“Jack?” Harry prompted.
Prodded out of his reverie, Jack shook his head. “The whole plan hinges upon my behaving myself 'til Christmas, remember? A betrothal orgy hardly qualifies. If I give a party, it'll be of a more respectable sort—though you'll still have ample access to my cellars, Harry, so not to worry.”
Harry looked only partially mollified. Lord Peter did not appear pleased at all, however.
“Is that the way of it then, Jack? You don't mean to go through with the actual wedding?”
Jack met his friend's eyes and saw the concern in them. “I had planned to carry it out. In fact, I rather doubt old Havershaw will release the trust if I don't. If he could be convinced, though…”
“Then don't let Harry's blather dissuade you,” said Peter firmly—more firmly than Jack had heard him speak since selling out his commission. “If your inclination is to marry Lady Haughton, then you should do it. Have to marry sometime anyway, for the succession. Do you honestly think you can do better?”
He was certain he couldn't. But could Nessa?
~ ~ ~
“YOU’LL WISH TO WRITE to the present Lord Haughton and to our Cousin Filmore before sending an announcement to the papers, will you not?”
Nessa looked up from her breakfast to regard her sister with raised brows. “Whatever for? I scarcely need the permission of either to wed. I've only met Lord Haughton's nephew once, at the funeral, and Cousin Filmore has shown little interest in how I go on, for all he holds my purse strings.”
Though her husband had left a tidy sum to Nessa, rather to her surprise, he had left it under Lord Cherryhurst's control—a circumstance that had no doubt irritated Lord Haughton's heir as much as it had Nessa. Once she married, however, Lord Cherryhurst's—and Lord Haughton's—last vestige of control over her would vanish. Regaining control of her fortune was possibly the best argument for her decision—not that Jack needed to know that, of course.
“It simply seems the proper way to go about things,” Prudence urged her. “Surely there is no great hurry to make an announcement, so you and Lord Foxhaven will hardly be inconvenienced by observing such a protocol.”
“That's very thoughtful of you, Prudence, considering that our announcement will likely deflect the gossips' attention.” Nessa hoped that consideration might moderate Prudence's resistance to the match. “However, as Lord Foxhaven and I are agreed on a December wedding, I'd really prefer not to wait. I can send notice to both gentlemen in the same post which carries the announcement to the papers.”
But Prudence fixed on only one portion of her reply. “December! This very December that is but a few weeks distant? Oh, Nessa, surely not!”
“Lord Foxhaven wishes me to spend the Christmas season at Fox Manor,” Nessa explained reasonably, but without regard to her betrothed's true plans, whatever they might be. “We saw no reason to delay the match, once we had agreed it should take place.”
Prudence was clearly aghast, however. “But… but Nessa, only think! You'll have no time to shop properly for a trousseau, or to arrange for an engagement party without conflicting with other entertainments. And I'm certain you do not wish Society to think that you are rushing into marriage.”
This last, Nessa knew, was the real concern. “'Twill be six weeks at least between the announcement and the wedding, Prudence. No one will suspect it to be… necessary, with a delay of that length.”
Her sister flushed scarlet and groped for her fan at such plain speaking, even if it was what she'd been hinting at.
Nessa gave her a moment to compose herself, then continued. “The primary reason for haste—surely one which Society will approve—is that Jack, I mean Lord Foxhaven, has been asked to join the court of King Louis XVIII in Paris as soon as possible. He wishes us to marry first, that I may accompany him. Given that, I cannot think anyone will find our haste unseemly. 'Tis a great honor, after all!” she finished grandly, striving to convince herself as much as her sister.
Prudence appeared suitably impressed by this final argument. “I suppose… Has he really been bidden to the Royal Court?”
“By the Duke of Wellington himself,” Nessa affirmed.
“Oh, my.” Prudence was visibly awed. “I knew that Lord Foxhaven was a war hero, but I hadn't realized—that is—but of course he mustn't refuse. Are you certain you wish to go to Paris, however, Nessa? 'Tis said the Society there is most indecorous.”
“Is it?” she asked with interest.
Prudence nodded, but with obvious reluctance. “I'll not repeat most of what I have heard, of course, but shocking tales have been drifting back from Paris since the summer. Lord Foxhaven will be right at home, I should think.” She primmed her lips. “But you, Nessa, must be very much on your guard. Truly, I cannot imagine what Papa would have said.”
To forestall another homily, Nessa changed the subject. “I meant to ask you last night, Prudence. Where did you and Philip go when you disappeared during the Hightower's ball?”
Her sister flushed scarlet and began to stammer something about fresh air. Nessa grinned, but by the time Prudence concluded her disjointed explanation, her mind was busy with other possibilities. If the stories of Paris were true, a stay there could be the very thing to introduce her to a wider—and wilder—world. Perhaps this marriage would not be so unpleasant after all.
~ ~ ~
ONLY HALF AN HOUR after Prudence had read the announcement aloud to Nessa over their breakfast the next morning, Jack presented himself at the door.
“I've come to take my bride-to-be driving,” he explained, smiling past Prudence to Nessa in the way that quickened her pulse. “I thought perhaps she might wish to have a hand in the selection of her engagement ring.”
That sobered Nessa at once, bringing as it did a sense of finality and… bondage. Prudence, however, was most agreeable.
“How kind of you, my lord. I take it there is no family piece you wish her to wear?”
He shook his head with a rueful smile. “'Tis still in my mother's possession, and I fear she'd not take kindly to my reclaiming it. I suppose I should write her, on the off chance that she'll offer, but 'tis an antique-looking thing anyway. At the very least, it would have to be reset, and I wish Nessa to have a bauble to display at once.”
No doubt he meant it as a compliment, but to Nessa both his words and the meaning look he sent her smacked of possessiveness. Again, she felt the walls of a prison closing in on her, and it was all she could do to smile back.
“You have not written your mother of your betrothal?” Prudence exclaimed, missing the interchange. “Oh, my lord, you must do so without delay! Whatever will she think, that we were so forward as to publish an announcement without her knowledge!”
Jack merely shrugged. “I doubt she'll know, as she never reads the papers when she's in the country. And even if she did… well, I cannot imagine that it would concern her unduly.”
Nessa regarded him curiously. Clearly he and his mother were not on good terms but just as clearly—to her, at least—the estrangement was painful to him, though he hid it well. She really knew very little about this man she was pledged to marry.
“Pray get a note off to her today, my lord,” Prudence urged, still distressed. “Women care more about such matters than men realize, I assure you.”
“Very well, I promise to do so. And now, my betrothed, if you will fetch your wrap, we can be on our way.”
Despite her earlier misgivings, Nessa could not but be flattered by his apparently affectionate attention. Of course, it could all be a ruse, for Prudence's sake… She hurried to get her cloak.
Jack had brought a closed carriage today, as the weather had turned damp and chilly with the approach of November. “I thought we'd begin at New Bond Street, progress to Old, then finish up in Piccadilly,” he explained as they settled themselves inside.
“Goodness! All of that shopping for a single ring?”
The intimacy of the smile he sent her made Nessa catch her b
reath. “I had a few other things in mind, as well. You'll want to be well outfitted for Paris, I doubt not. Besides, this will give me a chance to show you off to the fashionable world.”
Nessa bristled at once. “I am not a possession to be displayed for the envy of others, and then tucked safely away in a box,” she warned him.
“Who said anything about possessions or boxes?” He seemed genuinely startled by her response.
Realizing that she had overreacted, she tried, somewhat haltingly, to explain. “Forgive me. But it has been my experience that many husbands treat their wives so—as pretty baubles to wear on their arms in public, and to lock away when not in use. Not an enjoyable existence for the bauble, I assure you.”
Jack frowned. “I had never thought of it in that way, but you are right. Many men do behave so. I begin to perceive your reluctance to remarry.” His eyes searched her face, and she felt it grow warm under his examination. “Will it help if I promise never to regard you as a possession? For I do not, Nessa, truly.”
She met his eyes. “As what do you regard me?” She held her breath, waiting for his answer.
“A person in your own right,” he replied, “with a mind and will of your own. Rather a strong will, I might add.” His eyes were twinkling now, and she felt her own expression soften in response.
She had hoped he would say he regarded her as an equal, but of course that was absurd. No man ever considered his wife so, not even those who, like Philip, clearly loved their mates. And from what Nessa had seen of fashionable ladies, she could scarcely say they were in the wrong. She inclined her head. “Very well, my lord, that will do—for now.”
A few moments later the carriage pulled to a stop before one of the premier jewelers in London. The experience of selecting her own jewelry was a novel one for Nessa, and she enjoyed it thoroughly. As she tried on the third ring, a large rectangular diamond surrounded by tiny sapphires, she realized that she was the only woman in the shop. Jack was according her an honor—and freedom—very few enjoyed. Gratitude colored the smile she gave him.
“Is that the one, then?” He returned her look warmly.
“Oh!” She looked down again at the ring she wore. “No, 'tis still a bit flashy for my taste, I believe. Perhaps that one, there, with the smaller stone?”
“But my lady,” the jeweler protested, “a man of Lord Foxhaven's consequence will surely wish—”
“That smaller one,” said Jack decisively, cutting him off. “She is the one who will wear it, not I. What have my wishes to do with it?”
Trying on the smaller diamond, Nessa felt an unexpected lightness of heart. Jack had passed his first test with flying colors.
Soon after, Nessa left the jeweler's with a lovely but tasteful diamond solitaire on her finger. They progressed down Bond Street on foot, the coachman having been given instructions to pace them. A few shops down, Jack purchased a silk scarf for Nessa, again of her own choosing. She was finding him a far more pleasant shopping companion than her sister.
Upon leaving the drapers, they nearly walked into Lady Mountheath and her daughters. Jack bowed and tipped his hat, and Nessa greeted them as cordially as she could manage. The woman's words to Prudence two nights since still rankled.
Lady Mountheath favored them both with a sour smile. “I understand that felicitations are in order. No doubt you will be very happy,” she said in a tone that implied just the opposite.
Miss Lucy tittered, while Miss Fanny's small eyes raked over Nessa from head to toe, lingering meaningfully on her midsection. With a stern look, their mother called them to order, and they dutifully echoed her insincere well-wishes.
“I have observed,” continued Lady Mountheath, “that marriage often has a… stabilizing influence upon young people. I hope that it will be so for your sake, Lady Haughton. An unreformed rake can cause his wife both embarrassment and heartache.”
With a parting glare at Jack, she turned to go, but Nessa's precarious hold on her temper snapped.
“No doubt your ladyship speaks from experience,” she said smoothly. From what Mr. Pottinger had told her, Lord Mountheath was not known for his discretion. “I shall endeavor to learn from your example and thereby avoid making the same mistakes.”
Taking Jack's arm, she turned her back on the open-mouthed trio and walked briskly away from them. Her face was flaming, she knew, but from anger rather than embarrassment. Suddenly realizing that Jack had said not a word, she glanced up in some trepidation only to see his face contorting comically.
Catching her eye, he relinquished the struggle and began to chortle. “Oh, my dear,” he gasped after a moment, “you were magnificent! You can't imagine how many women—and men too, for that matter—have dreamed of dealing that gorgon such a set down!”
Nessa's own lips began to twitch, her anger subsiding in the face of his merriment. “No doubt she will find a way to repay me, but I cannot help but feel 'twas worth it. Did you see the look on her face?”
He nodded, and they were both obliged to lean on one another for support as they dissolved into laughter. After a moment, becoming aware of curious stares from passersby, Nessa straightened. “Come, my lord, I believe we have a bit more shopping to do.”
Over the next hour, as they passed in and out of the shops, Nessa found herself enjoying his company more than ever. The incident with Lady Mountheath had somehow bound them more closely together, inspiring a camaraderie she found most pleasant.
Along the way they encountered several acquaintances, all of whom stopped to offer congratulations on their betrothal with varying degrees of sincerity. Mrs. Heatherton, one of Prudence's close friends, seemed genuinely delighted, but her companion, a Mrs. Renfrew, regarded her with undisguised pity. Nessa found that more unsettling than spite or curiosity, but decided to credit it to ignorance
~ ~ ~
JACK, MEANWHILE, congratulated himself on the progress he was making in winning Nessa's trust, if not her affection. He could not recall ever having enjoyed a woman's company and conversation the way he did hers. The prospect of spending a lifetime tied to just one woman was appearing less and less onerous with each passing moment. Really, he had made a most fortunate choice.
They had just agreed to return to the Creamcrofts' for nuncheon when they were accosted by a stunningly beautiful flame-haired woman, dressed in the absolute pinnacle of fashion. Jack stifled an oath, realizing that his luck had just run out.
“Why Jack,” the woman cooed, with a smile that failed to soften the glitter in her emerald eyes, “I understand congratulations are in order. Do introduce me to your sweet little bride-to-be.”
Beside him, Nessa pulled herself to her full height—which still lacked several inches to that of the redhead. Jack felt her grip on his arm tighten slightly.
Resisting the urge to pat her hand, he bowed formally to the newcomer. “Nessa, my dear, this is Mrs. Dempsey. Mrs. Dempsey, my fiancée, Lady Haughton.”
His erstwhile paramour's eyes narrowed, raking over every detail of Nessa's appearance, though the smile never left her lips. “Ah, so it's to be Mrs. Dempsey now, is it? But of course, we don't want to offend the delicacy of the little wife.”
If anything, Nessa stood even taller. Despite his deucedly awkward situation, Jack could not help being proud of her. Then she spoke.
“Charmed to make your acquaintance, Mrs. Dempsey, and my thanks for your felicitations. I perceive that you are an old friend of Jack's?” Though Miranda Dempsey could be no more than a year or two Nessa's senior, she slightly emphasized the adjective.
Miranda's smile slipped for a moment, but she quickly recovered. “I suppose 'friend' is the most diplomatic way to describe it,” she retorted, then turned the full power of her smile upon Jack. “Should you find your proper little wife tedious, darling, you'll still know where to find me.”
She extended her expensively gloved hand to him in farewell, but Jack accorded her only the merest bow and the slightest touch of his fingertips to hers. He
r eyes blazed at the perfunctory nature of his farewell, but he turned quickly away before she could direct any more barbs his—or Nessa's—way.
One glance showed him that Nessa had in no way mistaken Miranda's meaning. Jack mentally cursed the woman. Though in honesty he knew such encounters were inevitable, he'd hoped to have Nessa secure before one occurred. Anger and panic warring within him, he propelled his unresisting fiancée away from the site of his worst setback yet.
TEN
NESSA PAID LITTLE attention to the direction Jack was leading her, mechanically putting one foot in front of the other. There was room in her mind for only one thought. Though she'd done her best to evade it, the truth had struck with blinding clarity.
That woman was Jack's mistress.
She couldn't understand why she was so hurt by the knowledge. Evidence that Jack was still a rake should be just what she wanted. But the hurt was as undeniable as it was baffling.
“I know what you must be thinking,” he said, the moment they were out of earshot.
Nessa glanced up at his handsome profile, then quickly away. “I'm not an idiot, my lord. Mrs. Dempsey's meaning was quite clear.”
“So it's to be 'my lord' every time my past rears its unattractive head?” His tone was teasing, but she thought she detected a hint of anxiety as well.
They had reached the waiting carriage but she paused to regard him searchingly. “Your past, Jack? Mrs. Dempsey implied otherwise. And one would be blind to consider her unattractive.”
Jack grasped her shoulder, gently but firmly. “Nessa, I've never once denied that my past is somewhat unsavory. There are those, like Mrs. Dempsey, who will be unwilling to believe that I've put it behind me, and so encounters similar to the one you just witnessed may occur—for a while. But I have renounced my old, debauched lifestyle, and eventually everyone will realize that. I will do my utmost to spare you any future embarrassment connected with my past in the meantime.”
His deep blue eyes fairly glowed with sincerity, and Nessa found herself almost desperate to believe him—a far cry from the disappointment she'd felt previously, at the idea of his wild ways being behind him.
Scandalous Brides Page 93
