Not Always a Saint (4 page)

T
he Duchess of Ashton and Lady Julia Randall not only renewed their invitation to visit, but said they had a matter they'd like to discuss with Lady Kelham. Jessie wrote a grateful acceptance note, adding that she had something she wished to discuss with them also. When she sent the letter off, she prayed the two women would be as warm and understanding in person as they were on paper.

“Lady Kelham,” the butler announced as he ushered Jessie into the small salon where she had been invited to join the duchess and Lady Julia after she'd settled Beth and her servants, and had a chance to freshen up. A good thing she'd had a guide, or she might have become lost in the vast sprawl of Ashton House.

She tried not to show her nervousness as she entered the room. So much depended on these women and whether they would help her!

Both were petite, though one was dark haired and had calm, wise eyes and the other was a vivacious blond beauty. Jessie was good at pretending confidence, so she stepped inside with a smile. “It's so lovely to finally meet you both face-to-face!” Her gaze moved to the blond woman. “You are surely the Golden Duchess.”

“That's not a difficult guess since Julia is dark,” the blonde said with a laugh as she rose to her feet and extended one hand. “It's a pleasure to meet you, Lady Kelham. I didn't know you were so shockingly beautiful. Do you often find that a burden?”

Jessie blinked as she took the other woman's hand. “I've never had anyone say that to me before, Your Grace. Clearly personal experience has taught you that being considered beautiful can be a nuisance. Even dangerous.”

The duchess's mouth twisted. “When I was a mere nobody trailing around after my father, who was a perpetual houseguest in the homes of others, I learned early to fight for my virtue.”

“As did I.” As they exchanged rueful glances, Jessie continued. “I hope we'll be friends, Your Grace. But you may take an aversion to me in person!”

“I doubt that,” the duchess said with a smile. “And among friends, I'm Mariah. I was not raised with high formality.”

“Nor was I,” Jessie confessed. “I'd like it if you'd both call me Jessie.”

“And I'm Julia. ‘Lady' is merely a courtesy title, not like the peerage titles you both have.” Julia also rose and offered her hand. “You make me grateful that my appearance is merely passable!”

“A good deal more than passable, Julia,” Jessie said firmly. It was the truth. As they clasped hands, she saw that while the other woman wasn't a striking beauty, she had a delicate prettiness and sweet serenity that surely attracted people as strongly as the duchess's beauty.

“A really good modiste helps greatly, but only my husband considers me beautiful, and that's the way I like it,” Julia replied. “Now that the introductions are out of the way, we can relax and amuse ourselves till the tea and cakes arrive.”

As they took seats, Mariah asked, “How was your journey?”

“The most comfortable I've ever taken,” Jessie said fervently. “Thank you so much for sending one of your carriages. Though you may have spoiled me for all lesser forms of transportation!”

Mariah laughed. “The coachman was delighted to make the journey. He grew up near Canterbury, so he was able to pay a visit to his family before collecting you.”

The fact that the duchess knew her servants as individuals and was considerate of them was confirmation that she was as kind as she'd seemed in her letters. The same was true of Julia, Jessie realized as they exchanged commonplaces. These were strong, confident, intelligent women who had experienced their share of life, and who were now at the center of London society. Exactly what Jessie needed.

But first, she must learn what they wanted from her. “Julia, you said in your last letter that you had something to discuss with me?”

“It is no small thing to ask, but you'll find the work very rewarding if you're willing to take it on,” Julia replied. “You first wrote me because of your desire to support the sanctuaries established by the Sisters Foundation, and your interest has continued.”

“It's wonderful work you're doing,” Jessie said warmly. “I'm glad that I can help in some small way.”

“You should be wary of expressing such a wish in front of Julia or me,” Mariah said with a grin, “because we'll take you up on it. We want to establish another Zion House in Canterbury. Since you live in that area, you'd be an ideal patroness if you have the time and inclination.”

Jessie caught her breath. She hadn't known what to expect, but it wasn't this. “Why me? Surely there are others better suited.”

“From your first letter, it was clear that you have a passionate belief in the work we do,” Julia said. “The Sisters Foundation isn't merely another charity to you, and we need that kind of commitment.”

Jessie's experiences had given her that passion, and she wondered if that was true for Julia and Mariah. But it wasn't the sort of question one could ask. “I would be honored to help, but I wouldn't know where to start.”

“The initial organization and management will be done by a woman who has set up sanctuaries in Leicester and Norfolk,” Mariah said. “She's a Methodist and works with local Methodist congregations to locate a suitable building and develop the program and facilities. But we've found it useful to have a local woman of rank become the public face for our work. As a baroness and a woman who is already involved with the Sisters Foundation, you would be perfect.”

“I'm not sure my reputation will help you,” Jessie said uncertainly. “In some circles I'm considered a loose woman and a fortune hunter.”

“Yet those who know you in Kent think of you as a devoted wife and mother who is loved and respected,” Julia said quietly. “Any difficulties you had when you were younger have enhanced your compassion and understanding. Well-born women who have known only wealth and safety have trouble fully understanding what our clients have endured. We've made inquiries, and believe that you are uniquely qualified to represent the foundation in your area.”

Jessie swallowed hard, fighting back an impulse to cry. “Thank you,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady. “I seldom meet people who are inclined to believe the best about me rather than the worst. If you truly think I can do the job, I will accept your offer gladly.”

Mariah raised her cup. “To our next Zion House sanctuary and its distinguished patroness!”

Smiling, Jessie toasted in tea, hoping that she could help other women as she'd been helped. “Now that we've established that, I would like to ask your aid in turn, though it's a less honorable matter. I shall understand if you prefer not to become involved.” She swallowed hard. “After I ask, I'll also understand if you may wish to withdraw your request that I become a patroness.”

“Ask away,” Mariah said, her eyes shining. “You've aroused my curiosity!”

“I need to find a husband as quickly as possible,” Jessie said bluntly. “A man who is kind, honorable, and powerful in his connections. And since I'm in mourning, I need to do it in a way that won't arouse a public scandal, since that will drive away the kind of man I want and reflect badly on my daughter.”

“You don't appear to be the sort of woman who absolutely must have a man at all times,” Julia said thoughtfully. “So you must have other reasons.”

“To protect my child.” Jessie explained succinctly, doing her best not to paint Frederick as a dangerous beast while making her fears believable.

When she was finished, Julia said, “So you need to meet the right kind of man under circumstances of utmost respectability. That can be arranged, I believe. Given your beauty, attracting men won't be a problem.”

“Attracting males has never been a problem,” Jessie said dryly. “It's attracting decent men with honorable intentions that is difficult.”

Mariah gave an understanding nod. “We'll help sort out the undesirables. What are your other requirements for a potential husband? Young, handsome, titled?”

Jessie shook her head. “A title would be useful if it helps persuade Frederick not to try to wrest Beth away from me, but otherwise, I don't care. I want an older man, not a young one. Someone like Philip, who was kind and honorable. I need a husband who will cherish Beth as if she were his own child.”

“Old, unhandsome, and delighted to acquire a beautiful, faithful young wife and adorable daughter,” Mariah summed up. “I'll start thinking who might do.”

“You're fortunate that it's the little season. The social round is less frenetic than the spring season, but there are enough entertainments of different sorts for you to meet people easily,” Julia said. “If it becomes known that the Duchess of Ashton will accompany you, invitations will pour in.”

“You're just as desirable a guest, Julia!” Mariah said. “We can attend as many events as you wish, Jessie. What kind might you particularly enjoy?”

Jessie blinked, surprised at how simple this was. “Anything with music. Lectures. I prefer small gatherings with good conversation, not great crushes.”

“The sort that are acceptable for a woman in mourning,” Julia said with a nod. “Those are my preference also.”

“I'll need a suitable wardrobe,” Jessie said as she ruefully indicated the gown she wore, which had never been fashionable and had been hastily dyed black after Philip's death. “Black mourning garments that are subtly alluring without being vulgar. Can you suggest a modiste?”

“Oh, yes!” Mariah chuckled. “This will be such fun. With your dark hair and fair skin, you look splendid in black. You will have your choice of kind, rich, older men with influence.”

“One will do!” Jessie said as she returned the smile. A knot of tension began to unwind inside her. She had allies, women with power as well as understanding.

Even more, she thought, she now had friends.

D
aniel's brows arched as their carriage joined a line of coaches waiting to discharge passengers at the Mayfair townhouse. “Are you sure this rout is necessary?”

His sister laughed. “An hour spent here will simplify your life later. You'll have a chance to be seen and to meet others. Once it's known that you're an eligible lord, you'll be receiving invitations to every fashionable function in town.”

“Kirkland warned me about that,” Daniel said dourly as their carriage stopped in front of the townhouse. A footman opened the door and flipped down the steps. “I'm beginning to wish I'd refused Kirkland's excellent tailor and worn my unfashionable Bristol attire instead. Looking shabby might give some of the huntresses pause.”

“Since you're titled and eligible, you could wear untanned bear skins and be considered delightfully original rather than unsuitable,” Laurel said with amusement. “James and I will defend you if necessary, but I've seldom seen you lose your composure under any circumstances.”

“You don't want to look shabby and provincial,” Kirkland remarked. “Superb tailoring is a kind of armor because people see your surface, not the real you. Better to appear worldly and formidable rather than vulnerable.”

Intrigued, Daniel asked, “Is that why you're always so impeccably turned out? Yes, of course it is. You're hiding in plain sight.”

“And very effective it is.” Kirkland climbed from the carriage, then turned to assist Laurel, who was graceful in a flowing green silk gown that only hinted at her pregnancy.

“I've learned to do the same,” Laurel said seriously. “If I dress like a countess, few people will look more closely. Tonight you look intimidatingly grand and rather unapproachable. Not like easy prey.”

Daniel's mouth twisted ruefully as he joined them at the entrance to the house. “You're making me feel like a sheep being tossed into the middle of a wolf pack.”

“If so, you're a sheep with well-developed defenses,” his sister said with a smile. “But it won't be that bad. You can eliminate the misses just out of the schoolroom right away since most would bore you senseless. But you'll meet young women who are more mature. Or you might find a suitable widow who knows more of the world.”

“I'm keeping my expectations low,” Daniel said as a footman admitted them to the crowded foyer. “If I meet a woman who can run the Romayne properties and leave me free to practice medicine, I may make her an offer on the spot.”

Laurel shook her head. “I do hope that reality makes a hash of your sober intentions.”

Kirkland laughed. “That so often happens. I was sure I wouldn't marry until I was old, over thirty, until I met you. But I think Daniel is more likely than most to keep his head despite the social whirl.”

Daniel agreed. Low expectations. All he needed was a pleasant, honest, capable woman with whom he might have a family.

Children. He glanced at his sister's expanding waistline. He knew how much she wanted this baby, and he was startled to realize how intensely he wanted children himself. He'd been too busy to consider that in the past, but now—the time to start a family had arrived. If he didn't do it soon, he'd slide into permanent bachelorhood.

Daniel's tension increased as they joined the receiving line, the three of them one small part of a flowing mass of chattering people. Shyness wasn't part of his nature. In Bristol, he moved easily in every rank of society. But this was a new phase of life, one he wasn't yet reconciled to.

The couple ahead finished their greetings and moved on, so Kirkland stepped forward. Host and hostess were middle-aged, expensively dressed, and clearly accustomed to sailing the high seas of London society. As they smiled a welcome, Kirkland said, “Childe, Lady Childe, so good to see you again. You know my wife, of course, but allow me to present my brother-in-law, the new Lord Romayne.”

The Childes instantly focused on Daniel. As he greeted his hosts, he could almost see wheels spinning in their minds as they searched for what they knew about the Romayne title and estate and calculated his potential value to them. From the approval in their expressions, Kirkland had been right about good tailoring being an essential form of armor. Daniel looked as if he belonged in this glittering throng.

“Good to meet you, Romayne,” Lord Childe said heartily as he extended his hand. “You're not a member of White's yet, are you? I'd be delighted to take you around the club to meet some of the chaps you'll work with in the House of Lords.”

Which was a not very subtle attempt to determine Daniel's political leanings. White's was the unofficial headquarters of the Tories, while Brooks was patronized by the great Whig lords. Kirkland, typically enigmatic, was a member of both.

As he shook Childe's hand, Daniel said blandly, “I don't know if I'll be joining any clubs since I've no interest in gaming. I'm in London primarily to sort out the legalities associated with the title and estates.”

Before Lord Childe could pursue the point, his wife took over. “Lord Romayne, such a pleasure. Let me offer my condolences on the loss of your predecessor. Your . . . cousin, I think? I regret that I didn't know him.”

“A rather distant cousin. I had only the slightest acquaintance with the late Lord Romayne myself.” Even that was overstating the case.

“I hope we shall see more of you than we did your cousin,” she said with a trill of laughter. “London can never have too many handsome young gentlemen!” She gestured to her right. “My sons are at school, but allow me to present my daughters, Miss Childe and Miss Mary Childe.”

The two blond girls were pretty in unmemorable ways. Miss Childe, the elder sister, looked like a worldly twenty and she assessed him sharply before granting a smile. “Delighted to meet you, Lord Romayne. I hope we have a chance to talk properly later.” She fluttered her lashes, clearly interested in him. He did not return her interest, sensing that she was the sort of female who would want a fashionable life. Not for him.

The younger daughter, Miss Mary, looked barely seventeen, and she was so shy that she couldn't even meet his gaze when she stammered, “A . . . a pleasure to meet you, my lord.”

“The pleasure is mine.” His voice softened when he replied. She was barely out of the schoolroom and far too young for him, but she needed kindness to emerge from her shell. She glanced up with a slight, grateful smile before her gaze dropped again.

They moved on so the next people in line could greet their hosts. The main drawing room was packed almost solid with chattering humanity. Elaborate chandeliers added to the heat, and the atmosphere was thick with the scents of bodies and perfumes. Laurel said grandly, “Daniel, welcome to the lion's den!”

He laughed. “The biblical Daniel survived, and so shall I. Though I'd prefer real lions. They're cats, after all, and I like cats.”

“Lions are more benign than some of the guests here,” Kirkland observed. “There are refreshments in the room to the right, but the tables will be mobbed and there's better food at home. I advise moving steadily toward the exit at the far end. Along the way, we'll introduce you to anyone we know. Once we reach the exit, we can escape.”

“A good plan,” Daniel replied as he wondered how long it would take to move through the crowd.

Unfortunately, Kirkland knew everyone, which made their progress slow. Daniel was impressed at how confidently his quiet, reserved sister moved among the chattering masses. She'd grown comfortable in her role as a countess.

She'd also been right that this crowded, noisy rout would be a good place to meet London society. Daniel was introduced to politicians, dandies, social leaders, and those who apparently cultivated eccentricity as a way of life.

As with Lord Childe, the politicians tried to discern his political leanings, and females evaluated him for his romantic potential, marital and otherwise. The eccentrics dismissed him as too dull to be competition for creating the next sensation and hence unworthy of attention.

Despite the noise and crowding, Daniel enjoyed it more than he had expected to. He found people endlessly fascinating, whether rich or poor, and this parade of humanity offered entertaining material for study.

But he didn't like being an eligible titled gentleman, which was indeed synonymous with “prey.” He found himself automatically retreating into cool detachment. He was polite, but made sure he said nothing that could be construed as encouragement. For tonight, he'd concentrate on memorizing names and faces for future reference.

They were barely halfway across the room before he began to cast longing glances toward the exit. At this rate, it would take another hour to reach it.

Repressing a sigh, he shook the hand of a man Kirkland had just introduced. The fellow was a member of Parliament from Yorkshire with a blunt, witty way of speaking. They exchanged a few words before moving in different directions, but Daniel was sure they'd meet again and speak at greater length. He mentally rated about 40 percent of the people he'd met as interesting and worth knowing better. This boded well for his future time in London.

During a brief lull while both Kirkland and Laurel were chatting with another couple, Daniel scanned the room. Though his height meant he regularly banged his head when he visited patients in cramped hovels, being tall was an advantage in these circumstances.

Was that Viscount Castlereagh, the foreign secretary, engaged in earnest conversation on the left side of the room? Kirkland would know, and would probably want to introduce them. Daniel was bemused by the fact that the most significant aspect of his unwanted inheritance was not money or property, but the political power that came with a seat in the House of Lords. In some circles, that was more valuable than rubies.

He repressed a sigh. Estate management could be delegated to capable stewards, but not his political responsibilities. Britain needed reforming in many areas, and it was being driven home to him that he was in a position to make a difference.

His gaze again shifted to the exit where people were trickling out. Most were probably heading to another entertainment.

His eyes narrowed. Was that Alexander Randall from the Westerfield Academy? Randall had been a class ahead, but they'd sometimes been confused with each other because of similar height, build, and blond coloring.

Given the uneven lighting in the drawing room, Daniel wasn't sure of his identification, but if the man was Randall, he looked a lot happier now than in his student days. He'd planned to enter the army, and Daniel wondered how that had worked out. Kirkland was a classmate of Randall's and presumably would invite the other man to the promised Westerfield dinner. Daniel looked forward to catching up on the lives of men he'd known when they were all boys.

Daniel started to turn back to Laurel and Kirkland, then paused, his gaze caught by the profile of a woman standing near the exit, mostly surrounded by men. Her glossy dark hair was knotted up to reveal her graceful neck and the ivory perfection of her features. But there were other lovely women here. As he tried to analyze why she caught his attention, she turned a little, bringing her face into the warm light of a chandelier.

Coup de foudre.
A lightning strike burned through him, paralyzing every fiber of his being. She was truly beautiful, with striking light eyes edged in darkness and a lithe figure that would shatter a stone saint, but what made her stunning was more than physical beauty. She radiated mystery, sensuality—and danger. She looked like original sin—and he craved that promise of reckless passion as intensely as Adam had craved Eve's apple.

As his heart hammered in his chest, he knew that he was officially insane. How could the sight of a woman he'd never met affect him so? Then she turned her head farther as if she felt his stare, and their gazes locked.

Lightning struck again, swift and fierce, setting his heart afire and searing through his veins. She was exactly the sort of flattered and cosseted woman he didn't need, yet he wanted her.

Insane
.