Candice Hern (52 page)

"We shall have to have a word with Jack, won't we, Max? About taking things more firmly in hand, that is. Pemworth deserves better treatment."

Max, who had continued ahead while Mary had paused, turned and barked.

"Ha!" Mary said with a laugh. "You agree with me. Well, we shall see to it, then."

The garden path angled and took her close to the edge of the Hall. As she strolled along the path, admiring the fragrant lavender, verbena, and clematis hugging the pink stone walls, she heard voices from inside the Hall. Her heart leapt at the unmistakable familiarity of one of the voices. Smiling with anticipation, she closed her parasol and moved toward the open French doors of the library where she could now hear, very clearly, the voices of Jack and his friend, Lord Sedgewick, who had arrived earlier in the day.

"I believe she likes it here," she heard Jack say. "She and Mama have spent hours together going over the workings of the Hall. They seem to be getting along famously."

Mary stopped as she realized they were speaking of her. Pleased and embarrassed, she knew she ought to turn and walk away, or else walk straight through the French doors and make herself known. She ought not to eavesdrop. Nothing good ever came of eavesdropping. But some perversity, some imp of mischief, caused her to want to hear what Jack said. She stood back from the open doors and flattened herself against the stone wall, between two lavender bushes. She signaled for Max to stay.

"Mama adores her," Jack said, his voice trailing off as if he had walked across the room. Mary heard the clink of glass on glass.

"That makes it easier, then, don't it?" Lord Sedgewick said. "Imagine if they had hated one another on sight."

There was a brief pause before Jack burst into laughter.

"And you, Jack?" Lord Sedgewick continued. "Do you get along with her as well?"

"Oh, indeed," Jack said with some enthusiasm. There was another pause and another burst of laughter, this time from Lord Sedgewick.

"She certainly is a tiny little thing," Lord Sedgewick said, his voice slightly muffled.

"Yes," said Jack, "but you may have noticed that she is soft and round where it counts." Lord Sedgewick chuckled, and Mary felt herself blush. "I have taken to referring to her—not to her face, mind you—as my own little Pocket Venus."

As both men dissolved into bawdy laughter, Mary was unable to stifle her own giggle.
His Pocket Venus?
She wasn't sure whether she ought to be flattered or insulted. But she rather thought his lighthearted tone spoke more of affection than scorn.

She really ought to leave before she heard something even more embarrassing. She gently pushed aside one of the lavender bushes with her parasol and made a move to step forward; but she checked herself at once when she heard Lord Sedgewick speak again.

"You amaze me, Jack," he said. "I could never have imagined you would have chosen someone like Lady Mary. In fact, she is not at all what I expected."

"Indeed?" Jack said. "And what exactly did you expect?"

"Oh, you know ..." Lord Sedgewick's voice trailed off, and there was another pause followed by some muffled sniggering during which Mary was rather glad she was unable to see what the two men might be doing.

"Since we last spoke at White's," Lord Sedgewick went on, "back in early June, you recall, I have not been able to follow your career on the Marriage Mart. Had to rush off to Lincolnshire. M'mother was ill."

"I trust she has recovered?" Jack said.

"Fit as a fiddle," Lord Sedgewick replied. "But I missed the rest of the Season, so I don't know how you came to be with Lady Mary. I like her, but she ain't exactly your usual type."

"That's true," Jack said and then laughed.

She should leave. She really should leave. She did not want to hear this.

"Mary is as far removed from my usual type" Jack said, "as she could possibly be."

"Then she must be awfully rich."

Mary's breath caught in her throat.

"After all," Lord Sedgewick continued, "that was your main purpose in seeking out a bride, was it not?"

Her fist flew to her mouth to silence a gasp as her parasol fell to the ground and into the lavender bushes.

Oh, no. Please, no
.

"Of course it was," Jack replied.

Oh, my God.

"And, yes," he said, "she is in fact extremely wealthy. That is, of course, precisely why I offered for her."

Mary bit down hard on her fist to stifle an anguished scream, then turned and ran toward the front of the house.

Chapter 17

"And although her money was my original motive for wanting to marry her..." Jack paused, cocking his head toward the French doors.

"What is it?" Sedgewick asked.

Jack walked to the open doors and stuck his head out. He looked south toward the gardens, squinting toward the entrance to the rose garden. Suddenly, he was startled by a rustling in the bushes behind him. Spinning around, he found a small, furry, white face peeking out from the lavender, the soulful brown eyes regarding him with curiosity.

"Max? What are you doing in there?" Laughing, Jack reached down and scratched the dog's head. "It's not like you to be out on your own, old boy. Have you been abandoned by Lizzy again? Well, no matter. Come on in, then. Come on."

Max stepped out of the lavender, peeked through the French doors, then made a dash for the leather arm chair nearest the fireplace.

"I thought I heard someone outside," Jack said, turning to Sedgewick. "It was just this old fellow, after all." Jack walked to Max's chair and scratched him behind the ears.

"A bit skittish, ain't you, Jack?"

Jack shrugged. "It is just that... well, the topic of our conversation was a bit—"

"Ah," Sedgewick said. "Still keeping the financial difficulties under wraps, then? You haven't told anyone else?"

"No! Only you and Uncle Edward know the truth. But as I was saying, even though I most certainly became betrothed to Mary on account of her fortune, that is no longer the case." He grinned at Sedgewick, who was sprawled comfortably in a leather armchair near the open French doors, and watched in amusement as his friend's eyes widened slightly and his brows disappeared beneath his tousled blond hair. Jack was too full of energy to sit, and so he stood across from Sedgewick, one hand propped on his hip, the other holding a nearly empty glass of wine. "If you can believe it, my friend," he said, swinging the glass wide in an expansive gesture, "that sweet little woman has stolen my heart."

"Never say so!"

Sedgewick's wide-eyed look of astonishment as he sat bolt upright in his chair brought an involuntary crack of laughter from Jack. It really was extraordinary, Jack thought, how often he found himself laughing these days. Not the cynical, disdainful laughter that had once been second nature to him, but true, joyous, uninhibited laugher.

Ah, Mary
.

"It is true," he continued, unable to suppress a broad smile. "I adore her. I can no longer imagine life without her."

Sedgewick settled back once more in his chair and stretched his long legs out in front of him. "And the money, Jack?" he asked in a wary voice. "The money is no longer important?"

Jack walked toward the side table and poured himself another glass of wine. He cocked a brow at Sedge, nodding toward the decanter, but his friend shook his head. "Until my estates are in order," Jack said at last, "money will always be important. But that has nothing to do with Mary. Not anymore. Dammit it all, I don't care if she is penniless or rich as Croesus. I adore her regardless. And would marry her regardless. Good Lord, Sedge, who would have thought I would ever be as besotted as Bradleigh? Ha!" He flung both arms wide and laughed again for pure joy.

Sedge ran his fingers through his hair and flashed one of his famous grins. "By Jove, I think you're serious. You've really gone and done it. You've fallen in love. I cannot believe it!" Sedgewick slapped his thigh and laughed loudly.

Jack's sheepish grin soon turned to laugher. The joke was on him, of course. The sheer irony of the situation was almost comical: that he should have set out in the most dishonest manner to find a rich wife, to have then betrothed himself to a very rich but otherwise extremely unlikely sort of female, and finally to have fallen in love with her after all. It was no wonder Sedgewick was doubled over with laughter. It was deliciously absurd. Black Jack Raeburn, in love!

"Hoist by your own petard!" Sedgewick said at last. "You shall never live this down. Jack. I, for one, will not let you. Ha!" He shook his head from side to side and laughed again. "But truthfully, I am pleased for you. As improbable as the situation is, I can see you are contented. In fact, this is a side of you I've never seen, Jack. I have not heard a cynical cutting remark since I arrived. You must truly be happy."

"I am indeed, Sedge. More than I ever thought possible." His tone sobered. "My only regret is the deceitful manner in which this match began." He wandered toward the French doors, seeking the cooler fragrant air from the adjacent garden, and propped one arm against the doorjamb. "I cannot tell you how ashamed I am that I ever planned to use Mary in such a cold, calculated way. I could easily have proceeded in such a manner—without a single qualm—if it had been any of the other women I was considering. But with Mary, it seems an unspeakable, unthinkable insult."

"Does she know?"

"Good God, no! I had known her a short while." Jack turned toward Sedgewick. "Just before you and I met that night at White's. If you can believe it, she had engaged herself as my champion, to help find me a proper bride. She knew I was in search of a wife, but she never knew my true motives, and I trust she never will. We had become good friends when I discovered— through Robert, though he does not know it—that she was wealthy. I immediately set out, God help me, to seduce her. She finally acquiesced to my proposal, and it was not long before I realized what a precious jewel I had stumbled upon. I have lost my heart to her completely here at Pemworth. She has brightened up the shabby old place so, and has brought a smile again to my poor mother's face."

Sedgewick uncurled his lanky frame, rose from the chair, and came to stand next to Jack in the open doorway. "She sounds wonderful, my friend," Sedge said, slapping Jack on the back. "I am happy for you. Truly, I am. Do not repine over the way things began if they ultimately end so well."

"Oh, I fully intend to appreciate my good fortune—and I do not mean the money—to its fullest extent. But I will do my best to protect Mary from ever knowing how dishonest a beginning we really had."

"Don't worry, Jack," Sedgewick said when Jack cast him a significant glance. "She will hear nothing from me."

"I never suspected she would," Jack said with a grin.

* * *

Mary ran blindly along the path that skirted the east wing. She had to get away, she had to get inside, but where was the blasted door? Realizing she should have gone the reverse direction and around the end of the wing toward the rear courtyard, she knew she would now be forced to swing around to the main entrance on the north front. If only there was some less conspicuous route to her suite in the west wing, but there was nothing for it now but to take the only route with which she was familiar.

But she must not think. Not yet. She must act. She would think later.

Mary slowed her pace as she reached the front drive, not wishing to draw undue attention. She paused on the steps to the entrance and took several deep breaths. She must not think. She must regain her composure in case she encountered one of the family members or guests. She clinched her jaw tightly, thrust her chin in the air, threw her shoulders back, and marched up the steps. A footman opened the door for her. She gave him a curt nod and entered the Great Hall. Her body sagged with relief when she saw that it was empty. Thank God for that. But she must not think. She must act. She would think later.

She turned left and through the doors beneath the Minstrel's Gallery until she found the great oak staircase. She slowly began the climb, eyes darting left and right and up, expecting at any moment to encounter one of the guests. She made it to the first-floor landing in grateful solitude, but was met there by one of Lady Pemerton's cousins. What was her name? She could not seem to remember her name.

She must not think. She must go on.

Mary nodded to the woman and mumbled some word of greeting, but attempted to indicate that she was in a hurry. The woman smiled hesitantly and let her pass. Mary charged up the next flight to the second floor without any additional encounters. She groaned aloud when she realized her rooms were at the farthest end of the corridor, which seemed to stretch indefinitely before her.

She must not panic. She must not think. She must go on.

Mary had negotiated half the length of the corridor when a door opened on the right and Olivia came into the hall.
Oh, no. Please, not now
.

"Oh, hello, my dear," Olivia said brightly. "I was just coming to look for you. The marchioness would like ... Mary! What on earth is wrong? "

Mary waved a dismissive hand. "Nothing is wrong," she said in a tight voice. "I just—"

"Good heavens, my dear. You look quite ill. Are you not feeling well?"

Mary quickly grabbed at that convenient excuse. "No, I am not," she replied, her jaw still clenched, her tone sharp. "I do not feel quite the thing just now, Olivia. I am going to lie down for a while."

She turned brusquely and headed back down the corridor.

Olivia followed close behind. "Oh, my poor dear," she said in a solicitous voice, "you have been overwrought by all the excitement of the wedding. I am not surprised you are feeling a bit out of curl."

"Yes," Mary said absently, "I am tired. So very tired. Please apologize to the marchioness. The dinner party tonight. I cannot be there. I am not feeling well. Tell her for me. I am tired. I will stay in my room tonight."

"A wise idea, my dear," Olivia said as they reached the door to Mary's bedchamber. "I know she will understand. You must be fresh for the wedding, after all." She put an arm around Mary's shoulder and led her into the room. "Here, let me take your bonnet. Shall I ring for Sally? If you'd like, I can prepare a cool cloth soaked in lavender water, to soothe your brow. Would you like a tisane? Or perhaps some laudanum? Shall I—"