Lord Wraybourne's Betrothed
Page 5
Her worst fear put to rest, Jane began gradually to find her feet in this strange new world. As the dinner party was informal, the conversation proved general, and Jane needed only commonplace pleasantries to supply her part. She concentrated on listening to the others. The talk was mainly of people and events of which she was in ignorance; but being attentive and clever, she learned a great deal.
Mrs. Danvers, she decided, did have a particular manner when addressing Lord Wraybourne and she was a special friend of Lady Harroving. Did the woman have tender feelings for the earl? Were they returned? Would they have married if the lady had been free? And where was Mr. Danvers?
Jane also noticed that an intimate manner seemed de rigueur between ladies and gentlemen. Lady Harroving had a similar demeanor when she spoke to Sir Marius and Lord Randal but not when she spoke to her husband. She seemed to despise her husband, who did appear to be unpleasant, eating greedily and noisily and paying no attention to his wife or his guests. Jane wondered if the marriage had been arranged. Perhaps, like herself, Lady Harroving had been given no choice. If so, honesty forced Jane to admit, despite Lord Wraybourne’s pragmatic approach to matrimony, her own parents had made a much better arrangement in her case.
Uncomfortable with the manners of the older ladies, Jane turned to Sophie in search of a model. She and Lord Randal chattered away like precocious children, seeming to be of an age even though he must be ten years the elder. Jane decided that, though she would give a great deal to be able to exchange witticisms with the younger couple’s air and joie de vivre, their behavior was as yet beyond her range. What was she to do?
“A penny for your thoughts, Jane,” said Lord Wraybourne, “or perhaps, more tempting, an apricot tart?” He held the plate towards her, and she took one.
“The food is delicious,” she remarked. “And so many courses.”
“Oh, this is informal. Maria would not consider this anything special. Was that what you were thinking? About food? You did take a tart so you owe me your thoughts.”
With effort, she met his eyes directly. Lacking a model, she must be herself. “But they are not your tarts to bargain with, Lord Wraybourne.”
His eyes glinted appreciation of her wit. “Then perhaps I should offer you a penny, or a bracelet of tigereye quartz. Would that tempt you to reveal yourself?” His voice was soft and light. Yet there was a particularity in his manner which enveloped her in a disquieting way.
She laughed to break the mood. “Perhaps. If I could remember what I was thinking. Thoughts are like dreams. Soon forgotten.”
“Dreams can come true, Jane. Have you ever had a dream come true?”
She dropped her eyes. This party was a dream come true, but she must not tell him that. He would take the credit. She wished he would turn his attention elsewhere. She could not think when he had his eyes fixed upon her.
“I don’t remember dreams,” she said. “I just told you so.”
“Merely because you don’t talk about them soon enough,” he responded in a much more casual tone, turning to cut some grapes from the bunch hanging on a grape stand nearby. “That is what we decided, was it not?” he asked, placing purple grapes on her plate. “In a few weeks I will be in a position to inquire about your dreams when you awake. Then we shall see.”
His nonchalant tone was deceptive. Jane stared up at him with enormous eyes, forgetting her determination to be a sophisticate. She didn’t know what to say. The vision of intimacy he had so casually laid before her was shocking and yet beguiling. She was flattered that he spoke easily to her of such things, as if she were a woman of the world, and yet she was terrified that he might expect some appropriate response of which she was quite in ignorance. Perhaps her pretense of worldly wisdom was too convincing.
She had not been aware that her mouth was hanging open until he put out a finger and gently closed it.
Lady Harroving’s sharp voice broke in.
“David, I will not have you billing and cooing at my dinner table! Save that for when you are married. Besides, it is my job to keep your little bride safe till then, even from you.”
Sir Arthur gave a snort of laughter at this, which was ignored by his wife as she led the ladies from the room. As soon as they were settled in the drawing room she came to sit by Jane.
“You must be careful, Jane, how you behave with the gentlemen. Even with your affianced husband you can be deemed fast, and that will do you no good in Society.”
“Oh, Maria, don’t be so stuffy,” exclaimed Lady Sophie. “I don’t know what has come over you since you became a chaperone. If David and Jane wish to play love games let them be. They’ve had little enough chance so far and will be married in a matter of weeks.”
Lady Harroving turned sharply on her cousin. “You had better guard yourself too, Sophie. Love games indeed. Your fine status and your large dower won’t help you if you are seen as flighty.”
“Do you think not?” asked Sophie saucily. “Not even combined with my beaux yeux and my belle taille?”
“Heaven preserve me. I doubt I’ll survive this Season!” declared the older lady and flounced off to sit near her friend Mrs. Danvers.
“There, that removed her,” said Sophie with satisfaction as she sat down. “Why, Jane, you look quite upset.”
Jane was struggling with the desire to weep, convinced that in her ignorance she had shamed herself in some way.
“Why did she say such things? I cannot help it if Lord Wraybourne behaves so.”
“Oh, she’s in one of her pets. Of course you can’t. But if he bothers you, just tell him. He’s the kindest soul really. He is probably not accustomed to someone so gently reared as yourself. I’m sure he would not go beyond the line.”
Jane wished she could bring herself to tell Sophie that her beloved brother had been talking of bed. Then she would see what he was capable of. Instead, Jane turned the conversation to matters of fashion. Shortly afterwards, she used her journey as an excuse to retire before the gentlemen appeared and so avoided another encounter with her bothersome fiancé. He would not be banished from her thoughts, however, and she found it surprisingly difficult to sleep despite the fluffy cloud of the feather mattress after a lifetime of horsehair.
Lord Wraybourne obviously felt obliged to woo her at every opportunity. Perhaps it was de rigueur for a betrothed couple to behave so, but it made Jane most uncomfortable. She tried to tell herself she found his attentions embarrassing, but she knew that the real problem was their effectiveness. He would soon have her eating out of the palm of his hand. She could imagine how everyone would laugh to see the country miss making sheep’s eyes at the man who was marrying her money. It was an exciting game all the same, for one so new to it. If only she could believe she had a chance to attach his true interest. . . .
With these thoughts jostling in her head, she fell asleep at last to dream of a man’s voice calling, “Come to bed, Jane.” But, try as she might, she was unable to decide whose voice it might be.
Later that night, after the rest of the party had retired, Lord Randal and Sir Marius lounged in chairs in the billiard room, taking time between games to share some of their host’s excellent brandy and discuss their friend’s forthcoming marriage.
“I agree,” said Lord Randal, “that it’s a strange start for David to pick a bride from nowhere when all the beauties of a decade have been his for the asking, but the girl will do when she has a little bronze and the family wealth is fabulous. I wish I’d known she was hanging there like a plum in the wilds of Gloucestershire, waiting to be picked along with her thousands of pounds.”
“Is that why you were doing the pretty?” asked Sir Marius sardonically. “If you think anything will prevent the marriage, you’re about in the head. David can’t cry off and still call himself a gentleman, and the Sandifords would never permit anything so notorious.”
Lord Randal’s smile was angelic. “But if they felt the marriage was likely to be even more scandalous . . .”
“Hey, damn you!” Lord Randal exclaimed. “Stop it, Marius. I was only funning. It would be criminal to spill this cognac, especially on my beautiful coat.”
“I’ll spill your blood on your beautiful coat if you start trouble. Besides, even your ingenuity couldn’t paint David as more scandalous than yourself. Lady Sandiford would have palpitations at seeing you in company with her little nun.”
“Don’t you think we should rescue David from such a connection? I hear she’s a gorgon.”
“I am sure the gold will be some compensation. Forget it. Just because I count the girl a dowdy bore, don’t think I’ll support you in mischief.”
“A dowdy bore?” Lord Randal said quizzically. “Hardly. She’s quite beautiful, and the Sandiford fortune will ensure she’s soon dressed to equal the finest. I doubt I would find her boring.”
“A bore,” asserted his friend.
“You think all women are bores. Ah, David,” he exclaimed as the door opened. “Come and sample this cognac. Really fine. Do you not agree that Marius simply dislikes women and cannot be trusted in any statement he makes about them?”
Lord Wraybourne raised an eyebrow. “I don’t think ‘dis like’ would describe his attitude to Julia Devine last time I saw them together.”
Lord Randal shouted with laughter. “True indeed. Perhaps I should say he dislikes ladies.”
“Not at all,” responded Sir Marius equably. “I have an aunt of whom I am tolerably fond, and I have enjoyed the company of a number of other married ladies. Most unmarried ladies, however, desire only to rectify that state.”
“Ah,” said Lord Wraybourne as he inhaled the aroma of the brandy. “Now I see the topic. You are talking of Jane Sandiford.” His tone was perfectly amiable, but there was something in his lazy eyes which warned them not to overstep the bounds.
“You know my views,” said Sir Marius, undeterred. “Marriage is for fools. You have two brothers. Let them be the victims.”
“Frederick could be carried away at any moment by a Frenchman’s bullet, and Mortimer is currently adhering to an extreme form of High Anglicanism which urges celibacy.”
“Good God!”
“And actually,” continued his lordship, “I have no particular objection to the married state.”
“Tell me,” said Lord Randal eagerly. “How did you find her, and did you encounter any other similar specimens in your search?”
Lord Wraybourne delayed his reply to savour a mouthful of the cognac. “Her parents found me, or rather her mother did,” he said at last. “Sir Jeffrey is a cipher. She sent the word out among her friends and asked for suggestions of eligible men. Goodness knows what qualities she specified, but my godmother, Lady Peebles, was most insistent that I visit and look the girl over.”
He shrugged. “I had decided to choose a bride rather than wait for Cupid’s arrow which seems slow to find a target in my breast so I took the bait. I didn’t seriously think I would offer for her,” he reminisced. “I think she brought out the gallantry in me, like a princess in a tower awaiting a rescuer.”
Sir Marius stared gloomily into his glass, but Lord Randal responded with laughter, “Indeed. And the fact that she’s rich and beautiful had nothing to do with it?”
“Princesses are always rich and beautiful,” replied Lord Wraybourne dryly.
“I suspect she’s rather clever too. I suppose that didn’t weigh with you either?”
“A bonus, I admit. She has a fine wit, and as she begins to be more comfortable with strangers I anticipate much pleasure in her company.”
Lord Randal quirked an eyebrow at this and looked to make a comment but thought better of it. Instead he said, “But her clothes! Her mother dresses her like an impoverished puritan, David. It’s a sad waste. You should do something about it.”
“I hardly think my interference would be welcome at this point,” remarked Lord Wraybourne. “Time enough to arrange her clothing when we’re wed.”
“Or disarrange it,” chortled Lord Randal irrepressibly, drawing groans from both his friends. “At any rate try to persuade her not to cut her hair. You saw how impressed she was by Sophie’s crop.”
“Yes,” said Lord Wraybourne, much struck. “And hair takes so long to grow.”
Lord Randal sighed, a beatific smile on his beautiful face. “Imagine her naked with that mass of ebony hair swirling around her.”
“I would really rather you didn’t,” said Lord Wraybourne gently.
“What? Oh . . . I suppose not. But it will be deuced hard.” He smiled sensuously. “To a connoisseur, such thoughts are inescapable.”
“You may enjoy your thoughts all you wish,” was the amiable response. “In fact, to show how much I trust you, I will ask you to spend a little time introducing my bride to the art of flirtation. I must be losing my touch. She obviously regards me with trepidation. I find this marriage business not as simple as I expected.” He ignored a snort from Sir Marius. “She liked the look of you though, Randal, so do the pretty, and then maybe she won’t swoon every time I try to kiss her hand.”
Lord Randal agreed enthusiastically to this proposal, but Lord Wraybourne was to endure a fair amount of good-natured teasing before the gentlemen retired that night.
4
JANE SUFFERED A moment of confusion at waking the next morning in a strange bed. This was followed by a surge of excitement, however. With the sunshine of a new day and adventure before her, her fears faded. The idea of seeing Lord Wraybourne again—exchanging teasing words, feeling his lips upon her fingers—was a large part of that excitement, with its strange mingling of wariness and anticipation.
She tugged on the bellpull, impatient to begin the day. Prudence, full of news from the servants’ hall, arrived with her washing water. Though Jane knew her mother would not approve of encouraging servants to gossip, she did not stop the prattle. After all, this was as much an adventure for Prudence as it was for herself.
“. . . ten garden staff and that doesn’t include those at the Home Farm, Miss Jane. There’s a sewing woman comes in but there won’t be time for her to do much for you so I trimmed your fawn cambric last night.”
She produced the gown, which Jane admired with genuine pleasure.
“Prudence, you are a marvel!”
The plain high-necked gown was greatly improved by rows of ruched lace around the collar and hem. Prudence had also added false buttons and braid to give the bodice the look of a jacket.
“I had help from some of the other maids, Miss. They were quite challenged, and I gather Lord Wraybourne is a great favorite here so they were very pleased to help you.”
“Prudence, I am truly grateful. When we are in Town and I have my new clothes, you shall have all these for yourself and so benefit from your work.”
The maid turned bright pink with excitement. “Lordy, Miss. I’ll be as fine as you like! Thank you.”
“Thank you, Prudence.” Jane added with a grin, “After all, I am only ensuring that you will continue your wonderful work. We are here for two more days and so I will require a number of other gowns.”
Jane felt pleasantly comfortable with her appearance as she entered the light and sunny breakfast room. She couldn’t help being disappointed to find only Mrs. Danvers and Lady Sophie at the table. The young men had apparently eaten earlier and gone off on some sporting enterprise. The Harrovings and her father had chosen to break their fast in their chambers.
“Good morning, Jane,” declared Lady Sophie gaily as Jane allowed the maid behind the chafing dishes to give her eggs and ham. “I do hope I am permitted to call you Jane for I consider us sisters, and I must be Sophie to you. It is a glorious day. I am pondering the relative charms of fishing, archery, and sketching. What activity would please you best?”
“I have never attempted fishing or archery,” said Jane as she seated herself, “so I think I must
content myself with my easel.”
“But that will mean sitting still for so long, something I am quite unable to do! Besides, I am sure David would be delighted to instruct you in the art of angling and even more charmed to teach you how to draw a bow.” This was said with a wicked glance at Phoebe Danvers, who was apparently enthralled by the kidneys on her plate.
“How do you intend to pass your day, Mrs. Danvers?” the girl pursued, forcing the older woman to pay her some attention.
“I have not considered, Lady Sophie. I will wait, I think, until Maria rises and consult with her. I may attempt a wa tercolor sketch of the Chinese bridge.”
“What is a Chinese bridge?” asked Jane.
Sophie bounced. “Of course! You haven’t seen the grounds. The first thing we must do is to explore. The landscaping here is famous. There is a Chinese garden with a pagoda and an Italian garden with statues which will make you stare.”
She continued to chatter as Jane finished her breakfast, then dragged her away, pulling a naughty face at Phoebe Danvers’ back as they left.
“I cannot abide that woman,” she declared as soon as the door was closed. “She has such a high opinion of herself and is forever sneering at people. I thought at one time that David might marry her and was quite cast down.”
“She is a widow, then. She cannot be very old.”
Jane felt a momentary alarm that Mrs. Danvers was free, but that was swiftly followed by satisfaction. The older lady had been available for marriage had Lord Wraybourne wished it. Then Jane realized that the widow was doubtless not rich enough, and despondency settled upon her once more. She forced herself to pay attention to her companion.