by Sophia Nash
Rolfe sighed and ran his hands through his hair. He looked up at her as she struggled to fasten the buttons at the back of her prim mourning dress. He stood up, shaking his head as he walked straight toward her. Jane blushed anew and lowered her eyes, but not before he saw her look down his frame. The entire scene seemed so incredible and unreal still.
“Stop looking at me that way, or I will force you into my bed again,” he whispered. “And stop using my title in the bedchamber. It is entirely inappropriate.” He reached out and cupped her face with one hand. “I desire to hear my name on your lips.”
In embarrassment she looked at the jagged scar just below his shoulder. She stared hard at it. “Is this the wound that almost cost you an arm at Waterloo… Rolfe?” Her gaze moved down the rest of his body, stopping at his torso.
“Do you see what you do to me?” Rolfe asked, ignoring her question. He pulled her into his arms and began to kiss her neck and shoulder. Something on the bedsheets behind her caught his attention. Several crimson stains marked the linen sheets. He stopped suddenly. “Are you all right? Are you in any sort of pain?”
As her gaze followed his to the bed, she responded with keen embarrassment. “Yes, I mean, no. I’m all right, really just fine. But I must go before any more time passes.” She began pinning up her hair as she turned her back to him to present the many buttons that needed attending. His fingers completed that task instead of choosing the task he would have preferred, that of caressing the soft, fair curls at the base of her neck.
She turned as he looped the last button. He was amused to find that her severe black gown was formidable armor he was unlikely to easily pierce again. She insisted on returning to the cottage alone, despite the rainy, dark sky. But the earl refused to be put off, despite Jane’s worries concerning appearances if they were seen walking alone in the evening.
“Come,” he demanded. “We will go out by the doors leading from the ballroom. No one will see us. I insist.”
With a firm grasp of her hand, he led her as one would lead a wayward child. Down the back staircase, through the ballroom, and out into the semidarkness, they made their escape unnoticed save by one oddly smiling old lady at her window clutching a volume by Burney.
Chapter Five
THE cold day broke without a cloud in sight, a circumstance that proved to be at complete odds with the overcast tint of Rolfe’s mind. He had awoken several times during the night, only to smell Jane’s sweetness imprinted on his bedcovers. By dawn, he paced his room in deep thought. He was in a predicament he had sworn to never ever face again, that of marriage. The ways of a gentleman forbade him to consider any other solution. He only questioned whether he had consciously or unconsciously chosen to be in this state of affairs. No, he reasoned, he had had no way of knowing she was a virgin—except her behavior in the field when she had been by turns hot and cold. Rolfe rang for his valet and chose a black coat to match his mood. Forgoing breakfast, he stalked out of the Hall toward the stables.
Despite Jane’s certainty that she would be unable to sleep at all that night, she slept within moments of dousing the candle on the bedside table. However, this blessed release was interrupted when she awoke in tears.
At first the dream had been so lovely. She and Harry were walking in a field together, searching for butterflies. But as she caught an elusive pale yellow winged insect, a pair of bronzed male hands covered her own. When she looked up, she saw the earl naked, with the saber wound oozing blood down his arm. Halfway between sleep and consciousness, she awoke and felt frozen with unknown fear.
And then, she heard something—footsteps belowstairs. She slipped from under the covers as quietly as possible and moved to the door to listen. Harsh whispers seeped through the thin door. A man’s and a woman’s voices.
In a panic she thought it might be Lord Graystock, but it occurred to her that the earl’s voice was lower-pitched than that of this gentleman. In her relief, she sagged against the door, which emitted a long squeak. Abruptly the voices stopped. For long moments Jane dared not move. She tiptoed to her escritoire, lit a candle, and pulled out her writing paper. With Sir Thomas in the parlor, Jane was sure there was not a chance she would fall into slumber again. And she had awoken with a firm resolve to put into motion her long-repressed desire.
As she stared at the blank page, Jane replayed her actions of the afternoon. She swallowed as she recalled the images. Her conscience wreaked havoc upon her person.
On one shoulder, her conscience whispered in her ear that what she had done was evil and she was going to the devil. She had had relations without marriage.
On the other shadowed shoulder, Cutty’s voice reminded her he had always wanted her to be happy and find love. He had told her she would know it when she felt it. She did know it. Her heart belonged to Harry. What she had experienced with the earl was pure lust on his side, with a large dose of curiosity and shock on her part.
And, of course, pride. Her damn pride, she thought. It was the one fault she had tried to cure repeatedly, with no great success. If she had just had the courage to push the earl away, and to bear his barbed tongue, she would not have succumbed.
But her practical nature took over, and she was honest enough to admit she was relieved the problem of her virginity had been removed. Really, her situation had been absurd. During her entire youth, it had been instilled in her to protect her virtue and reputation. In the year since her husband’s death, she had agonized over how she could keep the secret of an unconsummated marriage. It had been a ridiculous worry, as who would have known unless a physician had examined her? But she had been uneasy that her innocence on the subject might give her away. She knew she blushed upon the slightest mention of the marriage bed. She was sure married women had a certain knowing eye after succumbing to the other sex. She had felt “virgin” was imprinted on her forehead at times.
And now the problem was gone. The earl was a gentleman of unquestionable character. She had no doubt whatsoever he would guard her secret to his grave. It had been perfectly obvious he had been repulsed and horrified by her innocence. It was ironic, really. She had been so sure, after all the lectures of her numerous governesses, that men would be positively panting after her untouched innocence. And they had been, except for the earl.
With a shaking hand, she wrote a letter to Harry. It was the hundredth time in the last year she had done so. But each time before, it had been in her head, not on paper. Scratching her words with care, she tried to find the right phrases to convey her request to her oldest friend.
She wrote she would be there within a week, and still desired to be with him always, as they had spoken of during their youth. Would he still have her? She described her feelings, and her desire to make him happy, yet wrote too of the humiliation in baring her feelings. It had been ingrained since birth that a female must never reveal these types of thoughts before a proper declaration by the gentleman. In a way, it repulsed her. She begged forgiveness for her boldness and explained the situation regarding her father. Upon rereading, she wanted more than anything to toss the papers into the fire. But with a deep breath she sanded the letter, sealed it with wax, and wrote the directions with care.
With the slightest of sounds, the door to the cottage closed, and Jane moved to the window in time to see the gentleman walk into the night.
The cold wind cut through the fine cloth of Rolfe’s somber spring coat, invading his very being as he rode away from the stables. The newly formed pale green leaves did not yet cover the naked branches of the oak trees on the front lawn. He struggled to still his swirling thoughts while he rode past the long regiment of poplars lining the grand entrée to Hesperides. He continued down the lane leading to the village for a mile or so. A movement up ahead caught his squinted eye.
“Of all the…” he cursed under his breath. A few more paces brought him to a halt several feet from her.
“My lord,” she said with eyes downcast.
Not bothering to dismou
nt, the earl nodded his head once, a fraction of an inch, and responded, “Mrs. Lovering.”
When neither of the two parties continued after a moment or two, Jane cleared her throat. “I had no intention of disturbing you. I was just taking a bit of air.”
Her face was very pale. He looked at the neat center part of her flaxen tresses, peeking out of her modest black bonnet. She appeared very proper, in mourning, from tip to toe. His body flooded with heat as he remembered he had seen and touched every part of her delicate person less than fifteen hours before.
“Please do not allow me to impede your way. Carry on,” Rolfe stated in his usual brusque tone.
She appeared shocked by his words. Without an utterance or a backward glance, she continued past him. It was on the tip of his tongue to turn back and stop her to engage in further conversation, and he would have if his feelings had been less.
The farther she walked, the angrier she became. She could not decide why she was so irritated and could not precisely decide what he had said to offend her, but he had done so. She reasoned with herself as she turned back toward the cottage, what had she wanted him to do? Acknowledge what had happened the day before? Suggest another rendezvous? Get down on bended knee and beg her to accept him in marriage? Certainly not any of those suggestions. It was better this way. And besides, he had less than no interest in wedding her. He had made that perfectly clear. He even thought that she had allowed her own seduction in hopes of forcing a betrothal. It was too humiliating to contemplate. Besides, she would as soon wed herself to this arrogant cock as to that mushroom, Billingsley. They would just pretend nothing had ever happened between them. She touched again the envelope in her pocket and resolved without further ado to post it this morning. She chuckled to herself as she tried to picture the earl down on his knee in the dirt, pleading for her hand. She stopped to pluck a few wildflowers and smiled as she dreamed of Harry with his sandy brown hair that matched his eyes. Yes, she would post the letter this very morning.
Thomas moved past the carpeted staircase onto the marble front hall. His steps echoed throughout as a footman opened the double doors leading into the breakfast room. He kissed the hand of Lady Graystock and wished her a good morning.
“Dear boy, please help yourself to the sideboard. You must be famished,” the earl’s grandmother said, her eyes twinkling.
“Yes, well, thank you, my lady,” responded Thomas without looking into her merry old eyes. He did not want to ask her why she thought he might be hungry. He walked to the resplendent table and fished a few kidneys and sausages onto his plate.
“My dear grandson, Rolfe, has written a missive for you. It seems he has left us to fend for ourselves. But he insists that you stay here to entertain me and shoot some of our doves, and fill up the larders with fish,” she continued.
Thomas reached for the letter and broke the seal. He scanned the note. “Oh, Lady Graystock, I would not presume to stay any longer if the earl has departed.”
The old lady smiled and slathered a good deal of butter on a muffin as he read her grandson’s letter.
Gooding,
Please do not presume that my departure necessitates your leaving. Most to the contrary, I do insist that you stay and endeavor to entertain one or two ladies in the neighborhood, that being Lady Graystock and another lady whose eyes refuse to meet yours. I shall be gone no longer than a sennight. Pressing business requires my immediate attention in town. Before you toss this into the fire, I do beseech you again to restrain your natural instinct to flee. In fact, I must beg you to consider that if you do not stay with my grandmother, she is likely to invite additional people to the Hall, with great embarrassment to me. Gooding, I am counting on you. With any luck, I will return shortly. I remain,
Graystock
As he folded the letter, Lady Graystock took Thomas’ hands in her own. He glanced down to see the many wrinkles on her large, blue-veined hands. “My dear,” Lady Graystock said, “please indulge an old heart and stay with me.”
Thomas was most eager to use this excuse to put as much distance as possible between himself and Miss Fairchild. But it was impossible not to heed Lady Graystock’s request. As he gave his accord, he contemplated how many days would have to pass before he could quietly but firmly leave. He had underestimated the united strength of the Graystock bloodlines.
“As you wish, Madam,” responded Thomas.
Jane concentrated on the sheet of foolscap on the small kitchen table. It was covered with great splotches of black ink and smudges. She sighed as she reviewed her work. With much deliberation, she crumpled the paper. What was wrong with her? Her writing was bad, and she could not seem to lose herself in the story as in the past. Her main characters would not behave in a manner that pleased her. The protagonist was not moving the story along as forcefully as she wished. The descriptions were abysmal, the heroine witless, and the dialogue stilted. Jane was grateful when she heard the front door latch open, for it signaled a good excuse to end this torture.
“Jane, dear, I have such news!” her aunt exclaimed as she bustled in, carrying several small parcels. “I’m sorry to be so late, but Mrs. Gurcher and Cynthia Richardson would not let me escape from the butcher without filling my ear with the latest on-dit,” continued Clarissa, a bit out of breath. Jane shuffled and tapped her sheath of papers on the well-worn table before tying the bundle with an old red ribbon and placing it in a box.
“Pray tell, what is the news?” asked Jane. She felt her chest tighten as she wondered if anyone could possibly know of her liaison with the earl.
“Mrs. Gurcher said the earl left for London this morning in great haste,” she responded. “This is a shame for you, Jane.”
“Please, don’t say that. I have no interest in any dealings concerning that gentleman. He is arrogant, conceited, and abominable in every way,” Jane stated firmly.
“Careful, my dear. He is a gentleman, and I have not witnessed any bad behavior on his part. Are you sure you are not still angry from the embarrassment of him hiding his identity from you the first time you met?”
Jane paused and then laughed as she began laying the small dining table with silverware. “It is vastly unfair of you to remind me of that. You know what a bore he is.” With her eyes focused on the table, she rushed into forbidden territory. “And what of Sir Thomas? Has he left as well?”
Clarissa’s visage paled. “I have no idea.” Her aunt moved the platter of cold meats and a loaf of bread onto the table.
As they sat at the table and unfolded their napkins, Jane said, “Are you ever going to tell me about Sir Thomas, Aunt?”
“I have told you. He was a suitor many, many years ago. But I left London and he married. And I am sorry to say that he insists on tormenting me. I am sorry, too, Jane that he most likely awakened you last night. But I am not sorry he came, because we spoke and now he will torment me no further.” Clarissa looked up from her plate, and Jane saw the glitter of unshed tears in her aunt’s eyes.
Jane excused herself from the table and reached into a cupboard for the half-full bottle of wine and two glasses. She poured the richly colored liquid into the glasses and gave her aunt time to recover. “Aunt, I have made a decision today. I have written to Harry and will go to Cornwall next week or in a fortnight at the latest. I have trespassed long enough on your kindness.” She put up a hand as Clarissa started to speak. “Please don’t ask me to stay. I know I can never return to London. But Cornwall is so far removed from the eyes of the Upper Ten Thousand that I will feel comfortable living there.”
“But where will you live?” asked Clarissa.
“With Harry’s family, I hope.” Jane paused before rushing on. “We will be married… if he will have me, that is.”
“Jane! Please don’t be impetuous. Think more carefully what it will mean. It is the rest of your life you are speaking of.”
“I have never been more rational in my life. For years I have done as bidden by my elders. I even married my f
ather’s choice of a husband. But not again. I am going to do, for the first time, what I want. My only regret is you. My father’s estate shall surely crumble, and so too will your allowance. But we shall figure out a way, one step at a time,” Jane concluded.
Clarissa’s wide eyes searched Jane’s face. She nervously smoothed her graying hair and rearranged her tattered brown shawl. “How will you travel? Please don’t say by your horse.”
“Have no fear. I will go very respectfully, by the mail coach,” Jane said with a smile.
“Oh, but, Jane, you haven’t a maid. It is entirely improper,” Clarissa said with a wail. Her aunt stood up and began pacing the floor. Silence filled the room save for the creaking of the floorboards. “I shall accompany you, then.”
The idea had crossed Jane’s mind, so she urged her aunt to take the trip. “I will be honored to have you near my side when I wed,” she said as she leaned forward to kiss her aunt. “Thank you for granting me one of my fondest wishes.”
A cold, wet day found Jane and Clarissa boarding the mail coach, with their two bandboxes stowed on top. Jane had entered the coach after checking at the inn to see if Harry had sent a letter. Empty-handed again after nearly two weeks of impossible waiting, Jane felt her spirits sag.
“Are you sure he will be there?” asked Clarissa again.
“Yes, yes. I told you he was expected home from university this last month. His studies are complete. All will be fine,” Jane answered with as much certainty as she could muster. “We will go to the manse as soon as we arrive. He might even be waiting for us in Land’s End. I told you I sent him another letter to announce our arrival.”
