Читать книгу The Last Rogue - Deborah Simmons, Deborah Simmons - Страница 8

Charlotte stood beside her husband as they watched the coach travel into the distance. It was one of their own since Raleigh had arrived in a hired conveyance, but easily spared. Her dear papa often said that Wycliffe had more horseflesh than the entire village. He did seem to possess an excess of both steeds and vehicles, but now Charlotte was glad that she could provide a little something toward her sister’s comfort.

Charlotte had felt a nagging disquiet ever since she had risen, but had put it down to worry about the twins. When she heard the maid scream, she had raced upstairs, filled with terror, only to know a certain relief that no one was dead or injured.

Only compromised.

Charlotte sighed. Although she had seen no other possible course, she had definite misgivings about the match. Raleigh was rather frivolous, while Jane was so serious. Charlotte had never known the viscount to rusticate for long, yet Jane, disdaining London, knew little else. “Do you think we did the right thing?” she asked her husband softly.

“We had no choice,” Max said, and Charlotte took some comfort from his words. Yet she knew there were always options, and if Jane had been adamant or Raleigh unsuitable, she would not have pushed for the marriage.

“Was Raleigh very unhappy?” she asked, remembering the usually carefree viscount’s glum countenance.

“He will soon discover his good fortune,” Max said, and Charlotte could not help but note that her husband had avoided answering her directly. Before she could protest, he added, “Jane is a lovely girl, well-mannered and kindhearted.”

Charlotte nodded. “I know, but she is so accustomed to being the plain one that she cannot see she has grown into an attractive young woman.”

“Anyone would suffer being compared to you,” Max said loyally as he put his arm around her.

Charlotte smiled, but her heart remained heavy. “And so much was made of how I resembled Mama that I fear Jane cannot recognize any other type of beauty.”

“Raleigh has no such prejudices, and he will soon have her decked out in the latest of gowns, if he can manage it,” Max said.

The viscount was definitely a tulip of fashion, Charlotte silently agreed, but she was not sure whether he could bring Jane around to his viewpoint. Still, Jane could hardly go about in society without more—and better—clothing. “Surely you do not think Jane will refuse to dress appropriately?” she asked with some concern.

“No,” Max said wryly. “I mean that our Raleigh is never very flush in the pocket.”

Charlotte felt a chill despite the warm breeze. “But he always has fine garments and horses, that town house…” Her words trailed off as her uneasiness grew.

“The town house belongs to his father, who has always kept Raleigh on very tight purse strings. Of course, the family seat is entailed, so it will someday be Raleigh’s, but I have no idea how much money is tied up with the estate itself.”

Charlotte straightened, disliking the turn of the conversation. “What are you saying?” she asked.

Max frowned as he gazed off into the distance. “As far as I know, Raleigh hasn’t a feather to fly with.”

Charlotte groaned. “Oh, Max! How could you let them marry?”

“His situation is not that uncommon, Charlotte. And he’s not in a bad way…yet.”

Charlotte was afraid to look at him, fearful of the serious tone of his voice, and the nagging feeling she had known all day blossomed into full-blown alarm. “Yet?” she whispered.

Max drew her close, and Charlotte braced herself for what could only be ill news. “The earl is a bit of a stickler, as is his wife.” Max paused. “Although I pray it won’t come to that, if Raleigh’s parents are displeased with Jane, there is always the possibility that he may be cut off without a cent.”

With a low gasp, Charlotte leaned against her husband’s chest, heedless of the eyes of any guests who lingered on the grounds. Although she had grown up in a loving household, she had learned the vagaries of the London elite, and in her experience most of the ton were vultures waiting to feed off their next victim. And poor Jane, fresh from the country, would be ripe for the pecking. Turning wide eyes on her husband, Charlotte cried aloud in guilt and panic. “Oh, Max, what have we done?”

Raleigh leaned back against the soft cushions and closed his eyes, relishing the return of something akin to reasonable health. Ever since casting up his accounts this morning, he had begun to feel better. Charlotte had filled him with some odious tea to get him through the ceremony, and he had hoped to recover fully after a nap in the coach. But now that his head and stomach were improved, Raleigh found himself more keenly aware of his situation, so much so that sleep eluded him.

This time he had really done it.

He had been in scrapes before—running up debts, gambling and even overturning a mail coach that he had driven on a dare in his youth. Yet all other incidents paled in comparison to his current predicament. How the devil had he got himself into it? Raleigh groaned.

One too many bottles, he suspected. Odd that the more one consumed, the more one had to drink to reach the same level of blissful ignorance. And the longer it took to recover from a bad bout. His head had been pounding so hard this morning that he would have agreed to anything just to stop Wycliffe from shouting. And Wycliffe never raised his voice. Feeling wretched and vaguely guilty, Raleigh had gone along with it all, but now that he was not so ill, he felt something else entirely.

Resentment, a rather alien emotion, simmered in Raleigh’s breast. It was hard to blame Wycliffe and Charlotte, whom he knew and liked, for his present circumstances—far easier to blame Jane, whom he barely knew and didn’t like. Lifting his head, Raleigh dared a glance at the female across from him. She was sitting rigidly straight upon the seat, her hands clasped tightly in her lap and her face resolutely turned toward the window in a deliberate effort to avoid him even within the close confines of the vehicle. Raleigh was not surprised. She had not looked at him with any equanimity all day, or indeed, for as long as he could remember.

He had seen her before, of course, having been to Casterleigh many times since Wycliffe’s marriage. He had always been vastly entertained by Charlotte’s numerous siblings, but Jane tended to fade into the background among the more lively brothers and sisters. A grubby urchin, she was always digging in the garden or buried in a book. Quiet, serious and bespectacled, she was the type who either bored him to tears with her lack of animation or irritated him by scolding the little ones.

Lud, he had known her since she was but a child herself! Indeed, he hadn’t even realized that she had grown up—to the advanced age of eighteen, no less. Lifting his quizzing glass, Raleigh studied her more closely. She was wearing a hideous bonnet sadly out of fashion and a drab little traveling dress with matching spencer. Although her skin was clear, her nondescript hair was pulled so tightly from her face that he wondered it did not pain her. Maybe it did, for her lips appeared to be locked into a perpetual frown.

Dropping his gaze, Raleigh decided that she possessed some curves, though certainly nothing like her sister’s voluptuous form. The exact details were difficult to determine beneath the loose jacket. Intent upon his visual assessment of his bride’s endowments, Raleigh did not even realize she had moved until he was startled by a sudden, loud sniff that drew his attention to her face. In the wake of the withering glance that settled upon him with alarming contempt, his quizzing glance almost fell from his fingers.

“Will you please cease ogling my person?” Her voice was soft, low and pleasantly pitched, but so full of venom that Raleigh could not immediately think of an appropriate retort. He simply watched in amazement as she drew herself up even more stiffly and turned toward the window, as if giving him the cut direct in his own equipage. Well, truth to tell, this was not exactly his own carriage, but still…

Raleigh frowned, certain he had never met a more disagreeable female. He had expected the creature to be plain and dull, but certainly not so annoying! Were not the plain and dull women also more likely to be mild and obedient? Lud, but it was his great misfortune to be saddled with the one wretched creature who was not! Seized by a wholly unnatural temper, Raleigh silently railed at his bride, his situation, his parents and fate in general.

The paroxysm, though cathartic, was not like him, for normally he was the most amiable of men—fun-loving Raleigh, everyone’s boon companion, always ready to laugh. Yet his so-called good nature was becoming sorely tried of late. What had seemed so entertaining ten years ago was more of a dead bore as he approached his thirtieth birthday. London’s endless round of parties and gambling and drinking, racing curricles, preening in the latest fashions and flirting with the ladies had begun to pall. But what other life was available to him?

His best friends had all married and rarely came to town, and although he very much enjoyed his visits to their country homes, Raleigh felt the interloper when viewing their close familiarity. Conversely, he detested his own family seat, where his parents ruled humorlessly and a passel of female relatives picked at him to provide an heir for the future.

He longed for his own home, be it no bigger than Casterleigh. Even something much smaller but more personal might very well suit his needs, but he hadn’t the blunt. Indeed, he had little more than his monthly allowance, and it seemed he was always struggling to make it last.

Regretfully, Raleigh wished he had followed Wycliffe’s advice years ago and invested some of it. The earl was always increasing his huge fortune with some clever venture and urging his friends to join him, but Raleigh’s allowance never stretched that far. He had his tailor to pay and his gambling debts, his horses and their upkeep. It all seemed a waste now, he thought, his mind more focused than it had been in years. Perhaps this recent debacle had awakened him to the truth—or the massive dose of liquor had cleared his brain.

Whatever the cause, Raleigh rued the free-spending habits that kept him dependent upon his tightfisted father, but he had effectively burned his bridges behind him. His parents had been urging him to marry an heiress for years, and he had feared the recent summons was an order to wed some hatchet-faced female. The notion, so unpalatable only a day ago, now seemed a sensible solution to his monetary woes.

Unfortunately, that course was no longer open to him, for instead of a fresh infusion of wealth, he brought a penniless girl into the family. And not only was she bereft of fortune, but of lineage, as well. A simple vicar’s daughter, Plain Jane ought to send his parents into apoplexy! Would they cut him off entirely? Surely not, Raleigh thought, but the idea was enough to make him groan.

Another loud sniff made him open one eye and contemplate his bride in abject misery. But rather than offer him sympathy or inquire as to his troubles, she gave him a quelling look that reminded him of his great-aunt Hephzibah. Raleigh shuddered. Lowering his lashes once more, he groaned again in deliberate disregard for his companion’s contempt. His only comfort was that he had surely reached the absolute depths of misfortune and could hardly be supposed to sink any lower.

Unless, of course, his parents, upon taking one look at his unsuitable bride, disowned him.

Jane awoke with a start, shocked to have drifted off in the coach, but then, she had proved herself capable of dozing whenever and wherever, had she not? Frowning, she looked over at Raleigh and was relieved to find him resting as well. There was something unnerving about sleeping in front of another person. It bespoke a vulnerability that she did not care to expose to the man she had married. Last night they had both been oblivious in the yellow room’s big bed, but now…Jane shivered. She did not like people looking at her, judging and comparing her, and she was grateful for his inattention.

Although mindful of her own dislike for staring, Jane could not help but take the opportunity to consider her husband. He was sprawled along the seat in complete abandon, careless even when unawares, Jane thought disdainfully. One arm rested beneath his head, while one long leg lay across the cushions in a most unseemly manner.

Dandy. Although she had rarely been to London, Jane had seen such men before. Of course, Wycliffe was a study in elegance, too refined to be one, but not Raleigh. Raleigh had always looked too well groomed to be anything except one of those young bucks who put devotion to fashion above all else, constantly preening and posturing with his quizzing glass! His gloves had always been unsoiled, his handkerchief spotless, his boots immaculate. To a young girl often filthy from gardening, it had been intimidating, and Jane keenly recalled her youthful resentment at his constant perfection.

He had changed little in the ensuing years. While Jane had learned to indulge her love for flowers with more care, she was still sometimes dusty from digging in the earth. Raleigh, on the other hand, was impossibly clean, his hair never out of place, his garments never wrinkled. And although other visitors to Casterleigh usually reeked of the stables, Raleigh even smelled clean, a combination of soap and cologne and his own special scent.

Lack of industriousness, Jane thought piously. From his frequent, lengthy stays, it was apparent that the viscount had no real duties with which to occupy himself. Better that a man carry the odor of honest labor, Jane told herself, than be such a sad layabout.

It appeared that the extent of Raleigh’s exertions involved standing still for his tailor, or perhaps not even that, for his clothes could hardly said to be of a proper fit. His discreetly patterned waistcoat looked so snug, Jane was surprised the man could draw a decent breath. And his doeskin pantaloons were definitely too tight, clinging like another skin to his muscled thighs before disappearing into his gleaming hessians.

Drawing in a sharp breath, Jane focused her attention back upon his face, framed by his absurdly high, stiff collar, and she paused to silently decry his elaborately tied cravat. It was the only loose item of apparel he wore, for even his scarlet coat threatened to burst at the seams of shoulders Jane had never before noticed as being quite so broad.

After taking another quick breath, Jane gazed again at his face, composed even in sleep. Naturally, the man could be counted upon not to do anything so mundane as to snore or drool. Nor did his countenance grow slack, for it was nearly dusk and the golden glow inside the couch positively kissed his features, even and appealing.

But not to her. Never to her, she vowed. With a sniff of disgust, Jane looked out the window only to swallow a gasp, for coming into view was a vast building, a huge Palladian edifice that she knew with sickening dread could only be Raleigh’s home, Westfield Park. A vast face of stone rose upward three stories—four in the severe, square towers that marked the building’s corners—its innumerable windows capturing the setting sun, blinding her so that she had to blink back tears.

She was to serve as mistress of this huge, cold place someday? Jane must have made a sound of distress at the thought, for Raleigh stirred, righting himself gracefully. Without meeting his gaze, she turned to stare resolutely out the window, while trying to marshal her courage. Somehow, because of his careless manner, Raleigh had always seemed less of a nobleman than Wycliffe, but now she was forcibly reminded that the viscount would inherit an earldom when his father died. And an estate larger than she had ever dreamed.

Jane felt sick.

“How do I look?” The absurd question made her glance toward Raleigh, who was smoothing his scarlet coat and running a hand over his carefully arranged hair.

“Like a man obsessed with his appearance!” Jane snapped.

“Good!” he answered, flashing her an unrepentant grin that would have melted the heart of a lesser woman. Jane did not flinch. She had opened her mouth to utter a scathing set-down when the coach rolled to a stop, and she clung uncertainly to the cushions as Raleigh swept past her.

“Try to look as mild and unassuming as you always did at Casterleigh,” the viscount muttered as he dropped to the ground and reached for her. “Agree with whatever they say, smile and nod, and maybe we can escape without losing everything.”

Stiffening, Jane lifted her chin and allowed him to help her out. He took her arm in a feigned show of solicitousness, and her fear fled, replaced by irritation at both his insincere actions and his curt instructions. What had he meant by his words? Did he think she would shame him? Although she might not come from the kind of wealthy, spoiled existence that had been his, Jane was certain her manners were far superior. Her father was a decent and kind man who had raised his children to follow in his footsteps, and Jane held her head high as Raleigh led her up the stairs.

The door was already open, a slender, white-haired gentleman standing smartly at attention beside it. “Good evening, Pridham,” Raleigh said casually.

“My lord.”

“Would you tell my parents that I have arrived?”

“Most certainly, my lord.” Jane felt the flicker of a cold glance toward her and stiffened once more. “And whom shall I say is accompanying you?”

Raleigh cleared his throat. “My, uh, wife.”

Only the nearly imperceptible jerk of the butler’s head revealed his apparent disapproval, and Jane turned an inquiring look his way. But he was too well trained to respond, and with a curt nod, closed the door behind them.

“Very good, my lord. If you will be so kind as to follow me, I shall show you into the salon at once.” Although Jane was certain that Raleigh knew his direction in his own home, the man silently led them forward, and they followed just as quietly.

Walking through cavernous rooms decorated with rococo plasterwork and elegant furniture, Jane felt her trepidation return. Her chest tightened painfully as they were led into a spacious salon, where festoons and emblems of music and the arts lined the walls. Enormous pier glasses with carved, gilt frames were hung over delicate side tables, and some sort of thick, expensive carpet covered the floor. Jane found that she was holding her breath, but exhaled it slowly when she realized that except for the elaborate furnishings, the room was empty.

“I shall inform the earl and countess of your arrival,” the butler said, leaving Jane to stare after him. Accustomed as she was to the easy camaraderie of the vicarage, she could not believe that they had been ushered here to wait, like guests, at the pleasure of Raleigh’s parents. What kind of people were they? Although she knew not the answer, she felt a touch of sympathy for her husband and firmly quelled it. After all, Jane was certain he would prefer his life of chill privilege to the loving near-poverty in which she had been raised.

They waited in charged silence for long minutes, Raleigh moving restlessly around the room, while Jane perched on the edge of a chair covered in such beautiful silk damask that she was afraid to crease it. Several times she opened her mouth to ask him about his parents and the injunction he had given her, but just as often she closed it, considering herself mannerless to discuss those whose home she was visiting.

“Deverell!” A gray-haired matron spoke from the doorway, her voice so steely as to make Jane nearly flinch. Although of medium height and weight, she seemed to tower over the apartment as would a queen her subjects. Dressed in the finest of black satin, draped in pearls and sporting a turban with long, black ostrich plumes on her head, she rather resembled a raven, but when she fastened her piercing gray eyes on Jane, her demeanor clearly suggested a vulture.

Jane swallowed.

“What is this?” the countess asked. Although she looked at Jane, she spoke to Raleigh. “Pridham ran to us with a Banbury tale of a wife. I assured him it was all nonsense.” Jane could hardly imagine the staid butler running anywhere, but she remained silent. She, for one, was not going to dispute the countess’s claim that news of her son’s marriage was nonsense.

“Yes, you must stop having one over on the servants, Deverell,” said the man who came to stand beside Raleigh’s mother. Taller and more robust than his wife, the earl appeared only slightly less intimidating. Pompous was the word that came to Jane’s mind as he settled a stern gaze upon his son. “You always did treat them with disrespect. Unbecoming a man of your station. Reflects ill on the family,” he intoned.

Jane swallowed harder as she tried to reconcile these haughty creatures with her own warm family. Even Wycliffe’s mother, although rather frivolous, was friendly in her own sort of way. But these two were positively forbidding. Neither had stepped forward to welcome their son, but presided over the salon like a pair of solemnfaced icons.

“As you say, Father. I vow I will never ill-use the servants again, but Pridham was right. May I present my wife, formerly Miss Trowbridge, now Viscountess Raleigh.” So far Raleigh’s parents had apparently deemed Jane unworthy of their continued regard, and belatedly she realized her good fortune, for when their heads turned her way in stilted horror, it was all she could do not to squirm beneath their sharp scrutiny.

“Surely you jest,” the countess said, looking Jane up and down as if she were no more than a passing peasant.

“Trowbridge? Can’t say I recall the name,” said the earl in puzzled accents.

“I doubt if you would know it, sir,” Raleigh said. To Jane’s surprise, he crossed the room to stop behind her chair. She felt the heat from his hands as they settled on the edge at her back, though she did not know if he had come to offer comfort or restrain her, should she ignore his advice. Truth be told, she was already tempted, for how could one nod and smile under the force of such contempt?

“Her sister is Countess Wycliffe,” Raleigh said.

“Wycliffe? But I thought he married a beauty, some vicar’s daughter,” the earl said. Staring incredulously at Jane, he made it clear that he could not believe she was related to anyone possessing a pleasing countenance. Jane recognized the look and despised it. It ignited a slow-burning anger in her breast, one her father would not approve of, but fueled with the heat of past hurts.

“Deverell! You cannot mean it!” The countess choked, glancing from her son to Jane as if to deny the truth. Apparently, something in Raleigh’s face must have convinced her, for her expression abruptly changed from scorning disbelief to something cold and terrible.

His father was more to the point. “It can be annulled, of course,” he assured his wife, his frigid glare making his feelings obvious.

“Of course,” Raleigh said with equanimity. Her own anger increasing, Jane viewed his amiable tone with contempt. Had she ever heard him raise his voice, or did it require too much effort? Would he stand up for her, or was this what he wanted, a swift end to their disastrous union? Although she knew it would probably be for the best, Jane felt a sudden, painful disappointment that made her start forward.

Raleigh’s fingers settled on her shoulder, and she felt their warmth through his gloves and her clothing. She could not remember his touching her except during that dreadful, hasty ceremony, and the unusual sensation the gesture engendered made her forget to wonder if he was offering comfort or restraint.

She felt stupidly, senselessly giddy, as if the butterflies from her garden had been unleashed inside of her. Light-headed and wholly incapable of speech, she could only sit there numbly as Raleigh continued. “Possible, of course, but it might be a bit difficult,” he drawled.

Jane saw the countess’s frown and the narrowing of the earl’s eyes, though she could not understand their swift reaction to Raleigh’s simple sentence. “All a bit sudden, wasn’t it?” the earl remarked caustically. He shook his head. “And I had my eye on an heiress for you.”

“Certainly not some Plain Jane of a vicar’s daughter. What’s your name, gel?” the countess asked.

“Jane,” she answered, lifting her chin and forcing herself to look directly into the woman’s cold blue eyes.

“Humph! And bold country manners, too, I see,” the countess said, studying Jane with more interest. “So what have you to say for yourself, Miss, with your lack of breeding, money and bloodlines?”

“My bloodlines are just as good as yours, my lady,” Jane replied. “My mother is descended from the earls of Avundel. And my breeding, if anything, is far better, for my father is a man of God, and if it were not for his teachings to be kind to all creatures, I would tell you what I really think of you, your son and this ridiculous alliance.”

When stunned silence descended upon the entire room, Jane had time to regret her outburst. She and Sarah, among all the Trowbridges, had always been models of propriety and restraint, and her dear papa would be sadly disappointed to learn of her behavior. What had come over her? Turning her head, Jane shot a quick glance over her shoulder at Raleigh, who was grinning at her in the strangest way, and then, swallowing hard, she dared to look at his father.

“Has some spirit, does she?” the earl asked of no one in particular. “At least she stands up for herself. What do you think, m’dear?” he asked, turning to his wife. The small endearment was oddly humanizing, though Jane found it difficult to imagine these two harsh people possessing any tender feelings.

“Humph!” the countess said, scowling. “A little too saucy, if you ask me, but I suppose we should be glad he has finally married.” She fixed her steely gaze even more firmly upon Jane. “I hear your sister has already given Wycliffe two sons and a daughter.”

“A boy and a set of twins,” Jane said, surprised by the turn of the conversation.

“Well, I hope you prove yourself to be as good a breeder, for it is high time my son got himself an heir,” the countess said. Shocked at such plain speaking, Jane swallowed a gasp and bowed her head.

“Has a responsibility to the family, you know,” the earl said, in a gentler tone. When Jane had composed herself again, she looked up, only to find them both peering at her person as if to judge her birthing capabilities. Flushing scarlet, Jane opened her mouth to protest that there would be no heirs from her body, when Raleigh, obviously leery of what she might say, spoke quickly.

“I’m certain that Jane will prove to be an exemplary wife,” he said, and Jane wondered if she was the only one who recognized his wry tone.

“Humph!” Clasping her hands in front of her, the countess moved toward the settee, where she lowered herself majestically. “We shall expect an heir soon, but in the meantime, there is the small matter of Uncle Cornelius that must be attended to at once.”

“Quite so!” the earl added. He, too, took a seat, as if the matter of his son’s marriage had somehow been settled, while Jane blinked in bemusement.

“Cornelius Holroyd?” Raleigh asked, his surprise evident. “But I thought he was estranged from the entire family.”

“As did I,” said his mother, and Jane felt an immediate kinship with the relative who merited nearly as much disapproval as herself. “Apparently, he was seized with sudden nostalgia sometime during the past years, for he has left you something in his will.”

Jane registered the loss of the black-sheep member of the family with regret. She was, it appeared, the only one to do so.

“Me?” Raleigh said, moving gracefully to take the chair beside her. “But I’ve never even met the man.”

His mother frowned. “Be that as it may, since my brother died, you are his only living male relative. He must have learned of your birth at some point and decided to recognize you, though what, exactly, you have inherited, I hesitate to hazard a guess,” she added, her distaste evident.

“He has left you his estate, Craven Hall,” the earl announced. Jane, watching each of the participants with interest, noted Raleigh’s astonishment and his mother’s disgust, while the earl seemed irritated by the entire matter.

“A wretched wreck, no doubt!” the countess exclaimed. “The man was a veritable recluse who refused to discard anything. From what my mother said, the Hall was a filthy disgrace and ready to fall down around his ears at any moment.”

Beside her, Jane saw Raleigh’s disappointment, swiftly disguised, and knew not what to make of it. For people such as these, one property more or less was nothing, and yet Raleigh was behaving as if it was important. Was he so greedy, or was there another reason for his expression? Again, Jane felt woefully inadequate to fill her role, to ever fit in among these worldly, wealthy and titled members of the ton.

“Probably left you more debts than anything else,” the earl announced sourly as he crossed his legs.

Again, Jane sensed Raleigh’s disappointment and felt her own frustration. Somehow, those little flickers of unease flashing across his normally carefree countenance caused an ache in her chest, though she had no idea why his feelings, whatever they might be, should affect her in the least.

“What would you have me do?” he said lightly, as usual, but Jane suspected a deeper concern than he displayed. Was Raleigh more complex than she had always thought, or was he simply annoyed by the nuisance of his great-uncle’s death?

“Take yourself off to Northumberland—godforsaken place—and get a look at the Hall. Have it torn down, sold or whatever is necessary to pay his debts,” the earl said, as if he begrudged the departed even that.

“And, pray, do not spend a penny of your father’s money on it,” the countess added.

Jane found their disrespect for the dead appalling. “Is the man even to have a proper burial?” she asked. All eyes turned to her in surprise, as if they had forgotten her very existence, and she felt herself blushing once more. Only stern force of will kept her chin up and her gaze level.

“And what of Jane?” Raleigh said, as if giving voice to the thoughts of all the other occupants of the salon.

“You may keep her,” the countess said, rising from her seat in haughty splendor. Before Jane could blink, stupefied at such monumental arrogance, she continued regally, “Since you saw fit to arrive after supper, I shall have something sent up to your rooms. What happened to your valet?” she asked, with a look of disapprobation. Then she waved a bejeweled hand. “No, I think I would rather not know. I shall provide a maid for your…wife.” Pausing to eye Jane with lingering distaste, she turned to her son. “You may leave on the morrow.”

It was a decree. Jane knew it without even glancing at Raleigh, but she wasn’t sure whether to feel relieved or horrified by her apparent acceptance into the household. Had she been wont to follow Raleigh’s parents from the room, she might have been more encouraged.

“The gel’s got strength of character,” the earl said to his wife as they headed toward their apartments. “Maybe she’ll settle him down.”

“Humph,” the countess said, with an expression of disgust. “We can only hope.”