“Pssst. Pascoe! I found one!”
It was Hilary Wraxton and he climbed out of the servant corridor, leaving wide the door so that the dark narrow passage and the stairs beyond were on public view. He tottered across to the sofas in his heels, brushing down the sleeves of his silk frockcoat, and with his powdered head bent forward to check that the four horn buttons of the fall of his breeches were done up. Willis immediately crossed behind the poet to close the servant door and received a scold for his tractable efficiency.
“Oi! Not so fast! Not so fast! Lord Church may want use of the pot! It’s a long way to Dover, my man. A long way indeed.”
Pascoe Church rolled his eyes and by a lift of his brows let it to be known to Willis that he was to close over the servant door.
“I don’t know why you would not wait, Hilary,” Pascoe complained. “It’s not as if we won’t stop at an inn along the way.”
“An inn?” Hilary Wraxton was horrified. “I can’t pee at an inn.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “Perfectly good pot de chamber in there. Clean. Just how I like ’em.”
“Wraxton! Must you?” It was Lady Outram whose face had fired red under her rouge.
“Well, yes, Lizzie, I must. Perfectly reasonable. Perfectly natural, a call of nature.” Hilary Wraxton made a low bow to Jane, the lace at his wrists sweeping the rug. “Don’t you agree, my lady?”
But Jane was giggling behind her fingertips and could not speak, but not because of the poet’s blunt pronouncements but at the look of horrified embarrassment on the faces of her under-butler and Lord Church.
“How will you travel across the Continent if you cannot make a call of nature when we stop at an inn?” Lady Outram enquired.
The poet, who had perched uninvited on the padded arm of a wingchair, jabbed at his temple. “Up here for thinking, Lizzie. I am not just a man of letters, but of ideas.” He beamed at the Countess and said confidentially, “Had my man pack the family pot de chambre. Heirloom. Passed down from father to son since Scottish James sat upon the English throne. Painted with the family crest. On the inside.”
“How-how sensible of you, Mr. Wraxton,” Jane managed to reply, finding her breath and dabbing at her damp eyes. “A definite must for a trip to the Continent. Who knows what amenities are to be found, or not, at a foreign inn.”
“Attend, Lizzie! Pascoe! Her ladyship understands. Knew you would, my lady.”
“Please, my lady, I beg you not to encourage him,” Pascoe Church complained good-naturedly.
“Oh dear. Mr. Willis’s frown tells me that I am in his bad book for finding humor in Mr. Wraxton’s candid conversation,” Jane confided. “Forgive me, Lady Outram. I am still quite new to my role and Mr. Willis is helping me to behave as I ought. But to own to a truth, if I am not myself I find I make an even bigger muddle of my elevation.”
“What did I tell you, Lizzie; breath of fresh air,” the poet stated as if Elizabeth Outram had ever doubted his word. “And what did Pascoe tell you? What!” He put his closed fist to his left breast and with his eyes to the ornate plastered ceiling sighed dramatically. “Her ladyship’s sweet nature makes her beautiful inside and out.”
Again Jane giggled, but this time she managed to say with a grave face, “How will I survive my days without your devotion and your poetry, Mr. Wraxton?”
The poet’s gaze came down from the ceiling and he plunged a hand into the pocket of his frockcoat and struggled to remove a wad of parchment tied up with ribbon. “See, Pascoe! I told you she would not be able to—
“Enough, Hilary,” Lord Church said stridently and pushed the wad of parchments back into his friend’s pocket; Willis a step behind him should he require assistance. He took his friend by the elbow. “Time to make your farewell bow to Lady Salt.”
Elaborate leaving-taking exchanged, the two gentlemen visitors disappeared out into the marble gallery, the poet heard loudly to complain that he had left the best bit ’til last and it was all Pascoe’s fault he was not able to execute his grand finale. Lady Outram remained, suggesting to the young Countess that they take a turn about the long rectangular room so that she could stretch her legs before the long carriage journey to Dover. They set off arm in arm, leaving Willis to stoke the fire to new life, a troubled eye on her ladyship.
“I am so pleased to have made your acquaintance, my lady,” Elizabeth Outram confessed. “When Church first proposed that he bring me to call on you I was most reluctant for reasons that will become apparent when you know who I am, or more precisely who I was. Church is the dearest of gentlemen and I am very fortunate he wishes to marry me despite my interesting past. He has always maintained he loved me, but I dismissed such talk as a lover’s throw away compliment. But since Lord Salt gave me my liberty, I’ve had these past three months to devote myself singularly to Church and we both came to the realization that we suit each other very well, very well indeed. Oh dear, I have shocked you.”
“No. Well, yes,” Jane admitted with a shy smile as they paused by a floor-to-ceiling mirrored wall opposite the French windows. “But, please, do not think I have taken offence. It’s just that I lived a sheltered life in the countryside before coming to London to marry his lordship; though not so sheltered that I am unaware that there are ladies who take lovers; just as gentlemen take mistresses.” She was puzzled. “But I own to being a little simple because I do not understand when you say Lord Salt gave you your-your liberty?”
“I was your husband’s mistress.”
It was a straightforward response but totally unexpected and it stopped Jane’s breathing. In fact, for the briefest of moments, she forgot where she was. She just knew she had to remain calm; she must not react. She gazed over Lady Outram’s left shoulder across the room to the undraped French windows, having no wish to look at the woman beside her. She did not realize that only a few feet away Willis was hovering by the clavichord. He had followed them up the room and had pretended an interest in tidying the sheets of music on the padded clavichord stool.
Willis saw the Countess take a deep breath, and place a hand lightly to the base of her throat. That small movement brought him closer, close enough to notice signs of her acute embarrassment; across her décolletage and halfway up her throat the porcelain skin was stained with smudges of strawberry. Two sentences into Lady Outram’s continued conversation and he knew the reason behind the Countess’s silent distress.
“I was wretched when Salt ended our agreeable connection. What mistress wouldn’t be when her most talented lover announces he is to marry? Not that he showed me a singular devotion. Jenny, Susannah and Eliza were just as devastated to learn of his plans. But we never thought he would marry.” Lady Outram mistook Jane’s silence as a signal for her to continue, and she took Jane’s arm and resumed the leisurely stroll of the perimeter of the decorative room. “I had every expectation of keeping his interest for at least another Season, so naturally I was the one to be most offended when he came to take his leave. Of course, I had not seen you then, or knew the first thing about you to make me believe Salt’s marriage was anything but a contractual arrangement to beget an heir. It seemed perfectly sensible that we should be able to continue our-our understanding. Many a nobleman has married with no thought of giving up his mistress. Why should they? Wives are for breeding. A mistress knows how to pleasure a lover.”
She glanced at her silent walking companion who stared straight ahead, saw the stain of deep color across her décolletage and reasoned it was only natural for a young bride to be uncomfortable by such candid conversation. Yet, it did not stop her forging ahead, her voice a little softer than before, but still loud enough for Willis to overhear, who was just one stride behind, ears burning brightly.
“But Church cured me of my petulance and misguided belief. Darling man. He said it was perfectly reasonable for a woman to be both wife and mistress if her husband loved her. That’s when I decided to marry him. It was only when Church told me your Christian name that I was able to make
sense of Salt’s particular behavior. And that’s when I knew I had to see you before our travels.”
Jane finally found her voice.
“My—name?”
“Most certainly. Knowing your name answered everything.”
“Did-did it?”
Lady Outram patted Jane’s silken arm. “I fear I am about to truly test your fortitude, my lady, but you must believe me when I tell you that my confidences are for the greater good. They will help ease your mind so that you need never have a single doubt about your noble husband.” She glanced slyly at Jane. “You may have come from the depths of Wiltshire, but even there I am confident Lord Salt’s reputation with the fairer sex was well-known…” This was met with silence but when the red stain rushed up into the Countess’s cheeks, Elizabeth Outram smiled to herself and continued. “Of course, you must not breath a word of what I am about to confide in you to anyone, particularly not his lordship. Church remains ignorant, which is how it should be, so it is very important that it stays between us.”
Jane slowly nodded her assent with a mixture of stomach-churning aversion and ghoulish anticipation as to what this woman could possibly add to her revelations that would be more outrageous than what she had already confided.
“When I reflect upon it,” Elizabeth Outram ruminated matter-of-factly, fluttering fan coming to rest momentarily across her ample bosom, “it is quite humiliating to my self-worth to realize that while I was entertaining Salt his mind was elsewhere. To be precise, his mind was on someone else. As a young bride, I have no doubts that Salt has been a most attentive husband in the bedchamber so that you are now aware of his considerable abilities between the sheets. His stamina and consideration for a lady’s pleasure—”
“My lady, please.” Jane’s voice was barely above a whisper.
How this woman, this former mistress of the Earl, thought her revelations were for the greater good, Jane could not fathom. It was one thing to know that Salt kept a mistress, indeed had women flocking to take on such a role, and to tease him about the consequences of such philandering, and quite something altogether abhorrent to come face to face with a past mistress in her own home intent on sharing confidences about the Earl’s prowess as a lover.
Her immediate thought was that Diana St. John had somehow convinced this woman to seek her out in the malicious hope of making mischief. Yet as soon as Jane had this thought she dismissed it because she genuinely liked Lord Church and she could not imagine he would be involved in any scheme to upset her. And as he was to marry her husband’s former mistress Jane decided that whatever confidences Elizabeth Outram wished to share with her were meant, despite their shocking nature, with the best of intentions. So despite her desire to run from the room with her fingers in her ears, Jane remained outwardly perfectly composed and inwardly trembling with trepidation.
“His stamina and consideration for a lady’s pleasure has rightly bestowed upon him the reputation of a consummate lover,” Lady Outram continued smoothly as if Jane had not uttered a syllable. “And as a married woman you cannot be ignorant of a particular moment while making love when a man is at his most vulnerable. If he utters anything intelligible it affords a rare glimpse of his innermost feelings. And at the crucial moment, Salt was never with me he was with Jane. He was with you. It’s always been you…”
Jane did not trust herself to speak. She was in equal measure utterly appalled and strangely reassured. Such was her distress that in her distraction she was unaware they had traversed the entire room and returned to the fireplace where Pascoe Church had been warming his hands for ten minutes and pretending an interest in the little leaping flames consuming a fresh log.
Lady Outram signaled playfully with her fan to her betrothed, who raised his quizzing glass in acknowledgement, and disentangled her arm from Jane’s so she could stand before her.
“You do love him, don’t you?” she asked rhetorically.
Jane finally looked the woman full in the face. “With all my heart.”
Elizabeth Outram smiled. “Church said you did. He said he knew it the first time he saw you in Salt’s company.” She rested her fan lightly against her pointed chin and regarded Jane pensively. “The first and only time I saw you in each other’s company was at the Richmond Ball. It was obvious to all; indeed it was the topic of conversation for the evening that the Salt marriage was not a marriage of convenience as was first supposed. And then we saw you from the terrace while we were watching the skyrockets. You could’ve been anywhere; sitting on the moon, much you both cared for anything or anyone but each other! He was kissing you on the mouth and in full view of the world. That’s when we all knew.”
“Knew?”
“That he loves you so very much.”
“My lady?”
It was the Earl and he stood just inside the blue withdrawing room, the liveried footmen holding wide the double doors to reveal Hilary Wraxton conversing with Mr. Ellis in the marble gallery beyond.
“My lord! You are just in time,” Jane responded, coming to life on a quick breath. With a welcoming smile she swept up to her husband. “I’m so glad you’ve come.”
Salt’s concern deepened into a frown seeing the deep blush to his wife’s cheeks and throat. “Is—Are you—Is everything—”
“I have been wishing Lord and Lady Church a safe journey,” Jane interrupted conversationally, eager to relieve him of any anxiety he felt on her part. “Well, they soon will be lord and lady,” she confided in an under voice in response to his startled glance, and continued in a neutral tone loud enough for all to hear, “They are off to the Continent with Mr. Wraxton. Paris is their first destination, to be married by a priest and then on to Florence for their honeymoon where Lord Church has a cousin at the consulate.”
The tension in the Earl’s wide shoulders eased. He bowed civilly to Lady Outram as one does to an acquaintance but was able to smile at Lord Church with a raise of one mobile eyebrow. “A papist ceremony, Pascoe?”
Lord Church shrugged and was sheepish. “Churches have remained loyal to Rome since Bonnie Prince Charlie crossed o’the water. Don’t tell me you didn’t know?”
“I did. And it doesn’t alter our unique friendship,” said Salt, another glance at Lady Outram. “Nothing will. I wish you both very happy.”
Lord Church bowed with a flourish of his lace-covered wrist as the Countess and Lady Outram swept out of the room before them and came to stand beside the Earl, who was looking at the Countess as she conversed with Hilary Wraxton, who was bowing over her outstretched hand. He plastered his quizzing glass to one eye, as if to better view his friend’s wife, and could not resist a parting shot at her noble husband.
“You don’t deserve her, Salt, but she is very deserving of you. Au revior, mon ami.”
Tom and the Earl were seated in their shirtsleeves and tennis breeches, damp backs up against the wall, recovering breath and strength and drinking a well earned ale after an enjoyable and hard fought contest on the Royal Tennis Court. Tom decided there was no better time to broach the subject of his stepsister’s present and future happiness. The large nobleman was tired but relaxed and not at all annoyed with him for his drunken outburst at the Richmond Ball. Still, he decided to ease into voicing his concerns by first announcing that he had finally decided on the perfect wedding gift for the couple.
“It came to me the other week,” Tom told Salt. “I’d been wracking my brains to think of a suitable gift for someone who has everything he’ll ever want or need, and that would also appeal to Jane. And then I had it—”
“There really is no need…”
“—the cottage. The cottage Jane lived in while under my uncle’s protection. Jane had a miserable time there and you must loathe the very sight of the place too. So I’m having it torn down and moved brick for brick further up the valley, closer to Allanvale. Once it’s remodeled and added upon it will make a dower house for my mother. If ever she gets to live in it.” Tom rolled his eyes and gave an em
barrassed half-smile. “I have a suspicion she won’t be long Lady Despard. She’ll be remarried by Christmastime, and to some aging fop who has gout but is generous with leaving the purse strings untied. I’ve no objection. I just want her to be happy. As I want Jane to be happy. I told the workmen to have it leveled before you take Jane to Salt Hall at Easter time.”
“Thank you. That truly is the best wedding present you could give us. You’re the best of brothers, Tom Allenby,” the Earl said simply and stuck out his hand, adding with a smile as they warmly shook hands, “You must have been a comfort to your sister while she lived under your uncle’s protection.”
“Me? Egad! I wish! If that’s what you think, then my suspicions are well and truly confirmed. Jane hasn’t told you about her life, if you can call it that, in that house, has she?” Tom asked rhetorically. “Just like Jane to keep it to herself, for fear of distressing you…”
“Go on. Don’t spare my feelings.”
“The first year Jane spent under Uncle Jacob’s roof, he wouldn’t allow me—anyone—to visit the cottage. And then when he did grant me permission, my visits were supervised and only allowed four times a year. Seeing her in those plain gowns with her head covered, eating sop and with no pictures on the wall, and my uncle preaching his sermons about sins of the flesh and vanity and greed and eternal damnation and the like, it burned me up, never mind going to Hell. To my mind that was Hell on earth for a young beautiful girl who had the world at her feet one minute and no expectation of a happy life the next. Don’t think me anything but God-fearing, but my uncle was a zealot of the fire and brimstone school of paying one’s dues to the Almighty, and he was hellbent on making Jane pay for her sins.”
He stopped to down the last of the ale in his tumbler, an eye on the Earl, who had pulled his damp shoulder-length hair out of his eyes and was frowning quizzically at him; as if he had not the slightest idea what Tom was talking about. It made Tom blurt out belligerently,
Salt Bride: A Georgian Historical Romance Page 30
