Anne Barbour (22 page)

The forthcoming play was the talk of the neighborhood. Since the arrival of Lady Teague, visitors had been welcomed at Selworth, and in return, particularly since the ménage now included such exalted company as a genuine marquess and his wife, its inhabitants had been feted at small dinner parties. Jane, who had faced the first of these outings with some trepidation, was relieved to discover that her story of a new modiste and an illness that caused her to lose weight seemed generally accepted, widened eyes and puzzled glances notwithstanding.

The Reverend and Mrs. Mycombe, though no longer part of the production, kept close tabs on its progress, and frequently traveled from the vicarage to watch the rehearsals.

“If only,” said Simon to his big brother one drizzly afternoon, “I didn’t have this life sentence hanging over me, life might be bearable.”

He sat at his desk in the study, where he and Jared were sharing a decanter of Madeira. He stared gloomily at the streaks of rain on the window, so precisely reflecting his mood.

“No possibilities on the horizon?” asked Jared.

“None. I sent out a few feelers shortly after I arrived here, but they came to nothing. I was not overly concerned at the time, because with Charles on the scene, I thought I was home free.” He slammed his hand onto the desk. “If only I had more time! I could get her to London—get her fired off into society—she’d be snapped up in no time. But now, come Thursday next I shall be thrust into the ranks of the affianced.” His head sank despairingly into his hands.

“It seems to me there’s a good possibility she will refuse your offer,” suggested Jared. “She doesn’t appear to be precisely enamored of you.”

“And thank God, fasting, for that, but it’s nothing to the point. She’s as selfish as she can hold together and badly spoiled to boot. She’s not going to take well to the idea of a life of penury. She’ll view me as her lifeline.”

“But what about this fixation of hers? Going on the stage? Surely she knows that if she married you, she’d have about as much a chance of accomplishing that as she would of opening a brothel.”

“No, I do not believe she does realize that. She is so confident of her ability to twist any man around her pink little finger, that I’m sure she thinks it only a matter of time before I’d be sitting up and barking at her command.”

Jared laughed shortly. “She doesn’t know you well, does she?”

Simon grunted, but made no response.

Jared glanced at him speculatively. “Well, at least your heart is not engaged elsewhere. Is it?”

Simon looked up swiftly. “What do you mean by that?”

“Only that I’ve noticed you casting sheep’s eyes at the charming Miss Burch, brother.”

Simon sat up suddenly, ready to refute this remark, but after a moment, slumped in his chair. “Has it been that noticeable?”

“Only to your nearest and dearest,” said Jared with a laugh. “I take it you have made no, er, overtures?”

“Of course not!” exclaimed Simon. “Well—perhaps—of a sort. Not that they met with much success.” A memory of Jane’s warmth pressed against him in the cool intimacy of the library swept over him. “That is—she didn’t slap my face—but... Oh, dammit, Jared, she thinks of me as an overbearing boor! In addition to which, how can I press my suit when I’m on the verge of becoming betrothed to someone else?”

For a moment he reflected on the fact that Jane, though she had hardly spoken to him since that devastating moment in the library, had bestowed one or two glances on him that actually approached cordiality, and it was all he could do to keep from seeking her out in some secluded niche and catching her in his arms and kissing her breathless. What would be her response, he wondered, if he were to ask her out for a stroll some evening, and then, when they were hidden from view, if he were to throw honor to the winds and reveal to her what was in his heart?

He grunted. She would probably inform him briskly that no, she could not marry him because she disliked him excessively.

“And she has every reason to view me with distaste,” he said to Jared. “I’ve thrown the most heinous of insults at her and beyond that have done nothing but growl at her without provocation. Well, perhaps not quite without provocation. She seems to have ceased her efforts to throw Winifred and Marcus together—oh, yes, did I not tell you about that? She, too, is anxious for Winifred to marry—though I don’t think she has been entirely honest with me on that subject—and when Marc arrived with me, he became her prime target, despite my telling her that he was already spoken for. As I say, she has apparently given up her plans in that quarter, deciding that Marc and Lissa truly love each other, but I have an uneasy suspicion that if those two idiots do not settle their differences soon, she will be back at the old stand, that busy little brain of hers hatching more misguided plots and schemes.” His voice rose, and he leaped to his feet to stride around the desk. “She is the most exasperating female I’ve ever met.”

“And you’re head over tail in love with her.”

“Of course, I am!” replied Simon angrily. He sat down again behind the desk.

Jared chuckled. “This conversation is beginning to bear a marked similarity to the one you and I held together shortly after Diana arrived at Stonefield.”

“Mmph,” replied Simon. “I remember. You were so busy trying to convince yourself that she was nothing but an adventuress, you couldn’t see that you were head over tail in love. I have no such misconceptions about Jane, but I can see no future for us.”

“Perhaps,” said Jared enigmatically. He unfolded his muscled length from his chair. “I truly sympathize with your dilemma, old man, but I must be on my way. I’m promised to Diana for a game of piquet.” He moved to the door, turning to add, “Don’t give up hope, Simon. You’re not leg-shackled yet, and in a week, anything can happen. Diana, for example, seems to feel sure of a last minute reprieve for you.”

Simon grinned mirthlessly. “You mean I might be struck by a bolt of lightning, or swept away by a flood?” But he spoke to the empty air, for Jared had closed the door softly behind him.

Indeed, it began to seem to Simon that some sort of natural cataclysm was all that could save him from his rapidly approaching entanglement in the bonds of matrimony. At dinner that evening, Diana, speaking to Charles, waxed enthusiastic about that particular state, and Winifred was the first to agree with her.

“Oh, yes,” Winifred said, her cheeks flushed becomingly. “I have become convinced that the married state is dreadfully important for a woman.” Her musical laugh chimed forth. “I have decided that when I go to London I shall find a husband with pots of money. And I think a title would be helpful, too.”

An appalled silence greeted this ingenious remark until Sir James, returned from London late that afternoon, cleared his throat. All eyes turned expectantly to the large gentleman as he lifted his hand in an awkward gesture. “I wonder if I might trouble someone for another slice of that sole,” he said absently. Jane watched in some exasperation as Harry absorbed his uncle’s request as though it had sprung from the Delphic oracle, and then turned to whisper urgently to Gerard.

Later, after everyone had gathered in the Gold Saloon, Jane sat in a damask wing chair, watching Diana at the piano. When Jared had asked his wife to treat them to a selection, there had been a round of enthusiastic applause from the members of her family, joined by not one quite so vigorous from those who were not. As soon as her slender fingers touched the keys, however, it became profoundly evident that the marchioness was a gifted pianist.

When she had concluded a short program, consisting of a Mozart rondo, a set of variations by Handel, and the first movement of Beethoven’s “Sonata in C-Sharp Minor,” she phased into an old folk song, and Lissa, Jared, Simon, and Marc gathered about the piano to sing.

Jane pondered the relationship between Jared and Diana. The marquess was the archetypical dominant male, yet he bowed to Diana’s wishes, and their love for each other was obvious to the meanest intelligence. Her gaze drifted to Simon and she wondered, just for a moment, what it would be like to be married to him—to be held in Simon’s arms every night—what it would be like to share a bed with him. What, she mused, would he look like stripped of that elegant coat, waistcoat, and fine lawn shirt? She gasped at her wayward thoughts, jerking her attention back to the singing.

The five regaled the audience for some minutes, before Diana’s fingers drew the rest of the group into the rollicking strains of John Peel.

Even Lady Hermione was induced to join in the singing, and a rare moment of harmony hung like a benediction over the household.

The temporary peace was shattered the next day at dress rehearsal. Everything that could possibly go wrong did so with a vengeance. Gerard and Harry forgot their lines and the half dozen maids and footmen, whom Winifred had dragooned into acting as attendants for the Duke of Athens, forgot their stage cues. While they were nowhere to be seen when they were needed, they trundled onto the stage en masse some minutes later during a tender scene between the duke and his affianced bride. Charles inadvertently sat on his ass’s head, crushing the fragile frame to bits, whereupon Lady Hermione delivered herself of a spiteful “I-told-you-so” speech that set everyone’s teeth on edge. To crown a perfectly wretched morning, Harry put his foot through Winifred’s costume, resulting in a spectacular shower of stars and a fifteen-minute tirade from the queen of the fairies.

Winifred failed to appear at luncheon, and was discovered sitting alone in the center of the Crimson Saloon stage, bemoaning the ruination of her dreams. When Sir James lowered his bulky person into a seat next to her, saying prosaically, “It is common knowledge in the theater that a wretched dress rehearsal ensures a successful opening night performance, or so I’ve heard,” she merely sniffed at him, refusing to join the others.

Simon went to bed that night in unrelieved gloom. Tomorrow was the deadline set by Wilfred’s will, and it had become apparent that he could no longer hope for a miracle to save him. It was almost without surprise, therefore, that the household rose the next morning, the day of the long-awaited dinner party and theater performance, to gaze from the windows on a scene of leaden skies and wind-tossed trees. Breakfast was a silent meal, with family and guests picking morosely at their eggs and York ham and kippers. Not surprisingly, Winifred was particularly on edge and moved about the house, buttonholding cast members with endless bits of last-minute advice and suggestions until everyone declared they were being driven quite mad. Thus, when Sir James suggested rather ponderously that she drive with him to the village, she was unanimously urged to take advantage of his kind offer.

Simon moved about the house with an air of quiet desperation, for his moment of doom was upon him. By the end of the day, he would be betrothed to Winifred Timburton. He would mouth the time-honored words of proposal and, while she might cavil somewhat at the outset, she would eventually smile prettily and accept him, after which he would swallow his despair and accept the congratulations of his family and friends including, he supposed, Jane Burch.

The hope that Winifred would refuse him bobbed with insistent frequency to the surface of his gloom, but was pushed down with resolution. The girl was not overly intelligent, but when it came to her own well-being, she was a realist, and once the unpalatable facts had been impressed on her, she would accept her fate, if not with equanimity, with a reasonable degree of fortitude.

He would wait, he decided, until after the play. There was no sense putting an additional burden on Winifred’s already overloaded sensibilities. Immediately after the final curtain, he would summon her to his study and accomplish the fateful deed.

What would Jane’s reaction be to his proposal to Winifred? he wondered. Surely she would understand that his proposal was not made of his own free will. He snorted. What the devil’s difference would that make? Whether she believed him to be acting under duress or that he was wildly smitten with Winifred, she was still as much beyond his reach as though she’d taken up residence on the moon.

Dear God, he was eight and twenty. He had gone through all those years heart-whole, and now, having found his “bright, particular star,” he was about to lose her. She would disappear from his firmament as though she had never existed. How was he to get through the rest of his life without her?

“The actors are at hand.”
—A Midsummer Night’s Dream,
V, i.

To everyone’s vast relief, the skies cleared shortly after luncheon and the sun warmed the spirits of the players as well as the greensward where the play would be performed later in the evening.

The guests were to begin arriving late in the afternoon, and by lunch time, the cast was in a high state of anticipation. Simon, striving to resign himself to his fate, steadfastly thrust his own problems to the back of his mind in order to assist a near-prostrate Winifred in accomplishing the few last-minute details that remained before the performance. In this, he was tenaciously assisted by Charles, to Lady Hermione’s obvious displeasure.

Jane, on the other hand, found herself unable to concentrate on anything beyond the fact that by the end of the day, the man she loved would be betrothed to another, and she was powerless to do anything about it.

She was perfectly aware that Simon did not love Winifred, despite the girl’s beauty, but that knowledge only made matters worse. Aside from her own misery, she could not bear seeing him shackled to a woman he could barely tolerate. She tried to save a corner of her sympathy for Winifred, whom she knew did not love Simon, but failed rather miserably at that endeavor. Would Simon, she wondered, disregard his pledge to Wilfred if he were in love with another—herself, for example? At least, he would no doubt have made more of an effort to disentangle himself, provided he could maintain his wretched honor.

Luncheon was a somewhat chaotic meal. The members of the household had fallen victim to stage nerves, and those of the staff who were involved in the production had come down with the same affliction, so that slices of cold meat were dropped in laps and fruit fell from trembling fingers to the floor. Afterward, the ladies repaired to their chambers to rest, and the gentlemen resorted to billiards to calm their nerves.