Maggie MacKeever

LADY BLISS

Maggie MacKeever

Chapter One

“Marry
you?” Had Viscount Roxbury not been so excellent a horseman, he would have lost his seat. “Good God, Jynx!”

“Don’t refuse me, Shannon!” his companion protested quickly. “At least not before you’ve listened to what I have to say! Consider it from the practical point of view—unless your affections have become fixed elsewhere?”

Lord Roxbury gazed down upon her with a fascinated expression, and admitted himself heart-whole.

“Excellent!” said Jynx, and edged her mount closer. No easy matter, this arrangement of matters matrimonial whilst riding on horseback in Hyde Park. “Or—the idea is not repugnant to your feelings, Shannon? I am shockingly forward, I suppose. But you won’t mind that!”

The viscount did not. The viscount explained that, having known his companion for the past twenty-two years, which constituted the grand total of her time on this mortal sphere, he didn’t find her brashness the least off-putting. Nor was he prey to any revulsion of feeling, though he did admit to considerable surprise. He begged that she continue.

“Well, as long as you haven’t taken me in dislike!” Jynx nodded to Lady Jersey, and bowed to the Princess Lieven. “They say that one may meet the large portion of one’s acquaintance in Hyde Park at this fashionable hour, which is why I do not make a point of appearing here at this time of day. It is such dull stuff! Since I’ve gone to all the trouble of putting on this ridiculous habit, the least I might be allowed is a gallop! But no, we must dawdle along at this tedious pace.”

Lord Roxbury cast a practiced eye over his companion’s severely cut habit, molded to her figure—and though there were many who claimed that Jynx was plain, none could deny that her figure was nothing short of remarkable—and came to rest with some bemusement upon the curled ostrich plume that adorned her small hat. He opened his mouth.

“I know!” sighed Jynx. “One does not gallop in the park. To do so would be the utmost impropriety. Nor does one share a residence with my Aunt Eulalia without being
very
well versed in propriety.” She took a deep breath. “To say the truth, Shannon, my Aunt Eulalia is one of the reasons that I have decided to broach this matter with you.”

The viscount elevated his appreciative gaze from his companion’s lush figure to her piquant face. She was looking most uncharacteristically glum. “That old prattle-box!” he remarked inelegantly. “What’s she said to you now?”

“It’s not what she
says.
” Jynx wrinkled her nose. “Although she claims I’ve frittered away my chances, and that I puff up my own consequence, and—oh! All sorts of similar things. Eulalia cannot like my ‘unbecoming levity’.”

“Fustian!” interrupted the viscount, rather violently.

“So it is!” agreed Jynx. “I do not take her seriously. But Aunt Eulalia seems determined to cut up my peace. I tell you, Shannon, I am quite worn to the bone! So I have decided that I must contract a marriage. Eulalia will not be able to pester me once I have settled in matrimony. And if she tries to do so, I shall deny her entrance to my home!”

“That’s all well and good,” interrupted the viscount, who was long familiar with his companion’s unique methods of reasoning, “but why choose
me?
It’s not as if you had a dearth of suitors, Jynx! At last count, you’d rejected two baronets, three earls, and a royal duke, and you’d left a marquess waiting at the altar. I never did understand that!”

“He was a great deal too ardent,” Jynx replied simply. “The man positively exhausted me. And I didn’t leave him at the altar, precisely. I withdrew from our engagement with the utmost propriety.”

On Lord Roxbury’s handsome face—and Lord Roxbury was uncommonly handsome, being blessed with reddish gold curls, green eyes, and features of an ascetic yet sensual cast— was an expression of the utmost fascination. “You would not expect ardor from me, then?”

“Certainly not!” Jynx looked horrified. “I do not expect to marry for love. I consider a reciprocation of passion both absurd and tiresome. I have decided that the best marriage is one based on mutual esteem. Certainly we esteem one another, Shannon! I even admit to a certain affection for you.”

“You honor me!” murmured Lord Roxbury when she paused for breath.

“Pshaw!” Jynx said rudely. “You are a gentleman who possesses not one known vice, who has never been heard to utter a licentious word; I am a lady whose conduct has ever been irreproachable.”

“What a pair of dull dogs we sound,” interrupted the viscount. “I feel obliged to point out that my greatest virtue is discretion, and that your exemplary conduct is due to nothing more worthy than an innate laziness. In short, my poppet, dissipation would require of you too much energy.”

Jynx acknowledged the truth of this frank observation with a rueful and dimpled grin. “You own large properties in Hertfordshire, Suffolk, Berkshire and Norfolk, and are heir apparent to a great duchy and its vast estates beside; I am heiress to the vast Lennox fortune. You are society’s spoilt darling; I am very much
à
la mode.”
She shrugged. “There you have it! A match that is in every way unexceptionable.”

“And since I do not love you,” observed the shrewd Lord Roxbury, “I will not enact you any tiresome emotional scenes. Still, you haven’t convinced me why
I
should be eager to marry.”

“I shouldn’t have to! First of all, you need to get an heir.” Jynx’s tone was severe. “The rest should be apparent even to you.” The viscount’s bewildered expression indicated, however, that it was not. “I will be blunt! You are the most eligible bachelor in all of London, the natural cynosure of all women’s eyes. Matchmaking mamas set traps for you; young ladies expire at your feet. It must all be very wearisome! Too, you stand in grave danger of gaining an exaggerated opinion of your own importance.”

“I had not thought of the matter in that light.” The viscount appeared to be greatly stricken. “Clearly, it is incumbent upon me to wed.”

“I’ve taken you by surprise,” Jynx said kindly. “You will wish to consider the matter.” Generously allowing him an opportunity to do so, she urged her horse forward and paused to talk to this and that dignitary.

Hyde Park was thick with superbly mounted gentlemen, and ladies in elegantly appointed carriages, as well as a large representation of the Fashionably Impure. One did not move quickly through such a crush; one certainly did not proceed with any anonymity. Already Miss Jessamyn Lennox’s prolonged conversation with Lord Roxbury had been noted, and commented upon; it had long been thought odd that Lord Roxbury, who might have been on the most intimate terms with any young lady—or for that matter any lady aged anywhere between the cradle and the grave—should enjoy such camaraderie with the phlegmatic Jessamyn. Miss Lennox was no
belle idéale,
for all her vast wealth. She lacked animation; and was of a disposition that her many friends called
fainéante,
and her enemies stolid.

Yet Jessamyn had not exaggerated when she claimed she was
à la mode.
Her debut had caused her Aunt Eulalia a hideous embarrassment, and Viscount Roxbury exquisite glee: when presented with gratifying attentions, Miss Lennox had reacted in an apathetic manner that left no doubt of rapidly approaching ennui; when offered profuse compliments, she had smiled and yawned. Only on such unsuitable topics as the shocking living conditions of the lower classes, and the even more shocking topic of emancipation for females, could Miss Lennox be roused to enthusiasm, and she had not been the least reluctant to make
those
opinions known. Eulalia had evidenced on several occasions a wish to sink through the floor; she had expressed, even more frequently, a conviction that Jessamyn would be pronounced a vulgarly outspoken bluestocking, and thereafter shunned.

Despite her aunt’s dire prophecies, Jessamyn had not been branded an outcast, a fact amply attested to by her leisurely progress through the park—and a fact, suspected Lord Roxbury, which caused the detestable Eulalia considerable chagrin. Ladies called out to Jynx, gentlemen saluted her, and the regent himself was seen to pinch her cheek. Jynx was greatly sought after by fashionable hostesses who trusted the languorous Miss Lennox to enliven with her lazy and irreverent remarks
fêtes
and
soirées
that promised to be flat; and Jynx had yet to disappoint any one of them.

Shannon followed, indifferent to the furor that accompanied his own progress; Shannon’s progress had been accompanied by great tumult since the day he was breeched. “Too, our interests march together,” Jynx remarked, as he came up alongside of her. “Did I not accompany you to view the factories in Manchester, and the exhibition of the steam locomotives in Tyneside, even the atrocious trial last year of Leigh Hunt? Poor man! But he should have known better than to traduce Prinny. Ours would be a
mariage de convenance,
but I think we might deal well together. After all, we always have!”

Lord Roxbury did not point out that there was a vast difference between friendship and marriage; instead, he studied Miss Lennox. Even a lifelong acquaintance that possessed a great fondness for Jynx could not call her a beauty, or claim that she would ever be one. Her hazel eyes were much too large for the rest of her face, as was her mouth, on either side of which a dimple danced each time she smiled, which was frequently. Additionally, she possessed the Lennox nose in all its long and haughty arrogance, a forceful chin, and strongly marked brows. These latter attributes, in combination with her slumbrous eyes and generous mouth and masses of chestnut curls—which were worn habitually in an untidy chignon because their owner professed herself incapable of expending the effort to dress them properly—gave an effect both contradictory and whimsical. Then, mused the viscount, there was the rest of Jynx. But the sleepy eyes were, currently, fixed on his face.

“Too,” she said, “you are used to having women throw themselves at you. The ladies fawn and the gentlemen are jealous. Poor Shannon! If you do not take care, you will earn a reputation as a philanderer—unjustified, naturally.”

“Naturally,” agreed the viscount, who was perfectly aware, as many people were not, that beneath his companion’s placid exterior lay an extremely strong will. In some inexplicable manner, and with every outward evidence of complaisance, Jynx invariably succeeded in doing precisely as she pleased. “You honor me, poppet.”

“Ah! Next you will tell me you’re very much obliged.” Gloomily, Jynx surveyed her friend, who was looking even more peerless than usual in a riding coat of green superfine, an exquisite waistcoat, leather breeches, and a pristine cravat. In fact, she decided, Lord Roxbury was, from his high-crowned hat to his gleaming top-boots, the epitome of manly pulchritude. “It is no more than I expected, I’ll admit, that you should shatter my hopes. I suppose you don’t wish to be tied up.”

“Did I say so?” Lord Roxbury coolly acknowledged the presence of a lady who had been for some time trying to gain his attention. She wriggled her fingers at him and colored most becomingly. “Indeed, I have had a similar proposal in mind.”

“But you did not plan to make it to me, I’ll wager!” Jynx remarked shrewdly, regarding the simpering lady with some curiosity. The lady returned her interest with a look of keen dislike. “It occurs to me that your friendship has made me a great many enemies! I don’t regard it, of course, any more than I regard the fact that, in the matter of looks, you cast me quite into the shade. You’re a trifle too serious, and I’m a trifle too apathetic—but there! Obviously it won’t answer the purpose, and I shall say no more of it!” She chuckled. “Still, I’ll warrant you’ll remember this day, for it can’t be in the ordinary way for ladies to make you offers whilst riding in the park!”

“Not more than once a week,” agreed Lord Roxbury.

“Coxcomb!” said Miss Lennox, appreciatively. And then she saw a young lady waving rather frantically, not at the handsome viscount, but at her. “The deuce!” she ejaculated, and touched her heel to her horse’s flank. “Cristin!”

Lord Roxbury was rather astonished by her abrupt departure; young ladies, in Lord Roxbury’s experience, were far more likely to attach themselves like limpets to his side. He gazed upon the phaeton toward which Miss Lennox advanced, with her usual serene forthrightness. In that phaeton sat a blond-haired and blue-eyed damsel, with a fetching little elf-shaped face; and beside her was an older woman of perhaps thirty-five, with black hair and lovely clear skin. Accompanying the phaeton was a dark-haired gentleman.

“The devil!” agreed Lord Roxbury, and in his own turn set forth. His progress was a great deal less leisurely than that of Miss Lennox; it caused various pedestrians to scramble hastily for safety, and horses to take umbrage, and every person within earshot to breathlessly await the explosion that, judging by Lord Roxbury’s irate expression, was soon to come.

Miss Lennox, happily unaware of the pursuit, smiled upon the young lady who had so urgently beckoned her. “Cristin!” she said. “How nice to see you again! It has been a long time, has it not, since Mrs. Maybury’s Academy?”