Historical Romance Boxed Set (48 page)

“He is by the door—and looking splendid, I must say,” St. Ives responded.

Jeannette followed the line of her husband’s gaze to a tall blond man speaking to a group of older gentlemen. Wearing clothes that were almost as extravagant as St. Ives’s—a dark red suitcoat with gold stitching over a shiny, gold waistcoast—he wasn’t difficult to spot.

As if he could sense their attention, he looked up and met Jeannette’s gaze.

“Handsome devil, is he not?” the baron prompted.

“It is difficult to tell at this distance,” Jeannette replied when she realized her husband was talking to her. But the way the other man carried himself reminded her of a strutting peacock, fanning its feathers for all to admire.

St. Ives laughed. “Perhaps you will agree after you have had the chance to get to know him.”

The confusion caused by Richards’s strange words cut deeper, but the baron’s expression revealed nothing of his thoughts and his next question distracted her. “You must be exhausted. Are you ready to retire?”

Jeannette grappled with her failing nerve. “If you will please allow me a moment, my lord,” she replied. “I must bid my parents farewell.”

“Agatha waits to take you upstairs to your chamber.” He indicated a prune-faced maid standing patiently at the bottom of a grand stairway. “I will be up after you have had time to change. Come, Thomas. Shall we greet Desmond?”

Blood rushed into Jeannette’s cheeks as Thomas Villard’s gaze raked over her once more. By the salacious glint in his eye, she suspected he imagined all that would happen between her and the baron in the next hour. She could tell that it aroused him.

She reached for the comfort of her mother’s hand as St. Ives pulled Villard away.

“The time has come,
ma mère
.” She struggled to mask the nervousness in her voice as she watched the baron move through the remaining dancers.

Rose Marie patted her arm. “He does not rush you. He is a kind man, no?”

Jeannette couldn’t bring herself to formulate an answer that would have no scrap of truth or enthusiasm, so she changed the subject. “Tell me, what did you think of Villard’s brother?”

“Richard Manville?” Doubt clouded her mother’s expression. “He seems strange…. But he was deep in his cups.”

Her mother was right, of course. What did she expect from a drunken, ill-mannered Englishman? She was simply grasping at anything with the power to divert her mind from the very near future. “Of course.”

Rose Marie leaned in. “Are you too frightened to go through with this,
ma petite?
”

“No!” The word came out overly loud; Jeannette feared her mother noted it.

“
Alors
,” her mother sighed. “The baron is far too old for you. I told you when he offered for your hand that I would rather see you with—”

“A young handsome man? Maman, a woman with no dowry cannot pick and choose. We could not afford to turn the baron away. And Papa’s own cousin, Lord Darby, found him to be a worthy suitor,
n’est-ce pas?
Darby is a powerful man here in England. We can trust him.”

“But you are our only daughter. I could not bear it if—”

“Maman,” she interrupted again. “‘Tis too late. I belong to the baron.”

“Of course.” Forgetting her earlier display of optimism, her mother fell silent for several seconds. Then, she said, “I pray for your happiness, my child.”

Jeannette nodded. “I know. Where is Papa? I must hurry.”

“
Je ne sais pas
. I have not seen him for half the night. This has been a difficult thing for him,
ma petite
, to see his only daughter wed to a foreigner.”

“Tell him to think of it as an end to our uncertainty over the future,” Jeannette told her. “We could have fared much worse in our predicament.” She eyed the crowd again, but her father was nowhere to be seen. Even Henri had disappeared, which was just as well. She never could have fooled her brother into thinking she was satisfied with her situation and knew her unhappiness would pain him.

“Give my love to Papa—”

Rose Marie’s hand latched onto her arm. “Stay. Another few minutes won’t make any difference.”

Jeannette noticed Lord St. Ives watching her. “I must go. I do not wish to appear reluctant.”

“Of course.” Her mother released her as the heavy doors of the house banged shut on the heels of some departing guests. The tomblike sound filled Jeannette with dread. Yet, forcing herself to turn away, she moved toward the waiting maid and mounted the curving staircase, saying a silent good-bye to her youth.

* * *

Agatha had a bath waiting. Jeannette allowed the maid to assist her with undressing, then sank into the warm water. Even the thought of what lay ahead couldn’t silence the contented sigh that issued from her lips as she stretched out. The bath was unusually large, a welcome luxury. She nodded to the maid, who picked up a cake of perfumed soap to wash her as Jeannette extended a dripping leg out of the water.

That, at least, was fair and white. Despite being an only daughter, or possibly because of it, Jeannette had spent much of her time at her family’s country estate, riding or roaming the hillsides. Outdoor exercise had left her body a little too lean, perhaps, and the sun had made her complexion slightly darker than the pallor so sought after by most females, but she wasn’t one to worry about such details.

The maid’s touch eased her headache, but did little to stop her troubled thoughts from returning to the ball.

Richard Manville was a strange one. Drunk or no, his words made her uneasy. And there was something mysterious about Sir Thomas Villard. Possibly that Desmond fellow, as well. With their knowing glances and sly smiles, her husband and his friends behaved as though they shared a great secret, or a joke of some sort.

“Does Sir Thomas visit Hawthorne House very often?” she asked the maid.

Agatha’s hands stilled on her shoulders. “No, milady. The master brought ‘im ‘ome for the first time only a week ago.”

“What?” Jeannette nearly sloshed water over the sides of the tub as she twisted around. “But I thought Sir Thomas and my husband have been close friends for some time. He said he is like family!” She knew her husband’s servant might hesitate to comment, but Sir Thomas had left her unsettled enough she couldn’t help pressing for what information she could get.

The maid began to wring her hands. “Well, per’aps so. I am just a lowly servant, after all. I don’t rightly know the master’s business—”

“But you do know who visits here, no?” Jeannette reached out to still the woman’s agitated movements. “What is it? Is something wrong?”

“No, milady.” The maid’s round eyes did nothing to convince Jeannette, but there was little she could do to persuade her to speak against her will.

“Tell me something. How long have you been at Hawthorne House?” Jeannette hoped another tack might get Agatha to open up.

The maid readjusted a bone hairpin to keep Jeannette’s hair from falling into the water. “Twenty years next month, milady.”

“Do you like it here?”

Several drops of water ran off her hands and plinked in the bath before she answered. “It keeps a roof over me ‘ead,” she said at last.

“And my husband, he is kind?”

From the corner of her eye, Jeannette saw Agatha throw a glance at the door.

“Per’aps we should dry ye off now.”

Not really an answer. The maid’s lack of a response did not bode well.

Agatha waited with a large towel. Jeannette rose, letting the water run off her body in rivulets. Her husband would arrive any minute; she didn’t want him to catch her in the bath. Perhaps if she’d finished her toilette, he’d put out the lamps before he took her virginity.

She shuddered.

“Are ye cold, milady?”

The room was so hot that the maid’s face flushed to a bright red while she toweled Jeannette off. A giant fire roared beneath a baroque mantel along one wall, eliminating any hint of the cold drizzle that had begun to fall outside. Still, Jeannette could hardly admit the true reason for her quaking limbs. “A bit,” she lied. “I will be warm enough when dressed.”

“Aye, and there’s a warmin’ pan in yer bed.”

“
Merci
.”

Jeannette allowed Agatha to help her don the filmy negligee that had been a gift from her mother, then stared, disconcerted, at the high, heavily carved bed, with its rich gold trappings.

Unfortunately, her headache was back and rising to new dimensions by the time her hair fell, brushed and gleaming, to her waist. Gazing into a cheval glass, she almost didn’t recognize the pale face staring back at her.

“Shall I let Lord St. Ives know that you are ready?” Agatha’s solemn eyes met Jeannette’s reflection.

Jeannette nodded. She had no choice. She felt like a fox cornered by baying hounds. It didn’t help that those hounds were the urging of her own conscience.

The maid closed the door as she left, leaving Jeannette to wait and to pace, her mouth so dry she could scarcely swallow. Tears burned behind her eyes and, despite the fire, her hands remained as stiff and cold as a cadaver’s. At least her family’s future was now secure, she told herself. Everything was decided, done. The trade had been made when she and the baron exchanged vows. She had only to finish her part of the bargain.

A heavy hand pounded on the door, nearly causing Jeannette to collapse in a heap on the floor. She’d heard no tread and felt completely unprepared to meet her husband, regardless of Agatha’s ministrations.

How could she be such a coward? she wondered, feeling ashamed. Would she shrink from her duty to those she loved?

“
Entrez
,” she said, steadying her voice.

The word had scarcely left her mouth when the door burst open, but it wasn’t St. Ives. It was Henri, and his narrow face was as pale as her own.

Jeannette dragged the heavy counterpane from the baron’s bed and used it to cover herself. “What are you doing here? What is the meaning of this?”

Henri didn’t seem to notice what she was or wasn’t wearing. “Jeannette, thank God I have arrived in time. Come with me. We must leave at once.”

“But I cannot—”

“Hush! They were talking about you. The baron is not the man we thought he was. He—he has plans to dishonor you.” His dark eyebrows, thick like their father’s, drew together as he made an effort to compose himself, but he couldn’t quite manage it. “Never mind.” He gestured as if he could sweep the confusion away that easily. “The details are too ugly. Come away!”

Jeannette stiffened in surprise. “I understand that you are worried about me, Henri, but Maman and Papa were strangers when they married and—”

“This is different.” His lip trembled as he pushed her toward the door. Although he as tall as she already, he was reed-thin.

“But I am not dressed!”

For the first time, Henri seemed to realize she was dragging the counterpane. His face grew red, but he remained steadfast in his purpose. “There is no time to delay. I heard them …outside …placing wagers….”

“On what? Henri, do not frighten me.”

His chin jutted out in defiance. “You have no need to worry. I am your brother. I will not let anything happen to you.”

Grabbing his slender shoulders, Jeannette gazed into his big brown eyes and gave him a gentle shake. “Stop this. I am a married woman now. I have no choice but to stay here. You know that as well as I do.”

“Listen to me!” His fingers bit into her elbow as though he’d drag her away if he had to. “I have learned the baron cannot father a child, Jeannette.” His whispered words came in a torrent. “He is bringing others to your bed, to acquire an heir any way he can. And the men he has chosen are eager for the opportunity, even placing wagers on whose seed will take in your belly!”

At this announcement, all the strength threatened to leave Jeannette’s limbs. She gripped Henri’s arm for support. Was that what Richard Manville had meant? Why Sir Thomas had fairly salivated at the touch of her? Were they anticipating a turn in her bed? She knew the baron had been married before, that the late baroness had borne him no children….

“Come,
vite!
” Henry tugged harder, but she wrenched away.

“No! You must go back down and act as if nothing has happened. Detain St. Ives, if possible, while I leave on my own.”

“But Maman and Papa …we should all go!”

Jeannette’s heart sank. How she wished that were possible. She wanted nothing more than for her whole family to be miles and miles away. But St. Ives would never sit idly by and allow her parents to take her from Hawthorne House. His standing and reputation would be ruined. And, if alerted, he could easily stop them. He had power here in England, knew everyone. “Think, Henri! I belong to the baron. And we are refugees, paupers! All he has to do is deny our accusations and follow through with his plan. Who would stop him, except Papa? And I will not have Papa dueling over me.”

“But you cannot go alone! Who will protect you? A woman on her own is not safe.”

“I can take care of myself. You know I can. But you must promise me something, Henri.”

Agitated and still eager to grab her and leave, he shifted on his feet. “Yes, anything!”

“Do not breathe a word of this to anyone, even Papa, until I am well away.”

Warring emotions twisted his face into an agonizing grimace, but he finally sighed and nodded. “Where will you go?”

“To London, of course. Our cousin Darby will help me, I am sure, if only I can get to him. After I am off, tell Mama and Papa where I have gone. The three of you can meet me at Lord Darby’s in two weeks.”

“But how will you travel so far? You have no money!”

“I will manage. Just do as I say!”

“What choice do I have?” he asked, his bravado crumbling.

“Exactly. Now go, so I can change.” She hugged him, a close, poignant embrace, then half-shoved him out the door, frantic now lest the baron appear.

“
Au revoir
,” he murmured softly, his somber expression looking years older than his age.

Jeannette couldn’t answer for the lump in her throat. She managed a quick wave and closed the door, then dropped the counterpane and flew to the armoire. The maids had placed her gowns and other belongings in the clothes cupboard just that morning, but nothing fancy would do. She needed plain clothing, like the peasant’s blouse and skirt she had worn when her father smuggled her out of France. She’d kept them, but would she be able to find them?