Elizabeth Mansfield (4 page)

He found himself softening. "No," he said with a small twitch of his lips. "A huff is as feminine as a pet. Let us say I'm in high dudgeon."

She giggled appreciatively and threw her arms around his neck. "Call it anything you like, so long as you get over it before we get home," she said and kissed his mouth.

By the time the carriage came to a stop at his town house on Charles Street, he had indeed gotten over it. His desire for her had welled up as strongly as ever.
Blast it,
he said to himself as he jumped down from the carriage,
I may as well enjoy the next hour, even if I hate myself in the morning,
and he held up his arms to her.

She leaped into them with an eager cry and nuzzled his neck. Filled with renewed energy, he would not put her down. He turned to carry her up the stairs, but as he put his foot on the first step he heard someone call, "M'lord!"

He looked up to see Parks running down the steps at a dangerous pace, his chins and his corpulent middle shaking and his eyes wide with alarm. "Wait, m'lord," the butler gasped. "There's something you should know before you come up."

"Something I should know?" Luke asked in confusion. "What on earth—?"

"It's Lady Martha. She's
come!
"

Luke gaped at him.
"Mother? Here? Now?"

"Yes, my lord."

"But she never wrote that she was coming—"

"No, my lord, I know. I tried to urge her to go to bed, but she wouldn't go before seeing you."

"Damnation! Of all the inconvenient—"

"Yes, m'lord. That's why I came out to warn you." The butler glanced up worriedly at the lighted windows on the first floor. "I left her in the front sitting room drinking tea. She insisted on waiting there."

Luke looked up, too.
Good God,
he thought,
Mama could be looking out at me right now—through those very windows.

All his desire for Dolly died at once. Quickly he turned and lifted his burden back into the coach. "Sorry, m'dear," he said to his startled paramour, "but our rendezvous must be postponed. I'll have to send you home." Then, waiting only till the carriage trundled off down the drive, he turned and ran up to face whatever trouble was waiting for him.

As soon as Luke appeared in the sitting room doorway, his mother put down her cup, rose from her chair, and smiled at him fondly. He expelled a relieved breath; she evidently had not seen his arrival. "Mama," he exclaimed, holding out his arms, "what a wonderful surprise!"

"Luke, dearest boy!" She threw her arms about his neck in an embrace to which he responded warmly. Then she stepped back and surveyed him from top to toe. "Except for windblown hair and a disordered neckcloth, you look none the worse for the wear and tear of your dissipated life," she murmured in approval of his appearance.

"You are looking in the prime yourself, Mama," Luke said, hastily making an adjustment to his neckcloth. "But what on earth brings you here without a word of warning? Is anything wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong. In fact, I come bringing news I think you'll be delighted to hear. But first let me introduce you to my companion." She made a gesture indicating that someone was behind him.

"Companion?" He had not been aware of anyone else's presence. He turned round in surprise.

The young woman who rose from a chair in the comer was not tall, but her slim figure and erect carriage made her seem so. She had the bearing of a noblewoman, but her clothes belied that impression. Under a shabby bonnet, her dark hair was drawn back so that very little of it was revealed. Her dress was a dull gray color, as if many times washed, with a high neck and a white tucker, like the dress of a governess. Luke immediately concluded that the woman was an abigail whom his mother had brought with her. But his mother was at that moment introducing her. "Miss Douglas, this is my son, Lucian Hammond, Viscount Kettering. Luke, this is Miss Jane Douglas."

Was it likely,
Luke asked himself,
that his mother would make so formal an introduction to a mere abigail?
The matter was puzzling.

The young woman curtsied and said in a melodious voice, "Lord Kettering, good evening."

Luke bowed in return. "Miss Douglas," he murmured and threw his mother a questioning look.

"Jane has come with me from Cheshire," Lady Martha remarked.

This was no help at all to the puzzle. "Oh?" he asked cautiously.

"Why don't we all sit down," her ladyship suggested, "so that I can explain why we came."

Miss Douglas shook her head. "Perhaps you should explain to his lordship in private. If I may be shown to my quarters—?"

"Quarters?" Luke echoed, feeling utterly bewildered.

"Ring for Parks," her ladyship said. "He'll know where to put her."

When the butler had been told what was needed, Luke could see that the fellow was as bemused by the puzzle as he was. Was this stranger a servant or a guest? "Shall I give her the room I prepared for your... for the... um... guest you were expecting?" Parks asked in an aside to him.

But her ladyship heard him. "Were you expecting a guest, Luke?"
 

"Yes, Mama, but... something came up."
 

"He's not coming, then?" she prodded. "No, he's... er... no."

Something in his voice made his mother peer at him.

Jane Douglas, too, must have heard something hesitant in his voice. "You needn't be polite for my sake," she assured her host. "If you
are
expecting a guest, please don't give me his room. I shall be perfectly comfortable in the servants' wing."

"This house has plenty of bedrooms," her ladyship put in quickly. "If the fellow—whoever he might be—
should
appear, he can certainly be accommodated. Which room have you made up, Parks?"

"The Rose Bedroom," Parks said smoothly. "The one across the hall from his lordship's and just down the hall from your own."

"That will do for tonight," Lady Martha said. "We can make more permanent arrangements tomorrow."

Luke nodded his acquiescence to the butler, who bowed and led the young lady to the door. At the doorway she turned and curtsied. "Good night, my lady. My lord."

"Sleep well, Jane," Lady Martha said fondly.

"I hope you find the accommodations satisfactory," his lordship added.

Miss Douglas simply nodded and departed.

As soon as she was gone, Luke turned to his mother.
"Permanent arrangements?"
he asked, eyebrows raised. "What's this about, Mama?"

"I might ask you the same." She fixed him with a suspicious eye. "Who is this mysterious guest who failed to appear?"

"No one who need trouble you," her son assured her, "so please, Mama, sit down and tell me why you've come so far, without a word of warning and in the company of a dowdy creature who wants to bed down in the servants' quarters."

"Dowdy, indeed!" her ladyship said in offense. "I'll have you know that Jane Douglas is quite special. Unique. A rare gem."

"You don't say," Luke said, his tone mocking.

His mother threw him a look of disgust. "I won't bother to defend her," she said, seating herself. "You'll discover her remarkable qualities soon enough."

"Will I?" He pulled up a chair and sat down facing her. "So you
do
intend to install her here permanently. In what capacity, may I ask? As my governess? A new cook? Or do you wish me to adopt her?"

"Be still, you idiot. Let's have none of your nonsense. I have something serious to discuss with you."

"Very well, my dear, discuss away."

"It concerns your finances."

Luke winced. "I was afraid it might."

His mother leaned forward and patted his hand. "You know I love you, dearest, and want nothing more than your happiness..."

"Heavens," he muttered, eyeing her askance, "what a beginning. I tremble to hear the rest."

"It won't be so very dreadful, I promise. But I must start with the ugly fact that you are dissipating your fortune. You received sixteen hundred pounds from me in the last month, and now I have a letter asking for more. You must see that you cannot go on this way."

He sighed and hung his head. "Yes, I do see that."

"You get a very generous allowance, yet you've never managed to live within it."

He got up and began to pace around the room. "That allowance is like a blasted straight-waistcoat. Damnation, Mama, it gives a fellow no room at all to... to maneuver."

"To maneuver?"

"To manipulate funds... to contrive... to employ some financial strategy. A fellow likes to feel he can stretch the bounds sometimes and make it up later. If one has control of one's own funds, one can maneuver. This way, having to come begging to you when I've broken the bounds... well, it's humiliating."

His mother surveyed him critically. "Manipulate? Break the bounds? Your argument doesn't sound the least bit logical to me."

He opened his mouth to defend himself, but the urge immediately died. He shook his head ruefully. "It's not very logical to me, either," he admitted.

Lady Martha smiled. "Don't look so downcast, my boy. I do agree that you have reason to feel constrained. Therefore I've decided that it's time to turn over your inheritance to your own control."

He could not believe his ears.
"What
did you say?"

"You heard me well enough. I've even informed Mr. Fairleigh of my intentions," she said, smiling complacently.

"Mama! You don't mean it!"
 

"I mean every word."

He blinked at her, speechless. With the few words he'd just heard, his prospects had completely changed. The dreadful burden of debt could now slide from his shoulders. It was too good to be true!

But it
was
too good to be true. He'd just gotten himself into the worst financial muddle of his life. Why had his mother chosen this particular moment—four years before she had to—to surrender the reins to him? He eyed her suspiciously. "But, Mama...
why?"

"Because Jane thinks I should."

"Jane?
Jane who—? Do you mean the Friday-faced chit we just sent to bed? What has she to do with it?"

"She has everything to do with it. She pointed out to me that the responsibility of handling the money yourself may be the very way to teach you what you haven't seemed able to learn so far—how to handle your finances with maturity."

Luke's face lit up with delight. "Well, bravo for good old Jane!" he shouted. "And for you, too!" Pulling his mother up to her feet, he wheeled her about in a wild dance.

It took some doing, but she managed to squirm out of his grasp. "There is, of course, one small condition," she said when she'd caught her breath.

He stopped in his tracks. His eyebrows rose. "Of course. I should have guessed." Naturally there would be a stumbling block of some sort. It had been too easy. "One
small
condition, eh? And that is—?"

"That one month from today you can show me that you've organized your finances and have incurred no new debt."

He glared at her. "All that in one month?"

"Yes. It won't be difficult, I promise you. I've provided you with the best possible assistance in the matter."

"What assistance?"

"Jane. All you must do is take Jane on."
 

"Take her
on?
What the devil does that mean?"
 

"Hire her. Employ her."

"Employ
her?" He stared at his mother as if she'd taken leave of her senses. "I don't understand you, Mama. In what capacity am I to employ her?"

"It's simple. As your man of business."

FOUR

Jane took a candle from the butler, stepped over the threshold of her temporary bedroom, shut the door firmly, and leaned back against it with a deep expulsion of breath. She was grateful for the door's support, for her knees were still weak. It was the sight of Lucian Hammond that had undone her. She'd taken one look at him and had felt her insides melt.

It was a completely unfamiliar phenomenon. She'd never experienced anything even remotely like it. When he'd come striding into the sitting room, filling it with a kind of masculine excitement—his brow creased, his hair disheveled, his dark eyes questioning—she believed she'd never seen anyone so exciting. Her impulsive response surprised her. He was handsome, yes—firm chin and jaw, expressive mouth, intelligent eyes, broad shoulders, and shapely body—but she'd met handsome men before. What was it about him that had stirred her so?

She had no answer. This feeling could not be what her silly sister would call love at first sight. Jane was not the sort to indulge in such foolishness. Whatever one felt at first sight could never be love. Love, she was certain (though she'd never experienced it herself), was too serious and complex an emotion to overwhelm one in a moment. It was something that evolved... that developed gradually, as slowly as time permitted one to discover those qualities in the other that would make him beloved. One had to be completely unreasonable to tumble into love while one was ignorant of the other's character... in a moment... with a single glance. Unreasonable! And Jane was, if anything, a reasonable woman.

Besides, she didn't even like him. His sort—the kind of man who spent all his time in sporting, gambling, wenching, and other depraved amusements—had always been an anathema to her. It was reasonable, therefore, to surmise that what she felt was an aberration... a momentary loss of sense. It would pass, as dizziness passes, or nausea. Probably it would be gone by morning. When she saw his lordship again in the light of day, she would surely see him for what he was: a self-indulgent Corinthian. And this feeling she was experiencing—whatever it was—would be gone.

With the matter thus decided, she lifted her candle and looked about her. Even in the dim light she could see it was a large room, larger than any she'd ever slept in. A banked fire glowed in the fireplace. She went up to it and poked it into a blaze. As soon as her eyes adjusted to its brightness, she gaped at her surroundings. No wonder it was called the Rose Bedroom. Soft pink wallpaper lent a reddish-amber glow to the entire room. The paper was flocked with a delicate floral design that was repeated in the chintz of a loveseat near the fire and the weave of the sheer fabric of the bedhangings. The four-posted bed itself was magnificent. It stood against the wall to her left, so large and high that a stepstool was required to climb up to it. The bed quite took her breath away. The hangings, the comforter folded at the foot (so soft it must have been filled with eiderdown), the mattress as thick as a half-dozen featherbeds, the dozen or more pillows clad in pristine white with embroidered trimmings, all combined to make it seem fit for no less than a royal princess.