The Clergyman's Daughter (13 page)

Raeburn hesitated again. “Somehow I managed to get her out of the hell—although not before my friends had made ribald remarks about my questionable taste in women—and I escorted her back to Raeburn House. There I found that Andy and Claire were safely ensconced in the country, and my father had gone out of London on some pretext or another. I turned my stepmother over to the butler’s care, who seemed unsurprised at her appearance….”

Once more Raeburn paused; then he concluded heavily, “Within a month she was dead, by her own hand.”

He leaned back in his chair, eyes closed as if he were shutting out the memories that assailed him. Jessica watched with compassion, wishing she could find words adequate to comfort him. She remained silent. After a few moments Raeburn straightened up again and opened his eyes. He regarded Jessica sardonically. “Of course,” he drawled, “a poignant but innocuous explanation was found for my stepmother’s ‘tragic accident.’ Never let it be said that the reputation of the Foxe family had been sullied by a rumor of suicide—as if we had any particular claim to morality in the first place.”

“And Andrew and Claire never discovered the truth?” Jessica asked, shaken.

“What is truth?” Raeburn mocked with such irony that Jessica knew he was calling to mind the unanswered question from the Gospel. “Do we say that a weak woman committed the unforgivable sin in order to escape her creditors? Or would it not be more accurate to say that a simple country girl died because my father selfishly dragged her away from all that was familiar and abandoned her to wither in a hostile environment, like a wood violet uprooted and left out in the sun? There is more substance than prejudice in the old saw, ‘Like should marry like.’ In Gloucester, among her own kind, she would have married a young farmer or perhaps a merchant’s clerk with prospects, and her life, while hard, would have been content, possibly even happy, as she lived surrounded by children and grandchildren. Instead, because she was beautiful and an aristocrat desired her, she died in a particularly grisly fashion at the age of twenty-two, leaving behind a baffled husband and two orphaned babies.”

Suddenly he jumped up from the chair, as if his memories would no longer allow him to rest. He stalked over to the frosty window and stared out at the bleak vistas before him. In the empty meadow stretching to the wood beneath iron-colored skies, the narrow tracks left earlier in the afternoon by the dogcart were being dusted away by a light powder of snow, the first of the season. By the time the Templeton party arrived for Christmas, the white marble arcades of Renard Chase would be glittering with snow and ice, like the palace of the Esquimau queen….

Jessica watched him helplessly, even from across the width of his study feeling the tension in him, seeing the powerful muscles of his back knotted beneath the fine fabric of his coat. As the silence in the room thickened and contracted she tried desperately to think of something to say.

While she struggled to find the words, Raeburn spoke again. Still staring out the window, he said quietly, his deep voice low and clear, “I wronged you, Jess. When Andrew told me that he wanted to marry a…to marry you, all I could think was that the troubles were about to begin again, that my little brother was intent on repeating the disastrous mistakes of his parents. And believing that, I…reacted too harshly. I railed at Andrew, played the autocratic big brother, and when he would not be swayed, I attacked you instead, never dreaming that you were different from my poor stepmother, that you were something…quite out of the ordinary. For that I am truly sorry, Jessica. My actions were unforgivable, I know. My only excuse is that…that I thought I was protecting my family.” His pain reached out to her from across the room, and without hesitation she rose and went to stand beside him at the window, her slender, graceful figure dwarfed by the tall bulk of him. He did not look at her immediately; rather he stood with his hands rammed deep into his pockets, spoiling the cut of his superbly tailored coat, as he squinted out at the stark landscape. His wide forehead was furrowed above fair brows and ice-gray eyes, and his mouth was compressed into a thin, inflexible line. As Jessica gazed up at him, noting the austerity of his expression, she remembered with a pang all the times she had sketched those handsome features in an attitude of grinning, unrepentant debauchery, all the times she had made him the target of her most vicious satire. During her year in Brighton, it had been easy for her to imagine Raeburn as her
bete noire,
the occasion of all her trials, the source of all her woes. In her troubled mind—and now she realized with painful clarity that during those agonizing months she had indeed been profoundly depressed—the Earl of Raeburn’s image had grown and distorted until she saw him as some kind of mocking devil, the epitome of all the worst faults of his class, bent on tormenting her for her insolence in daring to love his brother. Whenever “Erinys” dipped her pen into the inkwell and began a visual attack on some evil of the society, whether it be brutal treatment of horses or the Prince of Wales’s unseemly capers, somehow the chief villain in the sketch had always looked like Raeburn….

Jessica cringed inwardly. For every sin that the earl had confessed against her, she had wronged him a hundred times over.

Her fingers worked nervously at the knot of her shawl as she struggled against the impulse to unburden her soul, reveal her identity as the anonymous cartoonist. She knew she dared not. Despite his frequent forays into the fleshpots of London, the governing passion of Raeburn’s life was the maintenance of his family’s welfare. If he found out that Jessica had held the Foxes up to public ridicule, he would never forgive her.

His disgust might even prove to be so great that in retaliation he would carry out his threats to take Lottie from her. She could not risk that. No matter how much she longed to ease her guilt by speaking frankly, she must remain silent.

Suddenly Raeburn turned away from the window. The sleeve of his coat brushed against Jessica’s hands clasped over her breast, and his eyes darkened as he gazed at her. Her heart racing, Jessica smiled uncomfortably and quickly looked down, closing her eyes against the compelling sight of him, annoyed with herself for reacting to his nearness. She was a widow, for God’s sake, she reminded herself irritably; not some schoolroom miss giggling over the dancing master…. But despite her efforts to remain in control, a faint blush appeared on her cheeks, deepening when Raeburn caught her chin in his large hand and gently tilted her head upward so that her slanting green eyes stared back at him from behind starred lashes.

He watched the color flowing just under the surface of her ivory skin, tinting her complexion with a delicacy made even more subtle against her jewel-like eyes, the blue-black luster of her hair. When he saw her pink tongue flick nervously across her lips, he felt a wave of desire, startling in its intensity, wash over him. “Beautiful Jessica,” he murmured huskily, “at least my poor brother had
you
….”

Jessica trembled at his touch, the male scent of him heavy in her nostrils, the warmth of his fingers on her face somehow radiating to her extremities. She was woman enough to know that he would like to kiss her, to make love to her, and despite his claims to the contrary, she did not think he respected her position enough to draw back if she encouraged him, as he would have done as a matter of course with his highborn fiancée. To Raeburn she would always be the upstart drawing teacher…. Because she knew that if his mouth touched hers, she would be lost utterly, unable to deny him anything, seduced by her own hunger into an act of sheer madness, she could not allow that to happen. Drawing back as far as his hold on her would allow, Jessica said brightly, “Thank you for confiding in me, Graham. Now I understand why you wish to marry Lady Daphne. With her breeding and background, she will make a most
suitable
bride for you.”

At the mention of his betrothed, he forced his hand to fall away from Jessica’s face, wondering why he found it so difficult to conjure up the features of the woman he had chosen out of duty. Blinking hard, he drew himself up to his most imposing height and noted briskly, “I can’t tell you how glad I am that you approve my choice, my dear. I too am sure that Daphne and I will deal excellently together.” He paused momentarily, and when he spoke again, his tone had grown sharper. “I have enjoyed our conversation, Jess, but you and I do seem to have strayed rather far from the subject which I wished to discuss with you. So I must ask you again; with whom do you correspond in London?”

Jessica’s face grew pale. For a moment she had been lulled by the soft enchantment of Raeburn’s deep voice, and she had forgotten that he was a man who never abandoned any chase before its conclusion. This Foxe was a hunter, and now she—or rather, her secret—was his prey. Taking a deep breath, Jessica said, “Although I value the confidence you placed in me, Graham, I fear I cannot return the favor, not—not in this matter. It is private, concerning no one but myself, and I have no intention of telling you about it. After your many kindnesses, I dislike having to refuse you, so I must request that you do not question me again.”

He studied her in grim silence, his eyes coldly intent, but when he spoke, his voice sounded almost—almost hurt. “I had thought you were beginning to trust me, Jess. I am not trying to play the tyrant; my concern is only for your welfare. I know you must have endured much during the past year. If there is some man….”

Silently she shook her head, making stray tendrils of her black hair flutter about her face. When she did not speak, he expelled his breath with a hiss and muttered harshly, “Very well, my girl, if that’s the way you insist it must be, so be it. But do not think for a moment that the matter is forgotten. We will discuss it again later.” He paused, thinking hard. “In the meantime, Jessica, since you seem so anxious to have some kind of occupation, some purpose, to justify your presence under my roof, I shall give you one; as you know, in a few days my fiancée and her brother Lord Crowell and a few other persons will be journeying here to Renard Chase to spend the Christmas season with us. I should like you to handle the arrangements for their visit. Despite her best efforts, Aunt Talmadge is quite hopeless at such matters—she tends to go overboard with ceremony and then omit essentials like food and adequate linens—and Claire is too inexperienced—”

“But I have no experience at all in these things,” Jessica interrupted, startled. “I’ve never tried to run a house the size of this one!”

Raeburn shrugged. “Perhaps not—but you have good sense and good taste, and you have proven yourself adept at…coping with adversity. I am certain you will have no difficulty in making my fiancée welcome in her future home.”

Jessica regarded Raeburn enigmatically, shaking her head at his blindness. The question was not whether she could make Lady Daphne welcome; the problem was that Raeburn’s intended was unlikely to consider Jessica welcome in her future home….

Footmen bore away the plates soiled with the remains of the sweet course—currant dumplings in wine sauce—and laid out the savory of oyster patties and—Raeburn glanced grinningly at Jessica—chocolates. Jessica was too busy discreetly directing the activities of the servants from her position next to Claire at the opposite end of the long dining table to notice the earl’s quick look, but at his side, Lady Daphne Templeton observed it and frowned. Raeburn, returning his attention to his betrothed just in time to catch that fleeting expression of displeasure in her light blue eyes, asked solicitously, “Is something amiss, Daphne? May I get you anything? More coffee, perhaps?”

“No, thank you, Graham,” she answered sweetly, smiling up at him. “You know your hospitality is above reproach.”

“Oh, hardly that, my dear,” Raeburn denied. “You have Jessica to thank for the fact that the fish was not boiled to mush nor the pheasant overdone. I believe she had a most edifying discussion with the cook and at last somehow managed to convince that good woman that charcoal inhibits digestion….”

“By God, yes!” Daphne’s brother William Templeton, Lord Crowell, declared from his seat at Claire’s right hand, just opposite Jessica. He picked up his wineglass and waved it toward Jessica in a vague gesture of salute, to which she responded with an equally vague smile, not yet certain that she liked the young duke. He was about twenty-four, with the same small stature, medium brown hair and sallow complexion his sister had, but unlike her, he was already running to fat, and Jessica thought privately that the fleshy folds around his pale eyes made his face look piggy. He said, “I congratulate Mrs. Foxe on the cuisine, but frankly, Raeburn, any change would be an improvement. I still remember the last time
I
stayed here, some two years ago, for the hunt. We kept running out of food, and what there was was burnt to a crisp. It’s only because I already love you like a brother that I must tell you that when you invited us here for Christmas, I hesitated before accepting. Were it not for the fact that your cellar is without peer….”

Jessica glanced sidelong at Flora Talmadge, who sat in the middle of the table, staring resolutely at her plate, as she silently suffered the man’s rudeness, Jessica could see hot, embarrassed color rouging Flora’s bristly cheeks, and despite her own conflicts with Claire’s chaperon and the woman’s admitted failings as a housekeeper, Jessica felt a surprising wave of outraged family loyalty at Lord Crowell’s insolence. Didn’t he realize that Flora had been in charge of the household during his last visit—or was he simply too confident of his inherent superiority to care that he was hurting a subordinate? Jessica said clearly, “My lord, you give me too much credit for the changes here at Renard Chase. I have only come onto the scene in the past few weeks. Mrs. Talmadge is the one who has labored so diligently over the years to make this establishment a comfortable home for my brother-in-law and his family.”

Flora glanced in astonishment at her unexpected champion, but she looked away quickly, biting her lip. Lord Crowell squinted across the table at Jessica, uncertain of Jessica’s mockery and hardly daring to believe that he had actually been chastised by the beautiful but encroaching female his sister disliked so intensely. A clumsy retort quivered on his thick lips, but before he could speak, from the head of the table Daphne’s voice injected with insinuating clarity, “Well, Mrs. Foxe, I collect
I
have much for which I must be grateful to you and Mrs. Talmadge.” Daringly she laid her hand on the table beside Raeburn’s in a gesture of invitation as she added, “I know your efforts will ease my happy task of making a home for my husband, his sister, and myself once we are married….”