Andrew brightened. “God, yes. How could I not?” he countered before tucking his edge of the top sheet under the mattress. He suddenly angled his head. “I rather doubt this bed linen will require tucking in, my lady,” he remarked, one eyebrow arching up suggestively. When Jane blushed—bless her heart!—he allowed a chuckle. “We’ll simply pull it out, I’m quite sure,” he whispered with a knowing grin.
Jane rolled her eyes. “I cannot quite believe this is happening. It’s as if I’ve agreed to an elicit assignation …”
“You’ve done no such thing,” he interrupted, hurrying around to the other side of the bed to take her into his arms. “We’re … older. We’re in love. We’re to be married, and there is nothing for you to be ashamed of,” he insisted.
The urgency in his voice had Jane reconsidering her words. “Tell me more about that day at the bank,” she urged, wishing she had noticed him at his desk in the corner. It was hard to believe another two years had to pass before she was formally introduced to him.
Andrew moved to stand behind her and started to undo the buttons of her gown. “I was learning how to be an accomptant. My uncle told me of a young woman who was taking night classes in accounting so she could gain employment.”
Jane nearly turned around in surprise, wondering what woman would expect to be hired as an accounting clerk. Andrew put his hands on her shoulders and turned her back around. “I know. I was shocked, as well, but Miss Emma Fitzsimmons wasn’t about to be deterred from her plan.”
“Fitzsimmons?” Jane repeated, instantly recognizing the name. Why, the Viscount Chamberlain was a Fitzsimmons. He worked in Whitehall, in the Foreign Office, but she didn’t think he had a daughter.
“Back then, she was the sole owner of her late father’s hat shop in Oxford Street,” he explained, deftly undoing the buttons down the back of her gown.
“Fitzsimmons and Smith,” Jane breathed. “I know the shop. I’ve purchased many a bonnet there.” She half-turned, thinking he had finished undoing all the buttons.
Andrew nodded, briefly wondering just how many bonnets she had purchased.
Jane noticed his expression and sobered. “Not that many,” she said in her own defense. “Six or … eight, perhaps.”
Wiping the back of his hand over his forehead, Andrew let out a teasing, “Whew!” At Jane’s widened eyes, he added, “I had a moment there where I thought perhaps I couldn’t afford to take you as my wife,” he claimed in mock despair.
“And if you couldn’t afford me as your wife, you realized you couldn’t afford me as your mistress, either.” The words were out of her mouth before she could censor them, the tone teasing but the words striking too close to home.
Her home.
“Forgive me, I didn’t mean that,” she whispered with a shake of her head.
Andrew arched a brow, wondering why she would put voice to the comment in the first place. Then he remembered learning her husband had only ever lived with his mistress. Only stayed in London when Parliament was in session, and then favored late nights at his club instead of spending them with his wife. “I would beg, borrow, and steal to have you any way I could get you,” he claimed quietly.
Jane dipped her head, rather stunned by his words. After all these years, the man still wanted her.
Still felt affection for her.
She was about to follow the next train of thought but stopped herself. No sense going there. Not when things are so perfect right now, she figured. Perhaps she would never have to consider another alternative to that of spending the rest of her life with Andrew Burroughs. Perhaps … she shook herself out of her reverie.
What had they been talking about?
Bonnets.
Emma Fitzsimmons.
“Please, do go on with your story about Miss Fitzsimmons,” she encouraged.
Curious as to where Jane had been just then—were her thoughts of mistresses and absent husbands?—Andrew realized perhaps it would be better to change the subject back to the reason he had pursued a career in banking.
He wanted her to understand why it was he sought an occupation. And he didn’t want anything to ruin this evening. They might not have another night alone in the house. Another opportunity for him to convince Jane she wouldn’t be making a mistake by marrying him. She might have accepted his ring, but he had the impression she had done so with a bit of reluctance, as if by doing so, she was derailing plans she had already set into motion.
“Well, I’m getting a bit ahead of myself here, but I will tell you the end of the story first. Miss Fitzsimmons did gain a position as an accomptant, you see. And in the process of proving to her employer she was an excellent accomptant, she managed to make the man fall in love with her.” Andrew paused a moment, wondering if he should admit all the machinations that had gone into making that match when there might not have been any need for matchmaking. Even he didn’t know how many others were involved in seeing to it Emma Fitzsimmons ended up married—those besides his uncle and Aunt Sophia.
Thomas Wellingham had probably fallen in love with Emma Fitzsimmons even before he hired her.
“Miss Fitzsimmons has been married to Mr. Wellingham, the owner of Wellingham Imports, for … fifteen, sixteen years now,” he stated with a nod. “And she is still the lead accomptant at his company,” he added as he resumed undoing all the buttons on the back of Jane’s gown. He moved to undoing the fastenings that held up her petticoat. “Had she expressed an interest in becoming a banker, I do believe my uncle might have hired her over me.”
Jane turned around, rather shocked by his claim. “The bank would never have allowed it,” she countered as she moved to undo the mail coach knot in his cravat. She plucked his pin from the cravat, giving him an arched brow when she realized an emerald decorated one end of it.
“A gift from one of my sisters,” he said with a shrug. “Claims it matches my eyes.” This last was said with an impish grin as he blinked several times.
Jane had to agree as she held up the pin next to his face and glanced between his eyes and the jewel. “I do believe your eyes are bluer, though,” she murmured.
Andrew chuckled. “How can they not be when we’re surrounded by all this blue?” he countered, his hands spreading out to indicate the blue upholstered furnishings and drapes. “Yours certainly are.”
A blush colored her face before Jane could set the cravat pin on the dresser, her loosened gown giving way from her torso as she returned to working on removing his cravat. “Now that you’ve told me the beginning and the end, is there more to your story about Miss Fitzsimmons?” she wondered as she went about undoing the knot in the snowy white silk.
Andrew angled his head to one side in an effort to give her more room to work. “Indeed. You see, before the lady met and married Mr. Wellingham, my uncle was none too pleased with Miss Fitzsimmons. He wanted her to accept an offer of marriage. Thought her plan to work as an accomptant was ludicrous,” he explained, watching her arms as she stood on tip-toe and unwound the white silk from around his neck.
“Perhaps she didn’t think herself pretty enough to land a husband,” Jane reasoned, moving her fingers to undo the ties that closed the top of his shirt.
“Oh, but she was,” he insisted, immediately regretting the remark when he saw Jane’s expression change.
Was that jealousy?
“Not as pretty as you, of course,” he quickly added, “But she had been doing the books for her father’s business for several years, and having sold the business to her late father’s business partner, she decided she had to learn a trade in order to make her way in life.”
Jane softened her stance, pulling the shirt tails from his breeches a bit less aggressively than she would have if he hadn’t qualified his assessment of Emma Fitzsimmons’ appearance. “I suppose I can understand that,” she murmured, wondering what she would have done if her father hadn’t arranged a marriage for her, and if Andrew hadn’t put forth his promise to ask for he
r hand.
Seamstress? She could sew, of course, but seamstresses made so little in the way of income.
Milliner? Better pay, but … the idea of making hats and bonnets for a living held no appeal. She rarely decorated her own, never pleased with how the silk flowers looked once she had finished sewing them into place.
Servant? She could make a bed, but there was so much more to keeping a house in working order.
Prostitute? The idea of unwashed men using her body for a moment of pleasure had her entire body shuddering in revulsion. She could barely abide Stoneleigh atop her, although that was usually because he was drunk and smelled of cheroots, his sour breath washing over her as he grunted and groaned on his way to his release.
Clerking? She rather liked adding numbers. She liked the logic, the rules of arithmetic always the same. She didn’t always like the results, though, remembering there were times the allowance Stoneleigh provided barely covered her monthly expenses. Especially the months during the Seasons, when a new gown or a pair of slippers would have to wait until the next month, or she would exceed the limit he had set.
Knowing her fortunes would change at some point in her future, she had simply lived her life within the limits Stoneleigh imposed. She had something to look forward to the day he died, after all.
And then he had died.
Although she had expected to feel a sense of elation or relief or … something … to follow the news the courier delivered a year and three days ago, she had instead experienced only a sense of numbness.
It was several days before the feeling of sorrow hit her, forcing tears from the corners of her eyes. The sorrow hadn’t been for the loss of Michael Fitzpatrick—how could she feel loss when she never felt anything for the man in the first place?—but rather for the children she never bore.
Would never bear, it seemed.
She had never once been pregnant from Stoneleigh’s seed, but since he had fathered three boys with his mistress, she knew him capable.
If she were barren, as she suspected, Jane figured she would simply plan a future for herself as an independent woman. So Jane had set about creating a plan for her future, considering what she wanted to do and where she would do it.
She couldn’t help but admire Lady Jane Browning’s plan for her life, even if Society (and her father and aunt) probably wouldn’t allow it. Or how Emma Fitzsimmons had reasoned she needed a position in order to make a legitimate living and then done what she needed to do in order to make it happen.
What Jane had planned couldn’t be put into action right away—at least, not upon learning of Stoneleigh’s death—not until she had completed a period of mourning. But then …
Jane swallowed, shaking the thought from her mind. Everything was different now. She hadn’t planned for Andrew to reappear in her life. Hadn’t planned for any man to simply appear and claim he wanted her to be his wife.
“Are you well?”
The words had Jane giving her head a quick shake. “I apologize. I was … woolgathering,” she murmured.
“Certainly not from happy sheep,” Andrew accused lightly, the back of one finger brushing against the side of her cheek. “If you’re feeling jealous of my regard for Mrs. Wellingham, please know you needn’t,” he added, with a shake of his head, misinterpreting the sudden sadness that seemed to have settled on her.
Jane allowed a wan smile. “Your regard?” she repeated, the words sounding accusatory.
Andrew placed his hands over hers and brought them to his chest. “I owe her a great deal, it’s true,” he admitted. “You see, it was her insistence at wanting to make a living for herself—without having to count on a husband or the income from her father’s hat shop—that had me realizing I should do the same.” When Jane frowned at his words, he added, “I am the third son of a duke,” he stated quietly. “I didn’t want to live off of an allowance my entire life. Be at the mercy of my older brother for an income. My uncle didn’t understand the concept as it applied to Mrs. Wellingham, but thank the gods he did when it came to me. He took me under his wing. Taught me what I needed to know to make a living on my own. As a result, I am not beholden to my brother or the dukedom for my living. And I have an occupation I enjoy immensely and make a good deal of blunt doing.”
Nodding her understanding, Jane regarded Andrew for several moments. Perhaps she had nothing to worry about. Perhaps the intervening eighteen years really didn’t matter. Perhaps he was the same man as he had been back then, even if she wasn’t the same girl she was when they had parted all those years ago. “Your work, and your marriage, and your children—they really haven’t changed you, have they?” she whispered in awe.
Andrew regarded her for a long time before he finally gave his head a shake. “I am the same man, Jane. Older, to be sure. Hopefully wiser.” He paused a moment before his eyebrows suddenly cocked up. “Wealthier.”
Jane allowed a grin at the relief she felt at hearing his words. Sliding her hands up inside his shirt, she delighted in how his body responded to her slight touch, in how his breath hitched when her thumbs brushed over his nipples. “You still haven’t told me why you felt affection for me that day,” she accused with an arched eyebrow.
Andrew frowned as she pushed his shirt over his head. Once he was free of the garment, he sighed. “You were … beautiful. Even in your fright, you …”
“Fright?” she countered in shock, wondering if she really did appear scared to death that first time she was ever in the Bank of England.
She had been apprehensive, of course. She had never been in the bank before. She had no idea how important the papers were that she signed. What she was agreeing to by signing them. How her life would change because of those simple signatures.
If I’d known, would I have signed them?
Would I have had a choice?
“You were scared to death, and yet, you were a model of grace as you signed all the documents my uncle shoved in front of you,” Andrew said as he pushed Jane’s gown down from her shoulders and completely off her body. He turned her around, plucking the ties of her corset and loosening each of them in turn.
“A model of grace?” she repeated, a bit of awe in her voice. She let out a sigh of relief as her corset gave way and she could breathe easier.
“Aye,” Andrew replied, sliding his hands beneath the corset and pushing it down her body. “Despite your fright, you still managed to exude a sense of confidence …”
“I was scared to death!”
“… Perhaps that’s why I thought you the perfect young woman.”
“Perfect?” she repeated in surprise. Christ! I sound like a parrot!
“Aye. At least, I thought so,” he replied as he pushed her petticoats to the floor. “I’ll never forget that day. I fell in love with you,” he added as he finished pulling her corset from her body, his lips moving to her nipples so he could suckle them through the fabric of her chemise.
Jane gasped, shocked at the sensations his lips created despite the translucent silk. The man had her nearly naked and completely at his mercy. “You’re still half-dressed,” she accused, frowning when she realized he still wore his breeches and boots. Her fingers moved to the placket of his breeches, undoing the fastenings as quickly as her fingers could do so.
“I rather like how you undress me, my lady,” he murmured before capturing another nipple between his lips. “Leaves me wondering if I’ll require the services of a valet.”
Jane gasped when she pushed his breeches down past his hips, his smalls barely containing his engorged manhood as it sprang from his body. Her entire body shivered at the thought of what he had done to her with it only two nights ago. “Why, though? Why did you fall in love with me?” she asked again in a whisper, gasping as one of his hands moved to lift the chemise from her body, his palms skimming the sides of her body as he did so.
Andrew’s lips captured a bare nipple as he continued to lift the chemise from her body, the silk slowly car
essing her skin. He was in no hurry to remove the garment, delighting in her gasps and loving how her nipples hardened even more once they were exposed to his teeth and tongue. “I just did,” he finally said, not quite sure why he had decided she was the one. The one he would take for rides in the park. The one he wanted as a mother for his children. The one he thought of every night before sleep took him to oblivion.
The one he would ask to marry him.
The two stared at one another for several seconds, their bare torsos pressed together. “I didn’t do something …?” she whispered.
He shook his head. “You were just … you.” He sighed. “Sometimes, that is all there is, Jane. I fell in love, and I knew whenever I had the opportunity for an introduction, I would make the best of it.” He paused to give her a kiss on the lips. “I thought I had, of course, but your father already had other plans for you,” he explained with furrowed brows. Something I would have known if I had read all of those papers that day. “An earl counts higher than a banker, of course,” he added in a hoarse whisper.
“Even though you are the son of a duke,” Jane replied in the same urgent whisper.
“Even though,” he agreed with a nod.
Jane swallowed, feeling rather sad just then. “Did you know what those papers were all about? The ones that I signed that day?” she asked, her voice so quiet he could barely hear her.
“A few of them, of course,” he acknowledged, giving up his hold on her so he could sit on the edge of the bed to remove his boots. “You were an only child. Niece of an earl. Distant cousin to the Earl of Everly. Your father had a small fortune, but he wanted it protected.” Especially from your future husband, whom you agreed to marry that day by simply signing that damned betrothal.
Earl or not, Michael Fitzpatrick would not make a good steward for the Vandermeer fortune. Jane’s father had known it even before he had made the arrangements for her to marry him. Why Richard Vandermeer thought it acceptable for his daughter to end up with the cur, though, was beyond his understanding.
Andrew regarded Jane for a moment, rather surprised she would allow him to stare at her as she stood nearly naked in the waning light from the room’s only window.
The Gossip of an Earl (The Widows of the Aristocracy Book 1) Page 22
