Candice Hern (46 page)

"I feel as though I am moving along at a normal pace," Mary continued, "while the rest of the world speeds past. I have no time to react or consider or focus my concentration for even a moment." She reached over to squeeze her friend's hand. "I am sorry, Emily. I must sound terribly foolish."

"Nonsense," Emily replied with a smile. "I understand completely. I remember feeling as though I were being swept along by a swift tide once Robert and I announced our betrothal. I had wanted to wait, to allow the gossip to die down. But Robert was very ... impatient." She smiled shyly at Mary, who grinned as she noted the faint blush that colored her friend's cheeks.

"I suppose we are alike in that respect, at least," Mary said. "Neither of us ever expected to marry and ... well, here we are, both tied to very handsome, eminently eligible, titled gentlemen. Who would have dreamed two years ago that such a thing was possible?"

"Certainly not I," Emily said. "For myself, at least. I always had a niggling suspicion that some gentleman would win your heart, though, Mary. From the first, you always seemed to be surrounded by gentlemen. I used to marvel at how comfortable you were with them."

"Yes, I have always found it easy to make friends with gentlemen," Mary said. "It was more difficult with ladies. You and Olivia are my only close female friends, you know."

It was odd, but until she had spoken the words just now, Mary had never realized how few women she called friends. Olivia, through proximity alone, was an obvious confidante. More than that, they shared a bond from the early days of Mary's independence, through which Olivia had helped her adjust, and for which Mary would be forever grateful. She had been friends with Emily since they had first been introduced in Bath just over two years ago. Emily's golden beauty had impressed Mary almost as much as her total indifference to it. But most of all, Mary had recognized in her a kindred spirit—an intelligent, educated woman who was, for all intents and purposes, alone in the world. Since Emily's marriage to Lord Bradleigh, Mary had missed that shared, though unspoken, understanding. Now, with her own impending marriage to Lord Bradleigh's friend, a renewed level of camaraderie had sprung up quite naturally between the two women.

"I suspect many ladies were jealous of your unaffected and easy manner with the gentlemen," Emily said, drawing Mary's attention back to their conversation.

"Perhaps." Mary gazed out the carriage window as they turned from the Hay Market into the heavy traffic of Piccadilly. "They certainly behave differently toward me now. It is almost disconcerting the way people even look at me since our engagement was announced. You would think I was suddenly a different person, though of course I am as plain and insignificant as I ever was."

"Never plain, Mary," Emily said in a gentle voice. "And hardly insignificant. You are to be a marchioness, after all."

"It is silly, is it not," Mary said, "how a title, or even the anticipation of a title, can make all the difference to Society? All this toad-eating will take some getting used to, I assure you."

"I know what you mean," Emily said, her green eyes flashing with amusement. "It took me quite some time to become accustomed to being 'my lady'. At first, whenever someone addressed me as Lady Bradleigh I kept looking over my shoulder expecting to find Robert's grandmother." Emily laughed at the remembrance, and Mary's laughter soon joined in.

The carriage had by now made its way to Old Bond Street where it stopped and a footman handed the ladies down. Arm in arm, they ignored the jostling of strutting beaux and preening dandies as they walked the short distance to the narrow Vigo Lane and then onto Cork Street, where they arrived at the small but elegant salon of Mrs. Gill, lately experiencing a new popularity due to numerous plates in Ackerman's
Repository
. As the proprietress and her assistants fell all over themselves to serve a countess and future marchioness, Mary caught Emily's eye and had to stifle a giggle at this further example of the obsequiousness to which she was more frequently subjected of late.

After almost two hours of reviewing fashion plates, selecting designs, and being measured, poked, and pinned, the two friends returned to the awaiting carriage on Bond Street and journeyed the short distance to Grosvenor Square to partake of a restorative tea at Bradleigh House.

The countess's condition caused her to tire easily, and so Mary planned to enjoy a quick cup and perhaps a biscuit, and then to be on her way. But Emily refused to let her depart so quickly. She, too, had few close friends and appeared to relish the idea of a long and comfortable coze with Mary. She shamelessly probed her friend on the subject of her betrothal.

"I have always been fond of Jack," Emily said as she eyed the tea tray with a look of longing, as though she fought the desire for another shortbread biscuit. She wrenched her eyes away and turned her body toward Mary on the other end of the sofa. "He has a shocking reputation, I know," she continued. "But then, so did Robert, so I do not give such talk any consideration. I suspect that, like Robert, Jack is quite ready to settle down and give up his rackety ways. He appears to be most solicitous of you. I find you on his arm at almost every affair we attend."

"Yes," Mary said, "he has been all that is considerate and attentive. In fact, I have found it surprisingly pleasant to have a constant escort rather than merely a companion. Oh, I still bring Olivia along, for propriety's sake. But everyone knows that I am with Jack, which, I am ashamed to admit, gives me no little satisfaction. Of course, Mr. Maitland, Jack's uncle, is also a constant presence of late. He and Jack are quite close, you know." She smiled conspiratorially at her friend. "But I have begun to suspect the man is more interested in Olivia's company than Jack's."

Emily's eyes widened in surprise. She reached for a biscuit as she raised her brows in question.

Mary laughed. She had known her friend would ultimately surrender, as she always did, to Mrs. Dawson's excellent shortbread biscuits. "I must say, it gives me wicked pleasure to imagine my prim and proper Olivia falling victim to such a rakehell. Of course," she said as she reached for a biscuit herself, "the ton must feel the same about Jack and me. I know we make a rather unconventional couple."

"I think you make a wonderful couple," Emily said. "I cannot tell you how pleased I am that Jack chose you for his bride. But then, how could he help falling in love with you."

Mary almost choked on her biscuit. Is that what people believed? That Jack was in love with her? Surely not.

"Jack is not in love with me, Emily."

"Never say so! Of course he is."

"No, he is not," Mary said. "He admitted as much to me. He said ... he said he was not capable of loving any woman."

"Oh, dear." Emily's troubled voice was echoed by her furrowed brow. She reached over and squeezed Mary's hand. "Did he really say that? The poor man," she said when Mary nodded. "It must have something to do with his first engagement."

"His what?"

"Oh, heavens! Have I spoken out of turn? I thought you would have known." When Mary looked puzzled, Emily gave a sigh and continued. "I suppose there is no point in keeping it from you." She eyed Mary warily. "Robert told me about it. It was a long time ago—it must be a dozen or more years ago, in fact. Jack was, according to Robert, a very naive and idealistic young man. A dreamer if you can believe it. Even fancied himself a poet while at Cambridge. He is said to have fallen violently in love with the daughter of a neighbor and soon became engaged to her. I recall that her name was Suzanne. But at the last minute, within days of their wedding, she threw him over for someone else. I don't know the details, only that he was heartbroken."

"Good Lord," Mary said. "I had no idea."

"Robert says he was never quite the same after Suzanne's desertion. He became cynical and reckless and wild. But until now, he has never shown the least interest in any other woman ... except for... well... you know. But he is certainly fond of
you
, even if he cannot admit to being in love with you. It is a good start."

A good start. Yes, Mary had believed that herself, being fairly certain he was fond of her. But with her new knowledge of his past, she was also fairly certain he would never be any more than that.

"Mary," Emily said in an anxious tone, "you must give him time. His heart is hardened by that unfortunate episode. But it was a long, long time ago, and I am convinced he will eventually open his heart to you. How could he fail to do so?" She smiled warmly. "In the meantime, I wonder if it might not be a good idea for you to encourage him to speak of Suzanne? It might bring you closer together and could help him to put the past finally behind him."

"I doubt he will want to speak of it," Mary said, feeling suddenly very uncomfortable. "After all, he has never mentioned it before." She took a long sip of tea and sighed. "But perhaps you are right. Perhaps one day I will broach the subject and see how he reacts."

It was, however, the last thing she intended to do. Dragging up old wounds from Jack's past could potentially lead to questions about her own past, about her father. Questions she had no desire to answer. If Jack was fond of her now, what would he think of her if he knew what she had allowed herself to endure in her father's castle all those years? What sort of pathetic coward would he think her if he knew how she had come by the crooked nose he claimed to find so adorable? Or the pale alabaster skin he so often praised?

She did not want Jack to know these things. She did not want anyone to know these things. Though she had a new life now, she would forever be ashamed of her past. She could not bear the thought of Jack's contempt if he were ever to learn what a poor, weak creature she really was.

If he was at least fond of her now, there was no possibility he could ever love her if he knew the truth of her nature. And she must be doubly cautious to guard her own heart as well. If there was to be any hope for a comfortable arrangement between them, they must each put their pasts behind them. Resurrecting old wounds could only lead to renewed pain.

She would not tell him about her father.

And she would never ask him about Suzanne.

Chapter 13

"I have not seen this in an age," Olivia said as she held up a coral-colored Norwich shawl retrieved from the depths of the mahogany clothespress. "You ought to take it along, I think."

Mary reached for her shawl and ran her fingers over its fine texture. "Yes, I shall probably need every wrap I own for those cool Devon evenings." She placed the shawl among the pile of garments and accessories heaped upon a chaise in her dressing room, where she and Olivia were deciding which items of her wardrobe to take to Pemworth Hall. Every so often her maid, Sally, came to remove the pile of clothes for airing or cleaning prior to being carefully packed in trunks for the journey to Devon.

Mary had experienced an uncharacteristic bout of nerves over the trip to Jack's primary estate, where she would meet her future mother-in-law and other members of Jack's family. It was one thing to be accepted among London Society where she was well known. But to face Jack's family, who must surely have been expecting someone quite different for his bride, caused Mary a good deal of consternation.

Jack had been very reassuring when he had sensed her uneasiness. "Mama will adore you, my dear," he had said. "You must forgive her, though, if she seems a bit reserved at first. You must understand that she has been overcome with grief this last year. I am certain, however," he said with a roguish grin, "that a wedding will greatly improve her spirits."

And so she and Olivia were preparing for the trip to Pemworth Hall, where in three weeks' time she and Jack would be married in the family chapel.

"What about these, Mary? Shall you be needing them as well?"

Olivia smiled as she held out a sturdy pair of brown leather half boots that had certainly seen better days. Olivia often teased Mary about this particular pair of boots, telling her that a woman of her wealth could surely afford to replace things when they became worn.

"Oh, by all means," Mary replied, retrieving the faded, scuffed boots from Olivia and clasping them fondly. "They are my most comfortable boots, you know. Jack tells me there are some rugged walks along the shorelines and I am sure they will be just the thing."

"Has he told you much of Pemworth?"

"Oh, indeed," Mary said. "He has spoken at length about what to expect in terms of the house, the grounds, the servants, the tenants—everything. It is obvious he loves the place. He grew up there, you know. Whenever he speaks of Pemworth, it always leads to some tale of his youth or childhood." She chuckled as she recalled some of Jack's more amusing anecdotes. "I have learned much about him these past few weeks."

It was true. Though she had set out to avoid discussions of the past, such stories always seemed to crop up. He loved to speak of his childhood at Pemworth. Occasionally he would ask some general question about her own childhood. She had become adept at short, noncommittal responses, followed by the ruthless steering of the conversation toward other topics. Nevertheless, she had relished Jack's fond reminiscences. She found she had an almost insatiable desire to learn more about her future husband.

Of course, the more she learned the closer she came to falling in love with him.

"I am pleased you are spending so much time together, getting to know one another," Olivia said as she shook out a linen chemisette and added it to the pile. "It will make it easier for you in the early days of your marriage. Fewer surprises."

"The only thing I have found surprising thus far," Mary said as she rummaged through a drawer of laces and ribbons, "is how fondly he speaks of his home and family. I am sure you will agree there has always been a cynical edge to Jack's charm. But I believe I have uncovered his soft spot. He has spoken warmly, and at length, about his happy childhood with loving parents and lively siblings." Mary looked up, winding a length of pink ribbon around her fingers. "I wonder what it must have been like—growing up with a family who loved and cared for each other."