Unconquered (30 page)

“I didn’t mean … Oh—” She blushed, realizing he was teasing her. Regaining her composure, she said, “I’d be very pleased to accept another rabbit, m’lord.”

The children had gone outside to play, and he offered to help her clear the dishes away, but she refused. “You must go, m’lord, while it is still light enough to see you.”

“Why?”

She blushed again. “If the neighbors do not see you leave, they will assume you did not. Forgive my presumption and indelicacy, m’lord, but I must think of my children.”

He rose. “No, Mistress Bowen, it is I who should ask your pardon for being so thoughtless. I have enjoyed myself today as I have not in many months. It would ill repay your hospitality if I were to cast doubt upon your reputation.” He bowed his way out the door. “Your servant, ma’am.”

She stood watching him ride down the road, sighing. If only some good man like that one would come along for her to marry! Anne Bowen knew she would have to remarry if she possibly could. Lord Swynford had been very kind, and the little sewing she could get kept them from starvation, but John Robert must not be allowed to grow up ignorant and Mary Anne must one day make a decent match. Unless some good fairy left her a pot of gold it would be an impossibility for her to do without a man, but who was she likely to meet here in Swynford village? And to leave here would mean the workhouse for certain.

Riding back to the hall in the rose-mauve dusk, Jonathan Dunham found himself unable to get her out of his mind. She was so lovely, and so brave. She reminded him of Charity, and yet she wasn’t at all like Charity. Charity had been a big, buxom Cape Cod girl with laughing eyes and bouncing ash-brown curls whose complexion was usually tanned because of the amount of time she spent outdoors. She was a strong, practical, sensible, wholesome example of American womanhood. Anne Bowen was an English rose, of medium height, slender with a pale complexion. She had lovely gray eyes and soft, copper curls. She gave the impression of great delicacy although her great strength was obvious. The only true likeness between the two women was in their devotion to their children.

He had been attracted to her from the very beginning. All he heard of her from others and all he saw increased his admiration.

He could not keep himself from seeing her, and soon he came after dark, and to the back door of the cottage. But they remained chaste with each other. He and the family had gone to London after the new year, and it was not until May that he saw Anne again. He had sent the children gifts from London and arranged with Lord Swynford that the Bowen children be allowed to ride the Swynford horses. “Good Lord, Adrian,” he chided, “these children are gentry—impoverished, but gentry nonetheless. Until the vicar and their father died they had their own horses. Besides, with both our ladies enceinte, there’s no
one but the stableboys to exercise the horses. The children would be doing you a favor.”

“You’ve taken a deep interest in the Bowens, Jared. Is the pretty young widow consoling you for Miranda’s loss,” teased Adrian, and then stepped back at the look of fury on Lord Dunham’s face. “Good Lord, Jared! What did I say?”

“Mistress Bowen is not my mistress, Adrian, if that’s what you were implying. I am franky appalled that you would assume such a thing of a lady like Anne Bowen.”

Adrian, Lord Swynford, looked at his brother-in-law strangely, but said nothing else. Miranda seemed perfectly happy with her husband, and it was not his place to interfere.

Jonathan saw Anne Bowen again on the first Sunday he was back at Swynford Hall. As he left the church he saw her on the arm of Peter Rogers, the innkeeper. “I thought the innkeeper had a wife,” he murmured to Adrian.

“The bailiff tells me Mistress Rogers died last winter, and Peter’s been seen in Mistress Bowen’s company quite a bit in the last month. He’s not such a bad fellow, and she’s got to marry again because of the children.”

As Jonathan looked at the innkeeper he felt a terrible rage welling up. The man gazed at Anne as if she were a strawberry tart he was going to devour. His small eyes kept darting looks at her full bosom, and each time he did so he licked his lips. Jonathan wanted to smash the man’s face. All the rest of that day he thought of Peter Rogers … Peter Rogers and Anne. By dusk he could stand no more. He rode to her cottage.

Her eyes were wary when she answered his impatient knock. “M’lord?”

“Are you alone?”

“Yes, m’lord.”

“The children?”

“Long abed, m’lord. Please come in, for you’re quite visible in the light from the door.”

He stepped across her threshold and, closing the door behind him, demanded, “Are you going to marry Peter Rogers?”

“If he asks me,” she replied quietly.

“Why?”

“M’lord, I have two children. It is difficult at best for a woman alone. I have no money and no family left, and my late husband’s
family will do nothing to help me. I know that for a certainty because I humbled myself and begged them to help their grandchildren. I
must
remarry, but no one in the village is my social equal, so what am I to do? Mr. Rogers is an ambitious man. If he asks me I will accept him providing he agrees to send my John away to school and to dower Mary Anne.”

“You will sell yourself to that swine for money?” He was outraged. “If it’s money you want I’ll pay more,” he snarled. Pulling her roughly against him, he kissed her, kissed her passionately until she stopped struggling, stopped and became a soft, pliant, moaning armful. He picked her up and carried her into her small bedroom. He made love to her, slowly and tenderly, with a gentleness as great as his anger had been great.

Anne could not believe what was happening to her. It had always been pleasant with Robert, but it had never been like this. This was a hot passion that filled her with the most extraordinary feeling she had ever known, and when it was over and she lay spent in his arms, she wept, convinced that anything so wonderful could not be good.

He held her against him, allowing the warm tears to soak his chest. Finally when her sobs became little hiccoughs that gradually died away he said quietly, “If I were free to marry you, would you be my wife, Anne?”

“B-but you are not,” she sighed.

“You have not answered my question, love.
If
I were free, would you marry me?”

“Yes, of course.”

He smiled in the darkness. “Don’t accept Mr. Rogers, Anne. Everything will work out, I promise you. Will you trust me?”

“Are you offering me a carte blanche?” she asked him.

“Good Lord, no!” he whispered fiercely. “I hold you in greater esteem than that.”

She didn’t understand, but she was far too happy to care. She loved him. She had loved him from the moment she met him. He had not said the words, but she knew that he loved her, too.

He left just before first light, slipping out the back door of the cottage and riding home across the misty fields in the gray world of predawn. At nine that morning Miranda received Jonathan in her bedroom. Sitting up in bed, a rose pink silk bedjacket about her shoulders, her hair in a neat braid, she was an extremely
fetching morsel, he thought. He kissed the hand she extended. “Madam.”

“Good morning, m’lord. For a gentleman who spent the entire night out, you’re looking quite well.”

“You’re mighty well informed for so early in the morning,” he teased.

“Ah,” she chuckled, “the stable boy saw you come in and he told the dairymaid who told the kitchenmaid when she brought in the eggs this morning. The kitchenmaid naturally passed it on to the cook who mentioned it to my maid when Perky went for my breakfast tray, and Perky told me. She’s quite indignant that you’re neglecting me.” Here, Miranda skillfully mimicked her loyal servant, “It whats you can expect from a gentleman once he’s got what he wants, m’lady.”

Jonathan laughed. “I’m delighted to know that I live up to Perky’s ideal of a gentleman.”

“You’re troubled,” she said, “I can see it in your eyes. Is there any way in which I can help?”

“I’m not sure,” he answered. “You see, I’ve fallen in love, Miranda. I want to marry, and because I must be Jared, and not Jon, I cannot even tender the lady a respectable offer. And I want to, Miranda. I don’t want Anne believing my love a shallow thing. I want to tell her who I really am, but I don’t know if I dare. I cannot endanger Jared.”

Miranda was thoughtful for a few moments, then she said, “First you must tell me who the lady is, Jon.”

“Mistress Anne Bowen.”

“A quiet and discreet lady, I have heard. Are you sure she would accept you if you asked?”

“Yes.”

“I cannot see that Mistress Bowen’s knowledge of our secret would harm Jared,” said Miranda slowly. “Surely he will soon be home, and this masquerade can be ended. We are far enough from London, and this is not a fashionable enough place to draw the ton. I would not put Mistress Bowen under a painful strain believing that she is involved in an adulterous situation. I think you had best tell her the truth, Jon. Do you think, however, that she will believe you? This
is
a rather unusual situation.”

“She will believe me if you come with me when I tell her.”

Miranda’s mind began to churn. She had been considering a
plan and now she saw that if Jon were occupied with Mistress Bowen she would be free to go her way. “All right, Jon, I will attest to your honesty with Mistress Bowen.”

Elated, he kissed her hand again and left the room whistling. Miranda smiled to herself. She was glad to see him happy, and with Mistress Bowen to soothe him, he should not be too distressed when she disappeared.

She had decided to go to Russia to find Jared. He had been gone almost ten months. Just before they had left London, she had managed to corner Lord Palmerston. The British Secretary of War had been abrupt. “When I know, you’ll know, madam,” he said.

“He has been gone months, my lord, and I have been allowed no word. I have just borne my child alone. Can you give me no hope? No word at all?”

“I repeat, madam, when I know, you’ll know. Your servant, m’lady.” He smiled cordially and bowed.

It was all Miranda could do to keep from screaming. Lord Palmerston was the most arrogant man she had ever met, and he was being terribly unfair. She was through with waiting. She could stand no more. If Jared could not come to her, she would go to him.

Of course, she could not discuss this with anyone. She had consulted a map in Adrian’s library, and saw that it was well over a hundred miles to the small village on the piece of English coast known as The Wash where Jared’s yacht,
Dream Witch
, was moored. She would need a coach, for she could not use a Swynford vehicle. Most of all, she would need help, but whom could she rely on?

Then it came to her that she would have her own coach brought up from London! Amanda and Adrian had insisted it wasn’t necessary that they have their own coach here in the country when the Swynford carriage house boasted so many vehicles. She would now need that coach, and Perky could help. Her flirtatious maid was currently enamored of the undercoachman.

Brushing her mistress’s hair that evening, Perky sighed quite audibly. Miranda quickly took the advantage. “Poor Perky! That’s a lonely lover’s sigh if I ever heard one. I imagine you miss your young man.”

“Yes, m’lady, I do. He’s asked me to marry him, and we
thought we’d have this summer to do it in, and be together. Then m’lord left the coach in town.”

“Oh, Perky, why didn’t you tell me!” Miranda was all sympathy. “We will simply have to get your young man … what is his name?”

“Martin, m’lady.”

“We will have to find a way to get Martin to Swynford!”

“Oh, m’lady, if you only could!”

Miranda plotted. Adrian and Jon had been invited by Lord Stewart to go fishing on his estates in Scotland. Both she and Amanda had insisted that they go even though the invitation was set for a date immediately after the birth of Amanda’s baby.

“I should feel so guilty if I denied Adrian his summer pleasures,” said Amanda. “Besides, the christening will not be until Michaelmas. Newborn babies look so odd—not at all at their best, whereas an infant of three months is quite handsome.”

“Upon what do you base this conclusion?” teased Miranda gently.

“Old Lady Swynford has assured me it is so. You know, Miranda, I misjudged Adrian’s mama. She is quite an amiable female, and we both want what is best for Adrian. I am amazed at how similar many of our opinions are. And she admitted to me only last week that she had been mistaken in her opinion of me. She says that I am the perfect wife for Adrian!”

“How fortunate for you both that you have become friends,” remarked Miranda drily. More than likely, Adrian’s mama realized that the less she tolerated Amanda, the less she would see of her grandchild, thought Miranda. Well, at least Mandy would not be friendless once she was gone.

Once Jonathan and Adrian were gone off to Scotland, the coach would arrive from London. She had debated what to tell her sister, and finally decided that the truth was best. Poor Jon would be hard pressed to explain her absence to an outraged Amanda and her spouse. Best Mandy know that the man she believed to be Jared Dunham was in reality his brother Jonathan. Better she understand that the reason Miranda must leave her child was to go in search of her husband. But Amanda could not be told until the last minute. She would be horrified and frightened by what Miranda intended to do. No. Amanda should not know until the last minute.

Her own coach, driven by Martin, would take her to the little
village of Welland Beach. She would be accompanied by Perky, for no respectable woman would travel without her maid. She would see that Perky and Martin were married before they left. They would wait in Welland Beach with the carriage until Miranda returned with her husband. It was a very sensible plan.

The days passed and spring became early summer. One afternoon Jonathan asked Miranda if she would accompany him in the high perch phaeton. As they drove down the drive he remarked, “You are looking quite fetching today, my dear.” Miranda smiled prettily at him. She was wearing a pink muslin dress sprigged in small white apple blossoms with pale green leaves. The dress had short puffed sleeves, and although the back of it was high, the neck was low. Beneath the bustline, the gown was tied with green and white silk ribbons. Miranda wore long green gloves that reached her elbow. Her high-crowned hat was of straw, and tied with ribbons that matched the ones on her gown. As the horses reached the open highway Miranda opened her pink parasol to keep her complexion safe from the sun.