Stephanie Laurens Rogues' Reform Bundle (14 page)

Lenore inclined her head. “What sort of entertainments do you generally hold at the Abbey?”

Jason told her, watching her reactions, elaborating freely when he saw she was inclined to interest. After outlining the huge family gatherings held at Christmas and occasionally in summer, and the numerous estate and country events held in the house or grounds, he described the Abbey in more detail, the number of guest-chambers and reception-rooms, the current levels of staffing, as far as he remembered them. Lenore asked questions, which he answered as best he could, eventually admitting, “The Abbey has been without a chatelaine for more than ten years. You'll find much that needs your attention.”

Lenore eyed him straightly. “And I'll have a free hand in all household matters?”

A charming smile answered her. “I'll leave all such affairs in your capable hands. My steward, Hemmings, and my secretary, Compton, will assist you as you desire. The management of estate business, however, will remain in my hands.”

Graciously, Lenore inclined her head. “I have no wish to interfere in such areas. Tell me, do you have any schemes for assisting your labourers, your tenants and their families?”

Jason shook his head. “As I said, you'll find much to keep you occupied. Without a lady of the house to oversee such enterprises, they tend to be put aside.”

“But I'd have your support to institute such measures as I felt were justified?”

“Provided they met with my approval.”

Lenore studied him, then decided the caveat was acceptable. Nodding, she broached the subject on which she expected less success. “Will you expect me to spend much time in London?”

Despite her even tone, Jason detected her unease. He remembered their discussion in the maze; she did not expect to enjoy life in London. The fact should have cemented his triumph. Instead, to his surprise, he heard himself say, “I usually spend all of the Season and the Little Season in town. While I would not wish you to remain at Eversleigh House if I was not in residence, I'd urge you to experience life in the capital before you turn your back on it.” He saw her eyes cloud and hastened to add, “However, if, after you've tried them, you find the balls and parties not to your taste, I'll raise no demur to your remaining principally at the Abbey, provided you agree to journey to London should I require your presence.” He made the concession with reluctance, hoping very much that she would find sufficient interest in the hurly-burly of
ton
-ish entertainments to keep her by his side.

His offer was a great deal more than Lenore had expected. “So—I'm to be your hostess, and take responsibility for the management of your houses. And if I find London unamusing, I may retire to the country.” All in all, the position was not without attraction. For one of her skills, the challenge of rejuvenating Eversleigh Abbey was a potent lure.

Jason nodded. “There is, of course, the matter of the succession.”

Lenore switched her gaze away from his, suddenly finding the cherry tree utterly captivating. “I comprehend that you require an heir, Your Grace.”

“Jason. And it's
heirs
.” Lenore shot him a nervous glance. “Plural,” Jason added, just to set the matter straight. “As things stand, if I were to die without issue, the title and all my estates would devolve to a distant cousin. The main line has certainly been sufficiently fecund but, unfortunately, the majority of children have been female. I'm the only duke since the first to have had a brother. At present, the next male in line is many times removed and has had no training in either estate management, in the involved politics of a large and wealthy family nor, I'm sad to say, even in how to comport himself with sufficient dignity to carry the role.” He paused, sensing that she was listening intently despite her refusal to look at him. “Consequently, I'm keen to ensure the title remains with my branch of the family.”

Not knowing what else to do, Lenore nodded. “I understand.” Her voice sounded strained, the relief of moments before clouded by realisation of the other side of the coin. She held severe reservations over her ability to deal with Eversleigh on a personal level without falling in love with him. Yesterday had been an eye-opening experience on more than one front. But she had no choice but to take a chance—to risk falling victim to the vulnerability that afflicted her sex. She would try very hard to keep her distance, but…

“And those are the reasons which prompt you to marry me?” The question was out before she could stop it. Lenore bit her lip and waited.

Jason hesitated, then, his lips firming against an unnerving impulse to say more, he nodded. “Yes.”

What had she expected? Lenore suppressed the small, sharp pang of disappointment that twisted through her. At least he had dealt openly with her; now she knew where she stood.

Clearing her throat, she focused her mind on more concrete problems. “Do you have any strong preference for when we should wed, Your—Jason?”

Greatly relieved to hear that question on her lips, Jason answered without reservation. “As soon as possible, which means in four weeks.”

“
Four weeks
!” Lenore deserted the cherry tree to round on him. “We can't possibly be married in four weeks.”

One winged brow rose. “Why not?”

Aghast, Lenore stared at him. She had imagined she would have months to come to terms with her new situation. Four weeks was not nearly long enough to strengthen her defences. “Because…because….” Abruptly, she took refuge in anger. “Because you
cannot
simply decide such matters and expect me to meekly agree.”

Jason frowned. “‘Meek' is not a word I would use in conjunction with your fair self, my dear. If you would come down out of the boughs for long enough to examine my circumstances, you would see why any delay is to be avoided.”

Puzzled, Lenore looked her question.

Rapidly, Jason formulated an answer, rejecting out of hand any idea of telling her the truth. “As you know, the notion that I intend to wed is currently circulating among the
ton
. If I return to London without our imminent wedding as protection, I'm likely to be mobbed by matchmaking mamas, seeking to convince me to change my mind and marry their witless daughters instead.”

The vision of hordes of matrons, plumes aquiver, lying in wait to pound on him made Lenore's lips twitch. Jason saw it and pounced on her instead.

“It's no laughing matter, I assure you. I was hounded for years when I was younger; you wouldn't believe some of the stratagems the harpies employed.”

Lenore arched one brow sceptically. “Why am I so convinced you would survive even their latest manoeuvres unscathed?”

Jason threw her a warning look. “Anyway, at our respective ages, no one will think marrying in four weeks the least odd.”

Lenore had her doubts but held her tongue. If marrying Eversleigh was to be her fate, and as he was so set on it, she might as well face it in four weeks as four months. Perhaps, with less time, she would not get so nervous over those duties she had not before performed.

“Your father has agreed,” Jason continued, watching her more carefully. “We'll be married in Salisbury Cathedral. One of my father's cousins is the present bishop—my family have a long association with the bishopric. Jack and I will handle the arrangements. Harry and Gerald will travel with your aunt and father to Salisbury.”

Struck dumb, Lenore simply stared.

After an instant's hesitation, Jason embarked on his plans for her. “We assumed you'd wish to use the time to refurbish your wardrobe. Jack has agreed to stay back until Tuesday. He'll escort you to town then. As your aunt cannot act as chaperon, my aunt, Lady Agatha Colebatch, will perform that duty. I believe you're acquainted with her?”

Stunned, overwhelmed, Lenore nodded. “She's one of Aunt Harriet's oldest friends.”

“Good. I don't think she's in town at present. It may take me a day or two to track her down. She'll know which modiste to take you to. As I've persuaded your father to allow me to foot the bill, you may order what you please.”

Lenore blinked. “But…but that's not…”

Jason waved one hand dismissively. “Your father and Jack have agreed.”

Beyond amazed, Lenore stared up at him. “Tell me, do you always organise people's lives for them?”

Cool superiority met her gaze. “When they need organising and I wish to achieve some goal, yes.” Jason watched as she swallowed that piece of arrogance, hoping he had distracted her sufficiently from the question of who was financially responsible for her trousseau. He had had to argue long and hard to wring that concession from the Lester men; only their inability to give him an assurance that Lenore would not appear in London in pinafores had forced them to accede to his odd request.

Unconvinced that he was not engaged in some sleight of hand but unable to see any motive beyond his obvious wish to get their marriage over and done with, an unsurprising reaction given that he had been driven to the altar as it were, Lenore sighed. Slanting him a glance from beneath her lashes, she saw he was waiting for some sign of her capitulation. Inwardly grimacing, she raised her head. “As we have agreed to marry, and as you clearly wish it so, I'll agree to marry you in four weeks, Your Grace.”

Jason flashed her a brilliant smile. Lenore felt a slight blush rise to her cheeks. Seeing it, Jason's smile deepened. He straightened and moved closer.

Abruptly, Lenore decided that four weeks were four weeks; she should take advantage of what time was left to her. “And now, if you'll excuse me, Your Grace, I have many tasks awaiting my attention.” She bobbed a slight curtsy, rising as he took her hand. He raised it to his lips; she steeled herself to feel his kiss on her fingertips. It came, a tantalisingly light caress. Immediately overpowered by a shaft of pure desire, as, turning her hand, he pressed a far more intimate kiss into her palm.

Lenore's knees shook. She drew herself up, saying the first words that came to her tongue. “I sincerely hope, Your Grace, that you will not regret choosing me as your bride.”

Jason's grey gaze sharpened. “Regret? Never, Lenore.”

The reverberations of his vow echoed within her as, with a slight nod, Lenore turned and walked to the door.

Jason stood and watched her go, shackling the urge to call her back to reassure her that
she
would never regret marrying
him
.

T
UESDAY DAWNED
and, as His Grace of Eversleigh had decreed, Lenore, with Jack lounging beside her, headed for London in the Lester carriage. Eversleigh himself had taken his leave of her after luncheon on Saturday; he had promised to meet her at Lady Agatha Colebatch's house in Green Street.

Amelia had left Lester Hall the previous day, also bound for London. Her cousin had been bubbling with plans; Lenore hoped that Frederick Marshall brought her the happiness she deserved. Amelia had been as stunned as she at the news of her betrothal but, unlike herself, had seen nothing to quibble about. Instead, Amelia had enacted the part of rapturous joy for her, praising Eversleigh to such an extent that Lenore had been forced to avoid her for some hours, in case her sharp tongue punctuated the balloon of Amelia's illusions.

She herself had spent the hours since Eversleigh's departure in a state of unaccustomed inertia. While marriage to Eversleigh had seemed a most concrete proposition when he had been standing beside her, once he had gone she had considerable difficulty believing in her fate. In control of her life for so long, she felt adrift, rudderless. Even slightly lost.

With a determined effort, Lenore shifted her gaze to take in the streets of London. They had entered the capital some time before; Green Street could not be far off.

Noise had been her first impression of the seat of the fashionable, an unending cacophony of calls and cries of vendors and street urchins, stridently vying against the constant rumble of carriage-wheels on the cobbles and the brisk clop of hooves. The lilting music of buskers threaded a magical note through the din. Beyond the carriage window, people bustled past on the pavements, hurrying home as twilight approached. In less than the distance of a field, she was sure she had seen more people than she had in her entire life before. Eventually the meaner dwellings gave way to neat brick houses, crammed cheek-by-jowl along the busy road. Then these, too, fell behind, replaced first by larger town houses, handsome with their brightly lit windows, and then by mansions set back from the road.

Their trip had been uneventful, beyond confirming Eversleigh's insight into her family's affairs. Out of the blue, Jack had asked for her help, once she was established as Eversleigh's duchess, in the matter of finding him a bride.

“The old man's been looking so much better since receiving Eversleigh's offer for you, I'll end feeling guilty if I don't.” When she had looked her puzzlement, he had explained, “You've been one of his concerns; I've been the other. Now Eversleigh's bitten the bullet, I suppose I should think about getting leg-shackled. Put the
pater
's mind at rest, y'know.”

Leaning her head against the squabs, Lenore quelled a resigned sigh. She was, however reluctantly, going forward into the only life open to her. It was up to her to make of it what she could. Swaying as the carriage lumbered around a corner into a quiet street lined with tall town houses, she allowed herself to wonder, fleetingly, just how much might be possible if she put her heart into her marriage.

The carriage slowed, then rocked to a halt before an elegant townhouse, two rows of handsome windows visible above the pavement with dormers set in under the roof. As Lenore looked out, the doors were thrown wide. Light spilled forth, illuminating the shallow steps.

Jack descended first, then handed her from the coach. Within minutes, they were being ushered into the drawing-room by her ladyship's intimidating butler.

“Lenore, dear child! Welcome to London.” Pushing aside the small buhl table on which she had been idly playing cards, Lady Agatha rose majestically, her haughty features relaxing in sincere welcome.

Lenore glided forward, intending to curtsy before her hostess, but Agatha would have none of it, catching her hands and drawing her into a scented embrace. “Nonsense, my dear. We need not stand on ceremony, you and I.” Her gimlet gaze fastened on Jack, watching his sister's reception with an indulgent smile. He caught her ladyship's eye and immediately made his bow.

“I have to thank you, Lester, for bringing your sister to me. Eversleigh said to make his apologies—he had to visit the Abbey on urgent business, something to do with the settlements. Your sister and I will be spending the evening very quietly; Lenore needs to look her best tomorrow. Dare say you'd prefer to dine at your club?”

Hiding a grin at this masterly dismissal, Jack inclined his head. “Indeed, yes, ma'am, if all's well here?”

Lady Agatha nodded imperiously. “You may be content that it is.” She held out a hand, watching critically as Jack bowed over it. “You may look in on your sister some time, but I warn you, we'll be busy tomorrow.”

Jack nodded. With a brotherly wink for Lenore, he departed.

As the door closed behind him, Agatha waved Lenore to sit beside her on the chaise. “Hope you don't mind, my dear, but men, brothers especially, are devilish in the way sometimes.”

Entirely in the dark, Lenore found herself nodding.

Agatha was studying Lenore's gown, a frown in her obsidian eyes. “By the by,” she said absent-mindedly. “Eversleigh also intends to drop in on Henry on the way back from the Abbey, just to make sure all's well.”

Lenore looked blank. Agatha noticed and explained. “My cousin, the Bishop of Salisbury. He'll be officiating, of course.” Relinquishing Lenore's old-fashioned travelling dress to view the far more attractive future, her ladyship sighed. “It'll be the event of the year, of course. We haven't had an Eversleigh wedding for an age, quite literally. The entire town will turn out, mark my words.”

Struggling to view the event with something of her hostess's enthusiasm, Lenore felt her confidence waver. But her ladyship was full of revelations. Swivelling to face Lenore, she said, “Can't tell you how pleased we all are, my sisters and I, that you agreed to take Eversleigh on. Didn't think you would, quite frankly.”

Faced with the candid query in her ladyship's dark eyes, Lenore blushed slightly as she struggled to find words to explain how her betrothal had come about. “I'm afraid matters became rather tangled. As it transpired, I didn't have a great deal of choice in the matter.”

She stopped, halted by her ladyship's disgusted snort.

“Great heavens, Lenore! This really won't do. Don't tell me
you
, of all women, have allowed my arrogant nephew to ride roughshod over you
already
?” Incredulity infused her ladyship's patrician features with an almost comic quality.

Lenore bit her lip and tried to explain. “It wasn't so much that—he did not force me to agree. But it seemed, the way things had fallen out, that there really was no alternative.”

With a dramatic gesture, Lady Agatha fell back against the cushions. “Don't tell me—I see it all. I hesitate to disillusion you, my dear, but that's precisely why Eversleigh is so peculiarly successful in getting his own way. Things always fall out so that
his
way seems the
only
way. It's a most trying habit. We're all counting on you to break him of it.”

Somewhat startled, Lenore quickly disclaimed. “I greatly fear, Lady Agatha, that I'm unlikely to wield sufficient influence with His Grace to effect any such transformation.”

“Nonsense!” Lady Agatha viewed her sternly but not unkindly. “And you may call me Agatha. Eversleigh does, except when he's being difficult. But as for your not being in a position to influence Eversleigh, my dear, I rather suspect you have not entirely comprehended the position you will fill.”

“We have discussed the matter,” Lenore began diffidently. “Within the bounds of my duties, I see little prospect for a…a closer interaction of the sort needed to…to—”

“
Just
as I suspected!” Agatha reclined more comfortably and prepared to set her charge straight. “Regardless of whatever…” she waved a hand airily, “
functional
duties my nephew consented to discuss, you may be sure he did not choose you as his duchess, above all others, purely on the basis of your ability to carry out said duties. Jason may be a pragmatist when it comes to matrimony, but I'm convinced he would never offer for a woman he could not deal with on a personal level.”

“I believe we will deal very well together, Lenore”…Eversleigh's words echoed in Lenore's mind. Was this what he had meant?

“By personal,” Lady Agatha continued, “I do not mean the sort of association a gentleman may form with, for instance, one of the fashionable impures. That, I need hardly tell you, is something quite different.” She waved the indelicate subject aside. “No. The sort of relationship a man like Eversleigh will expect to share with his wife is one based on mutual respect and trust. If that is there, and I for one am sure it must be, then you need not fear, my dear. Eversleigh will listen to your arguments, your opinions. If, that is, you choose to tell him.”

The prospect her ladyship's words conjured up held Lenore silent.

“That, of course, is why we hoped you'd accept his suit. Jason needs a duchess with character, and the ability to make herself heard, to act as a balancing force. To make him more human, if you take my meaning.”

Lenore was not entirely sure that she did, but the opening of the door brought a halt to her ladyship's discourse.

“Yes, Higgson?” Lady Agatha waited while her butler ponderously bowed.

“You wished to be reminded that dinner would be served early, my lady,” Higgson stated, his voice as heavy as his movements. “Miss Lester's maid is waiting in her room.”

“Thank you, Higgson.” Agatha turned to Lenore. “Eversleigh mentioned that your maid at Lester Hall would not be accompanying you to town and suggested I find a suitable girl. Trencher is my sister Attlebridge's dresser's niece. I'm sure she'll know the ropes. But if she's not to your liking, you have only to say and we'll find another.”

Lenore blinked. “Thank you. I'm sure she'll prove suitable.” Inwardly, she wondered how far Eversleigh's organisational powers extended.

But, ten minutes later, having been sent upstairs with orders to rest and recuperate before dinner, Lenore found herself thankful her fiancé had had the forethought to solicit his aunt's assistance. Trencher was a treasure. Of about Lenore's age, she was small and deft in her movements, severely garbed in dark brown as befitted her station, her pale face intent under a neat cap. She had unpacked Lenore's trunk, laying her brushes out upon the polished surface of the elegant dressing-table and had ordered a hot bath.

“I hope you'll excuse the liberty, miss, but I thought as how you'd be bone-jarred, having travelled all day.”

Lenore sighed and smiled her approval. She was, in fact, feeling distinctly jolted, but was uncertain as to how much of the effect could be ascribed to her father's well-sprung coach.

After a soothing soak, Trencher urged her to lie down on the luxuriously soft bed. “I'll be sure to wake you in plenty of time to get dressed for dinner.”

Perfectly certain Trencher would not fail her, Lenore surrendered to what was, for her, a most unusual luxury. It was not, she told herself, as she climbed up on to the feather mattress, that she was tired. Rather, she could use a period of quiet reflection the better to analyse Agatha's view of her marriage. Despite these intentions, she fell deeply asleep the instant her head touched the pillow.

When Trencher woke her an hour later, her maid had no comment to offer on her outmoded gowns. Lenore had packed only the most acceptable and had left her pinafores and her spectacles behind. Her days of concealment, she felt quite sure, were past. Viewing her reflection in the long cheval glass, she grimaced.

Trencher noticed. “It'll only be for tonight, miss. Her ladyship said as how Lafarge'd be sure to be able to make something up straight away for a customer like you. And there's no company tonight, just you and her ladyship, so you've no need to blush.”

After blinking several times, Lenore decided not to reveal her ignorance by questioning Trencher. She reserved her questions for Agatha, waiting until they were comfortably seated about one end of the dining table, with only Higgson hovering nearby.

“Who, exactly, is Lafarge?”

“Ah! Trencher mentioned her, did she?” Agatha looked up from her soup. “Quite the most exclusive modiste in London, my dear. She's agreed to do your wardrobe, which, let me tell you, would be a boon to any lady. A positive genius with gowns of all types. We're expected at her salon at ten tomorrow.”

“That's why I have to look my best?”

Recalled to her soup, Agatha nodded, adding, “The most important person you'll ever have to convince of your beauty.”

Soup spoon suspended, Lenore stared. “But I'm no beauty.”

Dismissively, Agatha waved the point aside. “Used the wrong word—attractiveness, style, call it what you will. That certain something that some women have that makes them stand out in a crowd. That's what Lafarge will be looking for. She's agreed to consider taking you on as a client, but she could change her mind.”

Appalled, Lenore considered this unexpected hurdle. She had rather thought that, as the customer, she would choose her supplier. Obviously, in the case of fashionable modistes, this was not the case.

“Don't concern yourself over the matter,” Agatha said, pushing her plate away. “No reason she won't see something interesting in you.”

Lenore had no answer to that.

“I'd thought to take this opportunity to fill you in about Eversleigh and the family. Once it's known you're here, we'll be inundated with invitations—unlikely we'll get much chance of quiet nights.”

Lenore noted the satisfied glint in her ladyship's dark eyes. Her hostess was clearly looking forward to being the cynosure of all attention.

“I take it you're aware of Ricky's death?”