Anne Barbour (30 page)

“Charles will have to marry her, now,” muttered Gerard to Harry in a gleeful undertone.

Lissa and Marcus strolled into the room at that point, and as they gazed blissfully on the assemblage, it was more than apparent that two hearts beat again as one. Simon moved forward and, with a grin, flung an arm about each of them.

“God, it’s good to see you two actually smiling again,” he said with satisfaction.

After several minutes of expressions of good will and congratulations, Simon disclosed to them the plans for their imminent departure. The lovers drifted from the room then to make their way to the inn yard, followed by Gerard and Harry. Simon, noting that he and Jane were alone in the room, hurried to her side, grasping her arm once more as she stood, apparently poised for a precipitous flight.

Jane stared numbly at Simon. She had paid little attention to the events that had just taken place. Her mind was still whirling at Simon’s casual acceptance of the fact that his betrothed had been discovered kissing another man. Even if she was right in her assumption that he was not in love with Winifred, he must expect to be a real husband to her. Surely, he would be faithful to his wife, and would expect the same from her. The chill that had settled in the bottom of her stomach when she had first become apprised of Simon’s betrothal churned dismally, for beneath her bewilderment at Simon’s cavalier attitude toward his engagement lay a despair that she knew would never be quite dispelled.

She supposed that she would get over Simon eventually—-at least to the point where she would no longer feel that part of her was missing when she was not with him, but a permanent pall seemed to hang over her. She had not expected to fall in love, and now that she had, the whole process seemed too painful to be borne. Winifred was her cousin, and she could hardly sever the connection between them, even if it meant having to maintain—

“What?” she asked, aware that Simon had spoken to her.

“I said,” he replied with surprising awkwardness, “there is something I wish to discuss with you before we return to Selworth.”

He released her arm, slipping his hand down to clasp her fingers in his.

“You already know of my offer to Winifred,” he began.

Dear God, she wondered miserably. Was he about to ask for her assistance in preparing her cousin for her wedding?

“Now that I have pretty much settled that affair, I—” He swallowed. “I want to talk about us.”

“I beg your pardon?” she asked in blank astonishment. Sealed that affair? She felt as though her heart had leaped into her throat, making it impossible for her to breathe. “Us? There is no ‘us,’ my lord.”

For a moment, Simon said nothing. Then, he lifted a hand and drew his fingertips along the curve of her cheek. A deep trembling started within her.

“I know you and I have had our differences, Jane, but I hope I am not imagining that there was—something else between us. Oh Lord!” he exclaimed impatiently. “What a stupid thing to say.” He took a deep breath. “Jane, I do love you so desperately, and I want to believe that—”

“What?” gasped Jane, feeling as though the room had suddenly tilted on its axis.

“I said, I want to believe that—

“No, before that.”

“Oh. I love you. You mean you didn’t know? Everyone else seems to.”

Jane was a sometimes reader of Gothic novels, but she had always been most disdainful of heroines who tended to swoon in times of crisis. Now, however, she thought that for the first time in her life she was about to simply collapse in an unconscious heap on the floor. Indeed, it seemed a consummation devoutly to be wished, for then perhaps she would not feel the pain that swept through her in great, slashing waves. Dear God, he loved her—he said—and he was marrying someone else! To what kind of monster had she lost her heart?

“Jane?” said Simon questioningly. “Are you all right? You’re white as milk. I did not mean to discommode you.” He sighed. “It appears it’s a good thing I left the diplomatic service; I seem to be making a mull out of everything I touch lately. I had hoped—-after yesterday, that you felt the same as I.” He raised her fingers to his lips and she trembled slightly at the contact. “Jane, I—oh, for God’s sake, what are you two doing here?” he finished suddenly as the door to the coffee room opened to admit Jared and Diana, expostulating loudly with each other as they entered.

“I only meant, my love,” Diana was saying, “that we do not wish to be precipitate about this. If Jane—Why there you are, Simon!” She ran forward lightly to throw her arms first about her brother-in-law and then Jane.

“Simon!” exclaimed Jared simultaneously. “What the devil has been going on? Are you all right? Is Lissa—?”

“Yes,” replied Simon, trying to keep the frustrated impatience out of his voice. “Everyone is well, except for Charles, of course. It was his blood you saw, but he’s fine now.”

Once more the sequence of events leading from Charles’s misdeeds of the night before was detailed.

“But what are you two doing here?” asked Simon. “You’re supposed to be deflecting suspicion and maintaining the status quo at Selworth.”

“My bride”—he cast a sardonic glance at Diana—”found herself constitutionally unable to wait quietly at home while momentous goings-on were taking place elsewhere. We shuffled off the manning-the-fort duty to Aunt Amabelle and started off not long after you left.”

“Jared!” interposed Diana indignantly. “Of all the plumpers! Who was it who paced the floor nonstop until I thought you would wear a path in the carpet, and who finally said, ‘I’m damned if I’ll just sit here with my hands folded!’ “ She paused for breath, and her husband promptly silenced her with a quick kiss before she could resume her brief tirade.

“Well,” he said, waving his hand, “howsoever, here we are.”

“Yes,” said Simon, “but I don’t understand—Good God!” he finished as the coffee room door opened once more followed by the entrance of Lady Wimpole, her ladyship’s maid, and Fletcher, Lady Hermione’s maid. “What is this? A gathering of the clans?”

Jared sighed irritably. “Just as we were ready to start out, Lady Wimpole came up, wondering where Hermione had got to. We tried to put her off., but she sniffed out that something was amiss and insisted on accompanying us.”

“Where is my baby?” demanded Lady Wimpole, clearly on the verge of hysteria. “I knew we should never have set out from Oxfordshire to this godforsaken hellhole, and now look what has happened!” The others stared at her in some astonishment, for none of them had ever heard the woman raise her voice above a whisper. She whirled on Simon. “What have you done with my baby, you wicked man?”

Stunned, Simon pointed mutely to the stairs, whereupon Lady Wimpole whirled and hurried upstairs, followed by the thoroughly cowed maids.

Simon looked quietly at Jane and their eyes met in an involuntary sharing of amusement and surprise before Jane hastily dropped her gaze.

“Well!” said Diana after a moment, and the others nodded in dazed agreement.

At this point, Gerard and Harry burst into the room, followed more slowly by Marcus and Lissa.

“What the devil is keeping you?” asked Gerard indignantly. “We’ve been waiting out there for—Oh!” He subsided in some confusion on observing the marquess and his wife.

Some minutes later, having put them in possession of the circumstances surrounding this latest arrival, Simon said abruptly, “Now then, there is no reason for any of us to remain here any longer, so may I suggest we take our departure—before anyone else shows up? I am still anxious about Winifred’s whereabouts.” He moved to Jared and spoke in low tones to his brother.

At the sound of her cousin’s name on Simon’s lips, Jane stiffened. Of course, Winifred would be Simon’s primary concern right now—and forever more, for that matter. She glanced at him from beneath her lashes, conscious of the tension that bubbled between them. Despite the inner chill that seemed to have spread over her entire being, she was obliged to fight the instinct to move to his side. It was almost as though they stood alone together in the midst of the press of people and the tumult surrounding them. Would it always be like this? she wondered dully.

She was aroused from her unpleasant reverie as the group began to exit the coffee room toward the outer door of the inn. Gerard and Harry had already left the chamber, and Jane moved after them. Jared intercepted her, however.

“I’m sorry, Jane. There won’t be any room for you in Harry’s curricle, since Gerard is riding with him. Marc and Lissa are coming with us and that will pretty much fill up our coach, as well. Simon has plenty of room, though,” he concluded with a cheerful wave of his hand.

“Oh, but... !” cried Jane rather wildly. It was too late. She looked around to find that she was once more alone with Simon in the inn’s dark, little coffee room.

“So shall all the couples three
Ever true in loving be.”
—A Midsummer Night’s Dream,
V, i.

“Jane.” Simon said the word simply and without expression, but she flinched as though he had hurled a stone at her. He moved toward her, and she backed away until she stood against a wall.

He looked at her for a long moment and Jane noted with a sense of deep unease that his eyes had turned to an intense cinnamon, and the gold flecks in his gaze seemed to form a compelling vortex into which she could feel herself slipping despite herself.

“Jane, what is it?” he asked, his eyes filled with what appeared to be honest puzzlement. “I do not wish to distress you, but I must speak. I told you that I love you, and surely that came as no surprise. My dearest love, last night I held you in my arms, and I could have sworn you felt the same as I. Jane, I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

At this, the dam of ice that had built up within Jane burst. My God, he wanted her for his mistress! A wave of fury struck her with such force that she shook with it.

“How dare you! I have heard of men like you—without soul or principle, but I—I would never have thought you to be one of them. Nor did I ever expect to listen to such a despicable proposal! Please let me go.”

Simon simply stared at her, white-faced and bewildered. “Despicable proposal?” he asked finally in a hoarse voice. “But, I want to marry you, Jane. If you don’t like the idea, feel free to tell me, but—’despicable?’ “

“M-marry me! What about Winifred?” cried Jane.

“Winifred? What’s Winifred got to do with anything?”

Now, she was sure she was going mad. “I do not know what is going on in your mind, my lord—perhaps it is better that way— but I have no more to say to you except to say very plainly that your attentions are distasteful to me.” Her resolution almost failed her at the expression of pain that flashed in his eyes, and she continued in a rush. “If I seemed to—to encourage you before, I’m afraid you misinterpreted what was merely confusion and—and embarrassment on my part.”

She stopped, almost panting in the effort it took not to sob out her hurt and humiliation.

Simon stood very still, his gaze shuttered. After an initial sensation that the world had just blown up in his face, he was brought to the sure realization that Jane was not speaking from the heart. Confusion? Embarrassment? No. Those searing kisses had been given freely and with genuine passion. There was something she was not telling him. Why could she not trust him? he thought with a trace of bitterness.

“Jane,” he said, moving toward her. “What the devil—?” He was brought up short as the entire party to whom he had just waved farewell, trooped back into the inn.

Simon felt an urge to throw his head back and howl his frustration.

“Now what?” he asked in a strangled voice. The next moment, he noted that the group seemed to have swelled in size, even given Jane’s unwilling presence in the midst of the multitude. After a moment, he brought himself under control enough to focus on the individual components of the chattering throng and thereupon made a startling discovery.

“Winifred!” he croaked. “What are you doing here?”

His ward, her transcendent beauty more pronounced than ever, moved through the group to him, the stolid Sir James Beecham close behind her.

“Lord Simon!” she breathed, her eyes sparkling like amethysts in sunlight. “Please wish me happy.”

Uncomprehending, Simon gaped at her for a long moment as, with a monumental effort, he thrust his hurt to the back of his mind. Then, assuming the most menacing frown at his disposal, he advanced on her. “What the devil have you been up to, Winifred? I tell you right now, I will no longer tolerate—

“One moment, my lord.”

Simon glared in astonishment at Sir James, who moved forward to interpose himself between Winifred and her wrathful guardian.

“I am happy to inform you, Lord Simon, that the lady is no longer your responsibility,” said the bulky baronet in his usual, colorless tone of voice.

Simon merely stared in blank stupefaction as Winifred laughed aloud.

“It’s true, my lord. The most wonderful thing has happened!” She turned a blinding gaze on Jane. “Oh Jane, you will never guess!”

“Winifred, what have you done?” asked Jane in a constricted voice.

“Why, I am married!”

Unconsciously, Simon turned to Jane, grasping her hand in his. Together they watched, speechless, as Sir James bent a benevolent glance on Winifred.

“M-married?” echoed Jane.

Winifred thrust forth her left hand, upon which could be seen a sapphire ring the size of a small cabbage. “Isn’t it wonderful?” She cried. “My dear Sir James proposed last week, and we were married yesterday by special license.”

“Special license?” croaked Simon. He was having a great deal of difficulty absorbing what she was saying, as though she spoke in a foreign language. “Special license?” he said again, rolling the words about in his head in an effort to make sense of them. He glanced at Sir James—unassuming, unattractive, unwealthy Sir James, and his gaze swiveled back to Winifred. “But...”

“Apparently,” said Jared dryly, taking pity on his stricken sibling, “the vicar married them yesterday afternoon by special license, right before dinner. The reason we could not find Winifred after the play was that they had retired to Sir James’s chambers to, er, celebrate their union.”