In the Arms of an Earl (40 page)

New tears filled her eyes. How thoughtful of her sister to send such a gift. Mamma had removed their old pianoforte to make room for the new one, but she hadn’t so much as looked at it since its arrival. She’d looked forward to playing Frederick’s collection of music when they finally settled at Dornley Park, but that dream had died along with the rest of them.

Not even her anguish could completely stifle the age-old lure of music to her weary soul. Forgetting the tea, she walked to the instrument and laid her hand on the case. Her fingers skimmed over the intricate tracery of carvings and designs in the cabinet. Oval medallions had been set on each side, and she realized what she’d thought were fanciful scrolls were Frederick’s and her initials.

F.B. and J.B.

She sank onto the bench. Her hands lay useless in her lap as she stared at the monograms. Surely, Rosalind would not have ordered something so intricate. A design such as this would have been ordered months ago, before her family even knew of her acquaintance with Frederick.

Frederick must have sent it. She skimmed her finger over the entwined monograms. The pianoforte was hardly a gift from a man who would throw her away a mere few months after the wedding.

Heart pounding as realization slowly dawned, she rose from the bench and lifted the hinged lid. Pages of music filled the space. Most were copies in Frederick’s youthful hand, with his own comments and scribbles, arranging a phrase here, changing a measure there. Others looked like signed copies by the composers themselves. She stared at the inked signature of W.A. Mozart on one of them, squinting to read the notes on the side scribbled in Italian. She replaced it reverently on the stack.

At the bottom was the piece she loved the most.

The Symphony of the Sea.

He’d written something across the top, and she blinked away her tears to read his words.

“
I shall always love you. Wait for me
.”

Tears splattered the pages, making dark rivulets where they mixed with the ink. She ran her finger over the smeared words, imagining she could touch the hand that had written them.

Why had he sent it? Was it a mere token commemorating the brief time they’d spent together? She couldn’t recall now when the instrument had arrived. Mamma thought Rosalind had sent it. No one had bothered to examine it, since she was the only one in the family who played. Had it come a few days before, or had weeks passed? She couldn’t remember.

She stretched her arms across the keyboard and rested her cheek in the middle. If she tried very hard, she could imagine she was lying on the green grass of Dornley Park. She could almost smell the black bottom mud of the secret pond. In her mind, Frederick was beside her, his arms strong and comforting, his voice soft in her ear.

“Wait for me.”

She didn’t know if she should laugh or cry. So she did both. Her baby—Frederick’s baby—kicked for the first time.

Chapter Forty

The enormous, ancient oak tree at the end of the drive spread its branches over the low wall where she used to sit and read once upon a time.

Frederick sat beneath the branches, his shoulders hunched.

She’d forgotten how to breathe. She wanted to call to him, to fly to him. Instead, she gripped the edges of the quilt around her and padded barefoot across the wet grass. He watched her in silence.

She walked woodenly toward him; trying not to break into tears of relief he had not listened to her and gone away. He appeared haggard, and his eyes had sunken into his once tawny skin, now as pale as she imagined hers was.

He stood when she stopped in front of him, his brown eyes fixed dully on her.

“I wanted to try one more time, Jane.” He rubbed his hand across his jaw, darkened with shadowy whiskers. “I have been over it a hundred times, but I cannot comprehend what it is you do to me. I am an utter fool—I admit it freely. I should never have let you go when we were at Lyonsgate, but you did seem quite desperate to be rid of me.”

“I didn’t want—”

He held up his hand, silencing her. “Please, let me say what I must, and then you will be rid of me for good.”

His sigh mingled with a tired kind of groan, and her heart trembled on its fragile cords. If only he would let her speak—apologize for the confusion that was hers alone.

“Before the war, I had no end of female companionship.” A flush crept up his neck and remained there. “When I returned home, however, that companionship disappeared with the loss of my hand. I feared I would never find someone to care for me, for what I am.” His left arm shook, and he shoved his stump in his pocket, leaning against the tree as if for support. “And then I met you, and I didn’t care about my missing hand. I fell in love with you, Jane. Your eyes, your way of speaking…” His eyes glimmered with tears. “The way you poured out your feelings about my music. I couldn’t believe I had caused such a reaction in you. It astounded me in a way nothing ever had before. I could not forget you, and when I saw you again at Everhill, I knew…”

He drew a shuddering breath.

“I loved you, heart and soul. And it had nothing to do with the fact you were the first woman to look upon me since my injury. I will always love you. I just…I just wanted you to know. I did not want to leave without telling you.”

She trembled beneath the warm quilt. Unable to speak for fear she would cry, she was content to simply absorb his words. He pushed away from the wall.

“I see I am too late…”

“No, wait!” She gripped his hand. He kept tight hold of it, his gaze penetrating hers. Drawing a deep breath, she plunged ahead. “I love you, too.” She pressed her fingertips to his lips when he appeared about to speak. “I’ve made some terrible mistakes and misjudged you, when you never gave me the slightest indication of mistrust. But I want you to know…”

She closed her eyes briefly, trying to rid herself of the grotesque image of Lord Winters. “I was always true to you, Frederick. I do not want anyone else. Ever.” She struggled to find the words of what she proposed. “Even if I’m not your wife anymore, I still want…”

His brows drew together. “What are you talking about?”

“I…I will live at your other house in town. We can be together, when you’re not…” She couldn’t continue, because his expression was such a mix of horror and amusement she didn’t know what to think.

“Are you proposing to become my mistress?”

She longed to hide her face in his coat but remained firm. Her fingers flexed within his grasp. “Yes.”

“I have not ever kept one and certainly do not plan to have one now, as tempting as you are, madam.”

“Then I will be whatever you want. A…a companion or friend.” She struggled at the onset of fresh tears.

“I have plenty of companions and friends.”

“I only want to be near you. I cannot bear being apart from you any longer.” She averted her gaze so she wouldn’t see his expression. Inexplicably, he was smiling.

“I do not wish you to be any of those things, and yet I want you to be all of them, which you already are. You are Jane Blakeney, my wife.”

Her eyes blinked open. “No, I’m not. You are married to Alice.”

“How could I have married her or anyone, when I am married to you?”

She released his hand and touched his chest. Could she still be trapped in a dream? “My brother-in-law wrote my father. He said you’d married her.” Her face burned with shame. “I assumed you’d divorced me.”

She expected him to complain about the way gossip and half-truths spread, or how not to believe something so ridiculous, but he said nothing. Instead, he threw back his head and roared with laughter. Jane waited for his amusement to subside, her stomach in knots. Perhaps he had lost his wits. Her own seemed far removed.

“Even if I wanted to leave you, Alice is the last woman on earth I would marry.” Suddenly, his face lit up. She could almost see the realization spreading through him. “I understand now,” he said slowly. “My cousin married Alice last month.”

She shook her head in frustration. “But…I saw the announcement. It said F. Blakeney…”

“…is Felix Blakeney.” He cupped her cheek in his palm. “Felix has my proxy in Parliament now, and I need never return to London, unless I wish to, and I don’t see that happening in the near future. As it turns out, Felix and Alice have loved each other for some time and married the moment they could.” He tipped her jaw shut, as she continued to gape at him. “Is that why you were so cold to me this morning? Because you thought I’d married
Alice
?”

“I believed it because it made sense.”

Her voice broke, and she buried her face in his coat, clinging to him, inhaling his scent, absorbing his warmth. He lifted her chin, and she tried to pull away, but his grip tightened, forcing her to look at him.

“What foolish nonsense is this?”

“I have no accomplishments like Alice and Susanna. I sing like a sick toad,” she said, her voice shaking. “I can’t embroider or net silly little purses. I cannot quote poetry like you. I trip over my own feet at a ball, and my handwriting looks like chicken scratches in the dirt.”

She took a deep breath and gulped back the sobs. He looked decidedly amused, but she had to make him see reason.

“You do not need a clinging bride. I want to be with you day and night, but Alice told me not to show you too much attention. My playing is atrocious,” she continued. “Well, passable at best. I cannot imagine what you thought when I was playing your symphony. I still wonder why you did not run from the room, your hands clapped over your ears.”

“Before I address your musical talent, Mrs. Blakeney, may we discuss what Alice said?”

“She and Lady Brewster warned me not to…” She chewed her lip, trying to think of a delicate phrase. “Well, not to show you too much affection.”

“I see.” But he did not look as if he understood at all. “Did I ever give the impression that I wanted less attention from you?”

“No. Of course not. They were giving me advice—bad, as I understand it now, of how a proper wife of…of an earl should be.” It sounded so ridiculous, inane even, to have listened to such nonsense. He gave her his handkerchief. She wiped her streaming eyes and nose. “But you must agree, Frederick, I am not the picture of an ideal countess.”

“Do you think intelligent men choose their wives based on handwriting and singing voices? Does Jeremy Parker love Susanna for her accomplishments?” He nodded at her startled look. “Oh yes, the truth is now known to all. They fell in love a few years ago and I stood in their way. I believed my interference was for her own good.” He snorted. “I should have known better. There have never been two bigger fools more in love than…well, than I.”

“Alice let me believe there was something between you and Susanna.”

Speaking the words aloud expressed the utter ridiculousness of it all. She should have trusted her heart. She should have trusted him.

“My brother betrayed Alice. She took out her dashed hopes and disappointments on you, because she knew we were in love.”

“I loved you from the first moment I saw you,” she said quietly. “I could not believe you would feel the same for me.”

“Do you know what I saw that night at Everhill?” The pad of his thumb stroked her lower lip. “My salvation, sitting at a pianoforte. I saw your brilliant eyes darting about the keyboard, oblivious to a watching stranger because she was lost in the music…my music. I wanted a partner, Jane—a woman who would share my hopes and dreams. That you were also beautiful was even better.”

“I am not beautiful, Frederick. You needn’t flatter me…”

“Confound your sense of worthlessness!” He shook his head, a look of amazement in his eyes. “You are every bit as beautiful as any woman I know. More so, because you do not see it in yourself.” He sighed. “I will not waste precious time that could be spent kissing you on dissecting why it is I love you. If Copeland could marry the beautiful sister, and Shelbourne the clever one, cannot Blakeney claim the sister with the most passion?”

She embraced him tightly. “I’ve missed you desperately, Frederick. I thought you were lost to me forever.”

“Did you not receive the pianoforte?”

“I didn’t find your note until this morning. I thought Rosalind had sent it.”

“I had it made shortly after I came to Hartleigh the first time.”

Already, her anxiety of the past few weeks melted away. She feared to release him in case he was part of a dream.

“How did you know I would marry you?”

He smoothed a tendril of hair from her forehead. “How could you resist the Earl of Falconbury?”

“I could resist him. But I could not resist Colonel Blakeney.”

He laughed, and the shadows around his eyes seemed to fade. “You have your colonel back, Jane. But I no longer wish to discuss the matter. We can talk tomorrow.”

“Why tomorrow?”

His tender smile erased all the suffering she’d endured. “Because I intend to spend the rest of the day and all of the night in bed with you. And, please,” he added, patting her hand which gripped his lapel, “no more nonsense about being a clinging bride. I will take you both clinging and bride-like for the rest of my life, if you don’t mind, Mrs. Blakeney.”

“Nothing would suit me more, Mr. Blakeney.”

He kissed her lightly on the lips, but with just enough pressure to hint there was more to come.