Anne Barbour (23 page)

Immediately after luncheon, Jane made her way to the formal dining parlor, where, for one last time, she went over the dinner menu and accommodations for the guests with Mrs. Rudge.

“The chickens were delivered this morning, Miss Jane,” said the housekeeper with satisfaction. “And fine, fat hens they are. Cook has the vegetables ready, and she is working on the sauces and the pastries now. As for the guests, all the bedchambers are in readiness.” A smile creased the plump contours of her cheeks, “We shall be quite full at bedtime this evening.”

“Oh, that is excellent, Mrs. Rudge,” said Jane with a smile. “And the table looks lovely. I’ll just set these.” She gestured with a handful of place cards. “And everything will be complete.”

“Ah,” sighed Mrs. Rudge, “it’s nice to be having a party again. This house was made for happy times, and it’s been so silent of late.”

Jane felt her smile go a little rigid, but rising, she nodded her agreement. “Let us hope it will be the first of many happy gatherings.”

Mrs. Rudge came to her feet as well, and bobbing her head, left the room in a crisp swirl of bombazine skirts.

Jane moved along the table, trying to immerse herself in her task. They would seat twenty-eight for dinner, including the neighboring Earl of Granbrook and his wife and daughters, and she wished the evening to be a reflection of the beginning of Simon’s status in the neighborhood. She thought of the years and years ahead, after she would be gone back to Suffolk. Would Simon follow through with his plans to sell Selworth after his marriage? Her fingers clenched as she formed the words in her mind. Or would he remain here with his bride? And what of Patience and Jessica? Winifred’s marriage to Simon would create just the atmosphere she had hoped for them—a respectable household, headed by a well-connected man of wealth and prestige. But, dear Lord ... Live in the same house in London with Simon and his bride? She couldn’t do it. She simply could not do it.

She collapsed into a dining chair, the place cards twisted in her hand, and wondered how she was going to get through the dinner party—and the play—and the rest of her life for that matter.

She was about to sink into a tearful swamp of self-pity, when she heard the door open behind her. Instinctively realizing who stood there, she jerked upright and began an intense and quite spurious inspection of the cards in her hand,

“Ah, here you are, Jane. I’ve been—Jane, are you all right?” asked Simon.

Jane turned and brought forth yet another of her seemingly bottomless supply of bright smiles. “Why, yes, of course. I was rather deep in concentration, I’m afraid. Placing the guests is always a rather tricky endeavor. One must remember who is feuding with whom and who would like to be better friends with someone else. And, of course, there are those who cannot be relied upon to hold a decent conversation with anyone. . . .” She knew her tongue was running on wheels, but she feared the silence that would fall between them if she were to stop speaking. “Have you seen Diana? She promised she would assist with the flowers, and that is to be my next chore.”

“Actually, I was speaking with her just a few minutes ago. Or rather, with her and Charles. The two were involved in a somewhat intense discussion in the morning room. Have you noticed, those two have become rather thick of late?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact I have, and so has Jared. He was twitting her yesterday afternoon on her new-found passion for scrawny, overdressed tulips. She looked a little self-conscious, but only smiled rather mysteriously.”

Simon laughed. “I’m sure Jared realizes he has nothing to fear from that quarter, but I wonder what Diana is up to.”

“I think it must have something to do with Aunt Amabelle, for the two have had their heads together quite frequently of late. Perhaps they are planning a surprise for the guests after the play performance.”

Simon perched on the edge of the dining table, and for a long moment, he simply looked at her.

“I’m pleased to see you have become such friends with Diana—and Aunt Amabelle,” he said at last. “I hope—that is, you must visit Stonefield Court sometime. I plan to bring Winifred there sometime soon, after—that is, before winter sets in.”

Jane felt her throat constrict, and she knew an urge to run from the room. The subject must be addressed, however. She drew a deep breath.

“I shall be leaving Selworth within the next few days, Simon. I was only waiting to be done with Winifred’s play.”

“Oh.” Simon had gone quite pale, and he lifted a hand as though to protest her words.

“I would have departed before this, except that Winifred would have ...”

“Yes, she would have been vastly disappointed.” He rose to his feet, and his hand moved toward her. “As would I.” He stopped, and seemed to search within himself for a moment. “I understand your decision,” he said, so softly that she could barely hear the words, “but I wish—oh, God, how I wish ...”

He stepped closer to her and his gaze enfolded her in that now-familiar boundless warmth. His mouth curved in the crooked smile that always turned her to custard. “Despite our frequent, er, confrontations, I am pleased to have made the acquaintance of ‘my cousin Jane.’ “

He grasped her shoulders gently and, placing his hand where her curls hugged the nape of her neck, he kissed her with great precision on her cheek, just where it met the hollow of her temple. His lips were warm on her skin, and he withdrew them an instant later. In that moment, Jane felt suspended in an aching void. Was this how it would end? she wondered in anguish. With this butterfly touch on her face, leaving her in a despairing maelstrom of wanting? He would never be hers, but by God, she wanted something more to remember than this. Before her sense of propriety could stop her—almost before she knew what she was about, she reached up and cupped his face in her hands. Pulling him to her, she pressed her lips against his.

His response was instantaneous. His arms tightened around her and his mouth moved on hers, seeking, demanding a response that Jane gave freely. She felt herself opening to him like a flower, and she pressed herself against the length of his body as though she would memorize his every contour.

Jane was not sure which of them pulled away first. They stared at each other for a moment in appalled silence before Jane whirled and ran from the room.

The afternoon seemed to drag interminably to most in the house, but Simon found himself suspended in a storm of confusion, where time seemed to have lost its meaning. Good God, Jane had kissed him! She had walked into his arms and offered her lips to him for the taking. His knowledge of the workings of the feminine psyche was limited, but surely, she would not have done such a thing if she disliked him. Would she? Was it possible that she... ? He sat down rather suddenly in his chair behind the desk in his study.

He was possessed by a sudden exhilaration. If there was the slightest hope that she returned his feelings ... He must go to her! He fairly sprang from his seat, but paused with his hand on the door handle, as the cloud of depression that had followed him around for weeks settled on him once more.

A vision of her luminous eyes gazing at him from the pillow next to his rose up before him, followed by one of intimate conversations before the fire while winter storms raged outside, and long, slow kisses in shaded arbors. His gloom deepened and the cloud became blacker. In his blind joy at the possibility that Jane Burch was actually in love with him, he had forgotten that he was already slotted for a proposal this evening. It was unlikely that, after pledging his undying love on bended knee to Jane, she would take well to his rushing off to Winifred to accomplish a similar purpose.

For some moments, he stood in the center of the room, his shoulders slumped. Suddenly, he stiffened and his fingers curled into fists. By God, he was not going to let the chance of a life of fulfillment with Jane slip away. He was not, by God, going to marry Winifred! There had to be a way out of this.

After several minutes of furious pacing, an idea came to him. It was, he admitted, a trifle less than completely honorable, but. . . Drawing on the coat he had removed on entering the study, he strode from the room.

In other corners and crannies of Selworth, some rather odd conversations were taking place.

In the billiards room, Gerard and Harry huddled together, whispering so as not to be overheard by Charles and Sir James who were just finishing their game.

“I am sure of it!” said Gerard, shooting a surreptitious glance at Charles. “They’re planning an elopement! My God, when I heard him telling her they are to meet in the stables after the play, I tell you, I came within an inch of calling him out, but damned if she didn’t just giggle and say she’d be there with bells on! Harry, he’s promised her five thousand pounds!”

“D’you think we should tell Jane—or Lord Simon?” muttered Harry nervously, his hair standing on end like that of Shakespeare’s fretful porpentine.

“No! We can’t do that. They’d shove Winifred in her room and not let her out till she’s thirty. No, we have to put a stop to it ourselves.”

At this, Harry’s hair nearly leaped from its roots. “Stop them? How?”

“I don’t know. I’ll have to think about it. We’ll talk later. Ssh!” said Gerard in sibilant accents, an eye on Charles who was looking at them curiously.

In the morning room, Diana and Lady Teague sat together on a settee, ostensibly poring over the latest fashions displayed in La Belle Assemblee.

“Do you think we’ve done the right thing?” whispered Lady Teague, looking over her shoulder, though there was no one else in the room.

“If you’re talking about morality, probably not, but, yes, I’m sure we’re doing the right thing. The idea of Simon’s marrying Winifred Timburton doesn’t bear thinking of. Not only would she ruin Simon’s life, but just think of her in the family. Can you picture her at Stonefield at Christmastime and all the other family celebrations?” Both women shuddered. “As for Charles and Hermione, those two certainly deserve each other, but I don’t believe Hermione’s affections are seriously engaged. It’s my opinion she regards Charles as she would a pet pug who will get up to mischief if he isn’t watched constantly.”

“Well, she’s certainly right there,” muttered Aunt Amabelle, her bracelets clinking gently.

“As for Charles, I had barely begun my little campaign, you know, merely suggesting that it was a shame he was to be leg-shackled to Hermione when a beauty like Winifred was his for the asking. He clung to my every word as though I were handing him tablets from Mount Sinai. By our second conversation, he was already agreeing with me, and by the fourth, he was all eagerness to shed Hermione like a suit of old clothes. Oh, Aunt Amabelle, I believe this is going to work! Charles told me of the arrangements he has made for tonight.”

“Oh, my dear,” said Aunt Amabelle breathlessly, “by this time tomorrow, Simon will be free! Do you think ... ?”

“Well, I certainly hope so. If Simon is not betrothed to Jane Burch by this time tomorrow, I shall think him the greatest slow top in nature. Those two were made for each other, and it’s obvious that they’re head over ears in love.”

Aunt Amabelle sighed blissfully. “You’re right, Diana. It cannot be considered wrong to give true love a push in the right direction. Now, tell me, dear, what do you think of this gown? I rather like the bodice, but do you not agree that the gathered skirt is the height of absurdity?”

In the small, curtained area on the terrace that overlooked the south lawn, where the play costumes hung in readiness for this evening’s performance, Charles and Winifred stood entwined in a passionate embrace.

“Oh, my love,” muttered Charles, surfacing momentarily for air, then bending to press his mouth against Winifred’s cheeks and her throat, continuing in a southerly direction. “My goddess! Tonight you will be mine. We shall have all eternity to spend together, for all is arranged!”

His twitching fingers edged toward the bosom so enticingly thrust against him, but at that moment Winifred drew back.

“Not now, dearest,” she breathed. “It would not be proper.”

“But, see what I have brought you!” exclaimed Charles in trembling accents. From a coat pocket he produced a fat packet, which he placed with great ceremony into her hands. “Five thousand pounds, just as I promised. Enough to clothe you properly as soon as we reach London. After we ... It is all there,” he said somewhat testily, as Winifred opened the packet. “You needn’t count it.”

“Of course not,” cooed Winifred. “I am just so overwhelmed at your generosity.” Still clutching the packet, she allowed Charles to draw her into his embrace once more. This time he was successful in slipping a hand inside her bodice. Her only response was a soft giggle as, opening one eye, she lifted the packet to eye level behind Charles’s head and with her thumb, riffled through the notes.

It was only at the sound of approaching voices that, with a guttural groan, Charles ceased plundering Winifred’s delights. Removing his hand from her décolletage, he lurched backward a step, allowing his goddess to rearrange her clothing. When Jane and one of the footmen entered a few moments later, Charles, though still breathing heavily and Winifred, blushing rosily, were able to greet them with a modicum of poise.

It was nearing five o’clock in the afternoon when the first guests arrived, although by now, the Vicar and Mrs. Mycombe hardly counted as guests, so frequent had been their appearances at Selworth of late.

Simon arrived out of sorts to greet the visitors and out of patience. He had been seeking Winifred for some time, and his quarry had proved singularly elusive. Either he entered a room to be told by a servant that she had just left, or catching a glimpse of her scurrying around a corner, he raced to the spot only to find that she had disappeared when he arrived there. Even when he dispatched a servant to find her, the young man came back unsuccessful.

Winifred was on hand, however, to greet the vicar and his wife, but afterward disappeared with the Mycombes and the stolid Sir James, much to Simon’s frustration. The Earl of Granbrooke and his wife, daughter, and young son arrived almost on the heels of the Mycombes, and after that, a steady procession of vehicles deposited guests at the great front door, making it impossible for Simon to carry out his planned discourse with his ward.