The Earl's Marriage Bargain Page 15

  ‘Plain little dab?’ Ivo said thoughtfully as he descended the stairs to her side. ‘Definitely nothing little or dab-like about you. Five feet six inches, I would guess, and everything very nicely in proportion.’

  Jane swallowed. If he meant her bust, then it was the first time anyone had ever said anything complimentary about it. It was there, of course, but it paled into insignificance against her friend Prue’s magnificent bosom, the sight of which in an evening gown tended to reduce gentlemen to mumbling incoherence. ‘Thank you,’ she muttered.

  ‘And plain? When I opened my eyes and focused on your face in the chaise I saw long-lashed hazel eyes and a face that made me think of a charming and curious cat. Charming and curious,’ he repeated, tipping up her chin with one finger. ‘Not some pretty little chit, but an interesting young woman.’

  He was clearly about to kiss her and Jane had no intention of making it difficult for him. She swayed forward an encouraging few degrees and found herself in his arms being kissed with a thoroughness that was almost alarming. The alarming thing was how much she wanted it, how much she seemed to have learned about kissing after only a few experiments. She knew the taste of him and the texture of his lips, she knew how to stroke her tongue between them and had learned not to jump when he did the same. The heat and the intensity and the intimacy were frightening and, at the same time, so exhilarating. Her body felt alive, responsive, uncomfortably excited.

  She was panting a little when Ivo finally broke the kiss.

  ‘Are you all right, Jane? Forgive me, I was too forceful, perhaps.’ His breathing sounded regular, but then she saw the pulse hammering in his throat—it was curiously exciting to realise that kissing her had produced that response.

  ‘Yes.’ She smiled at him and took a deep breath. ‘I like it when we kiss and I am beginning to wonder what it will be like when we...’ The dark intensity in his eyes stopped her. That last deep breath might never have been taken because her lungs felt quite empty.

  ‘I think you will find that it is equally enjoyable, although we might not get it right first time,’ he said. His hands were still on her, one at her waist, one on her shoulder, and the warmth of them was another enticement. ‘We will have to learn each other: lovemaking is a skill and an art.’

  ‘An art? I enjoy learning new things.’

  * * *

  Ivo found that they were smiling at each other as though sharing a delicious, rather naughty, secret and the realisation came to him that Jane, although clearly an innocent, was a very sensual one. Even as he thought it, she drew back, the colour up in her cheeks, and he told himself not to rush, not to snatch.

  ‘I had come to find you to show you to your room if you wanted to wash your hands before luncheon,’ he said, seeing her relax a little, the colour ebbing.

  No, rushing would not be a good thing with Jane. It had not been so with Daphne. She had been impetuous, sensual, eager. She had wanted everything and it had called for every ounce of self-discipline that he’d had as a young man in love not to take what she offered him.

  As they climbed the stairs out of the tower room he wondered why there was the difference. He did not love Jane, of course, but it struck him suddenly that it had been a rigid regard for the conventions that had given him the resolution to resist before. With Jane it was concern for her, a desire to ensure that her first experience of physical love was a good one. He had not expected to find himself so much in tune with her feelings.

  ‘Your aunt seemed not to approve of our match,’ she ventured as he closed the heavy old door behind them.

  ‘She is opposed to the thought that I might father an heir. She would be opposed to anyone I married,’ Ivo said. ‘Her husband died some ten years ago and she has one son, Alfred, who is the heir presumptive. I like Alfred, he’s a good fellow, although how he manages it with that harpy as a mother I do not know. There is the slight problem that he is not likely to marry and she nags him constantly on the subject.’

  ‘Ah. Not the marrying kind?’ Jane asked, sounding understanding.

  ‘You can guess why?’ He was surprised.

  ‘My friend Prudence is a Classical scholar and encountered Greek...um...attitudes in the course of her researches and we discussed it within our reading circle,’ she said matter of factly.

  Ivo blinked. Perhaps he had been imagining a greater degree of innocence—at least, of knowledge—than was actually the case with his betrothed. ‘Well, you may imagine the frustration of his mama who is exceedingly ambitious and doubtless sees herself as the mother and grandmother of marquesses. I always thought that she was sending a weekly remittance to Napoleon on the understanding that he direct his cannon at my head.’

  ‘Goodness, how very Gothic! Perhaps you should employ a food taster.’

  Chapter Thirteen

  As Ivo waited for Jane to return from tidying herself before luncheon he found he was still amused at the thought of his Aunt Augusta, stalking the corridors bent on his destruction like some villainess dreamt up by Horace Walpole.

  * * *

  Jane’s smile when she came back down ten minutes later was different, forced. She was being brave about something and she should not have to be, not if he could help it.

  ‘What is wrong?’

  ‘My suite—it is vast, I shall get lost in it. The reality of this is beginning to sink in, Ivo. I am not used to all this splendour and I am going to disgrace you by staring open-mouthed at everything like some provincial miss.’

  That strange feeling of protectiveness swept through him again and he put his arm around her shoulders and gave her a quick hug. ‘Neither am I used to it again, not yet. I have been away from here a long time and most of it living rough under canvas, in half-ruined billets, under the occasional hedge in the rain. We will make our own home, Jane, and we will emerge into this other one on our own terms, when we are ready.’

  She tipped her head on to his shoulder for a second, relaxed into the hug, then they were walking side by side, perfectly properly, and footmen were opening the double doors into the Small Dining Room.

  Luncheon had been set out on the round table which separated Jane and his aunt. It made the meal seem more informal and he wondered if this was an example of Mrs French’s tact.

  With his grandfather discussing landscape gardening with Jane, and his aunt keeping her acid opinions to herself in the presence of her father-in-law, Ivo relaxed a little, took a mouthful of clear soup. He should have known better.

  ‘That Parris girl has thrown her cap over the windmill with a vengeance, I hear,’ Aunt Augusta said, with a distaste that held a trace of relish in it.

  Ivo swallowed the soup the wrong way.

  ‘Her poor father must be turning in his grave—his son dead and his daughter making a scandal of herself with a card-sharping rakehell,’ Augusta went on. ‘The Parris family have always been respectable, so it must be bad blood on the mother’s side coming out, of course, not that anyone knows much about them, they were so obscure. One never knows with these families of no pedigree.’

  Was it his imagination or had his aunt shot a glance at Jane with that comment?

  ‘Charles Parris was my friend and an officer and a gentleman of great courage. His sister has been led astray, no doubt, but that can occur in even the best families, can it not, Aunt?’

  Personally he thought that Alfred’s preferences had been clear for many years and had nothing to do with the bad influences for which his mother blamed her son’s reluctance to marry, but he was not prepared to let that slur on the Parris family go unpunished.

  ‘Such a good thing that you had the sense not to marry the girl,’ Augusta said, ignoring his question. ‘Such a pretty little thing she was, all blonde curls and cherry lips. You were like April and May, the pair of you. I can remember saying to poor dear Frederick that, much as one deplored you being army-mad, at least it kept
you away from that misalliance, at least. The girl has turned out to be a strumpet.’

  Ivo heard a buzzing in his ears as he fought to keep his temper. Lady Parris had been a perfectly respectable clergyman’s daughter and if he had married Daphne, a baronet’s daughter, that would have not been a misalliance, simply not a grand match. And Daphne was not a strumpet. She was free-spirited, sensual, impatient and he had neglected her. Loved her and taken her for granted.

  ‘As we know nothing of the circumstances we can hardly comment on Daphne’s actions, I would have thought,’ he said through gritted teeth. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Jane’s look of startled comprehension then, almost as quickly as her eyes had widened and her lips parted, she was composed again.

  Hell and damnation, I forget she was there for a moment.

  And a moment was all it had taken for his betraying instant defence of Daphne.

  ‘I so much admired the buildings that ornament the park, Lord Westhaven,’ Jane said, apparently ignoring what Augusta and he were talking about. ‘Have they been there long?’

  His grandfather also showed no sign of listening to his daughter-in-law, but Ivo knew he had heard and was not pleased. ‘They were erected on the orders of my grandfather,’ he told Jane. ‘Now the trees are becoming mature I think I may have another avenue cut and place something at the end of it. Another obelisk, perhaps.’

  ‘Or an arch,’ she suggested, sketching the shape on the tablecloth with one finger as she spoke. Ivo wondered if she even realised she was doing it.

  She has quality and tact, Ivo thought as Jane encouraged his grandfather to enlarge on his landscaping schemes. She must have guessed that Aunt was talking about the elopement that led to my beating, but she said nothing. But has she taken in what Augusta was hinting at?

  She would have to be dense not to realise that his aunt was implying that he was—or had been—in love with Daphne.

  He asked a direct question about his two female cousins, Alfred’s sisters, forcing a change of subject that his aunt could not avoid without her spite becoming completely obvious.

  The meal was coming to its end when a footman came in with a letter on a silver salver. ‘The man is waiting for a reply, my lord,’ he said, presenting it to the Marquess.

  ‘This is addressed to you, Miss Newnham,’ his grandfather said after a glance at the note.

  Jane took it, ‘Excuse me.’ She read it rapidly, then dropped the sheet. ‘Oh, poor thing! My cousin Violet writes in haste to say she has been called to her sister’s side. She has just given birth earlier than expected and both she and the baby are sickly. Her husband has written to Violet to say that he cannot persuade his wife to rest as she should because of her anxiety over the child. Violet is packing to leave for London immediately—she hopes to catch the late afternoon Mail coach. She says her maid, Charity, will accompany me to my parents in Dorset and she hopes your secretary can continue to look after the arrangements for the wedding that she was making.’

  She pushed back her chair. ‘If you will excuse me, my lord. Perhaps someone could drive me back to Batheaston at once?’

  ‘I will, of course.’ Ivo tossed aside his napkin. ‘Sir, the travelling carriage would make Jane’s journey home more comfortable.’

  ‘I think we can do rather better than that. James, send a message to the stables immediately. The travelling carriage, driver and groom to go to Miss Lowry’s house. They will take the note I shall write now and perhaps one from Miss Newnham. They are to convey Miss Lowry and her maid to London and to remain at her disposal for as long as she requires them.’ He stood up. ‘Jane, if you will come to my study, you can write to your cousin to explain that you will be staying here. If she has one of her women pack your things, I will send a gig to collect them.’

  ‘Stay here with two gentlemen and without a chaperon?’ Aunt Augusta enquired. ‘I would have thought there was quite enough talk already around this marriage without adding to it.’ They all turned to her and she raised her eyebrows. ‘Do not look to me to remain! I have a household and family to return to and I intend doing so immediately.’

  ‘I would not dream of troubling you, Augusta,’ his grandfather said. ‘I shall send to Honoria.’

  ‘The Dowager Lady Gravestock, my great-aunt and Grandfather’s sister,’ Ivo murmured to Jane. ‘She lives in Bath and is utterly respectable and amazingly lazy. Do say you will stay.’

  ‘If you really want me to,’ she murmured back, warily watching his aunt and grandfather sniping at each other.

  ‘Yes, of course, I do. Off you go and write to your cousin and please give her my best wishes for her sister’s speedy recovery and that of the child.’

  He sat down again as she went out, his gaze unfocused on the bowl of fruit in front of him. Did he really want Jane to be here, day and night, until the wedding? He had offered to marry her because it was the honourable thing to do. She had been severely compromised because she had selflessly rescued him from a severe beating, if not worse. And he liked her and found her attractive. But it would be a marriage of convenience, an amiable agreement. He had felt no desire to get to know her better beforehand or to let her become closer to himself either.

  Marriage, surely, could be managed as a polite, civilised arrangement. She would look after the household, raise the children, amuse herself with her painting. He would manage the estates. They would come together in the bedchamber, over the dining table and on social occasions. It was a form of relationship that appeared to have worked perfectly well for his parents and his grandparents.

  But now Jane was becoming closer. He found he wanted to be with her and discuss things. He wanted to kiss her, to do more than kiss. But that felt wrong. He did not love her and, if he allowed this closeness to persist she might grow fond of him—more than fond—and that would be unfair. Unkind. He loved Daphne and he had failed her. He could not fail another young woman who should be under his protection.

  ‘...a word I have been saying, Kendall!’

  ‘Aunt Augusta, my apologies. I was wool-gathering.’

  ‘Daydreaming, more like, which is doubtless how you got yourself into this mess in the first place.’ She stood up in a rustle of fabrics and gestured irritably at the footman who was a fraction too late to pull back her chair.

  Ivo stood again. ‘I cannot imagine to what you refer, Aunt. May I send for your carriage in, shall we say, half an hour?’

  ‘You may send for it now, I have no reason to dally. There is something havey-cavey about that young woman, you mark my words. She is one of the new Duchess of Aylsham’s bosom friends and that was a most peculiar affair, I cannot imagine what Aylsham thought he was doing. Getting married on an island, bridesmaids and guests arriving in rowing boats, the bride a positive bluestocking? The man is becoming as eccentric as his father. Where will this girl want to be wed? In a hot air balloon?’

  Ivo sank down into his chair as she swept out, the two footmen jumping to catch the double doors just in time. At least they had managed to keep their faces blank throughout that utterly indiscreet tirade, but the servants’ hall would doubtless be enlivened by an account of it soon enough.

  When a sufficient amount of time had elapsed after each contact with his aunt he could understand her bitterness and tolerate it. A philandering husband who had died just in time to save the family from ruin, a son who would never live up to her ambitions for him and whose lifestyle put his reputation and safety at constant risk and two mousey daughters who had so far failed to secure husbands their mama considered worthy of them: all were burdens that would have overset a less robust woman.

  But face to face, and with her cutting at Jane with every word, he found he had no tolerance at all.

  * * *

  ‘I apologise for my relatives,’ he said when he emerged into the hall and found Jane coming out of the study.

  ‘I have met only two of
them and I like your grandfather very well,’ she said with a faint smile that spoke volumes of her opinion of Augusta. ‘I do hope I am not putting your great-aunt to a lot of trouble and at such short notice.’

  ‘Provided everyone else does all the work and she is merely required to put on her newest lace cap and be handed into her carriage, she will have not the slightest objection,’ he said. ‘If I know Aunt Honoria, she will invite you to sit with her for an hour in the morning and in the afternoon. She may ask you to read to her or help sort her embroidery silks, but that is all. She will be perfectly satisfied that you are safely under her eyes and you may do as you wish for the rest of the time, I imagine. The fact that those eyes will be closed, or riveted on the latest scandal sheet or novel, is beside the point. You could take up hot air ballooning for all she would notice.’

  ‘What on earth put that into your head?’ She was laughing at him now.

  He grinned back. ‘Aunt Augusta. Your dreadful bluestocking friend married her duke on an island with the guests arriving by rowing boat, so it follows that you will insist on some even more outrageous venue.’

  ‘It would rather limit the number of guests. In fact, could one fit us both, the minister and two witnesses into the gondola of a balloon?’

  ‘I have no idea. Would you like me to find out?’

  ‘Oh, how absurd! Would you really?’ Still chuckling, even when he shook his head, she tucked her hand under his elbow and said confidingly, ‘It is such a joy to find someone with whom to laugh, don’t you think? Perhaps there are many of your friends you can laugh with, but I do miss mine.’

  Ivo thought. He had a lot of friends, men he could be convivial with, comrades he had fought alongside, amiable acquaintances, but none with whom he could share laughter over something absurd. Even with Daphne...