A Secret Passion (14 page)

The air in the room was filled with dust, as revealed by the late rays of light filtering in through smudged windows. “I have come to ask for the hand of your daughter in marriage, Lord Fairchild,” Rolfe stated. He stopped to see the effect of his words on the older gentleman.

Jane’s father smiled and raised his hands in surprise. “What is this? What are you about, sir?” exclaimed Fairchild.

“Just as I stated, sir. I have come to arrange the terms of a marriage between myself and your daughter,” he restated. “And, of course, to receive your blessing,” he added with just the slightest bit of haughtiness.

Lord Fairchild rose from his seat and moved to look through the dirty window. Without turning he asked, “I may assume you have discussed this with my daughter? She knows you are here?”

“I am aware of the rules of convention, sir,” he responded.

Both Rolfe and Fairchild knew that this answer was in truth no answer at all. The stooped gentleman was shrewd enough to guess the real answer. Rolfe had decided to take a chance when he deduced that the other’s manner did not suggest an overly fond relationship with his daughter. If the father had truly cared for his daughter, Rolfe knew, he would have summoned the courage to confront him with the rumors concerning Constance.

“I am well aware of your daughter’s circumstances, that of the misalliance with Mr. Billingsley. This means nothing to me,” continued Rolfe. He added, almost under his breath, “And I am aware of your family’s financial circumstances as well.”

Lord Fairchild turned from the window and stared at him. Rolfe could see the man’s pride warring with his greed. His intuition had proved correct, and it was now time to dangle the proverbial carrot.

“If Mrs. Lovering is engaged to me, I will of course endeavor to ease any of your family’s present financial difficulties, if I am allowed the privilege,” Rolfe added with only the smallest hint of irony.

“Your offer is most generous, my lord. But forgive me if I ask again if you have had a private audience with Jane, er, Mrs. Lovering.” Before Rolfe could speak, Lord Fairchild put up a staying hand. “You see, I must ask you this, sir, as my daughter has an independent mind—her mother’s fault, really. But I am sure you must have noticed this if you have spent any length of time with her.” Lord Fairchild smiled. “Perhaps we should speak in terms of ‘what if’ for the time being. Supposing Jane did marry you, what would be your proposition, Graystock?”

Rolfe wondered if Mr. Billingsley had endured the same quarter hour with the same dialogue less than two months before. Rolfe could now sympathize with Jane. Her father gleamed with anticipation. He could guess she had suffered for her refusal to marry that fop. She could at least be said to possess integrity.

As a gentleman, he would restore her name and her family’s finances to ensure the forgiveness of his lack of control one late afternoon. After the marriage, he would remove himself from Hesperides for 360 days a year, returning only for the fall harvest and festival when necessary. He would also offer his future wife the option of the periodic use of the townhouse in London. Rolfe would travel, and possibly even settle in a new city. These thoughts flew through his mind as fast as the fly buzzing in the room from the window to the base of the candlestick on the desk.

“I would send my secretary around to discuss your family’s financial needs with your solicitor, if that is acceptable to you, sir. You will be offered a lump sum payment, or a smaller series of sums at regular intervals if you prefer,” Rolfe said.

Lord Fairchild had stopped pacing and now wandered toward his bookcase filled with volumes covered by a thin layer of dust. A strange half-strangled sound came from his direction. Rolfe turned to face Fairchild’s back, which had recovered an erect posture.

“I’m sorry, sir, did you have something to say to me?” queried Rolfe.

“No, no,” said Lord Fairchild, turning to Rolfe once again. “Your offer is most generous. I daresay Jane is one of the luckiest girls alive this day. You are most welcome into this family, Graystock.” While Rolfe guessed it was in Lord Fairchild’s nature to be more exact in determining the sum he could expect to receive upon the betrothal of his only daughter, his lordship refrained from minute questioning. Surely it was because the Upper Ten Thousand correctly surmised Graystock was richer than Croesus. Not in his wildest dreams could Fairchild have plotted a better answer to his family’s travails.

Suppressing a cynical smile, Rolfe walked toward the older gentleman. “May I suggest that we refrain from announcing your daughter’s betrothal at this moment? With the affairs as of yet incomplete, I would prefer to wait. However, you have my word as a gentleman of my intentions,” added Rolfe. He offered his gloved hand to Lord Fairchild. His lordship grasped the younger man’s hand, seemingly afraid to lose it.

“I shall write to your daughter, with your permission, sir, to inform her of our happy conversation,” Rolfe said.

“I am certain she will receive both your and my correspondence with the utmost delight,” responded Lord Fairchild with a little less certainty in his voice.

Rolfe almost laughed at the absurdity of Lord Fairchild’s pleasantry. As Rolfe voiced his good-bye, he noticed the door to the study opened just a fraction of a moment before he arrived at the exit. The balding butler frowned at him as he accompanied Rolfe to the front hallway. He had the strangest impression that the man wanted to speak to him. Shaking his head, he turned his back on the butler and footman and departed with a feeling of emptiness in his person.

Chapter Seven

THOMAS was bored. He cursed his boredom within the confines of his room at Hesperides. He had shot every last grouse in this corner of the world, and surely he had caught enough trout to feed a ballroom full of priests. He reasoned that he had been a good guest and had done what was required of him. It had been more than two weeks since the earl had departed, and three days since Clarissa Fairchild and Jane Lovering had left Littlefield. Through discreet questioning of tradespeople in the village, he had learned that the two ladies had set out for Cornwall.

God help him. He had vowed never to set foot in that godforsaken part of England again. And he would not. As he packed the last few remaining items into his traveling bag, Thomas felt a bit guilty concerning the cowardly fashion of his imminent departure. He had left a note for the dowager countess begging off her insistent hospitality. Vague estate problems, he forwarded, forced him to continue his original journey home. He had hinted in a way that could not be construed a total fabrication. He was sure to have a pressing problem or three upon his arrival in Chichester.

Thomas finally grabbed his hat from the desk and found himself performing a most ungentlemanly tiptoe down the main stair before he forced himself to tread normally. He gave the footman stationed at the Hall’s entrance the letter for Lady Graystock and murmured the required civilities before leaving.

While riding to the end of the village road, Thomas marveled at his good luck. He had not been stopped by the dowager countess or anyone else. He was free. Free to leave this place that had witnessed the opening of old wounds. The last three and a half weeks had seemed an eternity. He was tired of facing old emotions in the country, where time was heavy. After a brief visit home, he would return to the gay life of town, where amusements could divert the mind.

He was a confirmed bachelor at heart. His dealings with women had proven to him without a doubt that the fairer sex had been put on earth to torment him. For these reasons, it confounded Thomas to find himself heading toward Cornwall not more than three hours into his journey. He rode kicking and talking to himself the entire way. He wanted nothing more than to turn back toward Chichester. But the small, constant voice of his conscience urged his mount further southward. By the time he arrived at Land’s End, he would have a plan.

The letter from the earl reached Jane the same day two letters arrived from her father. One was for Clarissa, the other for herself. With unease, she accepted the missives from the footman and set out for the copse in the side garden. Her steps became more agitated as she neared her destination.

She had thought the earl would leave their business be. It had never occurred to her that he would pursue the matter. The cream parchment weighed heavily in her palm. Her fingers traced Graystock’s red wax seal. She could feel a flush rising from her collarbones as she opened the first letter.

Dear Mrs. Lovering,

It is to be hoped that you open this letter without too much trepidation. You must have known I would write to you at the earliest possible moment to resolve the circumstances of our last encounter. I am only sorry that affairs in town prevent me from immediately flying to your side to discuss our future in person. Any flutterings of affection must wait until we see each other in the near future.

I have had the pleasure of an audience with your good father this afternoon. We have reached an agreement regarding a betrothal. With your permission, I would suggest our marriage take place within a fortnight, in Littlefield or Land’s End, whichever is preferable to you.

Be not alarmed that I will require your presence in the future. I am familiar with your feminine sensibilities. You will be given the choice of living in town or in Littlefield during the different seasons of the year. I am sure my grandmother will be delighted by your presence. I will not interfere with your life as you so desire. I would insist only on modest decorum on both sides.

I do not require nor desire any children from our union. My brother’s child will ensure the continuation of the line.

I bid you good day and assure you of my arrival within the next ten days. I hope beyond words that you will accept my visit and my proposal. I thank you in advance for your kind welcome.

Yours sincerely,

Rolfe Fitzhugh St. James

Well! Of all the puffed-up audacity. It was unbelievable. Jane reread the letter a second time to ensure that it was as bad as she had thought on first perusal. Horrid, arrogant man! The letter commanded her obeisance. It was sure of itself, and even sneering in passages. It was insulting, too. It was as unflattering as the gentleman himself. She longed to obliterate every line from her memory.

She broke the seal of her father’s letter without any curiosity. She already knew the contents. It would be filled with flattery about Jane’s great conquest. It would welcome her back into the family with grace. And it would contain all the falsehoods of an unloving father’s feelings toward his only daughter. It would not question her response to the proposal. Oh, when would her father ever love and accept her for her true self? But then, her father had never accepted anyone. He had dictated everyone’s affairs his entire life. He was so sure of the path to happiness. It was by following the rules of society and maintaining a level of prosperity necessary for living in said society. There was to be no deviation from these standards no matter how much unhappiness ensued.

The letter confirmed her thoughts. But her father had surpassed himself in the use of compliments toward the earl. He must be providing her father with more gold than Lord Fairchild had ever conjured up in his fondest dreams. Jane’s stomach clenched with disgust.

She envisioned the earl’s bronzed hand composing the letter with little more effort than ten minutes’ time. She could almost guess that he had been smiling cynically while he composed it. His dislike for her flowed between each line. Well, she would relieve him of his duty with pleasure equal to the obvious pleasure he took in tormenting her.

Jane walked back to the house through the wet grass and the daisies that were just now sprouting. She stopped as she spied a giant silk moth hidden in the shadows of the sidewall stones of the house, well camouflaged by its brown markings against the branches of a dog rose bush. The “eyes” on its wings were hidden among the many folds of the retracted wings. The large moth would fascinate Harry. She contemplated capturing it to show him but could not find it within herself to trap the creature. Something about the killing of these moths repulsed her. The forced spread of the insect’s wings and the pins through the thorax reminded Jane of crucifixion. With her hand, Jane tugged and released the slim branch to force the moth to flight and its freedom.