“I know better than to argue with you,” he said with a laugh. “But tell me, why are you feeding her if you care so little about her?”
“I didn’t say I didn’t care about her. She’s a perfectly good cat. But you see, there are kittens, and well, I couldn’t allow them to go hungry.”
“Why, Jane Lowndes, you are tenderhearted.”
Her eyes widened. “No. I’m not.”
“Yes, you are. You’re quite tenderhearted if you’re feeding a mother cat in order to care for her kittens.”
Jane glanced away but she couldn’t keep the smile from her face. “It’s just a cat, Upton.”
“If you say so.” Upton leaned back in his chair, the grin still on his blurry face. “I’m sorry your ankle is hurt, but you don’t fool me. The spill you took from that horse is merely your attempt at causing a scandal, isn’t it?”
She laughed at that too. Since when did Upton make her laugh? In a good way?
“If I had planned it, Upton, rest assured I would have won before I fell. Not to mention I would have planned a more graceful descent. That saddle was faulty, I tell you.”
“I don’t disagree. Lord Moreland has asked the stable master to look into the matter.”
Jane sighed. “As for a scandal, I’d say having a gentleman in my bedchamber is much more scandalous than falling from a horse.”
“Oh, no. Don’t involve me in your schemes. I’m merely here to check on you.” He leaned forward and his voice took on a more serious edge. “We were quite worried about you.”
Jane traced her finger along the top of the coverlet. “I know. Cass nearly cried. I hope my foibles don’t ruin her wedding. She’s pledged to have a team of footmen carry me to the ceremony upon a litter if necessary.”
Upton chuckled. “Don’t test her. She’s a determined bride.”
Jane smiled. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”
Upton appeared to be fumbling with his coat. “I brought you something.” Did his voice sound sheepish? Imagine that.
“Brought me something?” she echoed, blinking.
“Yes. I—I forgot you lost your spectacles and cannot read, but—” He placed something rectangular and hefty atop her lap. She touched it. Ran her fingers over its smooth surface. She’d know the feel of it anywhere. “A book?”
“Yes, a book.” There was humor in his voice.
“Which book is it?” She lifted it in front of her face and squinted at the golden title. She still couldn’t make it out.
“A Vindication of the Rights of Woman.”
Jane gasped. She hugged the book to her chest. “Mary Wollstonecraft? You brought me Mary Wollstonecraft?”
She blinked and blinked again. She had no idea what to make of it. Of course she’d already read this book. Read it and owned it and loved each and every page of it, possibly memorized entire passages, but the fact that Upton had brought it to her. Well, it just showed he’d been … paying attention.
Upton cleared his throat again. “I know she is your favorite author and—”
“How did you know?”
“Everyone knows that.”
“No, they don’t.” Just who was he referring to as “everyone”?
“At any rate, I assumed you already have this one, but this is a first edition and—”
Jane squeezed the book. She could hardly breathe. “You’ve brought me a first edition Mary Wollstonecraft? Printed in 1792? How did you get it?”
He shook his head. “It’s not important how I got it, and why am I not surprised you know the exact year of its publication?”
“It’s important to me, Upton. I’ve wanted a first edition Wollstonecraft for an age. They are not easy to find. How did you find one?”
She could see the outline of his form rubbing a hand through his hair. “Are you always this inquisitive when someone gives you a gift?”
She placed the book carefully in her lap again. “I’m truly curious, Upton, and I’m not about to allow you to leave this room without telling me how you were able to procure this book.”
“Fine. My mother purchased it when it was first published; when I was old enough, she gave it to me to read.”
“I knew I loved Aunt Mary, but honestly, you’ve read it?” Her hand fell to the mattress with a thump. “I may need smelling salts for the first time in my life.”
“I doubt that.” She could hear the smirk in his voice.
“You’ve read Mary Wollstonecraft?”
“Twice.”
“That’s it! Fetch me the salts! I can hardly fathom it.”
He groaned. “Yes, I’ve read it. After your accident, I rode over to my estate and got it … for you.”
Her hand was back at her throat. “You rode over to your estate and got it, for me?”
He pretended a long-suffering sigh. “I thought there was something wrong with your ankle, not your hearing.”
She pressed her palm to her cheek. “I am astonished, Upton. I had no idea you had any interest in the rights of females.”
“You are wrong. I do indeed. ‘Virtue can only flourish among equals,’ after all.”
Jane nearly squealed. She was quite certain she was experiencing a heart palpitation. “Now you’re quoting Mary Wollstonecraft!” She put her hand to her chest. “Stop it, Upton. I may never recover from learning that you own Wollstonecraft, but learning that you’ve memorized her is beyond the pale.”
This time he laughed. “I’ve hardly got every word memorized, I simply—”
“No. No. Don’t deny it. There is no retreating from this. You know and now I know you know. We can never go back to our previous thoughts about each other.”
“Dare I hope by that you mean you no longer think me a simpleton whose only pleasure is in drinking and gambling?”
Jane sobered. She pressed her lips together, contemplating his words for a moment. It was true. Her opinion of him had changed.
She took a deep breath. “I suppose I must grudgingly admit it, Upton, yes.”
His voice was even. “I never thought I’d see the day you admitted that.”
“There’s a first time for everything, I suppose.” To her chagrin, her tone was a bit breathy and confused. Why couldn’t she stop plucking at the bedsheet? Upton was turning her into a plucker.
“Might I further hope that you don’t dislike me as much as you pretend to?” he asked.
She allowed the hint of a smile to play across her lips. “That entirely depends.”
“Upon what?”
“Upon whether you’re willing to admit you don’t dislike me as much as you pretend to.”
He grinned at her, she knew even without her spectacles. She felt it in her knees.
“With pleasure,” he replied.
“Very well, then I admit it. And I must thank you, also,” she said.
“For what?”
“For your help today. You quite came to my rescue.”
“Any time, my lady. I ask for only one small favor in return.”
Her fingers stilled against the sheets. Her heart fluttered in her chest. A favor? “What’s that?”
“Call me Garrett.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Yesterday, he’d brought her a book. Today he brought her … flowers. Bloody flowers. Textbook, poetry-inducing flowers. Would she mock him? Would she laugh? Damn it. Garrett didn’t know how she would react. The lilacs had bloomed early this year and he’d gone out into the gardens and gathered them himself. Daphne Swift had helped him find a matching lavender ribbon to tie around the stems and here he was on his way back to Jane’s bedchamber to deliver them. He shook his head. Flowers? He was turning into a walking verse of bad poetry.
Garrett stood outside Jane’s door and thought for a moment. The odds were quite high that she would mock the flowers. She was a mocker, after all, and they were flowers. Daphne had assured him, however, that all ladies enjoyed flowers, even Miss Lowndes.
He took a deep breath. There was more to dis
cover behind that door than whether Jane would enjoy the flowers.
Did she love him?
Why couldn’t he stop thinking about that? Despite Cassandra’s insistence, nothing in Jane’s demeanor up till now indicated it. Yesterday, they’d got on well enough. Admitting she didn’t dislike him and asking him to admit he didn’t dislike her was still a far cry from love. So here he stood, bloody gullible fool that he was, outside her bedchamber door, clutching a bouquet tied with a bow. That’s right, a bow.
He couldn’t linger in the corridor all morning and risk someone seeing him pay a call to her bedchamber. It was a precarious thing to do as it was.
He knocked.
“Come in,” Jane called.
He pushed open the door and strode inside. She was sitting up in bed wearing a new white night rail, still of the grandmama variety, but her hair was down around her shoulders. It was splendid and lush and dark brown with a slight curl to it. His mouth went dry. He licked his lips.
Her spectacles were back, perched upon her nose. The book he’d given her was propped upon her lap, but as soon as she saw him she pushed it aside.
“Upton,” she said, and blushed—actually blushed. Jane!—and then more softly, “Garrett.”
He strode to stand before the chair that still sat next to her bed. “These are for you.” He held out the flowers at a ninety-degree angle.
A small smile wiggled its way onto her lips. She took the bouquet and hugged them to her. “Lilacs are my favorite.”
“Mine too,” he murmured.
“I find it difficult to believe you have a favorite flower.” She pressed the blooms to her nose, closed her eyes, and inhaled deeply.
“Likewise.”
She opened her eyes again and blinked at him. “I suppose that’s fair.”
They both laughed.
“I’m beginning to wonder about you,” she continued. “You know my favorite food is teacake and my favorite author is Mary Wollstonecraft, and now you know my favorite flower is a lilac. If I didn’t know better, Upton”—she paused for a moment and he could have sworn that she blushed again—“I mean, Garrett, I’d say we were becoming … friends.”
Friends? Being a friend was a far cry from being in love. He took a seat and leaned back in the chair next to the bed. “You didn’t even mention the fact that I’ve been sneaking into your bedchamber to get a glimpse of you in your unmentionables.”
“That is quite friendly,” she agreed, studying her night rail that covered her more decently than any gown she’d worn at the house party so far.
“What would you say if I told you I also know your favorite color is blue?” he asked.
Jane’s eyes widened. “Now, that is much too personal. Seeing me in my grandmotherly night rail is one thing, but knowing my favorite color is altogether indecent.”
He grinned at her. “But it is, isn’t it? Blue?”
“Yes,” she replied, setting the flowers on the coverlet next to her. “Appropriate for a bluestocking, is it not? Now that you know so much about me, it’s only sporting if you tell me something about you.”
“Really?” He arched a brow. “Like what?”
“The obvious things, of course, like what is your favorite food?”
“Beefsteak.”
She nodded. “A bit predictable, but very well.”
“Predictable?”
“I was hoping you’d name something outlandish like turtle soup.”
He grimaced. “I abhor turtle soup.”
“So do I, but it’s an interesting favorite food, you cannot deny it.” She didn’t pause for his response. “What is your favorite book?”
“Candide.”
She sucked in her breath. “You’ve read Voltaire?”
“I have.”
“You’re teasing me.” She plucked at the ribbon on the flowers. She’d been doing a great deal of plucking in his company of late. He’d never noticed that about her before.
“No, I’m not teasing,” he replied. “I’ve read Candide at least three times. If you care to quiz me on its contents, my lady, I’m at your disposal.”
She paused for a moment before saying, “Oh, no. That’s silly.”
“Yes, but you considered it just now, didn’t you?”
“How could you tell?”
“You had a certain look on your face. A competitive look. I’ve seen it before.”
She pushed her nose into the air. Very fetching, that. “I only considered it because I enjoy discussing books.”
His grin returned. “As do I.”
“You do?”
“Don’t look so surprised. Contrary to what you might think, I actually enjoy books.”
She bit her lip. “Books have always been my closest friends. At least they were when I was a child. They were my only friends. Though now, happily, I have Lucy and Cass.”
“And me.” His voice was soft.
She averted her gaze, still plucking at the ribbon.
Garrett spoke again to fill the silence. “Why were books your only friends when you were a child?”
Her fingers stilled. “You don’t want to hear about that.”
Settling back in his chair, he crossed his booted feet at the ankles. “Yes I do. I’ve got all the time in the world. They’re planning a hunt today and I’d rather be boiled in oil than go hunting.”
Jane shook her head at him. “That may be, but would you rather sit here and listen to me? You could be doing a host of other things.”
“I’m delighted to sit here and listen to you.” If he didn’t know better, he could have sworn she blushed again. He could get used to making her blush. She was adorable when she did so. “Tell me, Jane. Why were books your only friends?”
She sighed and her shoulders lifted and fell. “Suffice it to say, I wasn’t a popular child.”
“I wasn’t either.” He snorted. “I only had a small set of friends I ran with at Eton and—”
“No. I mean to say I had no friends. None whatsoever.”
He wrinkled his brow and looked at her. “None?”
“Not one. I was an only child and the house was quite lonely. Mama and Papa sent me to school at first, but the other children made such awful fun of me … Then Papa was knighted and I was tutored at home and I was so much happier.”
Garrett narrowed his eyes on her face. “Why did the other children make fun of you? Because you were so much more intelligent than they were?”
She resumed her ribbon plucking. “No.” The way she said the word made his heart tug. “When I was a child, I didn’t allow anyone to know I was intelligent. I desperately wanted to be accepted, and being intelligent was not the way to become admired, especially for a girl.”
“Then why did they make fun of you?”
This time there was no mistaking the pink blush that crept across Jane’s pretty freckled cheeks. “I didn’t look like the rest of them. They didn’t like that.”
He furrowed his brow even deeper. “Didn’t look like the rest of them? I don’t understand. Were they all blond?” How could she not look like the rest of them?
The edge of her mouth quirked up. “I was quite a portly child. Mama called me plump, but portly was a much more apt description.”
Garrett uncrossed his ankles and sat up straight. He couldn’t imagine it. Jane? Pretty, intelligent, simple, sarcastic Jane? Portly?
“I don’t believe it.”
“I can assure you it’s true.” She sighed.
“Your mother called you plump?”
“Quite often, actually. She thought it was a kind word.”
“It’s not kind at all.” There was a slight growl in his voice. Where had that come from?
“Yes, well, I ate even more teacake as a girl than I do now, I’m afraid, and it didn’t melt away the way it does now when I take a good healthy walk every day. Cass will most likely have to roll me from this bed when my ankle has healed.”
He was still trying to conjure the image of
Jane being portly. He knew she’d been a wallflower. She’d been inordinately pleased about that fact ever since he’d met her. He’d believed she preferred to be a wallflower, was one by choice. “You said the other children … They … made sport of you?”
Jane tugged at a dark curl that had fallen over her shoulder, and Garrett had to resist the urge to reach out and stroke it too. “They did indeed,” she replied. “That’s why it was so much better after I remained at home. I only had to endure their teasing when I went out with Mama or at church on Sundays.”
Garrett lurched in his chair and planted both boots on the floor. “They made sport of you at church?”
“Oh, my, yes. At every opportunity. Being a portly child is a grievous sin.”
“No it’s not, Jane.” His voice was low. He met her gaze.
She glanced away and laughed a shaky laugh. “Tell that to those children. I suppose they’re all hideous adults now. I see some of them from time to time and I want to hide from them.”
“Still?” The rough edge to his voice remained.
“Yes. You know what the worst part is?” she asked with a wry smile.
“What?”
She scrunched up her nose. “The truth is it makes me want to eat even more teacake.”
Without thinking, he reached out and squeezed her hand. “Those children were wrong, Jane. You are even more lovely than the lilacs.”
Her breath hitched a bit and she slowly pulled her shaking hand away and placed it on her lap. “Yes, well, that’s why books have always been my closest friends. They never tease you, they’re always there for you, and they couldn’t care less how many teacakes you have gobbled.”
He looked at the flowers where they rested on the white coverlet. “I should have brought you teacake instead of lilacs.”
She laughed. “It’s probably best that you did not.” She waved a hand in the air. “Enough about me and my sad past. Speaking of hideous adults, has Mrs. Langford asked about me?”
He shook his head. “Only to inquire as to whether you’d be able to attend the wedding. I assured her you would.”
“I’m certain she’s delighted.” Ah, Jane’s sarcasm had returned full force.
“I truly wish she hadn’t come here,” Garrett murmured.
Jane met his gaze with her own steady one. “I think she sees me as competition for you. You say she’s not your mistress, but what exactly is she to you, Garrett?”
The Unlikely Lady Page 15
