when Sam would have released his hand, Jean-Luc held fast. She looked at him inquiringly and was a little shaken by the soft glow in his dark eyes. Then she remembered that there was something troubling him and allowed him to keep hold of her hand for comfort, prompting him gently, “Would you like to tell me now what’s troubling you, Jean-Luc?”
“Are you sure you don’t wish to go first, chère?” he asked politely, but with a hopeful air. Obviously he was anxious to get something off his chest.
“No,” she assured him. “Just being with you has made me feel worlds better already.” She knew she was exaggerating, but the smile that broke over Jean-Luc’s handsome face was worth it.
“Good. I am encouraged,” he murmured.
“Speak!” Sam commanded him playfully.
His expression became deadly serious. “Sam, do … do you remember yesterday when I told you that I was suffering from an affliction?”
Sam was instantly concerned. “Do you mean when we were talking at Montgomery House and you became rather overheated? But I thought you were only teasing me!” They were still holding hands, so she gave him another squeeze. “Oh, don’t tell me you’re really sick, Jean-Luc!”
He smiled crookedly. “Oh, but I am, chère,” he whispered hoarsely.
Alarmed, she asked, “But it’s not serious, is it?”
“It is very serious, indeed,” he answered soberly.
“But you aren’t going to … to—”
“Die?” he supplied for her in what Sam could only think was a very cavalier manner of speaking of one’s own mortality. He smiled again, his eyes glinting strangely. “That depends entirely on you, Sam.”
“Me?” Sam was beginning to think he was on some sort of medicinal drug. “How can it have anything at all to do with me?”
“I will die, Sam, if you don’t marry me,” he told her with a straight face.
“Marry you?” she exclaimed. “How can that save you from your affliction?”
He laughed. “It will save me from dying of lovesickness. I never thought it would happen to me, Sam, and to be perfectly truthful I fought it for a long time. But I’ve fallen head over heels in love with you. And if you don’t agree to be my wife this instant, I am sure I will die. But you are stunned, chère. Had you no idea I was languishing for you, sweetheart?”
“Truly I am stunned,” Sam admitted faintly. “Everyone told me I mustn’t take you seriously, Jean-Luc, so I never did.”
Jean-Luc lifted her hands and kissed them. “But you must take me seriously now, chère. I have meant every compliment I’ve ever paid you. You are beautiful. You are brave. You are full of wit and life and spirit. I love you, Sam. I adore you. Will you marry me?”
Sam didn’t know what to say. Jean-Luc’s passionate words rang with sincerity. If only Julian would say those same words to her and look at her with the same melting adoration in his eyes. If only…
“You are not thinking of your guardian, are you, Sam?” Jean-Luc beseeched her, frowning. “I was never more glad when you told me you’d finally given up on him. I must confess I was extremely surprised when he did not succumb to your charms. I was aware of your infatuation for the marquess nearly from the moment we first met, and I always felt it was a shame you were wasting your time mooning over such a cold man.”
“You don’t know him, Jean-Luc,” Sam couldn’t help herself from inserting. “He’s a good man.”
“In a remote, philanthropic sort of way, I suppose,” Jean-Luc coolly conceded. “But he doesn’t deserve you. Even if he returned your feelings—which I am convinced he never could—he would never make you happy. He belongs with Charlotte Batsford. You are too full of joy and fire to be shackled to the likes of Lord Serling. You need a man who will share that joy and fire with you. Let me be that man, Sam.”
Sam knew that Jean-Luc was not intending to hurt her, but nevertheless his words did hurt. She was afraid he was right. She didn’t believe for a minute that Julian was cold, but it was possible that he might never let anyone tap into his inner warmth, his deep passions. And she was afraid Jean-Luc was also right when he said that Julian could never feel for her what she felt for him. Possibly Julian could be reached by someone, someday, but perhaps the sad fact was that she was not that person.
“Say something, Sam,” Jean-Luc entreated her, his eyes gazing eagerly into hers.
Sam’s first instinct was to thank him for the very great compliment he’d paid her by proposing marriage, then gently decline the offer. But she decided that before serving him such a hard blow, she would tell him about her past and who her parents really were. Then he could politely retract his proposal, saving her the difficult task of refusing him. Even if she really wanted to marry Jean-Luc, she was honor-bound to be completely honest and had intended to confide in him about the matter, anyway.
So, she took a deep breath and said, “There is something you must know, Jean-Luc, which might make a very great difference in your way of thinking about me.”
“I can only love you more, chère,” he insisted. “But if you must clear your conscience of some trifling schoolgirl indiscretion, I am all ears.”
Sam could tell that Jean-Luc was not expecting to hear anything more awful than that she’d kissed some callow youth behind the church. And she knew he was going to be very shocked, indeed, when she told him her fantastic life story. But tell him she must.
She started at the beginning, explaining the circumstances of her birth, her rescue by Amanda and Jack, Julian’s kind mentorship and tutelage, the deception under which she was introduced and had won over the haut ton, and lastly her discovery that she was none other than the offspring of London’s brightest star, Genevieve DuBois.
Sam was not surprised to find when she was through that Jean-Luc was staring at her in some considerable amazement.
To spare him the awkwardness of searching for something to say, Sam spoke first. “I know. You are very much shocked. I imagine anyone would be. But I hope we may still … still be friends, Jean-Luc.”
Jean-Luc seemed to shake himself out of a reverie, then exclaimed, “Mon Dieu! I knew you were not an ordinary girl, and now I know why! You have been pitted against the worst luck in the world and have come out the victor! Sam, you are truly amazing!”
Sam blinked. “You aren’t shocked?”
“Of course, I’m shocked, chère,” he admitted. “But do not think that I blame you, or esteem you less, for all that has happened to you in your short life. None of it was your fault. And you have overcome it all and are sitting before me a beautiful, intelligent, accomplished young woman.”
“Well, I don’t know about accomplished,” Sam demurred modestly. “I can’t sing or play the pianoforte worth a penny … or so says Julian.”
“Sam,” said Jean-Luc, grasping both her hands and sinking to his knees before her. “I don’t care a fig about your past or who your mother is. I still want to marry you. In fact, I want to marry you more than ever. Tell me, darling … will you?”
Now Sam was forced to make a decision. Jean-Luc had amazed and impressed her by proving himself to be above the littleness of most of London society. He didn’t care about her antecedents. He didn’t care about her past. He wanted her and all the scandalous details of her life that came with her. He was just the sort of man she needed for a husband.
There was only one problem. She didn’t love him. And he wasn’t Julian.
And until Julian officially belonged to someone else, there was a part of Sam that, despite all her ranting to the contrary, simply could not give up on him.
“Jean-Luc, I can’t—” she began, but
he interrupted her.
“Don’t say no, Sam,” he said, seeming to anticipate her refusal and hoping to delay it. “Don’t make up your mind this minute. Take some time to think about it.”
“But I really don’t need—”
“Just one night? Can’t you sleep on it, darling?”
“Jean-Luc—”
“Please, Sam?”
Sam couldn’t resist the supplication in his dark, soulful eyes. She sighed and smiled. “Very well, Jean-Luc. I will sleep on it and tell you my answer on the morrow. Are you satisfied?”
“I won’t be satisfied till you say ‘yes,’ chère,” he told her, standing up and pulling her to her feet. “Now we must return to the ball. Even as we speak your guardian could be ransacking the house in search of you.”
Sam only wished he were.
“Why don’t you go after her, Julian?”
“I will if she’s gone above fifteen minutes. I don’t wish to make a scene unless it’s absolutely necessary.”
Charlotte gave Julian a sympathetic look. “But you’re dying to go after her, aren’t you?”
Julian did not reply. He was standing with Charlotte in a window embrasure in the supper room, into which Sam and Jean-Luc had disappeared ten minutes earlier. When he and Charlotte likewise entered the room and did not see the pair anywhere, Julian concluded that Jean-Luc had stolen Sam away to some private chamber for the purpose of either proposing to her or making advances.
Neither of these probable explanations for their removal from the crowded ballroom pleased Julian. In fact, he was exercising the strictest control over his temper to keep himself from searching the house for the miscreant couple, then dragging that Frenchman outside by his heels and landing him a facer. But such behavior would cause a scene and a scandal. He was forced to trust Sam to take care of herself in this situation … at least for another five minutes.
“She will not allow Jean-Luc liberties, even if he is so unwise as to press them on her,” Julian said calmly, even though he felt anything but. “However, I hope no one else saw them leave together. Sam is not considering her reputation … the foolish chit!”
“If she insists on publicly acknowledging Madame DuBois as her mother, a ten-minute tryst with Jean-Luc will be the least of your problems as far as guarding her reputation.” Charlotte sighed. “Poor Julian!”
Julian turned to Charlotte with a wry and tender smile. “You are a good friend, Charlotte! I am amazed you are still speaking to me.”
“Yes, so am I,” Charlotte agreed ruefully.
“I have behaved abominably,” Julian continued contritely, taking hold of both her hands.
“Yes, you have!”
“Yet you have forgiven me.”
“I have forgiven you. However, my father and mother are another story.”
“Yes, your father’s curt nod at the door set me down a notch or two.”
“And my mother wouldn’t even come tonight for fear of seeing you,” Charlotte admitted with a chuckle. “When I told her there was no chance of our becoming engaged, she indulged in a fine fit of hysterics.”
Julian squeezed her hands and said in a low, gentle voice, “You speak lightly, Charlotte, but I know I’ve hurt you.” Charlotte blushed and looked down. “My attentions to you were very marked. I had every intention of asking you to marry me. You knew it. Everyone knew it.”
“But you cannot help how you feel,” Charlotte murmured. “You were not aware that your heart was elsewhere engaged. I suspected it, but I chose not to believe it, just as you fought against it yourself.”
Julian grimaced. “Yes. But in the end I lost the battle.”
Charlotte peeked up at him. “But if you finally allow yourself to follow your heart, Julian, you will win something very special indeed. I hope you and Sam will be very happy together.”
Julian sighed. “As to that, I don’t know—”
“As your friend, Julian, may I ask two favors of you?” Charlotte interposed.
“You may ask me anything,” Julian gallantly replied.
“First, I want you to resolve to take risks in your personal life. Otherwise, you will never find happiness. You will be comfortable, but you will be lonely.”
Julian nodded soberly. “And the other favor?”
Charlotte smiled demurely. “Please do not introduce me to any other of your male relatives. I believe I’ve had quite enough to do with Montgomery men!”
Julian laughed and impulsively bent down and kissed her on the cheek. “I promise, Charlotte.”
When Sam and Jean-Luc entered the supper room from the hallway, it was impossible not to observe the tender scene going on between Julian and Charlotte in the window embrasure. Protected somewhat from the view of others, they were nonetheless being openly affectionate in a public place.
Shocked, dismayed, and rooted to the spot, Sam watched Julian kiss Charlotte on the cheek. Then, as he straightened up, he looked down at her with the tenderest of smiles. Charlotte was blushing prettily, and Sam thought she detected the sheen of a tear on her face.
Sam’s heart felt as though it had been ripped apart. The facts were before her, as clear as crystal. She could come to no other conclusion than that Julian had just proposed to Charlotte and been accepted. What else would induce him to behave so … well, so much like she wished he would behave toward her?
“Well, well, well,” Jean-Luc whispered in Sam’s ear. “So he has finally popped the question. It’s about time, I should say,” he added with a satisfied air.
“Yes,” Sam said faintly. “It appears he has finally done it.”
“He’s bound to be in a benevolent mood for the next few hours,” Jean-Luc mused. “I hope you make up your mind soon about my proposal, chère. Apparently this would be an excellent time to approach your guardian for permission to become betrothed … what with love in the air and all.”
“Yes,” Sam agreed absentmindedly, unable to wrench her eyes away from the touching tableau in the window embrasure. “It would be a perfect time to approach him, wouldn’t it?”
Jean-Luc stared at her, then he caught her hands and turned her to face him. “Sam? Are you saying that you will marry me? You don’t need to sleep on it, chère?”
Sam looked at Jean-Luc’s eager face and at his eyes, shining with hope and excitement and … love. Love for her.
Giving in to a sudden impulse to soothe the pain inside her, to enjoy being loved even if it wasn’t by the man you adored, and maybe, too, to salve her wounded pride, Sam summoned up a smile and said, “Yes, Jean-Luc, I will marry you. Please, feel free to address my guardian on the matter first thing tomorrow morning.”
“Oh, Sam! You have made me the happiest of men!” Jean-Luc exclaimed, then he drew her hands to his lips and showered her fingers with fervent kisses.
Sam stared at Jean-Luc’s bent head, at the dark curls and handsome brow, feeling curiously detached. Then, while her betrothed continue to reverently kiss her hands, she turned to look toward the window embrasure.
Charlotte had mysteriously and suddenly disappeared and Julian now stood alone. Their gazes locked across the narrow room. His eyes glinted like silver sapphires, and his brows were contracted in a suspicious and disapproving frown.
Sam raised her chin and stared haughtily back, her mouth tilted in a faint, contemptuous smile of triumph. But her victory was hollow, like her heart … for it had been shattered into a thousand pieces.
Julian was lost to her forever.
Sam spent a sleepless night. She rose in the morning feeling weary and depressed. But it was imperative that she behave as though she were happy, so she wore a bright yellow gown, had her curls arranged in a carefree style, and pinched her pale cheeks till they were pink.
Last night Jean-Luc had requested an audience with Julian for ten that morning, and as they routinely ate breakfast at nine, she was dreading sitting through a meal with her guardian with the impending betrothal hanging between them and nothing yet settled.
Julian had not questioned her about Jean-Luc’s intentions, but he couldn’t possibly doubt what they were after seeing him fervently kissing her hands last night.
The drive home from the Wilmots’ ball had been filled with chatter between the aunts, who had had a marvelous evening playing whist and piquet. Julian replied briefly and civilly to questions directed to him, and Sam had pretended to be attentive and interested in the aunts’ cheerful gossip.
Julian never said a word about his own good news. And since there was no one to apply to for Charlotte’s hand—her father having smiled his approval on the match for months now—there was no reason that Sam could think of why Julian kept his betrothal a secret.
As for sharing her own impending nuptials with the aunts, Sam didn’t have the courage. She wasn’t sure she could bear up under the onslaught of felicitations and immediate plans for the wedding. Priss and Nan liked Jean-Luc and could have no suspicion that Sam had been pining for Julian all these months, so she supposed they would be well pleased with the news.
As luck would have it, Julian did not come down to breakfast.
“Oh, dear,” said Nan, addressing Hedley. “His Lordship isn’t feeling unwell, I hope?”
Hedley continued to pour tea as he answered, “Not that I’m aware of, Miss Nancy.”
“How did he look?” she pressed.
“He looked his usual self,” the butler replied coolly.
“But he never misses breakfast,” Priss observed worriedly. “I hope he’s not out of sorts about something. Did he order a tray?”
Hedley’s lips thinned. Obviously he did not approve of discussing his master’s looks and orders, or speculating on his health and disposition. “I daresay, madames, if you are concerned about His Lordship, perhaps you should send written inquiries up with the footman,” he said dampeningly. “Lord Serling can best speak for himself.”
Undaunted by the butler’s set-down, the aunts continued to discuss Julian’s strange absence from the breakfast table and asked Sam if she had a theory to put forth in explanation.
