Anna Jacobs (12 page)

“I doubt they’ll need much attention.” Half-completed mourning wear was always in stock at dressmakers’, ready for finishing quickly at need, and she had already noticed that the back of the bodice had a cunning placket for adjusting the size when lacing the gown up. She stroked the material, a good heavy silk which would last for years.

“Aren’t you going to try them on?” He leaned against the door jamb as if he intended to stay.

She blinked in shock as the air seemed to vanish from the room. Get undressed in front of him? “I—I can’t . . . ” Her voice trailed away and she flushed.

He gave her a heavy, considering look that sent heat rushing to her cheeks, then turned his back to the room, arms folded. “Hurry up.”

Feeling nervous, she tried to untie the laces at the back of her bodice and in her haste got them into a tangle. The more she tried to loosen them, the bigger the knots seemed to grow. “I—can you help me, please, Matthew?”

He turned round to stare at her, not as Elkin had been staring, but as a man looks at a woman he desires, with a warm light in his eyes. Aware of her half-bared shoulders and chest, she blushed even more hotly as she explained, “It’s the laces. They’re in a knot.”

When he came across to stand behind her, his breath was warm on her shoulder blades, and she felt delicious shivers run round her body as he began to work on the laces.

“Stand still. I see my way.”

His fingers were as warm as his breath and she closed her eyes, trying not to show that she was responding instinctively to his closeness.

With a soft laugh he loosened the laces and patted her shoulder, but didn’t move away. “I make a fine lady’s maid, do I not?”

She turned, letting out a shaky breath but saying nothing. He took a step away from her, his voice becoming harsher. “There. Your ordeal is over, madam wife. I shan’t need to touch you again.”

She could not bear him to think she disliked his touch. “It wasn’t an ordeal to have you touch me, Matthew. I’m just a—a little shy of—I’ve never . . . ”

His expression softened again. “You have nothing to fear from me, Deborah.” Moving slowly, as if trying not to frighten her, he drew her towards him. She knew instinctively that if she protested he would let her go, but she didn’t want to protest. In fact, as his head bent towards her, she raised her lips to meet his.

His mouth was firm on hers and the kiss seemed to go on endlessly, till the world receded into the distance and everything felt to be floating around them. She hadn’t guessed a kiss could feel so wonderful.

As he raised his head, she clutched him to keep her balance. But his lips were coming closer again and his second kiss was far more disturbing, for it seemed to make her whole body tingle and she found herself responding to it in a way that surprised her, pressing her body against his, giving back touch for touch. When he pulled away she couldn’t help making a soft protesting noise in her throat, for she didn’t want the embrace to end.

“I’m glad you don’t dislike my touch,” he said, with a warm smile. “For I intend to do more than kiss you as soon as this mess is settled. You’re a bonny lass, Deborah, and I’m glad Ralph brought you here to be my wife.”

“I’m glad you’re my husband.” She smiled up at him, then as he took a step backwards, she realised her unlaced bodice had slipped, uncovering one breast. Flushing hotly, she pulled the bodice up, not knowing what to say or do.

“No shame to let your husband see a body as fair as yours,” he said.

She noticed his breathing had deepened, knew she had affected him—and was suddenly fiercely glad of it! For he had certainly affected her.

His tone changed. “But this isn’t the time to take matters further, so let’s see how the new clothes fit, eh?”

This time he didn’t even pretend to look away, so she slipped on the hooped petticoat and tied the strings carefully at the side of the waist. The under-petticoat came next, then she turned her back as she adjusted the bodice. Finally the upper petticoat and the open robe which revealed an inverted V shape of figured silk at the front. She smoothed the material with one hand, enjoying its softness and admiring its lustre, wishing there was a mirror in the room. Turning to face him again, she spread her arms wide to invite inspection.

He smiled and nodded approval. “You look very elegant and it doesn’t seem a bad fit at all. A little long, perhaps.”

“It’s the finest gown I’ve ever owned,” she confessed. Even when her father had been alive, money hadn’t been plentiful and she and her mother had had to buy cheaply, sew their garments themselves, and choose practical, hard-wearing materials not silk. “Thank you so much.”

Another of those long moments elapsed, where more seemed to be said without words than with them. They stood motionless, eyes searching eyes, then he said in puzzlement. “The finest?”

She nodded. “My father was a gambler. He needed fine clothes to make a good impression. My mother and I made do with anything decent.”

His eyes were understanding. “That must have been hard.”

She shrugged. “Sometimes. But we managed. Nothing was ever as hard as the past year under my uncle’s rule. At least my father loved us in his own way.”

“I hope life will never be that hard again for you. We’ll buy you other clothes with Ralph’s money, clothes that suit your station in life, but these are my wedding gift to you, bought with my own money.”

“Thank you. But I don’t have anything to give you in return.” She could feel herself flushing. “I have very little money. My Uncle Walter gave us only enough to buy the bare necessities.”

“You yourself are gift enough for any man,” he said, then took a deep breath, stepped backwards and became very brisk. “Well, then, if you’ll put on your other clothes we’ll go out for that walk, eh? I shall look forward to surprising Elkin with your elegance tomorrow.”

She felt a little hurt by his final remark. Was it the only reason he’d bought them, to spite Elkin? No, surely not. But a shadow of doubt still remained. Matthew Pascoe wasn’t an easy man to read.

It was very difficult being married to a stranger.

* * * *

The funeral took place the following day and although Deborah naturally didn’t attend the interment with the male mourners, she did wear the new silk dress and see the surprise in Elkin’s eyes as she came down the stairs. Satisfied with his reaction and delighted by the admiring look in her husband’s eyes, she went to sit with Mrs Elkin in the threadbare drawing room where they would receive any neighbours who chose to pay their respects afterwards.

She had hoped to engage the older woman in conversation, perhaps find out more about her enigmatic son, but Mrs Elkin responded to her questions in monosyllables and introduced no topics of conversation.

Since the churchyard was in the nearby village, the burial didn’t take long. Matthew was first to return, riding in Ralph’s old, rattletrap carriage, followed by another modest vehicle containing three gentlemen, neighbours who dressed like sensible men, not fops. He introduced Deborah to them and she found them pleasant enough, but they clearly didn’t know what her position was to be, so they made no reference to their wives’ calling on her.

The next to arrive were the parson, doctor and lawyer, whom she had met before, all riding in the latter’s vehicle. Elkin’s carriage brought up the rear of the small procession and disgorged only him, exquisitely dressed, from expensive tye-wig with three side curls (how many wigs did he own, for heaven’s sake?) to silver-buckled shoes. His black coat had ridiculously large buttoned-back cuffs that nearly reached his elbows and a full skirt stiffened by whalebone, while his waistcoat was of embroidered grey velvet. But to her, the elegance was marred by the look of condescension on his face and she couldn’t help wondering where he had found the money for such finery, if he had been reduced to stealing some of the silver on his last visit.

She offered the guests wine and light refreshments, taking it upon herself to play hostess, which brought a frown from Elkin. The three neighbours looked more at ease as they chatted quietly to Matthew, seeming to respect him. They were monosyllabic with Elkin. After a single glass of wine apiece, they made their farewells.

Neighbours, she thought wonderingly. I shall have neighbours now, shall not need to move on, may even be able to make friends once the will is read and we are settled here. Modest ambitions, but they’d been out of her reach while her father was alive, and even more so under her Uncle Walter’s strict control of their comings and goings.

And so will my mother! she added mentally. Perhaps now Isabel would lose that dreadful vagueness that had so worried Bessie and Deborah. Yes, she thought looking round, the risk of answering Ralph’s summons had been well worth it.

As soon as the neighbours’ carriage had driven away, Mr Downie cleared his throat to gain everyone’s attention. “May I suggest that I read the will now?”

Elkin, who had taken it upon himself to see the neighbours to the door, sat down beside his mother, eagerness showing in every line of his body, though his expression was calm. Matthew came to stand behind Deborah’s chair with his hands resting lightly on her shoulders.

“I have here the last will and testament of my late client, Ralph Jannvier,” Mr Downie hesitated, then said in a rush, “dated the nineteenth day of June, 1760, and signed on his deathbed.”

Elkin jerked to his feet. “Then it’s a damned forgery. I have a copy of his will, his real will.” He strode forward. “Show that to me!”

Matthew pressed Deborah’s shoulders in a signal to remain where she was and as she nodded her understanding, he moved forward to stand beside Mr Downie. The lawyer was holding the piece of parchment with its single paragraph and the black slash of a signature showing clearly at the end.

Elkin snatched it from him and studied it, rigid with fury. “It is a forgery! No one writes a will one paragraph long.”

Mr Downie was spluttering with dismay, so Mr Normanbie stepped forward to join him. “Indeed, it is not, sir! I myself witnessed Ralph Jannvier’s signature three nights ago.”

Matthew nipped the will out of the enraged man’s fingers and handed it back to the lawyer.

Elkin stared from one to the other, his eyes blazing with fury. He opened his mouth as if to say something, then snapped it shut again.

“If you gentlemen will please resume your seats, I shall continue to read the will.”

Deborah felt sorry for Mr Downie, whose hand was shaking as he again raised the piece of parchment. Matthew had remained near him and she felt the lack of her husband’s solid presence behind her. When she glanced sideways towards Elkin, who had flung himself down on the sofa again, she saw that his mother, who was sitting beside him, had a look of near terror on her face and was clasping her hands so tightly in her lap they looked like bloodless claws.

Mr Downie took a deep breath. “The will is very simple, ladies and gentlemen: I, Ralph Jannvier, being of sound mind, leave everything of which I stand possessed to my great-niece, Deborah, née Jannvier, now married to my natural son, Matthew Pascoe. God grant them a long and happy life together.” He coughed and cleared his throat as he looked up. “That is all.” 

“I shall contest the will,” Elkin snapped.

“On what grounds?”

Matthew’s voice was calm, but Deborah could see how watchful his eyes were.

“Undue persuasion brought to bear on a dying man. As Ralph’s nearest relative—”

This time it was Dr Lethbury who interrupted, drawing himself up to his full five feet six inches and bristling with icy dignity. “I resent that slur on my professional behaviour, sir. I would never allow anyone to coerce one of my dying patients into doing anything. You will find no case to answer.” The look Elkin gave him was so threatening he added quickly, “In fact, fearing there might be some questions about a deathbed will, I have already made a written deposition before the nearest magistrate, stating that Ralph Jannvier was in full possession of his faculties right until the moment of his death. Which is the solemn truth.”

Elkin swung round to stare at Matthew. “You wasted no time.” His expression was so malevolent Deborah could fully understand why her husband had deemed it wise to keep silent until now to protect her. With a chill she realised Matthew was right: he and she were both in danger from this man.

Light as a whisper came another thought: she couldn’t bear it if anything happened to her husband, not now, just when personal happiness and a settled home life seemed within her grasp.

The lawyer cleared his throat and spoke again. “In point of fact, you are not Ralph Jannvier’s closest relative, Mr Elkin. Mrs Pascoe has that honour.” Mr Downie bowed to her. “But even if she were not, she would still be the true beneficiary, because my late client had every right—every right in the world!—to leave his property where he wished. Nor will you be able to overturn the will because everything was done with due care and attention to legal processes, and there are three of us to bear witness that Matthew Pascoe in no way coerced his father to sign. Indeed, there was obvious affection between the two of them.”

Elkin made a sound of disgust in his throat.

Life never let you do things easily, Deborah thought sadly, watching them. Something as wonderful as being left Marymoor had already been marred by Elkin’s reactions.

Matthew broke the silence by saying coldly, “I’d be grateful if you’d leave the house at once, Elkin. You’ve plenty of time to get home before dark.”

“It’s getting late and my mother is frail. Do you really intend to turn us out?”

Mrs Elkin, who had been standing there with a look of sheer terror on her face, let out a whimper and muffled her face in her handkerchief. “Anthony, perhaps—”

“I shall not let them harm you, mother. You know how poor your health is.”

She looked at him, shivered and turned to Deborah. “So sorry. I don’t feel at all—at all—” She slid to the ground in a faint.

Deborah shot a quick glance at Matthew, then knelt down to check the older woman’s pulse, which was thready and irregular. She was sure this was a ploy, but the poor woman was so white she couldn’t find it in her heart to turn her out. “I think we must let her stay until morning,” she said in a low voice.