Deborah Simmons

by The Last Rogue

  When she frowned and gazed out the window, Raleigh cursed his errant tongue. “But let us not quarrel,” he urged. “We have hours until we reach London. Tell me of your brothers and sisters and growing up at the vicarage.”

  His intention was twofold, to draw her out so that they stopped spending their days in awkward silence and to learn something about the woman he had married. What had made Jane so different from her siblings? Perhaps, if he knew more about his wife, he could find some way to improve her mood, not only for his sake, but for her own. Although he was usually too indolent to rouse himself to a challenge, Raleigh felt an odd urge to do something for this somber female.

  He had his pet projects. Much to the amusement—and sometimes discomfiture—of his friends, he often played matchmaker for couples he thought particularly well suited. However, Jane was already wed, and love, unfortunately, was out of the question. Pausing a moment to regret that, Raleigh wondered if he could still effect some change in her attitude.

  He did not have the wherewithal to lavish gifts upon her, and Jane did not seem the type to desire them anyway. Dressed in some dowdy brown thing today, she obviously disdained fine clothing, an appalling trait that Raleigh tried his best to overlook. Nor would she be impressed with society, he sensed, or his position in it.

  How then could he best serve her? Watching the hesitation that crossed her clean profile, Raleigh longed to see her tight lips relaxed, her wrinkled brow smoothed, and he realized what he must do. Lifting his arms behind his head, he leaned against the cushions with a contented grin.

  Perhaps he could not make Jane happy, but the least he could do was try to get the girl to smile.

  By the time they reached London, Jane was hoarse. When her attention was finally claimed by the city around them, she realized, dazedly, that she had never talked so much in her life. And while she stared out the window, unseeing, at the crowded streets, she wondered how he had done it.

  When Raleigh had first asked her to tell him about her family, Jane was tempted not to comply out of sheer stubbornness. He had never shown the slightest interest in her before, had he? But his declaration that they were “in this together” had touched her somehow.

  She told herself that the phrase had meant nothing to him, that it was just another of his careless remarks, but still she took comfort in his words. And she could not deny her relief to learn he did not mean to leave her in London.

  And so she had begun, haltingly at first, to give him answer, and to her surprise, it became easy. She, who rarely spoke at length even to her sisters, found herself readily in conversation. It was a disquieting discovery, and she blamed Raleigh. She knew he was thought to be a witty, engaging sort, of course, but she had never suspected him to be such a wonderful listener. It had thrown her off balance, Jane admitted ruefully.

  She knew that a dandy like the viscount could not possibly care the slightest about Kit’s dog or Carrie’s cats, yet he seemed genuinely interested. If she paused, he urged her on with questions. Although she would never have thought it possible, he knew all the names of her brothers and sisters, asking after each one particularly. Either he had a prodigious memory, or he really liked them…

  The knowledge unsettled her, although Jane told herself that his regard for them did not extend to her. Unfortunately, she was certain that he would never query them about her in this manner. Yet she continued, unable to gracefully end the conversation and not sufficiently skilled to turn it toward her companion.

  Every so often she stumbled, unnerved to see him watching her under those heavy-lidded eyes. Although Jane told herself she must grow accustomed to his perusal, she was still uncomfortable under his regard. He showed no outward signs of disdain, but Jane was well used to being judged, and she would avoid it, if she could. Alone with him in the coach, however, Jane did not see how to escape the blue gaze that rested on her with a casual familiarity she did not want to allow.

  Jane swallowed, her throat dry from all her speech, and stared out at the sights and sounds of London, hoping they would draw his attention away from her. But he appeared to have little interest in the city, and she could not concentrate on her surroundings in his presence, especially when she felt the faint prickle of his eyes on her.

  His careless sprawl along the seat did not help matters, for Jane found herself keenly aware of the way his gloved hand rested along one muscled thigh. She recalled the touch of those fingers on her shoulders as she sat before his parents, and the memory unnerved her further. Jerking her gaze away, she told herself that only a rogue would spread himself so blatantly upon the cushions. A gentleman would behave more modestly. Even if the only other occupant were his wife?

  Jane could feel herself beginning to perspire when at last they reached their destination. It was the West End, Raleigh told her in his usual amiable voice, though the name hardly seemed fit to describe the clean, paved streets and elegant squares lined with stately homes of mellow brick. Raleigh’s town house rose four stories from the ground, and Jane eyed it in trepidation, hoping it was not as forbidding as Westfield Park.

  It was not. The welcoming smile of the footman at the door seemed to set the tone for the residence. All of the servants looked more human, greeting Raleigh with genuine pleasure rather than the rigid restraint. Obviously, this was his domain more than his father’s, and Jane could only breathe a sigh of relief at the discovery. Although luxurious, the interior was less lofty and smelled of beeswax and potpourri. The hallway and reception rooms boasted marble statuary and delicately carved cornices, but on the upper level colorful wallpaper and gently curved furnishings were more delightful than intimidating.

  Jane had just peeked into one such sitting area when a small, wiry gentleman, impeccably groomed, came hurrying toward them. “My lord!” he cried, and to Jane’s surprise, Raleigh rushed forward to greet him.

  “Antoine! Oh, thank God! I feared you had left me!” he said, throwing his arms around the smaller fellow. Who was this? Jane wondered. Was he a relative?

  “No, my lord, but I was considerably vexed when I learned of your departure.” He had a small, dark mustache that twitched when he spoke, as if to rebuke the viscount.

  “I had a cup too much,” Raleigh admitted with a grin. “But look at me! I am at a loss without you,” he said, spreading his arms wide.

  The little man stepped back and shuddered in horror as he inspected Raleigh’s person, though Jane could not imagine what he could find to fault in her husband’s perfect appearance. The viscount’s dark blue coat fit him superbly, stretching across shoulders that needed no padding. They seemed higher than normal, and with a start, Jane realized that Raleigh was much taller than she had thought. She had so often seen him with the towering Wycliffe that she had failed to notice his own exceptional proportions. Though slender, he must reach at least six feet in height.

  Suddenly, he turned toward her, and Jane, embarrassed to be caught studying his person, blushed crimson. Raleigh, if he noted it, did not comment on her discomposure, but swept an arm toward the waiting gentleman. “Jane, I would like you to meet my valet, Antoine, the inventor of the Exceptional,” he said, grinning proudly.

  His valet? Jane swallowed a startled gasp. Raleigh was making such a fuss over his valet? Then again, why should she be surprised? Such theatrical antics should be expected from a vain creature who put his looks above all else. “The Exceptional?” she asked.

  “One of the most imitated of neck cloth designs,” Raleigh explained, while the little fellow preened visibly. “Antoine, this is the viscountess, my wife.”

  “Your wife!” the valet exclaimed, lifting his hands to his face in what looked like horror. Watching his bright gaze dart from her wrinkled traveling clothes to her face, Jane lifted her chin, as if daring him to comment on the unlikely match. His small eyes appeared to bulge from his head before he recovered his composure.

  “Your wife. But, of course! Congratulations, my lady, my lord. This is exceptional news! But you
have just arrived. Would you care to repair your appearance?” he asked. Although the little man continued to view Raleigh askance, Jane suspected he was aiming his question at her. Stiffening at the implied insult, she felt her pleasure in the town house fade, proclaiming her out of place once more.

  “Eh?” Raleigh asked, absently. “No, you can fix me up when I dress for dinner.”

  “But, my lord—”

  Raleigh cut off the servant with a languid wave of dismissal. “In a bit, Antoine. I wish to show my wife around first.”

  And he did. Jane felt the tension in her dissipate as Raleigh gave her a tour of the house. As usual, he was amiable and amusing, uttering foolish comments and jests, but making her feel as if she belonged here somehow. They ended up in the study, where he threw himself down into a wing chair and put his booted feet upon the shining surface of the satinwood desk.

  Swallowing a scold at such conduct, Jane perched on the window seat, enjoying the scents from the walled garden. She would have to investigate it before they left, but it was dark now and she was content to sit quietly while Raleigh looked through his correspondence.

  For a while the room was silent, and Jane wondered if she ought to make her exit. Charlotte had told her that most men spent their time away—with business, clubs or worse—leaving their spouses to shop and pay calls. The knowledge both frightened and saddened Jane, for she did not want to live like that. What would Raleigh do? Although he certainly had no business to conduct, he could go out drinking or gaming, and what could she do about it?

  Just as she began to sink deep into morose speculation, her husband startled her with a shout. “Gad, look at this!” he said, and Jane turned her head in time to see a scrap of white float to the carpet near her feet. Leaning over, she retrieved an elaborately engraved invitation to a summer ball to be held at Bradley House.

  “Odious affair,” Raleigh said over his shoulder. “Glad we’ll miss it!” His comment was followed by another flutter of paper. And another. “Wretched squeeze! Dreadful boor!” he noted. While Jane watched in astonishment, her husband carelessly tossed invitations toward her as if they were some of her brothers’ paper creations.

  Reaching out to try to snatch them from the air, Jane realized how foolish she must appear and put her hands in her lap to frown at him instead. He grinned, unrepentant. “Gad, it’s deadly dull here in the summer!” he complained, even as the litter of planned routs and soirees scattered the thick carpet between them.

  “It almost makes me look forward to Northumberland,” Raleigh said. “Almost,” he qualified, flashing her an irreverent smile. Then he turned to his desk, leaning back to tip his seat dangerously. Jane opened her mouth to tell him to keep the chair on the floor only to close it again when she realized he was neither James nor Kit, but a man full-grown and heedless of proper behavior.

  Unfortunately, she was finding it increasingly difficult to remain put out with him for long. Today she had been the object of the viscount’s undivided attention, and the feeling was heady. His reputation for charm was well earned, although Jane hastened to assure herself that she wasn’t in danger of succumbing to it.

  Still, she had to admit that she would rather have his companionship than not. Raleigh was so full of good humor that it seemed to fill the room, enveloping her like a warm breeze. His spirits were vitalizing, not the kind that sapped her of her strength like a day of dealing with energetic Kit. No, this was something different, a kind of gentle pulsing that bespoke an easiness that she had not often found at the vicarage.

  Jane felt a swift guilt at the thought, but it rang true. Although her father was kind and caring, he was a busy man, and after her mother’s death, she had always to help with the younger ones. She loved them all, but at times there was so much to do and so much noise that she craved a peace she found only in her garden.

  When that same elusive sense of peace settled over her here in the gentle candlelight of the town house study, Jane tried to deny it. She was tired, after all, and not herself. Else why would she feel a strange contentment in the company of a man so vain that his most pressing concern was the knot in his neck cloth?

  Yet the sensation persisted until she went to her room to change for supper, forcing Jane to admit that Raleigh made it easy to be with him—and uneasy without him. Her steps faltered in front of her own door, while her gaze followed him to his, and she knew a sudden urge to follow him, to stay with him rather than greet her haughty maid.

  Startled by the turn of her thoughts, Jane shook off the odd fancy that was, no doubt, the product of her strange surroundings. Raleigh was the only familiar face here; it was natural that she should cling to him. But not wise. With new determination, Jane lifted her chin and went her own way, pasting on a smile for Madeleine.

  “My lady! I’ve laid out a lovely gown for you,” the maid said, holding up an elaborately flowered and flounced confection that made Jane gulp back a cry of dismay. She would look like a goose in such frills. And she never wore pastels.

  “That is not mine,” she protested faintly.

  “Yes, it is, my lady. The countess’s maid brought several garments to me before we left Westfield Park. They once belonged to the viscount’s sister, but she will not miss them. Each spring and fall she has an entirely new wardrobe created especially for her, so as to keep abreast of the current fashions.” The woman gave Jane a dark look that spoke volumes about her own hopelessly out-of-date costumes.

  “Where is she now?” Jane asked.

  “I believe she is visiting friends, an extended house party, so has not yet learned of her brother’s marriage.”

  Jane wondered what Raleigh’s sister’s reaction would be. Did she take after her brother or her parents? Picturing either a cold, arrogant miss or a vain, bird-witted flirt, she shivered. “Well, I hardly need to be dressed so elaborately this evening,” Jane said. It was late, much later than mealtime at the vicarage, and after her sleepless night, she knew she would not be up much longer. She looked through the trunk and pulled out one of her own gowns, a simple gray bombazine.

  “But my lady—” Jane halted the maid’s protest with a firm look. Sighing as if put upon, Madeleine shook out the wrinkled fabric. “The countess believes in dressing appropriately for every occasion, even though no guests are in attendance,” she noted.

  Jane ignored the comment, for she really did not care what the countess did. She had never aspired to be a noblewoman, and she was not going to wear unsuitable clothing just because she had been forced to take a title. Nor would she ever wish to pattern her life after Raleigh’s parents.

  It was not as if she were wholly ignorant of the ton, for back in Sussex, she and her siblings had made the Great House their second home. But there no one remembered to call Max “my lord.” Even though he was an earl, they were always welcome to visit, and Charlotte, beyond dressing more beautifully, had little changed when she became a countess. And Raleigh had always been, well, Raleigh—even more careless and easygoing than Max. Too careless and easygoing, Jane thought, as she remembered what a favorite he had been of her siblings.

  “Please, my lady, your…hair,” Madeleine moaned. “That hat will simply not do for dinner.” Practically wrestling Jane into the small chair that sat in front of an inlaid table topped with a gilt-edged mirror, she removed the offending item with a frown of distaste, as if she would like to discard it permanently.

  For a moment, Jane was left before the mirror, and although she hated the sight of it, she forced herself to look, to see the truth rather than hide behind a falsehood. Here, in Raleigh’s town house, she saw a somber girl with spectacles, her dull hair pulled tightly atop her head. It was the same plain countenance that always stared back at her, for no change in scenery could alter it.

  Turning away, Jane began to rise, but Madeleine stopped her with a shriek of outrage. “Wait, my lady! Your hair, I must dress it!”

  “No,” Jane said stiffly. “There is no need.” There is no point, she al
most added before lifting her chin and standing. She was who she was, and she would not be ashamed.

  “But, my lady, at least let me loosen it! Some curls about your face would be just the thing. It is what all the ladies are wearing.”

  Jane laughed, without amusement, as she walked to the door. “Believe me, Madeleine, there is nothing in this world that can induce my hair to curl. It is straight as a board.”

  “But, my lady—”

  Ignoring the maid’s protests, Jane stepped into the hallway. She had no intention of sitting still for such efforts, the kind for which Charlotte regularly pleaded. She always refused her sister, and she would refuse Madeleine, as well. Charlotte might pretend otherwise, but Jane knew that no amount of fussing would alter her appearance, and she had long ago accepted her own limitations.

  Better to view the world with eyes wide open than delude oneself. And with that thought, Jane grimly began descending the stairs to supper, her formerly gay temperament sadly tempered by that small reminder. She had but taken a few steps when she was further dismayed to spy another gentleman standing below with Raleigh. Halting, Jane gripped the railing as an unfamiliar sensation seized her.

  It was not jealousy.

  She had never been jealous of her beautiful sisters. Why, then, should she feel a prick of pique upon seeing Raleigh with his arm casually draped around a stranger? Because it meant the end of her idyllic hours alone with him? Jane drew in a sharp breath and scoffed at herself. Idyllic? Hardly. Companionable, perhaps. And certainly she had known that Raleigh would not entertain her forever. He was a popular fellow, judging from the number of invitations she had seen, so she could hardly expect him to closet himself here with her. Even if she was his wife.

  “No, you must stay. I insist!” Raleigh said to the other man. Although they had not yet seen her, their words drifted up to her ears, and Jane heard Raleigh call for another plate to be set. Suppressing an errant twinge of disappointment, Jane forced herself to move. And immediately regretted it.