by Lavinia Kent
The corners of Annabelle’s mouth turned up just slightly and she nodded. It was impossible to miss the irony of the situation. “Yes. I must confess I am not sure I’ll ever forget. I’ve never hosted quite such an event.”
“You clearly have not been in London long enough. Oh, do forgive me. I am afraid I feel both bitter and brittle this afternoon. I would admit that even in Town it is unusual for one guest to be publicly accused of sleeping with another guest’s husband. Privately accused would be another matter. And, of course, it is an almost constant source of gossip. But, yes, the cartoon of me and Kathryn’s husband was a trifle extreme.”
Wisely, Annabelle said nothing. She nodded just enough to demonstrate her attention.
“That cartoon was a lie. I have not slept with Harrington since long before his marriage. I would never hurt Kathryn in that fashion, even had there been any remaining desire—and as it happens, there is none. Harrington and I are friends and business partners—we spend our time together discussing whether a canal or a railroad could be the best way to get our goods to London. Nothing more.”
“I do believe you.” And her face said that she did.
“And so, strangely enough, so does everyone else. I was expecting a scandal, but I actually found that everybody believed Harrington was quite happy with Kathryn. And I must admit it doesn’t hurt that they’ve been staring at each other with rapture this whole last week.”
“I did see them strolling hand in hand in the park. I didn’t even know husbands and wives were allowed to do that,” Annabelle commented.
“In any case, other than a few discreet glances at my midline to see if I might be increasing, there had been almost no talk. I was beginning to feel quite relieved.”
Annabelle leaned forward, her blond curls falling forward. “I sense a ‘but’ coming.”
“Yes.” Linnette pulled her reticule forward and pulled out a copy of the folded cartoon. She’d had to send her maid out to purchase another. Nobody would ever see just how distraught the first copy had made her. “This appeared in shop windows this morning.” She unfolded it and spread it on the table.
Annabelle leaned forward and turned the cartoon with a single finger. “Oh dear.”
“Yes, ‘oh dear,’ indeed. People might have believed one cartoon was wrong, but two? I am sure that I’ll begin receiving callers bearing knitted baby booties within the day.”
“And you’re not . . . ?”
“No, I am not.” Linnette stood. “Why does everybody ask that? Do I look like I am getting fat?”
“Of course not. But then some women lose weight their first months. And to be honest, these current fashions do not help your cause.” Annabelle stood and shook out her dress. “When your skirt expands like a bell from just below your bosom, who knows what is being hidden? I sometimes think I could hide a frigate in here and nobody would know.”
Linnette looked down at her own spreading skirts. “I do fear you are correct.” She pulled the dress tight. “I have never been slim, but I am certainly not increasing. Perhaps I should try to bring back the fitted waist.”
“Or you could throw a grand masquerade and appear in the flimsiest of Grecian drapery.”
“Ahh, there is temptation in that.” She sat back down in her chair and took a sip of the rapidly cooling tea. “But, I fear you have not quite understood the true problem with the print.”
“Oh?” Annabelle sat also.
“I do not like having everyone staring at my belly with a titter, but gossip would soon enough be proved wrong. When I do not ever begin to look like the cartoon, rumor would fade. No, the problem is the man.” She stabbed down at the drawing of James.
“Who is he?” Annabelle bent forward to examine the cartoon closely. “He looks familiar. I am sure I’ve seen him—perhaps even talked to him. He is quite something. A trifle wild looking? Do you even know him?”
“I am afraid that I do. He is James Sharpeton—the new Duke of Doveshire.”
Annabelle paused, still staring down, then looked up and met Linnette’s gaze. “Ahh, he was on the ship with us from Boston. Although, the cartoon does not do him justice. My father had several long conversations with him and found him good company. And you should have seen his send-off. I think there was a whole regiment wishing him well. They weren’t in uniform, of course. Not in Boston. But I do know a military ma—.” She stopped midsentence. And Linnette could see understanding spread across her face. “The dowager duchess and the duke. That does sound scandalous—and incestuous—but also just plain silly. I realize that you are quite young—only a year or two older than myself—but I can’t imagine you . . .”
“The problem is that I am.” The words rushed out. “Oh, I don’t believe I just said that. I hadn’t actually decided to discuss the matter in detail—and I don’t know you at all well—hardly at all—that sounds awful—I just mean that—. Let me just close my mouth for a minute while my brain catches up.”
Annabelle lifted the drawing and held it up to her face. “How exactly is he related to your late husband?”
Facts. Linnette could handle answering a question that dealt only with fact. “I am not even sure that I know the correct designation beyond saying they are distant cousins. James and my husband, Charles, shared a great-grandfather. James’s grandfather was the third youngest of the four brothers of Charles’s grandfather. The title passed directly from father to son for the intervening years until Charles’s death.”
Even now, four years later, Linnette felt a twinge when she mentioned Charles’s death. There was no longer pain, only the ever-continuing sense of disbelief.
Placing the cartoon back on the table, Annabelle clasped her hands in her lap. “I had heard there was quite a search for the new duke. I begin to see why.”
“Yes. When James was a boy, he never even considered himself a potential heir. He knew he was Charles’s cousin, they joked about it on occasion, but James was always simply the vicar’s stepson—bound for the church or the Army. His father had died soon after his birth and his mother never tried to remain close to the duke. They weren’t even invited to the more intimate gatherings that the duke, Charles’s father, held.”
“So you’ve known the new duke for a while?”
“Since I was a child. One of my father’s smaller estates bordered the opposite side of the town from Doveshire’s. The vicarage lay between.” Linnette felt like she was rambling, but it felt so good to speak of it finally. Her head had been spinning these last weeks since James’s return, far before the events of this morning.
“So you all grew up together?”
“My family only stayed there in the summers. My mother found the lake breezes cooling. But, yes, I always felt that I grew up with James. I lived for those months in the summer when I could see him. He was my hero from a very early age.”
“And Charles?”
“He was nearly a decade older and always seemed busy.” That was simpler than explaining that she’d always known she was betrothed to him and that it had frightened her. And it was the truth. Charles had never shown any interest in her until that last summer.
“So how did you become his wife?”
“Our fathers betrothed us before I reached my fifth birthday. My father’s small estate was a finger butting into Doveshire land. The duke wanted it back. My father wanted a great title for his grandchildren. It was a simple exchange.”
“There are brief moments when I am glad to be American.”
“I do understand—only it would have all gone smoothly. I never felt any true objection to Charles and my father would never have forced me, could not have forced me.”
“But . . .”
“I fell in love with James. I wanted to marry James. We had it all planned. I would sell my jewelry and we would buy a small farm and raise horses. It should have been simple. I can see in your face that you don’t think it would have been easy and I do know you are right. Things never are quite the way you expect
when you are young. But, it doesn’t matter. James left.”
“He left?”
“He joined the Army and was shipped off to Canada. I doubt he would ever have returned if—if he had not become Doveshire.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Linnette watched as Annabelle lifted the cartoon again, but rather than looking at it, Annabelle began to fold it, again and again, before beginning to speak. “I am not sure that I quite see the problem. You implied at the beginning that you were involved in some manner with Ja— with Doveshire, with the new duke.”
How should she answer? How much could she say? “He is my lover. It is as plain as that, and I fear I grow too old to pretend.” It sounded so simple when she said it. Words could not convey the way her heart had stopped when she’d first seen him again, weeks ago, the way she’d felt as if he’d never left, the way her body had burned for his touch from that first glance, the way—
God, her face must have been flaming as images of that night filled her. She doubted they’d spoken ten sentences between them before they’d found a dark corner in the back of the garden and her skirts had been about her waist. She could still see him standing before her half-naked. She could see the boy he’d been beneath the strong man’s body he now inhabited. Even the nasty scar that marked his thigh and hip had not made him seem different. He was still her James.
“That is nonsense,” Annabelle said, drawing Linnette’s thoughts back to the present. “These things are never plain and easy, even I know that. And I must admit I am trifle shocked. I’d always heard the English were so reserved.”
“Are you shocked that I have a lover or that I admit it?”
“I suppose that you admit it. I am not naive enough to think that these things only happen within the bonds of marriage.” Annabelle looked down at her hands, her cheeks becoming flushed as if at her own thoughts.
“I am relieved to hear that.” And Linnette was. She needed advice from a woman of some understanding. “I am still not sure what I am doing telling you these things. It is only that . . .” She hesitated, suddenly unsure.
“I take it as a great gift that you feel comfortable after such a short acquaintance. I must admit selfishly that it makes me feel much less alone. And even with my sister here, I have felt quite alone.”
“Thank you. Would you take it amiss if I asked if we could partake in something a bit stronger than tea? My nerves have not quite settled this day. I know it is early, but—.”
“Say no more.” Annabelle quickly summoned the maid and asked for some sherry to be brought. “Unless you care for something even stronger . . .”
“No, sherry is quite fine, quite perfect, actually.”
They waited in silence while the drink was brought and poured.
“I was feeling quite alone, also. I think that is what I was trying to find the words to say.” Linnette took a deep sip of the dry sherry, letting it burn down her throat. “I have always had Kathryn to talk to, ever since we were small girls. It is a strange feeling when one no longer has one’s closest friend to talk to.”
“I had a friend like that back in Boston. Perhaps I should say ‘have,’ for we do correspond, and sometimes when I am writing her, I can almost hear her voice in my head, but it is not the same as when we were together.”
“I can see that it is not.” Linnette took another swallow. The sherry had warmed her chest now and she felt the first hint of relaxation. “I had never considered how hard it must be to leave all you know. I’ve lived in the same area for my entire life. My father’s house in Mayfair is only a street away from Doveshire’s and I’ve already described the estates. I’ve never left anyone behind. Although James did leave me.”
“But he is back now.”
“Yes, but he returned for the title, not for me. And it took him eight endless years.” Only he had asked her to marry him, hadn’t he? For the first time all day Linnette let the thought fill her mind.
James had asked her to marry him.
She couldn’t do it, wouldn’t do it, of course. But, still . . .
James had asked her to marry him—again.
“If you had such a great love, why did he leave? Or why didn’t he come back earlier?” Annabelle leaned forward across the table, her eyes sparkling with curiosity.
Right to the heart of the issue. The marchioness certainly was not faint of heart. “I don’t know. Perhaps he did not feel as I did. They say women often feel these things more strongly than men. To him I may have been nothing more than a springtime memory. A fond one, I hope.”
“And yet you welcomed him back to your bed within a few weeks of—.”
“Within a few hours, perhaps minutes, to be honest. I saw him and it was not even a question. The moment we were alone—well, let us just say that there was not much conversation.”
“I think that is your problem.” Annabelle spoke with great surety.
“What?”
“Conversation, or rather lack of it. You need to ask the duke these questions.”
“I tried.”
“And?”
“He changed the subject.” And how he’d changed the subject. But he had asked her to marry him.
It was impossible. Absolutely impossible.
What would people say? Not that she’d do it even if all of London cheered for her. The real issue was trust—she would never believe she could lean on him, rely on him.
“You don’t seem the type of woman to let that stop you. Ask him again—and demand he answer.” Annabelle stood, picked up the last drops of sherry in her glass, and held it high. “To men and getting answers.”
Linnette followed Annabelle to her feet and held up her own glass. She chinked it against Annabelle’s. “To answers.”
Annabelle was right. She was having this conversation with the wrong person.
A kiss? He’d been seen kissing Linnette? James resisted the urge to turn and stare at Elizabeth. At Lady Smythe-Burke’s? It must have been that first kiss, when joy had driven away all thought. He remembered the occasion, certainly. He hadn’t even known Linnette would be there, but then he’d seen her and her dress had been cut so low, her lips so full, her—well, he hadn’t been able to help himself. Not that he ever had. Damn and blast. He was lucky that a kiss was all she’d seen. They’d tried so hard to be discreet ever since.
“Come and sit, Elizabeth. Your pacing is beginning to wear on me. And this is not a subject that needs to be discussed,” Annie said. She turned to James with a smile and nodded to the settee. “And you should sit, too. We really must discuss funding for the orphanage. I refuse to let children suffer because of our petty disagreements.”
Elizabeth seated herself, arranging her skirts with care. He took a seat on the settee beside her, careful to keep several feet between them. It was amazing how cowed he was beginning to feel as the two women began to explain in great detail the workings of the orphanage and all the ways he could, no, must, help. All he really wanted was for them to leave. He was tempted to offer them anything if only they’d go and leave him alone—to wait for Linnette, to think of Linnette.
The cushion of the settee dipped lower beside him, and he turned his head.
The longer they talked the nearer Elizabeth seemed to come. He never saw her move, but from having a couple of feet between them the space had diminished until it could be counted in inches. He was tempted to stand and pace, as well.
The heavy rose scent that the countess wore was tickling his nose. She turned to him with the slightest of smiles, explaining in a low, serious tone about the need for another pair of shoes for each child. Her eyes, however, were not serious. They spoke of something else, something he did not care to examine too closely.
He shifted slightly away, his hip pressing hard into the arm of the settee. Damn, he was not a man who desired pursuit and Elizabeth was making it all too clear that she saw him as some type of prey. He tried to inch further away, but there was no room.
Hell.
He turned to Annie, but she prattled on, unmindful of the game being played out before her.
“I am so pleased that you’ve decided to help us. I am quite sure that everyone will wish to donate when they know that you are continuing Doveshire’s sponsorship,” Elizabeth said as she leaned toward him, her shoulder brushing his arm.
“I am not sure that my help will make a difference. I am still more of a curiosity than anything,” James answered. “I know hardly anyone.”
“You know us.” Looking at him from under her lashes, Elizabeth tried to convey some deep message. “Surely we count.”
He’d been stalked by bears, attacked by wolves, and faced both down without the slightest flicker of fear. Now he felt a great desire to run.
The worst of it was that it made no sense. The blasted woman was beautiful, extraordinarily so. He should have enjoyed the game, if nothing else.
And under normal circumstances he would have, but not now. Not when—Linnette’s heartless laughter still echoed in his mind. His hand clenched into a fist.
“You seem lost in thought. I do hope that I am not boring you. Or perhaps it is all this talk of children. Men rarely seem entertained by such discussion. In truth, I think men are only interested in the making of them.” She leaned forward, again bending low, placing a hand on his thigh.
He shot a look at Annie. She had turned in her chair and was gazing out the window. Without looking at them she rose. “Excuse me a moment, please. We must be leaving soon and I should like to refresh myself first. A good splash of water on my cheeks will do me wonders.” She turned toward the door and left the room without another word. At least she left the door open.
Elizabeth did not seem to mind. She squeezed his thigh tighter and then moved her fingers higher. Smiling at him, she stared—and not at his face. “Yes, let me repeat Annie’s words, we are so thankful for your help. If only there were some way that I could . . .”
That was too much. He grabbed her hand, intent on moving it far from his—
“James, we must . . .” Linnette rushed into the room—and stopped—her words trailing off. Her eyes took in the scene instantly and then focused slowly on his hand and Elizabeth’s clasped together. Her eyes traced the length of his leg, judging just where those hands were likely to land. Her lips thinned.
