by Olivia Drake
The evening had lost its enchantment. She no longer felt giddy and bold, only sober and dispirited. She wondered how Ethan would respond to Portia’s request for money, and if Portia would throw herself on his mercy. At one time, he must have felt an affection for her. Did love still burn beneath his pain and anger?
I shall never make the mistake of marrying again.
He and Portia had shared a depth of experience that Jane could never fathom. Perhaps he could never love another woman because his heart still belonged to Portia.
No, Jane told herself. She mustn’t speculate on something that was none of her concern. She must entomb her newfound feelings. She wouldn’t act as weak and silly as other women, pursuing a disreputable rake.
She stepped into the ballroom. With everyone at supper, the long chamber with its lighted chandeliers resembled a deserted fairyland. Only a few guests lingered here and there. Unwilling to attract attention, Jane kept her head down as she went out the open double doors.
The buzz of convivial voices came from down the corridor. Turning away, she reached the grand staircase and had mounted two steps when someone hailed her from behind.
“My dear girl! I’ve been waiting to speak to you.” Looking like a goddess in her gold-embroidered white gown, Lady Rosalind hastened across the plush blue carpet. “We’re all at supper. Where are you going?”
Jane halted reluctantly. She had no wish to speak to anyone, not when her emotions felt so raw. It took an effort to force a composed smile. “I need a moment in my chamber,” she admitted.
“You do look a bit ruffled.” Rather than glower disapprovingly, the countess’s blue eyes sparkled as she drew Jane into an alcove. “Didn’t I see you go outside with my son?”
Jane swallowed. “Yes. We … talked in the garden for a time.”
“And? Did he like the way you look tonight?”
“I … believe so. He really didn’t say.”
“Well, you’ve been missing for quite a long while. Surely you must have talked about something.” Lady Rosalind paused delicately. “But never mind, I shan’t pry. Only tell me, where is he now?”
Jane’s palms felt damp inside her gloves. How could she reveal that he had gone off with his former wife? She lowered her gaze. “I—I’m not sure.”
“But I must find him,” the countess said fretfully. “That’s why I was looking for you—both of you. I did so want him to make the announcement about my betrothal. It’s to be done at the close of supper, and Kellisham will be furious if Ethan isn’t present. Those two don’t get on very well.”
“Why is that?” Jane asked, hoping to distract her ladyship. “Why does Ethan dislike the duke?”
Lady Rosalind looked away into the distance. “Well. I rather suppose it is because Kellisham is so like Ethan’s father.” She appeared troubled, as if she doubted her own explanation.
“How so?” Jane prompted.
“Chasebourne—my late husband, I mean—was a rather strict, moralistic man. He could not abide Ethan’s high-spirited nature, and he tried to force our son into his own image. I felt it best to keep them apart, and that is why we so often left Ethan in Wessex while we stayed in London.”
Jane remembered the old earl as a stodgy, nose-in-the-air aristocrat, the opposite of the blithe Lady Rosalind. “Forgive me for prying, but why are you marrying a man just like him, then?”
The countess returned her gaze to Jane and smiled. “Because I love Kellisham, of course.” Reaching out, she took Jane’s hands in hers. “I see the disbelief on your face, my dear. But we cannot always choose how our hearts are engaged, can we?”
That wise, all-knowing expression shook Jane. Was it possible that Lady Rosalind had guessed the attraction that ached in Jane’s heart? Surely not. “I defer to your more experienced judgment, my lady.”
The countess patted Jane’s hand, then released her. “A most sensible answer. If you continue to heed my counsel, all will be well, I promise you.” On that cryptic statement, she added briskly, “Now, my experienced judgment tells me that you do indeed know where my son is right now.”
“Oh.” Jane bit her lip, wrestling with the dilemma of pretending ignorance. Then honesty won the battle. “I suppose you’ll find out. He’s meeting with Lady Portia.”
Lady Rosalind’s mouth dropped open. “With Portia? In this house?”
“Yes, my lady.” Feeling hollow inside, Jane didn’t acknowledge her part in orchestrating the tryst. “She came to beg a few minutes of his time, that’s all.”
“What cheek, to invade my party and accost my son!”
The sharpness of Lady Rosalind’s tone startled Jane. “Oh, but she didn’t accost him. She is in need of funds, and considering her delicate condition, I think he should help her—”
“My dear, you are very kind-hearted, but you cannot begin to understand how badly that little baggage has misused my son. Where are they?”
“Downstairs. They went in through the door beneath the ballroom.”
“I see. If you will excuse me.” In an angry rustle of silk, Lady Rosalind marched down the grand staircase.
Leaving Jane to wonder if she had just given Ethan another reason to despise her.
* * *
In the library, Ethan settled on the edge of the desk and regarded the woman he had once thought his perfect mate.
The light of a branched candelabrum cast a glow over her delicate features as Portia seated herself in a leather chair and arranged her pale pink skirt, smoothing the silk over her pregnancy and leaning forward slightly to give him a better look at her voluptuous bosom. He was left cold. She had always been proficient at showing herself off to the greatest advantage.
The only daughter of an earl, Lady Portia Lovett had been spoiled and fun-loving when they had met at a horserace during her first Season. He had been twenty-one, randy, and more keen on widows and whores than courting a milk-and-water miss with no knowledge of the world. That day, however, Lady Portia had lured him into a stable for a kiss. She might have just emerged from the schoolroom, but she already knew how to entice a man. She toyed with him for weeks, teasing him with promises, boldly touching him, brazenly granting him the liberty to caress her, though withholding the ultimate act until he was so out of his mind with lust that he fancied himself half in love. One fateful evening, they were found together by her irate father, and Ethan had not been altogether displeased to be forced into offering marriage.
Only later did he learn she had arranged the discovery. Only later had he had been disillusioned by his unchaste bride.
Now, with soulful blue eyes, she gazed up at him. “Ethan,” she said in the melodious voice that meant she wanted something from him. “How forbidding you look tonight. I do apologize for taking you away from your guests. If my situation were not so desperate…” She paused, her hands resting on the gentle swell of her belly.
“What is it now? More gaming debts?” Ethan folded his arms and pinned her with a sharp stare. “In case you’ve forgotten, I am no longer responsible for your notes. You shall have to beg your father for the money.”
“My family has forsaken me. Papa could not bear the stigma of a divorced daughter, and he’s retired to the country. He hasn’t your funds, anyway.”
“I’m sorry. But I already granted you an amount that should have kept you in silks for the rest of your misbegotten life.”
“You did, and I’m very grateful for that.” In the candlelight, she managed to look as ethereal as a saint on her way to the lions. “But now a terrible event has left me penniless. You see, George Smollett has run off with all of my funds.”
Jane had told him so, but hearing it from Portia made Ethan suspect she was twisting the truth, that the money already had been frittered away at the dice table before Smollett had abandoned his plump pigeon for richer game. “Contact the magistrate, then. Smollett will be apprehended and forced to return the money.”
“But he is gone! Fled to the Continent. He will never be fou
nd.”
“That is not my affair.”
“How can you be so unfeeling?” she asked, her lower lip quivering. “Please, Ethan, you would never miss five thousand pounds. You are my one, my only hope. I have nowhere else to turn.”
Without awaiting his reply, she rose from the chair and glided toward him, slipping her hands around his waist. Her flowery perfume eddied over him. She leaned closer and rubbed her breasts against his arm, while her fingers tracked down to his groin. Into his ear, she whispered, “If you help me, darling, I could make it well worth your while.”
Revulsion churned in his stomach. He seized her wrist and pushed her away from him. “Give up,” he snapped. “You can no longer cozen me.”
Her lips pouted in sulky displeasure while she stroked her distended abdomen. “Does my pregnancy vex you? Do you find it provoking that you were never virile enough to get me with child in the four years of our marriage?”
“You never wanted my child. You said it would ruin your figure.” Feeling more weary than angry, Ethan walked away from her, going to the window of the library, where he could see the garden. Lanterns glittered in the trees, and he found himself scanning the deserted walkways for Jane. She wanted his child. Jane would fight him to keep Marianne. She had an innate maternal instinct, and now he saw it as part of the mature woman she had become.
Had that kiss been merely a ruse to keep him outside until Portia arrived? He had always believed Jane to be forthright and honest in her opinions. But tonight she had shown an utterly different side to her character, and he no longer knew what to think.
“It’s Jane Mayhew, then, isn’t it?” Portia’s voice sounded calculating. “How delicious. You’re planning to seduce that dry old spinster.”
Her words shook him. He turned to find her standing directly behind him. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t I? What were you doing with her in the shadows when I walked up?”
“I was warning her about treacherous women.”
Portia laughed knowingly. “Keep your little secret, then. It matters naught to me. However, I would not care to see you use her ill.”
“Why? Do you reserve that right for yourself?”
Portia shook her head, all humor vanishing from her face. “She alone has been kind enough to befriend me in my hour of need.”
Befriend. Portia had manipulated Jane, played upon her sympathies and told her lies. No doubt Portia had made herself out to be the tragic heroine in’ a melodrama. Of course, Jane lacked the experience to spot a skilled actress. She possessed a compassionate heart and a willingness to help those whom she perceived to be less fortunate than herself. She had been charmingly earnest in her attempt to make Ethan into a better man than they both knew he was.
I believe you would always help a woman in need … you have an unselfish, charitable side to your nature.
“All right, then,” he said abruptly. “I will purchase a cottage for you in the country. There, you shall have a safe place to raise your child. That is all I am willing to do for you.”
Portia’s eyes rounded. “But it is money I need. I won’t have you dictating where I live.”
“If I give you coin, you’ll squander it at cards. Take the cottage or nothing.”
“I won’t be banished to the country. My life is here in London.”
“Then so be it. Live on the streets, if you prefer.”
She released a huff of fury. Her cloak swirling, she seized a book from a table and hurled it at him. He caught the volume deftly before it could slam into his chest.
“You are a vile man,” she said between gritted teeth. “Perhaps I will make certain your Jane knows that.”
The cold sword of fear sliced him, and he flung down the book. “You’ll leave her out of this, by God—”
Someone rapped on the door. Before he could order the intruder away, the door opened and his mother walked into the library.
Lady Rosalind flashed a glare from him to Portia. “You are not welcome in this house. Leave here at once.”
“With pleasure,” Portia said. “Believe me, I haven’t missed either you or your charming son.” Her head held high, she stormed out of the library and slammed the door shut behind her.
“She still thinks she’s the queen,” Lady Rosalind said, scowling. “The wisest act you ever did was to rid yourself of that harlot.”
Ethan was in no humor to discuss his life with his mother. “I’ll thank you for not interfering. Now, we should return to the party.”
She glided into his path when he would have walked out of the room. “Wait. I saw her condition. She’s enceinte.”
“Don’t worry. I’m not the father.”
“I didn’t suggest you were. But after she denied you an heir for so long, you must be angry—”
“Who told you she denied me anything?” he asked coldly.
“I guessed, that’s all. It was obvious you weren’t happy, that she had kept you at a distance.” Lady Rosalind shook her head, the candlelight playing on her fair hair. “Please don’t look so annoyed. I’m concerned about you, that’s all. I’m concerned that you’ll let your experience with Portia sour you toward marriage.”
He hid his moodiness behind a forced laugh. “It’s a few years too late to prevent that, Mother.”
“Yet you should marry again,” she persisted. “All women are not like Portia.”
“Ah, but why should I buy the cow when I can get the milk for free?”
Try as he might, he could not shock his mother—or distract her from her meddling. She merely pursed her lips. “You have Marianne to consider now, that’s why. She needs a mother.”
“Let Jane do the honors, then. She seems to relish the role.”
Lady Rosalind took a step toward him. A determined light shone in her eyes. “Oh, Ethan. What an excellent notion. Why did I not think of it before?”
“Think of what?”
Smiling, she reached out to grip his arm. “Why, my dear. Jane would make you the perfect bride.”
Chapter 12
Jane gazed out the carriage window at a pair of hawks wheeling against the charcoal clouds. Beneath a sky that portended rain, the rolling countryside of Hampshire showed the vivid green of springtime. A pink-blossomed apple tree swayed in the wind, and a clump of buttercups flashed yellow beside a thatched cottage. The rural scene made Jane lonesome for the wild Wessex downs.
She felt even more lonesome for companionship.
In the opposite seat, Aunt Wilhelmina dozed over her knitting. Her white spinster’s cap hung askew, and her bosom lifted and fell in rhythm with her light snoring. On the valise beside her lay the ubiquitous silver flask. What did she dream of? Was there a shattered love, a broken heart in her past? She had never spoken of any particular man.
Fingering her locket, Jane saw herself in twoscore years, set in her ways and soured on life, dependent on medicine to quiet her creaky bones. An old maid who looked back nostalgically on the night when she’d been kissed by a dashing rogue.
No. She wouldn’t waste her time mooning over Ethan. He wasn’t worth the trouble. He had ignored her these past three days, not having the courtesy to respond to her repeated messages.
Yet she found herself watching for his roan gelding along the road. He had ridden ahead, disdaining to travel in the carriage with the women. He had insisted on bringing Aunt Willy on their visit to Lady Greeley. Jane suspected he wanted a buffer so that he would be spared the trouble of talking to her.
Ever since the betrothal ball, when she had maneuvered that meeting with Portia, he had acted cold and distant. Jane felt faintly ashamed of her collusion with his former wife, justified though it was. She felt duty-bound to apologize. But he had spent most of his time closeted in the tower room.
What was he doing up there?
She pictured him entertaining one of his mistresses, perhaps that odious blonde he had danced with at the ball. She had not seen anyone coming or going
, but on one of her outings with Marianne in the garden, Jane had noticed a nondescript back door in the ivy-covered wall. A gardener told her it led to the earl’s private chambers. Ethan could have any number of women traipsing in and out at all hours of the night.
She had questioned his mother, but Lady Rosalind professed not to know what he had told Portia. The countess had oozed disapproval toward her former daughter-in-law and gushed compliments about her son’s heroic qualities. She was understandably loyal, unwilling to acknowledge his faults or to show sympathy toward the woman who had betrayed him.
Yet whatever sins Portia had committed, she deserved a second chance for her baby’s sake. Jane’s heart clenched at the thought of a helpless infant like Marianne suffering because of her mother’s mistake.
A gust of wind spattered raindrops against the window of the carriage. Lightning flickered, followed by the vibrant roll of thunder. As if the heavens had been split open, rain coursed down in a deluge, drumming on the roof.
She heard a muffled shout; then the carriage slowed and stopped. Aunt Willy muttered restlessly in her sleep while Jane peered out into the gray downpour. Why had they halted? Were the wheels stuck in the mud? Where was Ethan?
She didn’t have long to wonder. After a moment, the door swung open and the earl ducked inside.
He brought with him the cold scent of rain and horses. His wet black hair brushed his collar. Water trickled down his face. Before he could wrest the door shut, the wind blew a shower of droplets into the carriage and Wilhelmina awakened with a snort.
“What now?” she sputtered. “Have we arrived at last?”
He peeled off his leather riding gloves and ran his hand through his rain-slick hair. “We’ve at least an hour’s drive ahead of us yet.”
“This is the most interminable journey,” she said. “And chasing all over the countryside for Marianne’s mother. Why, it’s scandalous, that’s what.”
