“I say, Raleigh, who’s that?” the stranger called out loudly upon seeing her. Although she could ignore such poor manners, Jane drew up short when he lifted a quizzing glass to study her. “Lud, isn’t your sister a bit old for a governess?” he asked.
Jane lifted her chin. It had been a long time since she had been talked about in such a fashion, when some matron would cluck over “poor Jane, the plain one.” Then, it had taken all of Jane’s Christian charity not to thrust out her tongue. Now, of course, she was an adult and well beyond such childish tantrums, but the old bitterness returned.
Would all Raleigh’s friends treat her this way? An hour ago she had been content, but now Jane wondered how she could ever fit into her husband’s world. And if this was the way of it, wasn’t she better off in Sussex? Perhaps this clever gentleman could provide Raleigh with a shoulder to cry on in Northumberland, while she returned home!
Oddly enough, the notion was not as comforting as it should have been, and Jane decided to wait before committing herself to either course. Refusing to be cowed, she continued her descent, greeting the two men at the bottom of the stairs with a curt nod. Although she glimpsed a flicker of concern in Raleigh’s eyes, Jane told herself he was probably worrying about the state of his neck cloth. Certainly not his wife.
“Now, Pimperington, would a mere governess conduct herself with such hauteur?” Raleigh said, watching her with a disconcerting degree of familiarity.
“Eh, what?” the man asked, looking from Raleigh to her.
“This lady is not a tutor, but a viscountess. My viscountess,” Raleigh said with a smile. “My lady, may I present Mr. Pimperington.”
Jane had to admire Raleigh’s acting ability, for even she was nearly taken in by the proprietary pride in his voice. Unfortunately, she knew it was all a hum.
“What’s that? Gad, you don’t mean she’s your wife?” the man said in startled accents. Lifting his quizzing glass once more, he studied Jane up and down in a way that made her want to shove the offending object down his throat.
“I’m sorry, but I don’t allow those in my home,” she said.
“Eh? What’s that?” Pimperington asked.
“The glass,” Jane said, louder, pointing. “It will have to go.” And then, ignoring Raleigh’s appreciative chuckle and his guest’s gasp of surprise, she swept past them both in the general direction of the dining hall. Behind her she heard Pimperington’s loud grumble. “What’s wrong with my glass?”
“The viscountess doesn’t like to be ogled,” Raleigh said easily. “That’s why she goes to so much trouble to hide her beauty.”
“Beauty! Eh, yes, of course. I can see that,” Pimperington replied in a puzzled tone.
Jane’s lips twitched at Raleigh’s swift wit, but she forced her mouth into a firm line. She could not care for such lies, especially about her person! And she certainly had no intention of encouraging her husband in his poor jests.
Although she walked ahead of the gentlemen, when Jane reached the dining room, Raleigh was only a step behind her, and when he gallantly held out his arm, she could hardly refuse it. After a moment’s hesitation during which she could have sworn she saw a glitter of amusement in her husband’s eyes, Jane finally laid her hand lightly upon his coat.
The elegant material was smooth and his arm warm and muscular beneath it. How did an indolent creature like Raleigh have muscles? she wondered vaguely, feeling a sudden unwanted heat. She was glad to quit him when he found her chair, but he squeezed her shoulder as he seated her, and Jane shivered beneath his gloved fingers, seized by an absurd giddiness.
Why did he have to do that? she wondered irritably. She did not give him leave to handle her in that fashion! Her mood must have shown on her face, for she caught Pimperington eyeing her curiously before glancing away with haste. Apparently, the man had taken seriously Raleigh’s warning not to look at her. Still, she felt his furtive attention on her often throughout the first course and tried to accustom herself to it. No doubt, all of Raleigh’s acquaintances would view her with equal astonishment, for she was certainly an odd match for the viscount. A mismatch, she thought dismally, though why it should suddenly strike her so, she did not know.
“So you’ve taken a wife, eh?” Pimperington said loudly. “Dashed sudden, isn’t it? Unless…lud, don’t tell me she’s an heiress you’ve found in some country backwater!”
“No,” Raleigh said with a grin as the servants withdrew their plates for another course. “Lady Raleigh is no heiress, but sister to the countess of Wycliffe.”
“Wycliffe! Ah, yes, know the earl. Bit stodgy, but all right.” Jane braced herself for the inevitable comparison to Charlotte and was surprised when it did not come. Either Pimperington did not remember her sister well or he had not gotten a good enough look at her to wonder about their connection.
“I have had a tendre for my wife for a long time,” Raleigh explained blithely, causing Jane to slam down her spoon in shocked surprise.
“Don’t,” she whispered, suddenly cold. Her breath, her heart, indeed, her very being seemed caught in a vise that threatened to squeeze the life from her. She could take anything else, the sly curious glances of strangers, the disdain of servants, but not this pretense of regard. Not this. “Don’t pretend—”
Raleigh cut her off with a languid wave of his hand. “Now, love, we would not want any scandal attached to our nuptials,” he said. For once, the gaze that settled upon her was serious, and Jane stifled her protest at the warning implicit there. Satisfied with her compliance, Raleigh leaned back and reached for his wine. “I was visiting Wycliffe’s Sussex home, in a thinly disguised effort to see my intended, when we were both overcome with ardor and could wait no longer.”
Jane made a choking sound and reached for her water glass.
“Besides, I did not really want my parents involved in the wedding, if you catch my meaning,” Raleigh said with a sardonic tilt of his head.
“What’s that? Ah, yes!” Pimperington said jovially. “Wouldn’t approve, of course. Deuced unfortunate when you’re in line for the title. Know the earl wanted an heiress for you, but if you get yourself a son soon, that should keep them quiet!”
At the mention of an heir, Jane blushed scarlet and refused to look at either of her fellow diners. She picked up her spoon, but her appetite had fled. It was not only Raleigh’s lie, but his blithe recitation of it that stung her. She would rather he treat her badly or send her back home—anything but feign affection for her that he did not feel. The false claim hurt her somewhere deep inside, in a place Jane had long forgotten and did not care to revisit.
Somehow, she managed to get through the meal, while Pimperington spoke loudly and volubly about a host of people she did not know. When Raleigh made attempts to include her in the conversation, Jane demurred, until finally the men all but excluded her, and she wondered how she could possibly have felt comfortable with this carelessly cruel fop.
As soon as she possibly could, Jane gave her excuses and retired for the evening. She knew a moment’s hesitation when she pleaded a headache, but Raleigh looked more relieved than anything else at her exit. The reminder that he did not wish to be her husband in truth added to Jane’s bitterness.
And as she made her way alone up to the dubious attentions of Madeleine, she vowed in the days ahead to keep her husband and his attentions firmly in perspective. Today she had weakened, as any woman might, but now she felt only renewed disdain for the man whose perfect appearance hid a hollow core.
Raleigh was not only a dandy, but a rogue, she decided, and she would never again fall prey to his spurious charm.
Chapter Five
Raleigh was never so glad to see Pimperington go. His sometimes annoying friend had lingered a bit too long after supper before finally mumbling something about Raleigh’s newly married status and bidding farewell. When he heard the butler see his guest out, Raleigh sprawled into the nearest chair and leaned his head back with a sigh. Why Pimperin
gton, of all people, should show up on his doorstep tonight, he could not fathom.
It seemed that when luck decided to desert him, it did so eloquently, for few among his friends or acquaintances could be accounted such a gossip as Pimperington. Not only would his marriage become well-known, but it would be all over town that his wife looked like a governess or worse!
Raleigh shuddered. He certainly didn’t care what people thought of him or his nuptials; a thick skin was a necessity moving in his circles. But he felt bad for Jane—more than bad. When he thought of the ton snickering at her behind her back, his stomach lurched painfully. Since he was never ill beyond the chance overindulgence and never took anything very seriously, the sensation was astonishing.
In fact, if he contemplated his wife’s embarrassment too much, Raleigh felt as though he might lose his supper, so he decided not to think about it at all. When they returned to London, he would insist that something be done with those dreadful clothes. They ought to be burned, he noted with a hum of distaste. And that hair! It wasn’t such a bad color, if he could just get her to loosen it a bit, so that her face wasn’t so pinched. And it wasn’t such a bad face, if he could get her to smile a bit.
New gowns and some good humor would do much to improve his wife, Raleigh mused, his meal settling back into its proper place. Then, when he introduced her officially to society, people would see that Jane was not the antidote that Pimperington had painted her.
With that matter firmly settled, Raleigh rose to his feet, his step lighter as he went up to his chamber. Lud, he might even have a little sip of brandy before nodding off. He had barely opened the door, however, when Antoine met him, mustache twitching with the force of his agitation.
“At last! What has kept you? No, do not say it is that odious creature Pimperington, for I do not wish to hear it!” the valet said, practically yanking off his coat.
“Eh? What’s the hurry? Did I spill soup on my waistcoat?” Raleigh asked as he shifted his shoulders and turned around, trying to see his valet.
“What is the hurry? Bah! Englishmen! Do you not wish to rush to your bride, who has been waiting for you?” Antoine asked, cocking his head to the side as if to study this strange breed of neglectful grooms.
Raleigh laughed at the thought of Jane pining away for him, sick with love. Instead, she would probably scream in horror should he race into her room like an anxious husband. The notion was sobering. “It’s not that kind of marriage, Antoine,” he said as the valet hurried to brush out his coat.
“Ah,” the Frenchman said with a nod. “I did not think it a love match, for she has not the look of your other paramours.”
“There’s nothing wrong with Jane’s looks,” Raleigh said, turning away to unbutton his waistcoat.
“No, of course not, my lord,” Antoine said. Although the valet dutifully agreed, his tone remained incredulous. “But her wardrobe, bah! It is execrable!”
Raleigh smiled at the servant’s outrage. “Yes, I’ll have to see to that once we are settled. Although the countess sent along some of my sister’s gowns, Jane is too stubborn to wear them.”
“She wishes to appear dowdy?” Antoine asked, horrified. “What kind of woman would want to dress so?” Obviously, the valet, whose taste was impeccable, thought Jane a candidate for Bedlam because of her poor choice in garments. Normally, Raleigh would have laughed at the thought, but the servant’s question struck him quite forcefully.
Why did Jane did insist on such ugly things, especially when her sister Charlotte wore beautiful confections? There ought to be a connection there, Raleigh decided, if he could just fathom it. He had simply assumed that the somber colors fit her dull demeanor, but now he wondered if it was more than that…
“You English, I will never understand you. Wearing funereal rags, marrying for convenience. Bah!” Antoine’s diatribe interrupted his musing.
“I wouldn’t exactly call ours a marriage of convenience,” Raleigh said dryly. “More like expedience.” Although he had no intention of spreading the story of his hurried nuptials to the world, he knew Antoine could be trusted. And serving in so intimate a position, the valet would certainly learn the truth before long.
Sprawling into a chair, Raleigh let the servant remove his boots. “We were married because of an accident, a simple mistake, and neither of us wanted it.”
“Ah,” Antoine said as he set one shining Wellington aside. “But why then is she still with you? I thought you had been to Westfield Park. Did you not throw her to your parents?”
“Eh? No, not exactly,” Raleigh said, feeling a slight flush steal up his neck at the memory of his familial interview. Instead of using their displeasure to his advantage, he had stood behind Jane’s chair, resting his hands upon her shoulders in silent support.
Raleigh’s brow furrowed as he contemplated that unlikely behavior, but swiftly he decided he would never be so cruel as to throw anyone to his parents, unwanted marriage or not. He shrugged carelessly, the matter resolved to his satisfaction. “You know me, Antoine, I must ever be a thorn in their sides.”
Antoine clicked his tongue in rebuke. “Ever the rebel, my lord, and where has it gotten you? No land, no money, and now an unwanted bride, a mousy creature unfit to be a future countess!” He shook his head as he rose to his feet, and Raleigh frowned as something surged to life inside him.
“Have a care, Antoine,” he advised. “She is my wife.” Although he remained casually sprawled in the chair, he slanted the valet a warning glance that made Antoine bow his head in apology.
“I beg your pardon, my lord. I am, as always, your humble servant.”
Raleigh laughed at the ludicrous statement from a man who rarely behaved like an employee, but that was one of the things the viscount liked best about his valet. The little Frenchman was not only highly skilled, but amusing, and Raleigh usually enjoyed their banter.
Except tonight. For a moment, Raleigh had been seized with a wayward desire to grab the Frenchman by his haughty neck. And, apparently, Antoine had realized it. Bowing curtly, he backed toward the door.
“Indeed, as you say, my lord, it is an English practice, this business of expedience—a wife who is not a wife. A dowd who is not a dowd,” he muttered as he left the room.
Raleigh sighed, ignoring Antoine’s displeasure. For some unknown reason, he felt oddly protective of his wife. It was a new sensation, for he had never looked out for anyone really. Certainly, his sister had not needed his protection, for she had learned long ago how to handle their parents far better than he and would decry his intervention.
Smiling slightly, Raleigh realized that he couldn’t quite imagine Jane needing him either, but she had him, whether she wanted him or not. Then, abruptly, he remembered how she had looked curled up in the window seat in the study, reaching out to try to catch the invitations he tossed to her. She had seemed so young then, a veritable girl who was now his responsibility. The thought was sobering, and he vowed that no one was ever going to hurt her. Or call her a dowd—even if it was the truth.
Leaning his head back, Raleigh considered Antoine’s parting words. He was not a deep thinker. He had always lived on the surface, rarely looking beyond the latest jest or card game or friendship. Although he had a knack for sometimes seeing what others refused to acknowledge—mostly in their romantic entanglements—he did not normally probe a person’s character, especially a female’s.
The ladies he liked were blessedly simple, happy to enjoy a light flirtation or a laugh or a turn in his bed. But Jane was different. He had no idea what would make her happy. A few days ago he would have thought nothing, but there had been moments since their wedding when he had caught glimpses of another side of her.
Raleigh’s brow furrowed again as he wondered if there might be more to his wife than he had supposed. Just as behind those thick spectacles he had discovered a pair of intriguing green eyes, the like of which he had never seen, now he wondered if there were other treasures hidden about her person
, inside and out.
At supper, although she had said little, Jane had seemed more, well, spunky than dull. Raleigh laughed aloud as he remembered how she had ordered Pimperington to get rid of his quizzing glass. Grinning, he crossed his arms behind his head and realized that he was actually looking forward to the trip to Northumberland. Perhaps this marriage might be just the thing to alleviate the boredom that had plagued him of late.
Chuckling to himself, Raleigh took a measure of delight in the knowledge that, against all odds, Plain Jane was turning out to be interesting.
Jane was quiet in the morning, the memory of her husband’s lies and his friend’s insults still fresh in her mind. Although Raleigh tried his best to be charming between mouthfuls of two heaping plates of breakfast, she was determined not to succumb to his seductive attention.
Even seated across from him in the coach, bound for Northumberland, she was prepared to ignore him. To that end, she had borrowed several books from the town house library with which to occupy herself, rather than suffer his conversation. Hoping he would honor her silence, she opened one of them, a moral tale by the great Hannah More that seemed well suited to her mood. But her peace was not to be. As soon as Jane lifted the pages in front of her face, she heard her husband’s mocking tone.
“Lud, where did you get that?” he asked.
Jane lowered the volume to fix him with a look of disapproval. “I found it, my lord, in your very own library.”
“I thought we had progressed to Raleigh or Deverell. Dev even. That’s what my sister called me when we were young,” he said. “And it’s not my library, but the earl’s. Gad, what rubbish!”
His expression as he considered her book was such a comical mixture of disgust and horror that Jane was hard-pressed to keep from laughing. Forcing herself to sobriety, she glanced down at the text in her hands. “Perhaps if you had read it, you might not find yourself in your current circumstances,” she solemnly intoned, trying hard to sound like her father giving one of his gentle scolds.
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