Baroness in Buckskin

by Sheri Cobb South

“But in accepting you, Sir Matthew, I must be honest,” she added hastily. “I cannot—I do not feel for you that degree of affection which a man might wish for—indeed, which he ought to expect in his wife. But if you can be content with friendship, then—then I promise I will do all I can to see that you are—are comfortable.”

  “Pray say no more, my dear Jane! I shall make you learn to love me, and shall revel in the teaching!”

  Privately Jane rather doubted her ability to master such a lesson, but since she was quite determined on this course, she held her tongue.

  “I shall seek out Lord Ramsay at once,” promised Sir Matthew, clambering to his feet. “I know we need not obtain his permission to wed, since you are of legal age, but I am persuaded you should not like to do so without his blessing.”

  In fact, Jane could think of nothing she would like less than attempting to explain to Richard the sudden reversal in her sentiments where Sir Matthew was concerned. But she could hardly admit such a thing to her newly affianced husband, so she sat numbly on her chair while the blissful bridegroom hurried away in search of his lordship.

  He found his quarry just leading Miss Hunsford out of the set as the quadrille ended. “Ah, well met, Lord Ramsay!” he exclaimed gleefully. “How convenient for me that the music should be ending at such an opportune time! I have need of a word alone with you.”

  Richard glanced about the crowded ballroom. “Can it not wait, Sir Matthew? I should not leave my guests at present.”

  “I am sure you will forgive my natural impatience when I tell you it concerns Miss Hawthorne.”

  “Jane?” Richard’s brow puckered in a thoughtful frown. “Nothing is wrong, I hope?”

  “No, no—quite the reverse, in fact,” Sir Matthew assured him. “But I don’t like to bandy a lady’s name about in public.”

  Seeing no other way to rid himself of his tiresome neighbor (and, if he were honest with himself, curious to know what Sir Matthew might have to say regarding Jane), Richard consented to grant him five minutes, and led the way out of the ballroom and across the corridor to his study.

  “Now, Sir Matthew, I trust you will tell me what this is all about.”

  “Nothing would give me greater pleasure, my lord. I should like to ask your blessing upon my marriage to your cousin Miss Hawthorne.”

  Richard shook his head. “God knows I can offer no valid objection to such a match, Sir Matthew, but I fear I can give you no reason to hope for a different answer from Miss Hawthorne than she has given you in the past.”

  “But that is just what she has done, Lord Ramsay. I have only this moment asked Miss Hawthorne for her hand in marriage, and she has done me the honour of accepting my suit.”

  “What?” The blood seemed to run cold in Richard’s veins. A dozen, a hundred images swirled together in his brain: his steadfastness in seeking out Jane whenever he needed a sympathetic ear or an informed opinion; his hope that she might transform Susannah into what he now knew to be a replica of herself; his terror at seeing her fall from the banister; and, finally, his utter revulsion at the thought of her as Sir Matthew’s bride. There could be only one conclusion, and one, moreover that he should have reached months—no, years ago. “I don’t believe you!” he challenged, with a confidence born of desperation.

  Far from being offended by this unflattering response, Sir Matthew chuckled. “I’m sure I don’t wonder at it. To be sure, there have been times over the last few years when I wondered if she would ever—but all that is at an end. She has consented to be my wife. I’m sure I need not tell you that I am the happiest of men.”

  “Where is Jane?” demanded Richard. “I want a word with her. Until I hear from her own lips, I will not—where is she?”

  “I left the future Lady Pitney to await my return in one of the antechambers along the west wall—” began Sir Matthew, but soon found himself speaking to the empty air. Lord Ramsay flung himself from the study and back into the ballroom, where he opened the door to each small alcove in turn until he came to the one where Jane sat, pale but composed.

  Sir Matthew had caught up to him by this time, and positioned himself beside Jane’s chair, placing his hand on her shoulder in a proprietary manner. “Here is Lord Ramsay so surprised he refuses to believe it until he hears it from your own fair lips,” he told her with a self-satisfied smile. “But he assures me he can have no objection to the match, so you need have no fears on that head, my love.”

  “Is it true, Jane?” demanded Richard. “Have you agreed to marry Sir Matthew?”

  “Yes,” she said baldly.

  Sir Matthew patted her shoulder and once again proclaimed himself the happiest of men.

  “Yes, well, I should like to have a word alone with my cousin, Sir Matthew,” Richard said. “Until I am convinced that she considers herself the happiest of women, I cannot give my consent.”

  “Your consent is not necessary, Richard,” Jane pointed out. “Recall that I have been of legal age for the last eight years and more.”

  “But still as lovely as you were when you first came to Ramsay Hall as a girl of eighteen,” Sir Matthew assured her in ardent tones.

  Richard neither confirmed nor denied this assessment of Jane’s charms, but strode to the door and held it open pointedly. “If you will excuse us, Sir Matthew?”

  “Very well, my lord.” To Jane, he added, “I shall leave you to persuade Lord Ramsay of the strength of my devotion.”

  In full confidence of this happy outcome, he took his leave. Richard closed the door after him and turned on Jane. “Of the strength of Sir Matthew’s devotion I have no need of persuasion, for he has plagued you with it for the better part of a decade. Yours, however, I beg leave to doubt. Jane, how could you?”

  “How could I what?”

  “Do not play the dunce with me, my girl! How could you accept Sir Matthew’s proposal when I know full well that you can barely tolerate the man?” His eyes narrowed in sudden suspicion. “Has that idiot been filling your head with nonsense about your being no longer welcome at Ramsay Hall? If he has, by God, I’ll—”

  “He has done no such thing,” Jane insisted, coming to her betrothed’s defense. “Oh, I do not deny your approaching nuptials influenced my decision, but Sir Matthew has not said anything that had not occurred to me on my own.”

  “And the—how did your affianced husband put it?—the ‘strength of your devotion’ toward him?”

  To her annoyance, Jane felt her face grow warm, and knew she was blushing. “I assure you, I never gave Sir Matthew any reason to suppose—in fact, I told him quite plainly that I—that I do not feel for him that degree of affection that a man might hope to inspire in his wife. If he is not troubled by its absence, I see no reason why you should be.”

  “And what of you?”

  He took a rather menacing step in her direction, and Jane leaned back in her chair in an attempt to put as much distance between them as possible. “What—what about me?”

  He took another step closer, and she found herself cowering against the back of her chair like a cornered animal.

  “There was a time when you had strong feelings on the subject of making a loveless marriage.”

  She knew he was thinking of her rejection of his own long-ago proposal, and hurried into speech to cover her embarrassment. “On the contrary, I believe a loveless marriage may be quite happy, so long as there is mutual respect and friendship. But a marriage where love is on one side only—” She broke off abruptly, horribly aware of having said too much.

  “I see,” Richard said slowly, regarding her with piercing dark eyes. “How long have you known?”

  There was no point in denying it. “I knew it from the first,” she confessed.

  He stared at her. “But that is impossible!”

  “Believe me,” she said ruefully, “it is not.”

  “But I have only just discovered it myself!” he exclaimed, recalling that horrific moment in his study when he’d learned that Jane, his
Jane, had betrothed herself to a man who was not worthy to tie her bootlaces.

  “Permit me to point out that I am rather more closely concerned in the matter,” she said with a sad little smile.

  “I should like to know how you arrived at that conclusion! You may say I have been remarkably obtuse, but I maintain that no one can be more closely concerned in the matter of my feelings than I am.”

  “Richard, what are you talking about?” she asked, baffled by this seeming non sequitur.

  “I am saying I love you, dammit!” he shouted. “And although I might stand aside for a better man, I will not permit you to marry that bore, Sir Matthew Pitney!”

  In proof of this statement, he grabbed her by the arms, lifted her bodily from her chair, and kissed her in a manner that left her in no doubt as to the violence of his affections.

  “Oh Richard, Richard!” she said in between kisses, laughing and crying at the same time. “You dear, dense man, don’t you know I’ve loved you from the first?”

  “And yet you rejected my proposal,” he reminded her.

  “Only because you so clearly did not want to make it! Loving you as I did, how could I put my wishes ahead of your own?”

  “Promise me you won’t marry Sir Matthew!”

  “No, no, of course I won’t! Indeed, I never really wanted to, but I could not bear to live here and see you married to Cousin Susannah!”

  He snapped his fingers. “That for Cousin Susannah! I would not allow you to marry Sir Matthew were I a hundred times married to her!”

  Jane could find nothing to dispute in these sentiments, but the recollection of Richard’s betrothal was sufficient to wipe the smile from her face, and she exclaimed with dismay, “But Richard, you cannot have thought! Your betrothal is to be announced within the hour!”

  “No, it is not—not anymore.”

  “You cannot jilt the poor girl!”

  “I can, and I will. I shall assuage my conscience with the knowledge that she has no more desire to marry me than I have to marry her.” In a more serious tone, he added, “I have spent my entire life putting my duty ahead of my own inclinations—indeed, I was raised to believe I had an obligation to do so. But not now, not this time. My future happiness, and yours, is too important to throw away for the sake of mere propriety.”

  “ ‘Mere’ propriety, Richard?” Her voice was faint-ly mocking, but her face was radiant with happiness. “This, from you? If I had any doubts as to your senti-ments, they are surely answered.”

  “My dearest love!”

  He took her in his arms (more gently this time) and kissed her quite thoroughly, and their kisses were all the sweeter for having been so long deferred. Alas, the sound of the anteroom door opening caused them to jump apart. Sir Matthew Pitney stood in the doorway, the picture of outraged virtue.

  “My lord! Have the goodness to unhand my fiancée!”

  “Go to the devil,” recommended Richard.

  “You think to insult me in addition to manhandling the woman who is to become my wife? I will have satisfaction, sir! My second will wait upon you in the morning!”

  “No, no, you quite misunderstand the matter,” Jane said soothingly, in an attempt to pour oil over troubled waters. “I am very sorry, Sir Matthew, but I cannot marry you, after all. It is Lord Ramsay, you see. I—he—”

  “Oh, yes, I see very well!” declared Sir Matthew, fairly quivering with indignation. “I wonder what Miss Ramsay would say to the information that her betrothed is having a bit of slap-and-tickle with the former companion of his sainted mother?”

  He quitted the little room without waiting for an answer, and if he resisted the urge to slam the door, there was no denying that he shut it with a disapproving “click.” Richard and Jane stared silently at the space he had vacated, until Jane found her tongue at last.

  “Oh, dear! He is quite right, you know; that is exactly how it will be perceived, once it becomes known that we—”

  “Yes, and that is why we must marry as soon as may be arranged. In the meantime, you will remove to the Dower House as soon as our guests depart, and will remain there with the Aunts until the wedding. I will not have it said that there has been anything in the least salacious about your presence in this house since Mama’s death!”

  “No, not that,” Jane said impatiently. “That is, of course I will marry you whenever you wish. But Cousin Susannah must certainly be told before—”

  As if on cue, the door opened once more, and Susannah tripped lightly into the room. “Richard, Sir Matthew says—” She broke off abruptly, and her eyes grew round at the sight of Richard and Jane, their newfound happiness obvious in spite of the guilt writ large upon their faces. “So it’s true, then!”

  “Susannah—” With some reluctance, Richard released Jane and stepped forward. “My dear girl, I am sorrier than I can say—”

  “Nonsense!” Susannah declared briskly. “You never gave me any reason to believe that you loved me—in fact, I have often wondered why you didn’t marry Cousin Jane years ago, for it is obvious that you were meant for each other!”

  “Excellent creature!” declared Richard, taking Susannah’s hand and raising it to his lips.

  “I am only sorry you were put to the trouble and expense of my passage from America.” She glanced at Jane. “I’m sorry, too, that I never did learn to behave like a proper lady.”

  Richard was moved to protest this self-denigration. “Now, that I cannot regret, for had you not arrived and set us all on our ears, God only knows how long I might have continued in ignorance of my own heart. Since the betrothal has not been formally announced, I trust that any embarrassment to you will be minimal. If anyone dares to say anything, we will merely express astonishment that our American cousin’s visit could be so misconstrued. In the meantime, I will make it up to you, Susannah, I promise. Next spring Jane and I will sponsor you for a Season in London, and you will have the most brilliant come-out any young lady ever had: presentation at Court, vouchers for Almack’s—”

  “I’m afraid that won’t be possible.”

  Three heads turned toward the door, which had opened once more to admit yet another person into the tiny room which was by now becoming quite crowded.

  “Susannah will not be here next spring,” Peter explained. “She will be returning to America on the Mermaid.”

  “Will she?” Jane asked doubtfully. “You need not, Susannah, if you do not wish it. In any case, I’m not at all certain we can find a woman to accompany you on such short notice.”

  “No woman will be necessary,” Peter said.

  Richard looked down at his erstwhile betrothed in some consternation. “You cannot make such a journey alone!”

  “I quite agree,” Peter said, moving forward to slip his arm about her waist. “Fortunately, she will not be travelling alone. She will be returning to America as Mrs. Peter Ramsay.”

  “Oh, Peter!” Susannah squealed, throwing her arms about his neck.

  He received her with great willingness, and although they did not so far forget themselves as to kiss in full view of two other people, their embrace left neither of the spectators in any doubt as to their sentiments.

  “Peter Ramsay!” Richard regarded his steward with mock indignation. “I accused you once of trying to steal a march on me. It appears I was closer to the truth than I knew!”

  “Yes,” Peter said, detaching himself with some reluctance from Susannah’s arms, “but it was not my intention, I assure you. It just, well, it just happened. I did not mean to—I am sorry if—”

  “You need not apologize,” Richard assured him. “Unless, of course, it is to Miss Hunsford. I believe she had her hopes quite set on you.”

  “I could almost feel sorry for that horrid Miss Hunsford,” Susannah said, brushing traces of her rice powder from Peter’s hitherto immaculate cravat with a proprietary air. “Almost, but not quite.”

  “Perhaps she and Sir Matthew can console one another,” Richard suggested to
Jane, his newfound happiness finding expression in absurdity.

  Beyond the closed door, the violins ground to a halt, and a gong sounded—the cue for everyone to locate his or her partner for supper, and the prearranged signal for the betrothal announcement that was to precede the meal.

  “Oh, my!” exclaimed Jane. “Everyone was told to expect an announcement!”

  “And an announcement they shall have,” Richard said, taking her hand. “Two, in fact. Peter, Susannah, are you coming?”

  Susannah would have followed him, but Peter grabbed her wrist. “We’ll be there directly,” he said. “We have unfinished business to attend.”

  Richard gave the pair a knowing look. “Don’t be too long. It’s shockingly bad form, you know, missing your own engagement announcement,” he said, then drew Jane’s hand through his arm and sallied forth to do the honours.

  About the Author

  At the age of sixteen, Sheri Cobb South discovered Georgette Heyer, and came to the startling realization that she had been born into the wrong century. Although she doubtless would have been a chambermaid had she actually lived in Regency England, that didn’t stop her from fantasizing about waltzing the night away in the arms of a handsome, wealthy, and titled gentleman.

  Since Georgette Heyer was dead and could not write any more Regencies, Ms. South came to the conclusion she would simply have to do it herself. In addition to her popular series of Regency mysteries featuring idealistic young Bow Street Runner John Pickett (described by All About Romance as “a little young, but wholly delectable”), she is the award-winning author of several Regency romances, including the critically acclaimed The Weaver Takes a Wife.

  A native and long-time resident of Alabama, Ms. South recently moved to Loveland, Colorado, where she has a stunning view of Long’s Peak from her office window.

  The Regency Novels of Sheri Cobb South

  The Weaver Takes a Wife

  (Weaver Trilogy, Book 1)

  Brighton Honeymoon

  (Weaver Trilogy, Book 2)