Anne Barbour (31 page)

“So,” put in Marcus excitedly, “it must have been Sir James, wearing my cloak, who Winifred was kissing in the courtyard.”

“Oh, was that yours?” Sir James was all nonchalance as Winifred laughed unashamedly. “Sorry about that. I just took the one handiest.”

Lissa sighed contentedly and, tucking her hand in Marcus’s, leaned her head on his shoulder.

“Good God!” exclaimed Simon faintly, turning back to the nuptial couple.

“But—” Jane spoke as though plodding through her own cloud of confusion. “Sir James? That is—what about Lord Simon?”

“It’s perfectly all right, Miss Burch,” said Sir James magnanimously. “Lady Beemish and I anticipated your astonishment. I am not a demonstrative man, thus my growing affection for her was not apparent to anyone, least of all Winifred.”

Simon suppressed an urge to assure Sir James that he felt no surprise whatsoever that he should become smitten with Winifred. It was the fact that Winifred apparently returned his regard that boggled the mind. One would think this bland, unappealing person the last man in the universe to capture her heart.

Jane felt as though the floor had given way under her and she was plummeting into a vast, whirling abyss. Surely Winifred could not have been so wicked as to accept one man’s proposal only to go off and marry another. She glanced at Simon in bewilderment, noting that his expression betrayed only surprise touched with amusement.

Winifred spoke again. “Sir James resides most of the time in London, you know.” Her satisfaction could be clearly discerned in her chiming laughter. “And he is utterly convinced that I should go on the stage.” She leaned forward as though imparting a confidence. “Can you imagine my astonishment when dear Sir James told me that he is actually involved in the theater? He has assured me that I shall be the toast of the West End!”

Jared uttered a bark of laughter. “Not to wrap it in clean linen, Simon. Our friend here is the majority stockholder in the Sheridan Theater, in addition to his other successful endeavors. He is,” he continued with a glance at Simon, “a very wealthy man.”

“That’s why we invited him!” piped up Gerard, who had so far been a silent spectator of this fascinating discourse. “Harry introduced me to his uncle last year when we were in London, and I knew he would be just the chap to give Winifred a push in the right direction.”

Sir James nodded modestly. “I believe I can be called plump in the pocket,” he said with a slight smile, “and I also believe I shall experience no difficulty in making Winifred a success in the theater.”

“Which should swell your pockets to an even more pleasing plumpness,” interjected Jared softly. Sir James turned a penetrating stare on him, but said nothing.

“But,” said Simon suddenly “how could you possibly get married by special license without the permission of her guardian— that is, me?”

Winifred’s blithe laughter rang out again. “Why, we simply signed your name.”

Once more bereft of speech, Simon goggled at her, and once more Jared stepped into the breach.

“Winifred was able to convince her betrothed,” he said a trifle unsteadily, “that you would make no objection once the deed was done.”

Sir James coughed. “Well, my lord, it did seem as though we were providing you a way out of a situation you obviously found disagreeable.”

“Yes,” Winifred chimed in, “we got the vicar to marry us when he arrived for the party yesterday afternoon.” She laughed musically. “We had such a time convincing him that we wanted the ceremony to remain a surprise until after the play.”

“But,” said Jane bemusedly, “what are you doing here?”

Sir James shifted uncomfortably. “Ah. Well, Lady B. and I decided to leave for London immediately. The little dear was naturally anxious to take up her new life. We came upon some men attempting to drag a chaise from the ditch. The road was blocked, so we decided to stop for breakfast at the nearest village before traveling on. And since there was only one inn hereabouts—

Simon uttered a strangled sound that might have been laughter. “But what about Selworth?” he said at last to Winifred. “I offered to share the profits from its sale with you under the belief that I had failed to receive an offer for your hand, when in actuality—?”

Jane gasped, and as all eyes turned to her, she asked in a constricted tone, “Offer? Is that what you meant when you told me that Simon had made you an offer, Winifred?”

“Of course,” replied Winifred innocently.

Across the room, Simon shot Jane a speculative glance. A spark of something unreadable flared in his gaze, but he said nothing.

“As to that, my lord,” said Sir James portentously, “Winifred has told me of her arrangement with you, and it is my decision that it be made null and void. She was a naughty little puss to accept your offer, when I had asked her to be mine some days earlier, thus canceling your obligation to her.”

“But, Jamie-bear,” wailed Winifred, “I would get thousands of pounds.”

“Jamie-bear?” whispered Simon and Jared in unison.

“You might also get sued,” Sir James said shortly. “That is,” he said immediately with a conciliatory smile, “we want to do the right thing, of course.”

“Of course,” murmured Simon.

“What about Charles’s five thousand pounds?” asked Gerard abruptly.

“Five thousand pounds?” This time it was Simon and Jane who spoke in unison.

Sir James lifted a questioning brow at his beloved, who hung her head.

“He gave me the money in return for my promise to run away with him,” she muttered.

“When you were already on the verge of being married to the baronet?” interposed Jared incredulously.

“Well, it was a lot of money,” she replied sulkily. She lifted her head suddenly. “Do I have to give that back, too?” she cried, outraged.

“I’m afraid so, my love,” Sir James said admonishingly. “It’s no good whiddling money out of people who have the means of getting back at you, you know.”

With which piece of sapient advice, he drew his bride from the room, leaving the others to stare at each other in bemusement.

“Well!” breathed Gerard at last. “If ever any two people deserved each other ...”

Jared, succumbing to the laughter that had been bubbling up in him for some time, fell into a chair and mopped his streaming eyes.

“Well put, my lad,” he gasped. To Simon, he said, “You’re not going to cry ‘fraud’ on the ceremony, are you?”

“Absolutely not,” replied Simon fervently. He turned to gaze at Jane. “Unless, of course, you have some objection to this extremely bizarre union, my dear cousin Jane?”

“Oh my, no,” said Jane, her voice trembling. She had never felt less capable of coherent speech. Dear Lord, she had made the most inutterable fool of herself. How could she have leaped to such a stupid conclusion, and then to have spoken so to Simon like a veritable fishwife, when she might have known he would never—Oh, God, if only the floor would simply open up and swallow her.

She paused in her self-inflicted diatribe, suddenly aware of odd little bursts of happiness that were sizzling upward through her fog of gloom like small incendiary rockets. Simon was not betrothed to Winifred, and never had been! Moreover, he had said those three wonderful, magical words. He loved her! Or at least he had up to a few minutes ago. Then she had virtually flayed him with her tongue, revealing herself to be not only shatter-brained, but vituperative and intemperate—saying things she did not even mean! Dear God, had she actually said that she found his touch distasteful? She had undoubtedly driven him from her forever, and it was no better than she deserved, she ruminated despairingly.

Diana moved to her husband with a soft rustle of her skirts. “Dearest,” she said, “I wonder if I could speak with you—outside.” She shot him a meaningful glance.

“Eh? Oh, of course. And then, perhaps, we might consider some breakfast. I saw the landlady headed toward the kitchen, and if my ears—and my nose—do not deceive me, ham and eggs are underway.” Jared tucked his wife’s arm in his own and stepped to the door, grasping Gerard’s arm as he did so.

“But I need to talk to Janie,” protested the young man. “I must make plans for Harry and me to—

“Later, halfling,” said Jared firmly, tightening his grip.

“But—Oh. Yes. Breakfast.” Gerard moved hastily to join the others, beckoning to Harry to follow. Lissa and Marcus were the last to leave the room, seemingly adrift in their own world and floating several inches off the floor.

“Ah,” breathed Simon as the door closed behind the group. “Dare I dream that we are actually to be left to ourselves?” He turned to face Jane.

Lord, she was beautiful. Her hair was a tumbled mess and her gown had long since lost any claim to propriety, stained as it was with blood and hanging from her slight body in a mass of wrinkles. But the early morning breeze that fluttered the curtains at the window stirred the silken curls that drifted over her temples, and her eyes were like summer mist. He ached with the need to pull her into his arms.

Jane moved toward him. “Simon—” she began in a voice that was barely more than a whisper, but, taking her hand in his, he drew her into a small room that opened off the rear of the hall. It appeared to be a writing room, for it was furnished with chairs, a small settee, and a desk with ink and writing paper.

Closing the door behind him with great firmness, he pushed her gently onto the settee and sat beside her. With one finger, he drew a line along the tender, vulnerable line of her jaw.

“It seems,” he said gently, “that we have been talking at cross purposes.”

“Oh, Simon,” she replied, lifting her eyes to his. “I don’t know what to say. What must you think of me—railing at you that way? I meant none of the awful things I said, and I feel so—

Simon grasped her fingers in one hand, while with the other, he caressed her cheek once more. “I take it that Winifred told you I had made her an offer, which you—understandably enough— took to mean an offer of marriage.”

“Yes,” breathed Jane tremulously. “Diana had told me of your predicament, and I’m afraid I assumed ... Oh, Simon, I feel so stupid!”

“No, my love. To anyone in the English-speaking world, an offer from a gentleman to a lady can only mean one thing. Unless, of course, one is dealing with Winifred. Then, all rules are off. It was a perfectly simple misunderstanding, which I sincerely hope is completely cleared up. That is—regarding my attentions ... ?”

Jane smiled tremulously, reaching to touch with her fingers the place where Simon’s lips had rested a moment before. “When you kissed me,”—she gasped a little—”I liked it very much,” she concluded firmly. “And I wish you’d do it again.”

Her eyes gazing up into his, seemed to gather all the brightness of the sunrise that flooded the room, and with a groan, he gathered her into his arms. Their mouths joined in a shattering, eminently satisfying kiss that left them both shaken with wanting.

“Now then, where were we?” Simon whispered harshly at last. “Ah, yes, when last heard from, I believe I was in the process of pouring my heart out to you. Being a tenacious sort, I would like to return to that theme so, if you don’t mind the repetition—I love you, Jane Burch, and plan to keep on doing so for the rest of my life.” He pressed a soft kiss against the base of her throat before moving once more to the infinite sweetness of her lips.

He drew back a moment later. “Well?” he asked, his voice ragged.

Jane laughed softly against his mouth. “Of course, I love you, Simon. I’ve loved you for so long and so hard that I am positively embarrassed by my feelings for you.” She drew back just a little to look at him. “But I thought you disliked me excessively.”

“Disliked you?” Simon’s voice was blank with astonishment.

“Well, you kept telling me about your ideal wife, a biddable comfortable sort, who certainly did not sound like me.”

“I have no recollection of such a conversation,” said Simon hastily. “Who would want a biddable, comfortable wife, when he could have an enchanting termagant instead?”

He bent once again to silence the protest forming on her lips and for several long moments the room was silent except for the sound of the breeze that ruffled the curtains, and the small indistinguishable murmurs emanating from the settee. At last, Jane placed her fingertips against Simon’s chest, and he drew away very slightly.

“I think,” she said unsteadily, “that we had better join the others.”

Simon drew a long, shuddering breath. “I expect you’re right. I can’t allow you to corrupt my maidenly virtue, you seductive wench. However,” he added as he kissed her fingertips, “I have by no means exhausted my feelings on this subject. For one thing, we must set a wedding date.”

“Oh.” Jane glanced at him from beneath the thick fringe of her lashes. “Is this to be a marriage proposal as well as a declaration of your undying devotion?”

“Of course,” returned Simon promptly. “My military training, you know. Once the rough ground has been covered, it’s time to move in the heavy artillery.”

Jane laughed softly and reached to caress Simon’s cheek with one, last, feather-soft kiss. She thought she would burst from the happiness that flowed through her in a joyous tide.

They found the others in the coffee room, tucking into the generous repast provided by Mrs. Biddle and the two village girls she had called in that morning especially for the occasion. Lady Hermione and her mother had descended to join the group and were seated, engaged in low conversation, a little distance from the others.

“Ah!” said Jared, looking up from his coffee. He grinned at Simon and Jane, observing their clasped hands and blissful smiles.

“Yes, indeed, brother,” Simon said briskly. He knew his happiness must be as obvious as though it were running from him in rivulets. “You may wish us happy.”

“By Jove!” Jared scrambled to his feet, as did Diana. “This is good news. Though certainly not unexpected.”

“Jane!” cried Diana, her eyes sparkling with pleasure. “Simon! I knew it!” She flung an arm about each of them in an exuberant hug.

Lissa and Marcus moved toward them as well, offering congratulations and more hugs. Lady Wimpole offered her felicitations in a twitter of platitudes, and Lady Hermione, remnants of her own happiness still to be perceived in her pebble-bright eyes, offered prim expressions of good will that seemed genuine and unforced. Last of all came Gerard and Harry, hands thrust out. This, however, Jane would not countenance, and she swept her brother and his be-skirted friend into a laughing embrace.