Perfect, of course, except for the nasty bruise on the side of her swollen mouth.
No one else appeared to have noticed her arrival but Sir Thomas, and Alexandra arched an eyebrow at the look of open hostility that she saw pass between father and daughter as they stood glaring for a moment at each other.
A chair scraped against the floor in the far end of the room, and the newcomer’s gaze shifted in that direction. A look of shock immediately etched itself upon the young woman’s face, and Alexandra saw her reach out a gloved hand to steady herself.
Across the room, Nicholas was standing by the table looking as if he’d just seen a ghost.
“Come in, Jane,” Lady Purefoy said hesitantly. “Sir Nicholas, Lady Spencer, Miss Frances. I would like to present my older daughter.”
CHAPTER 5
Jane only hoped that she looked less surprised than he did at this moment.
She stood straight and tried to gauge what the Englishman would do. If he revealed their earlier encounter, she was a doomed woman. Of course, she could deny everything—but she doubted that either her father or Sir Robert, the new magistrate, would take her word over an English baronet’s.
The silence hung like a shroud over the room. Jane averted her eyes, unsure how much more of this she could endure. Then, the middle-aged woman who had been standing and looking at one of the paintings approached her.
“Miss Jane…or rather, I should say Miss Purefoy, as you are the elder daughter.”
Jane stared in surprise at the extended hand of their guest. The Englishwoman appeared to be about the same age as her own mother, but the sharp blue eyes spoke of inner strength that far exceeded Lady Purefoy’s.
“Calling me Jane will suffice, m’lady,” she replied quietly, taking the hand and dropping a small curtsy. “I have been well beyond such formalities for some time.”
“Then you shall call me Alexandra.” The woman didn’t release Jane’s hand immediately, drawing her into the room before taking her by the arm. “You don’t know how delighted we are to have finally met you. Your family has been very secretive about you, my dear. I cannot help but feel quite privileged to have been given a chance to meet Sir Thomas and Lady Purefoy’s hidden treasure.”
Treasure? Jane would have laughed if her mouth did not hurt when she smiled. She glanced at her father and saw him turn toward the hearth as he raised a tumbler of brandy to his lips.
“This is my daughter Frances. A more incorrigible young woman you shall never meet.”
Slightly taller than her mother and wearing her dark blond curls fashionably styled, Frances was a younger image of Lady Spencer. She also showed a nature that was equally congenial, leaving the card table and approaching the two of them.
“My, but that is a handsome cut on your lip, Miss Purefoy…if you don’t mind my saying so.”
“Good heavens, Frances!” the mother remonstrated.
“Honestly, it calls to mind a few that I have seen Nicholas sporting after one of his boxing matches.”
“Fanny!”
“Please do not chastise her on my account, m’lady,” Jane said to Lady Spencer before turning to greet the bright-faced young woman. “I’m certain that Miss Spencer’s comment is exactly correct…though I must own that I myself try not to make a habit of boxing.”
“Do tell how you got it! Don’t take me wrong. I do believe it is quite handsome.”
Lady Spencer let go of Jane’s arm and stepped toward the daughter. “Francis Marie Spencer, you are a most garrulous, undisciplined magpie. I must apologize for this creature standing before you. I am certain she must have been changed at birth for my own true—”
“I’d be happy to relate the origin of my little bruise…though I’m afraid my tale is somewhat mundane.” Jane met the friendly blue eyes of the young woman. She hesitantly touched her sore lip and felt another set of eyes closely studying her face. “Just a bit of bad luck, you see. I struck my face on the edge of a dressing table in my bedchamber earlier today. I am generally known to be more careful than that.”
Frances opened her mouth to say something else, but a sharp tug on her arm by Lady Spencer curtailed her next question.
Jane shifted her gaze first to the face of her sister. Clara looked pale enough to faint, and she saw her sister glance quickly at the Englishman’s bandaged arm.
“Sir Nicholas.” Jane managed to get out, turning to the other visitor. “It is an honor having you here at Woodfield House.”
She hoped her voice would not betray her. He was still staring at her in a wholly discomforting fashion, and her uneasiness only escalated into the realm of panic when he crossed the room to her. It took great restraint on her part not to take a step back. For nine years she had been actively involved with the Shanavests. Why, after all that time, did her sister’s intended husband have to be the first foe to succeed in glimpsing her identity?
“Miss Purefoy.” He bowed politely, and when he raised his gaze, Jane found herself suddenly arrested by the same intensity emanating from the depths of that gaze as she’d seen before. Allowing this man to look into one’s eyes was tantamount to opening the window to one’s soul. A feeling of extreme vulnerability washed through her, but Jane could not bring herself to look away.
“You are not the only one injured today, Miss Purefoy.” Frances Spencer’s words cut through the silence, and she was grateful for the distraction.
“Jane,” she said quietly to the younger woman. “Please call me Jane.”
“Jane, you should have Nicholas tell you about the great fight he had with the leader of the bandits today. He walked away with a rather dashing wound himself.” Frances paused thoughtfully, casting a proud glance at her brother. “Knowing the shrewdness with which Nick fights, I have no doubt the blackguard received far worse in the exchange.”
“No doubt,” Jane murmured, relieved to see her mother step forward to urge everyone toward the dining room.
Jane retreated into the background and managed to touch Clara’s arm in passing.
“I am sorry,” she whispered, to which the younger sister nodded with a gentle smile.
Of all the people in this room, her sister Clara was the only one that Jane cared a rush about. From the day that her own life had become so inextricably entwined with the secret resistance group, her sister had become and had remained the only ally Jane had in the family. Clara was the only person she had ever dared to trust. There were many dangerous and reckless acts Jane Purefoy had committed in her life, but she had always made certain that none of them would ever bring danger or heartache to Clara’s door. Until now.
As her mother took Lady Spencer’s arm and Sir Thomas escorted the vivacious young Frances into dinner, Jane drifted toward the window, as always, forgotten. She didn’t mind it, though, as she watched the tall Englishman offer his arm to Clara.
Instantly she pushed aside the tug of attraction—the weakness, she corrected—she’d felt in the woods. She was not accustomed to the feeling of being overpowered by a man, so the vulnerability of the moment must have played tricks on her.
In her mind, he was hardly the kind of nobleman she would have thought that her father would have chosen to bring a good name and restore honor to their family. With his broken nose and his unpowdered blonde hair tied back with a ribbon, the blue-eyed giant looked more like a rake and a highwayman than a respectable member of London’s ton. Handsome in a rugged sort of way, Sir Nicholas Spencer obviously harbored a rebellious quality beneath his refined manners—otherwise he would have charged her immediately with crimes against the king.
Looking at him now, she wondered what reason might lie behind the man’s silence. More importantly, she wondered how long that silence would last.
***
They were the last pair leaving the room.
Nicholas paused by the door and glanced over his shoulder at Jane Purefoy, who appeared forgotten and lost in her own world.
“Will your sister not be joining us for
dinner?” His question was addressed to Clara, who was barely allowing her fingers to touch the sleeve of his jacket.
“I believe she is.”
He turned to face the older sister. “Miss Purefoy. Would you give me the honor of accompanying both of Sir Thomas’s beautiful daughters in to dinner?”
An instant flash of distaste ran across her fair features, and Nicholas wondered for a moment if he and his offer or the mention of Sir Thomas’s name were the cause of it. All the same, though, the dark appareled woman approached and accepted the offer of his arm. Her hand lay lightly on the bandaged cut hidden beneath his jacket sleeve.
Nicholas couldn’t recall when in recent years he’d been so instantly intrigued with a woman. After all, what a curious situation he’d suddenly found himself in. Sir Thomas Purefoy, an ex-magistrate of the king—a man who had been raised to knighthood in the Order of the Thistle after fighting with distinction beside the duke of Cumberland himself at the battle of Culloden—was harboring under his own roof a noted rebel renegade who just happened to be his daughter. Of course, Nicholas thought, he hadn’t had a woman cut him with a knife ever, either.
And this wasn’t even half of it. Bishop Russell had told Nicholas all about Sir Thomas’s heavy hand when it came to crushing out the Whiteboys’ rebellious ways. Apparently, the new magistrate, Sir Robert Musgrave, had quite a distance to travel to match Purefoy’s severity when it came to the Shanavests and other factions like them.
Life could not get more entertaining than this.
He directed a quick glance at the woman who held his right sleeve and was rewarded by the intelligent flash of dark eyes in return. The question was etched in her face, demanding an answer. She no doubt wanted to know what his game was and what he wanted. Nicholas looked straight ahead as they approached the dining table. Well, he had no intention of satisfying her curiosity. At least, not while the game was so young.
Dinner itself was a pageant well worth the price of admission. Fanny and Alexandra did most of the talking, while Clara and Lady Purefoy quietly played their roles as the perfect hostesses. Sir Thomas, on the other hand, was clearly a man highly accustomed to his position as lord of the manor. In between drinking large quantities of wine and finding some fault with everything that was served, he managed to talk endlessly about his greatest passion, the breeding of horses.
Normally, this was a subject that Nicholas would have found extremely diverting. At present, however, he was far more interested in the family’s treatment of Jane Purefoy. Not once during dinner was a single comment directed toward her. For the family, she did not seem to exist, it appeared. The scent of scandal lingered in the air.
“You shall have the pleasure of meeting our dear Reverend Adams after dinner,” Lady Purefoy offered quietly in response to a question by Alexandra about Woodfield House’s neighbors. “He is quite a diligent young man, traveling every day through the countryside…”
“He is not coming. He sent his excuses yesterday.”
At the abruptness of her husband, Catherine’s voice took on a placating tone. “You are, of course, correct, Sir Thomas. But he sent a second letter this morning, saying that he shall make a point of stopping here on his way back to Ballyclough. Parson Adams said we could expect him some time after dinner.”
“And when were you planning on telling me all of this?”
“I…well, I didn’t think it was a—”
“I had a driver take a letter to him this afternoon. Bloody hell! If I knew that he was coming, I would not have wasted the man’s time. Once again, you have succeeded in making me look like an ass. By the devil…!”
“My apologies, Sir Thomas. I…I was in error…”
The older woman’s stammering discomfort spread a thick layer of embarrassment over the table. All conversation ceased. Even Fanny seemed lost for words.
“You see what I am forced to endure, Sir Nicholas?” The older man shook his head and reached for his glass. “Thoughtless, empty-headed women. Do you believe this deficiency is inherent in the species, sir, or is it that I have been cursed with a bad lot?”
Nicholas could see the Englishman was making an attempt at humor to cover his show of temper, but Nicholas was not amused.
“It has been my observation, sir, that thoughtlessness and empty-headedness are no more innate a feature in women than in men. However, considering how delightfully congenial these ladies have been in not reminding us of our own glaringly male deficiencies, perhaps we should not be too hard on them for such a small lack of communication.”
“Oh, well…” The man made a great show of clearing his throat and reaching for more wine. “We shall just see if you continue to sing such a merry tune, Sir Nicholas, after you’ve spent sometime in these chits’ company. I tell you, they are a troublesome bunch, by thunder. You shall come around, sir. You certainly shall.”
As another course was served, Nicholas’s gaze fell on the profile of Clara, who was seated beside him. The young woman’s complexion had turned a shade paler, and she appeared preoccupied with the intricate weave of the tablecloth beneath her plate. One glance at Jane, who was seated on the left of her mother—across from him—and Nicholas knew the pulse of Purefoy women beat the strongest in the older sister. Her face was flushed red, her temper barely contained. Lady Purefoy laid her hand casually on top of Jane’s, and the older sister fisted her hand before tucking it beneath the table.
“Miss Purefoy,” he asked, “What kinds of activities occupy your time out here in this beautiful countryside?”
“I…I am…” Clara started to answer, but she stopped abruptly, realizing that Nicholas’s question was directed at Jane and not at her.
The older sister appeared as surprised to be addressed. As she searched for an answer, Nicholas enjoyed the opportunity of staring openly at her.
Despite the severe hairstyle and the “handsome” bruise by her mouth, there was a vibrancy in the face that shone through brightly. Considering her manner of dress and the injury she’d sustained, Jane’s beauty was far different from the kind aspired to by London’s fashionable set. But looking past the superficial ornamentation, he saw a vitality there—a natural beauty and spirit—that was impossible to ignore.
“I believe that there is very little difference in the way an English woman is expected to spend her days in Ireland than in England.”
“It has been my observation that what is expected of women and what they actually do is not always the same.”
“You seem to be quite the observer of human nature, Sir Nicholas.” Jane commented.
“You would be amazed at the things one observes when one takes the time to look.”
A soft blush crept up her cheeks. “Well, I cannot know anything of that, sir, but I do know that when it comes to satisfying the curiosity of observers, it is a woman’s duty to blend what is expected and what must be done. If she is careful enough in her actions, all that one will notice is…compliance.”
“Do you mean that one should say one thing and do another, Jane?” Fanny asked excitedly.
“I should hope not, Miss Frances,” Jane said gently. “Repeated back to me, my own words have a horrifying ring to them. What I am trying to say is that even within the rigid constraints of societal decorum—constraints that are imposed on women practically from birth—there are freedoms that can be exercised, good deeds that can be accomplished. Though silence is imposed upon us…”
Sir Thomas’s loud call for one of the servants to bring in more wine, made the older daughter pause momentary.
“…we have voices, and we can be heard. Being a woman should never be equated with helplessness. We…”
“Now do you see what I mean, sir?” The former magistrate glared at his older daughter.
“Jane likes to draw.” Lady Purefoy hurriedly interrupted. “She has assembled quite a portfolio of her work.”
“Do you?” Alexandra asked with enthusiasm. “May I see them? I have an interest in art, myself.
”
Lady Purefoy cast a nervous glance in her husband’s direction. “Though I am afraid none of them are completely finished. Is that not correct, Jane? Perhaps…some time in the future…we shall have some of her work sent to you. Clara, on the other hand, has an excellent hand for needlework, Sir Nicholas. She’s done a fine rendering of Woodfield House. After dinner, I shall show you and Miss Spencer…”
Nicholas lost interest in the discussion and stopped listening. Once again, the family had effectively shut the older daughter out of the conversation. Jane’s face was a picture of tautly controlled anger. He turned his gaze from Lady Purefoy to her husband. Nicholas was beginning to resent the blatant pushing of Clara in his direction. Sir Thomas had all the subtlety of a horse trader. Though he had once been interested, the Purefoys’ behavior with regard to both daughters was quickly putting him off.
The host placed his empty glass firmly on the table.
“Now we shall have some time for ourselves, Sir Nicholas.” He looked meaningfully at his wife, and she immediately rose to her feet. “You and I shall remain here for a cigar and some brandy I have just received from my man in Cork City. We have a few details to work out that we may put behind us tonight. I’m sure you have a few questions you’d like to put to me regarding the settling of affairs.”
The other women followed Lady Purefoy’s lead and rose from the table. Nicholas shelved his own distaste on the topic for the moment.
“We shall retire to the Blue Parlor, Sir Thomas, and leave you men to your discussions.”
Nicholas had no recollection of having yet offered for Clara’s hand in marriage, though, and the confident tone of the knight regarding any possible marital discussions only managed to annoy him further. He had never been one to tolerate being pushed.
“I believe I will excuse myself from accepting your invitation tonight, Sir Thomas.” He stood up as soon as the women had left the room. “The ride up from Cork City, combined with this injury, will not make me very agreeable company. Perhaps some other time, we shall have an opportunity to discuss whatever it is you had in mind.”
The Rebel Page 4
