Joan Wolf (4 page)

Linton laughed at Lord George’s question. “My sister Maria and her children are planning to remain at Staplehurst through Christmas. Her husband, most unfortunately, is going to Vienna for the Peace Conference and, as Maria is expecting another child in February, she has decided to remain in England.” He sighed. “With five children of her own and one more on the way you would think she’d have enough to occupy her mind.”

“After you to get married?” said Lord George sympathetically.

Linton’s blue eyes looked rueful. “Incessantly. My mother tries to divert her attention, but Maria. . . . Well, suffice it to say that I am in London for a few months at least.”

“Until Christmas?” said Lord George with a poker face.

Linton grinned. “Until Christmas,” he agreed.

“It is not a very lively time of year for London.”

“No.” There was a humorous look around Linton’s firm mouth. “I shall have to find something to divert myself, won’t I?”

Lord George looked at the profile of the man walking beside him. “You already have, Philip.”

“Yes, I rather think I may have,” replied Linton with enviable tranquility.

Chapter Five

Have you seen but a bright lily grow

Before rude hands have touched it?

 —
BEN
JONSON

Jessica walked slowly around the house in Montpelier Square, looking at everything but in actuality seeing very little. Somehow it didn’t seem quite real—the small but elegant house, the matched pair of bays in the stable together with the handsome carriage. Most of all, the money that now reposed in her bank account.

She had gone driving with Philip Romney and had had supper with him twice. She had found herself liking him very much, much more than any of the other men who had been throwing out lures to her. There was a look of smiling tenderness in his eyes and about his mouth when he looked at her that got immediately under her guard and caused her to relax in his company. The thought crossed her mind that more than one woman had probably been undone by that lazy, sweet smile and those glinting blue eyes.

He had broached the topic that had brought her here with infinite delicacy.
He had taken her back to her lodgings after a late after-theatre supper and had sat for a minute beside her in the carriage, his eyes on the narrow, shabby front door of her temporary home. “I have a house in Montpelier Square that is standing empty at the moment,” he had said thoughtfully. “It would make me very happy if you would move into it and let me take care of you.”

Even in the dim light of the carriage she had been able to see the blue of his eyes. “I cannot afford to run a large establishment,” she had answered in a voice that was not quite her own.

“It is not a large establishment,” he had returned gently, “and of course I should make you a monthly allowance to enable you to cover all expenses.” He then had named a sum that had caused her to blink, and, after a breathless moment she had accepted his offer.

He had sent the carriage to her lodgings this morning and it had brought her and all her belongings to this charming little house. He had bought it, Jessica realized somewhat blankly, solely for the use of his mistresses. There were flowers and a note waiting for her. He would escort her home from the theatre that evening, he wrote. She was to tell the cook to have a supper prepared for them.

For perhaps the first time Jessica realized the enormity of what she had done. She sat down in a delicate chair in her bedroom and stared at the large, silk-hung bed. He was coming this evening. “My God,” Jessica said out loud. “I don’t have the faintest idea what I’m supposed to
do.”
She looked around the room again. “What am I supposed to wear?” she asked the green silk walls. “Or am I supposed to wear anything?” She cast her mind over her collection of nightgowns and, involuntarily, grinned. But it was not a laughing matter and she soon sobered.

Jessica was an intensely private person, but she was intelligent enough to realize that at this particular moment she needed advice. With sudden decision she put on her pelisse and went downstairs to order the carriage. She was going to pay a visit to Mrs. Brereton.

* * * *

Eliza Brereton, one of Covent Garden’s staple character actresses, was well equipped to advise Jessica. In her youth she had enjoyed the favors of some of the town’s most notable men and she now resided in a comfortable, well-furnished house that was the fruit of her labors. She acted because the theatre was in her blood, not because she needed the money.

Jessica was frank with her, and Mrs. Brereton was impressed. “Linton is quite a catch, my dear,” she told Jessica admiringly, and, when the terms of the agreement had been disclosed, her eyes widened.
“He is being extremely generous.” She looked thoughtfully at Jessica. “You are not at all the usual thing, though, my dear. You have Quality.”

“I am not the usual thing, Mrs. Brereton,” Jessica replied honestly. “That is why I am here.” She met the other woman’s gaze directly. “I haven’t got the vaguest idea of how I should behave and I hoped you would not be offended if I asked you to advise me.”

The old actress looked from the proud, intense face of the girl sitting across from her to the subdued, conservative cut of her merino walking dress. “I see,” she said quietly. “Well, you have come to the right person, Jessica. First, let us have some tea. Then we have some shopping to do.”

When Jessica returned to Montpelier Square later that afternoon she had a collection of boxes in the carriage. Much as she had hated spending the money, she realized the necessity. Her own wardrobe was certainly not adequate for her present role. She also had an herbal concoction that Mrs. Brereton had pressed on her. “Take some every morning,” the old actress had warned her. “It is not an infallible prevention of pregnancy, but it has a decided efficacy.” Jessica had accepted it gratefully. Pregnancy was the one aspect of this whole venture that truly terrified her.

* * * *

Jessica was performing that evening in a new role, one she had played only twice before, Rosalind in
As You Like It.
Thomas Harris was still adhering to his original plan of offering productions that would be unsuitable to the talents of Edmund Kean, and so far his program had been successful. Jessica’s Rosalind had won wide acclaim and Kean, faced with this kind of competition, was preparing yet another part. He would open in
Macbeth
the following night.

Linton had not seen
As You Like It,
yet, and for this performance he had taken a box, which he was sharing with two friends, Lord George Litcham and Mr. Henry Farnsworth. He spoke to them amiably enough at the intermissions, but his attention was clearly centered on the stage, and more particularly on the play’s star. Jessica’s Rosalind was a joy. She brought to the role all her own qualities of independence, decision, and intelligence. He watched her attentively, enjoying the bell-like tones of her voice and the glint of happiness in her eyes as, dressed in boy’s clothes, she teased the unsuspecting Orlando: “There is a man haunts the forest that abuses our young plants with carving ‘Rosalind’ on their barks; hangs odes upon hawthorns, and elegies on brambles; all, forsooth, deifying the name of Rosalind. If I could meet that fancy-monger, I would give him some good counsel, for he seems to have the quotidian of love upon him.”

Orlando, unaware that the disguised boy was in truth his love, protested, and Rosalind shook her head, put her foot up on a fallen log, and replied mockingly. Linton leaned a little more forward in his chair as he watched her. The boy’s clothes only served to emphasize the beauty of her flexible young body, the long slim legs, the extraordinary fineness of her narrow waist. The play was delightful, but he found himself impatient for it to end.

Jessica did not share his impatience, but end the play finally did, and shortly afterward she found herself beside Linton in the carriage that was taking them inexorably toward Montpelier Square. He made no attempt to touch her after handing her in and chatted easily during the drive about her performance and the theatre in general. When Jessica confessed to curiosity about Kean’s Macbeth he instantly volunteered to take her to see it.

They arrived at Montpelier Square more swiftly than she had thought possible and sat down to the champagne supper the servants had ready. Jessica did not usually drink champagne but decided that tonight she might need it, so she allowed him to fill her glass twice. When they had finished he smiled at her, his eyes like sapphires in the candlelight. “I am going to smoke a cigar,” he said serenely. “Why don’t you wait for me upstairs?”

“All right,” she replied as coolly as she could, and rose from the table. A maid was waiting to unhook her dress and brush out her hair. She put on the creamy lace negligee Mrs. Brereton had chosen for her that afternoon, dismissed the maid, and stood waiting. She was nervous, because the whole situation was so strange, but she was not afraid. She knew what the mechanics of sex were; she had not bred horses for nothing. And her instincts told her that this tall, straight, strong, golden-haired man got his pleasure in a perfectly normal fashion. She was not looking forward to the coming encounter, but, she told herself sternly, it was certainly preferable to marriage to Harry Belton,

The door opened and Linton came in. He stood for a moment looking at her, then said quietly, “You are very beautiful, Jessica.”

Quite suddenly she smiled. “So are you, my lord,” she answered truthfully.

A flicker of surprise showed in his eyes and then he smiled back. He came across to her and lightly touched her hair, unbound and loose on her shoulders. “It is the color of the autumn leaves at Staplehurst,” he said, and bent to kiss her.

For a moment Jessica was quite still; then she raised her arms to put them around his neck. His hands were strong behind her back and she closed her eyes. They opened again almost immediately as he lifted his head, moved his hands to her shoulders, and held her away from him. She looked up and found his blue gaze full upon her, narrowed now and puzzled. “This is the first time for you, isn’t it?” he asked with dawning astonishment.

Jessica hesitated. “Would it make a difference?” she asked cautiously.

“Certainly it would.”

“But why?”

He made a small gesture. “I am not accustomed to seducing virgins.”

Jessica stared at him, her mind racing. This was a contingency she had not thought of. She opened her mouth to answer him, and he said pleasantly, “I’ll find out soon enough if you lie to me, and I won’t be pleased.”

Jessica looked at him harder a moment. Her expressive mouth compressed a little. “Yes,” she said then. “It is the first time.”

“My dear girl,” he said in exasperated bewilderment. “I had no idea.”

“Well, there must be a first time for everyone, my lord,” she said reasonably. “I can’t see that it makes all that much difference.” An idea struck her.
“Oh, do you mean I won’t be—adequate?”

“No. That was not what I meant.”

“Oh.” Her gray eyes were steady on his face. “Then what is the difficulty? Are you saying it would be all right if I were experienced but that you don’t want to be the one to ‘corrupt’ me?”

He was frowning now, his golden brows drawn together. “Something like that.”

“It sounds an odd sort of morality to me,” she said a trifle tartly.

“I suppose it is.” He stared at her intently. “What are you doing this for? Do you really understand the consequences of all this?” and he gestured, comprehensively, to the room and to the bed.

She drew herself up to her full height. “Yes,” she said uncompromisingly. “I do.”

He smiled a little. “I doubt it. How old are you?”

“Twenty-one.” She walked away from him to the fire, and he watched her in silence, observing the grace of her arms and neck and head, the straight beauty of her legs, visible through the thin folds of her negligee. She turned to face him and the firelight lit her hair to copper. “I did not make this decision lightly, I assure you of that, my lord. I need quite a large sum of money and this is the only way I can get it.” She paused, then said slowly, “If it isn’t you it will be someone else.” He did not answer. She made a small movement of her hand and said tentatively, “I would so much rather it was you.”  When he didn’t speak, she went on, “I am a quick learner. I will try to please you.”

He thought suddenly that it was wretched of him to make her beg him. He
was
making her, and this for him wouldn’t do at all. She was very beautiful as she stood there, facing him in all her desire to persuade, to please. She meant it, he thought. If it wasn’t him, it
would
be someone else. He saw her brace herself slightly to meet his refusal. He smiled at her, his blue eyes suddenly full of the familiar lazy sunshine she had found so attractive. “You’ve convinced me,” he said in his soft, slow voice, and held out a hand to her.

Color flushed into her cheeks and her mouth relaxed slightly. She crossed the floor and stood before him once again. “You’ll have to show me what to do,” she said a trifle unsteadily.

“There’s no hurry,” he replied, and gathered her lightly into his arms and kissed her again. It was a kiss that was thorough, leisurely, and surprisingly effective. When he finally raised his head she stood for a moment in the circle of his arms, blinking up at him. “Good heavens,” she said faintly.

“Good heavens, indeed,” he returned in a voice that was huskier than usual. Without further comment he picked her up and carried her over to the bed.

When he departed a few hours later he left a stunned Jessica behind him. She had had no idea her body could react the way it had. After he had dressed and was ready to go he had bent and kissed her lightly on the temple. “It will be better next time,” he had promised. The thing that frightened her most was that she believed him.

Chapter
Six

Come live with me and be my love,

 And we will all the pleasures prove. —
CHRISTOPHER
MARLOWE