Baroness in Buckskin (21 page)

When she descended the stairs to the drawing room some time later (having dismissed her maid to assist Miss Ramsay in dressing, once that damsel was released from Monsieur Lavert’s hands), she found Richard and Peter there before her. Richard prowled restlessly about the room, pausing occasionally to rake his fingers through artfully (or perhaps not so artfully) disarranged black locks. Peter stood before the fire, drumming his fingers on the mantel and staring morosely into the blaze.

She gave a little laugh that held a note of hysteria. “It’s a ball, you know, not a funeral.”

Richard turned to give her a rueful smile in return. “Forgive me, Jane. It is not every day I announce my betrothal.”

“I should hope not!” she replied with forced lightness. “It would be very odd if it were.”

There was no time for a more extended conversation, for the out-of-town guests began to drift downstairs after completing their own preparations for the ball, and the talk turned to the sort of catching up common to family members who have not seen one another for some time. Then, at last, the door opened once more, and framed in the doorway stood a sight to bring all conversation to a halt.

Susannah was dressed in palest pink gauze over a satin slip of ivory that was surely of no creamier a shade than the rounded bosom that rose and fell over her
décolletage
. Her eyes were wide (and frankly terrified) and her cheeks held the faintest trace of a blush which might have been designed by Nature to coordinate with her gown. More startling than all of this, however, was her hair. The unruly mop of that morning had been ruthlessly sheared, and the short crop which remained had been adorned simply with pearls and allowed to curl as it willed. Indeed, Susannah could not have mussed it if she tried, for—and this was the proof of Monsieur Lavert’s genius—it was meant to look mussed.  In fact, she looked as if she might have only that moment arisen from her bed—an image that was somehow both innocent and seductive.

Richard, beholding his chosen bride, was conscious of a profound sense of relief, even as he acknowledged that this was hardly an emotion worthy of a man confronting the woman to whom his betrothal was soon to be announced. Uncomfortably aware that his reaction left much to be desired, he moved forward to greet her.

“My dear Cousin Susannah,” he said, taking her gloved hand in his, “you have left us all speechless.”

She was not quite certain how to interpret this remark. “How do I look?” she asked nervously, her voice hardly more than a whisper.

“Like a baroness,” he said, and raised her hand to his lips.

From his vantage point by the fireplace, Peter could not hear this exchange, but he could not fail to notice Susannah’s downcast eyes and the rich color that bloomed in her cheeks. He experienced the same sick sensation in the pit of his stomach as he’d felt when he watched Fairacres crash to the ground in a ball of flame.

Soon it was time for the family to take up their positions just inside the ballroom door, where they greeted each new arrival announced by Wilson, thanking the guests for their attendance and presenting them to Miss Ramsay. It was not until half-past nine that they were released from this duty, and Sir Matthew, seeing Jane free at last, lost no time in claiming her hand for the first dance. When the set began to form, however, he made no attempt to lead her onto the floor, but instead asked for the indulgence of a word in private. She knew very well the intent behind this request. At any other time, she would have seized upon her responsibilities as hostess as a convenient excuse to decline it. But Peter had not been the only witness to that exchange between Richard and Susannah, and the sight had only confirmed for Jane the impossibility of continuing at Ramsay Hall, an unwilling intruder upon their wedded bliss. For bliss there would certainly be, and that rather sooner than later; no one who had seen the look in Richard’s eyes as he beheld his bride-to-be could doubt it. And so she smiled a bit sadly at Sir Matthew and allowed him to lead her into a small anteroom along one wall.

Once inside this chamber, Sir Matthew lost no time. He closed the door behind them and settled Jane on one of the two straight chairs placed against the wall, where she perched at its edge like a bird poised for flight.

“My dear Miss Hawthorne,” he began, taking her hand and dropping to one knee before her, “when I consider the prospect of your being replaced as mistress of Ramsay Hall by that child from America, I can no longer be silent! How I wish to see you installed at Pitney Place as Lady Pitney! How I long to cherish you as you deserve! Do, do say I may!”

“Very well,” said Jane, quite steadily. “You may.”

Sir Matthew blinked at her, not trusting the evidence of his own ears. “I—I beg your pardon?”

She took a deep breath. “You may install me at Pitney Place as Lady Pitney. You may cherish me as you say I deserve. In short, Sir Matthew, I will marry you.”

“My dear Miss Hawthorne—no, my dearest
Jane
!” exclaimed Sir Matthew, overcome with emotion. “I confess, there have been times over the last few years that I feared I should never hear such glorious words fall from your sweet lips! You have made me the happiest of men!”

In proof of this statement, he took her gloved hand and pressed it to his lips; apparently she need not look for passion in her husband—which was, she reflected, probably a good thing.

“But in accepting you, Sir Matthew, I must be honest,” she added hastily. “I cannot—I do not feel for you that degree of affection which a man might wish for—indeed, which he ought to expect in his wife. But if you can be content with friendship, then—then I promise I will do all I can to see that you are—are comfortable.”

“Pray say no more, my dear Jane! I shall make you learn to love me, and shall revel in the teaching!”

Privately Jane rather doubted her ability to master such a lesson, but since she was quite determined on this course, she held her tongue.

“I shall seek out Lord Ramsay at once,” promised Sir Matthew, clambering to his feet. “I know we need not obtain his permission to wed, since you are of legal age, but I am persuaded you should not like to do so without his blessing.”

In fact, Jane could think of nothing she would like less than attempting to explain to Richard the sudden reversal in her sentiments where Sir Matthew was concerned. But she could hardly admit such a thing to her newly affianced husband, so she sat numbly on her chair while the blissful bridegroom hurried away in search of his lordship.

He found his quarry just leading Miss Hunsford out of the set as the quadrille ended. “Ah, well met, Lord Ramsay!” he exclaimed gleefully. “How convenient for me that the music should be ending at such an opportune time! I have need of a word alone with you.”

Richard glanced about the crowded ballroom. “Can it not wait, Sir Matthew? I should not leave my guests at present.”

“I am sure you will forgive my natural impatience when I tell you it concerns Miss Hawthorne.”

“Jane?” Richard’s brow puckered in a thoughtful frown. “Nothing is wrong, I hope?”

“No, no—quite the reverse, in fact,” Sir Matthew assured him. “But I don’t like to bandy a lady’s name about in public.”

Seeing no other way to rid himself of his tiresome neighbor (and, if he were honest with himself, curious to know what Sir Matthew might have to say regarding Jane), Richard consented to grant him five minutes, and led the way out of the ballroom and across the corridor to his study.

“Now, Sir Matthew, I trust you will tell me what this is all about.”

“Nothing would give me greater pleasure, my lord. I should like to ask your blessing upon my marriage to your cousin Miss Hawthorne.”

Richard shook his head. “God knows I can offer no valid objection to such a match, Sir Matthew, but I fear I can give you no reason to hope for a different answer from Miss Hawthorne than she has given you in the past.”

“But that is just what she has done, Lord Ramsay. I have only this moment asked Miss Hawthorne for her hand in marriage, and she has done me the honour of accepting my suit.”

“
What?
” The blood seemed to run cold in Richard’s veins. A dozen, a hundred images swirled together in his brain: his steadfastness in seeking out Jane whenever he needed a sympathetic ear or an informed opinion; his hope that she might transform Susannah into what he now knew to be a replica of herself; his terror at seeing her fall from the banister; and, finally, his utter revulsion at the thought of her as Sir Matthew’s bride. There could be only one conclusion, and one, moreover that he should have reached months—no, years ago. “I don’t believe you!” he challenged, with a confidence born of desperation.

Far from being offended by this unflattering response, Sir Matthew chuckled. “I’m sure I don’t wonder at it. To be sure, there have been times over the last few years when I wondered if she would ever—but all that is at an end. She has consented to be my wife. I’m sure I need not tell you that I am the happiest of men.”

“Where is Jane?” demanded Richard. “I want a word with her. Until I hear from her own lips, I will not—where is she?”

“I left the future Lady Pitney to await my return in one of the antechambers along the west wall—” began Sir Matthew, but soon found himself speaking to the empty air. Lord Ramsay flung himself from the study and back into the ballroom, where he opened the door to each small alcove in turn until he came to the one where Jane sat, pale but composed.

Sir Matthew had caught up to him by this time, and positioned himself beside Jane’s chair, placing his hand on her shoulder in a proprietary manner. “Here is Lord Ramsay so surprised he refuses to believe it until he hears it from your own fair lips,” he told her with a self-satisfied smile. “But he assures me he can have no objection to the match, so you need have no fears on that head, my love.”

“Is it true, Jane?” demanded Richard. “Have you agreed to marry Sir Matthew?”

“Yes,” she said baldly.

Sir Matthew patted her shoulder and once again proclaimed himself the happiest of men.

“Yes, well, I should like to have a word alone with my cousin, Sir Matthew,” Richard said. “Until I am convinced that she considers herself the happiest of women, I cannot give my consent.”

“Your consent is not necessary, Richard,” Jane pointed out. “Recall that I have been of legal age for the last eight years and more.”

“But still as lovely as you were when you first came to Ramsay Hall as a girl of eighteen,” Sir Matthew assured her in ardent tones.

Richard neither confirmed nor denied this assessment of Jane’s charms, but strode to the door and held it open pointedly. “If you will excuse us, Sir Matthew?”

“Very well, my lord.” To Jane, he added, “I shall leave you to persuade Lord Ramsay of the strength of my devotion.”

In full confidence of this happy outcome, he took his leave. Richard closed the door after him and turned on Jane. “Of the strength of Sir Matthew’s devotion I have no need of persuasion, for he has plagued you with it for the better part of a decade. Yours, however, I beg leave to doubt. Jane, how could you?”

“How could I what?”

“Do not play the dunce with me, my girl! How could you accept Sir Matthew’s proposal when I know full well that you can barely tolerate the man?” His eyes narrowed in sudden suspicion. “Has that idiot been filling your head with nonsense about your being no longer welcome at Ramsay Hall? If he has, by God, I’ll—”

“He has done no such thing,” Jane insisted, coming to her betrothed’s defense. “Oh, I do not deny your approaching nuptials influenced my decision, but Sir Matthew has not said anything that had not occurred to me on my own.”

“And the—how did your affianced husband put it?—the ‘strength of your devotion’ toward him?”

To her annoyance, Jane felt her face grow warm, and knew she was blushing. “I assure you, I never gave Sir Matthew any reason to suppose—in fact, I told him quite plainly that I—that I do not feel for him that degree of affection that a man might hope to inspire in his wife. If he is not troubled by its absence, I see no reason why you should be.”

“And what of you?”

He took a rather menacing step in her direction, and Jane leaned back in her chair in an attempt to put as much distance between them as possible. “What—what about me?”

He took another step closer, and she found herself cowering against the back of her chair like a cornered animal.

“There was a time when you had strong feelings on the subject of making a loveless marriage.”

She knew he was thinking of her rejection of his own long-ago proposal, and hurried into speech to cover her embarrassment. “On the contrary, I believe a loveless marriage may be quite happy, so long as there is mutual respect and friendship. But a marriage where love is on one side only—” She broke off abruptly, horribly aware of having said too much.

“I see,” Richard said slowly, regarding her with piercing dark eyes. “How long have you known?”

There was no point in denying it. “I knew it from the first,” she confessed.

He stared at her. “But that is impossible!”

“Believe me,” she said ruefully, “it is not.”

“But I have only just discovered it myself!” he exclaimed, recalling that horrific moment in his study when he’d learned that Jane,
his
Jane, had betrothed herself to a man who was not worthy to tie her bootlaces.

“Permit me to point out that I am rather more closely concerned in the matter,” she said with a sad little smile.

“I should like to know how you arrived at that conclusion! You may say I have been remarkably obtuse, but I maintain that no one can be more closely concerned in the matter of my feelings than I am.”

“Richard, what
are
you talking about?” she asked, baffled by this seeming
non sequitur
.

“I am saying I love you, dammit!” he shouted. “And although I might stand aside for a better man, I will not permit you to marry that bore, Sir Matthew Pitney!”

In proof of this statement, he grabbed her by the arms, lifted her bodily from her chair, and kissed her in a manner that left her in no doubt as to the violence of his affections.