Salt Bride (10 page)

“I beg your pardon, Mr. Wraxton?” Arthur Ellis replied in shocked accents. “I cannot tell you if his lordship has read any of your poetry, sir, but I can say irrevocably that Lord Salt has done no such thing as put your poems to the flame. Now, if you will excuse us. Miss Despard…?”

Jane hesitated, a glance at Billy’s parents who were smiling at her encouragingly, and touched the secretary’s sleeve. “Mr. Ellis, Tom has not yet arrived, so we must wait. Perhaps, in the meantime, Lord Salt could see these good people, who have come three Tuesdays in a row?”

The secretary glanced at the couple, sensed Jane’s nervousness and smiled reassuringly, “You would be more comfortable waiting for your brother in Lord Salt’s bookroom, Miss Despard. I will see what can be done for the Churches.”

With that he walked off, neither looking left or right at the crowd of petitioners whom he knew all eagerly tried to catch his eye for some sign that they would be granted an interview with the Earl sometime soon. He had learned to be blind to the pleading, sometimes hostile, always expectant, looks of the crowd who sought his noble employer’s benefaction but Jane could not help feeling, as she passed these silent, bewigged gentlemen, that they must think she had jumped the queue, just as Lady St. John had done before her, all because she was a pretty female. Little could these sullen faces know that she felt as if she was on her way to have a tooth pulled. No one could have the slightest idea that she was about to be married to one of the wealthiest and most politically influential noblemen in the kingdom.

The feeling did not subside upon entering the Earl’s bookroom, despite the long room possessing a fireplace at either end with elaborate mahogany over-mantles and blazing fires in each grate that radiated comforting warmth. This hallowed inner-sanctum was in such marked contrast to the sparseness of the freezing anteroom that Jane blinked and could not help gazing in wonderment. Everywhere candles burned brightly in elaborate sconces and two chandeliers filled the room with light. All was comfort and ease, and yet on such a lavish scale that the visitor felt anything but comfortable. Three walls were lined with floor to ceiling shelves crammed with leather-bound tomes, the higher shelves reached by climbing one of two mahogany ladders attached to a polished railing that ran the entire length of the bookshelves. The fourth wall had long sash windows framed by heavy curtains of gold and red velvet that were tied back with thick gold rope to allow a view of the goings on in the elegant square below. Oriental carpets scattered the polished wooden floor and central to the room was a massive two-sided mahogany desk with two wide chairs drawn up to it on either side, the only other furniture being an assortment of wingchairs and sofas arranged before both fireplaces.

At one fireplace three liveried footmen silently went about straightening furniture and cleaning up what appeared to be the remnants of a tea party. No doubt presided over by Lady St. John. The secretary ignored this activity and went to the desk and again Jane followed. Mr. Ellis carefully placed the opened appointment book amongst the neatly ordered piles of documents of differing heights, where also were a stack of scrolls, several books, and an elaborate Standish with quills and ink, seals and wafers. Jane noticed that nowhere to be seen amongst this well ordered clutter were the Earl’s gold-rimmed spectacles.

In fact she did not see the Earl until it was too late. His voice made her jump and spin about to face the second fireplace, where he stood before the fire in the grate. He was dressed more splendidly than he had been the day before, if that was possible, except today he did not wear powder but his own shoulder-length light chestnut-colored hair, simply tied with a black silk ribbon at the nape of his neck. His waistcoat matched his breeches that were of a rich embroidered cream silk, which, on closer inspection, revealed an intricate pattern of vines, fruits and small intricately woven birds, all in the Chinese manner. An elaborately tied cravat of delicate lace, diamond knee-buckles, white silk stockings and a pair of flat-heeled polished black shoes with enormous silver buckles encrusted with diamonds finished off this magnificent toilette. If Jane was self-conscious in her old wool cloak in the ante-room, here in the warmth and magnificence of the bookroom, coming face to face with a thoroughly unapproachable bridegroom made her feel positively inadequate to the task ahead.

Still, when the secretary remained at the massive desk and she was beckoned forward to stand before the Earl alone, she managed to put up her chin and appear unruffled, even when Salt looked her over and ordered the butler, who had trod softly up the room behind her, to take her cloak and fetch her a glass of wine.

“I would prefer hot chocolate, my lord,” Jane requested, shrugging out of her cloak and immediately spreading her frozen hands to the warmth of the fire. “I am sorry, but your ante-room could grow icicles.” When no response was forthcoming she glanced up and was not surprised that he was frowning down at her with mute disapproval. She presumed she would have to grow accustomed to such a look where she was concerned so resigned herself to the fact and added without apology, “I disposed of the clothes given me by Mr. Allenby which left only this gown and the wool cloak; all my father permitted me when he cast me from his house.”

The Earl gave a huff of embarrassment and looked away into the flames. Inexplicably, her choice of words made him acutely uncomfortable, as did the gown she was wearing. He had last seen it when he had helped her out of it in the summerhouse. “Sir Felix’s twisted sense of humor, no doubt. By the way, that gown became you better four years ago.”

Her surprise that he recognized her attire overshadowed his disparaging remark.

“I hardly think my father saw any humor in my humiliation, do you?” she said quietly, a lump forming in her throat as she studied his handsome profile, and wondered if within him there was a sliver of regret for what he’d done to her. It made her say spontaneously, “I never betrayed you to him.”

At that, his head snapped round and he stared hard at her.

“
You
never betrayed
me
?” He scoffed. “Your kind doesn’t know the meaning of the word!”

“What kind is that, my lord?” she asked curiously, shivering at the viciousness in his delivery.

He gritted his teeth. “Touché, Miss Despard. You and I know very well, so you needn’t regard me as if I’m speaking an incomprehensible foreign tongue.” He looked down at her and added with a sniff of disdain, as if reading her thoughts, “And you needn’t imagine I carry the slightest remorse for what happened to you.”

“Don’t you?” Jane replied bravely and shrugged, though his words stung more than she would ever let on. “No matter. I take responsibility for my actions, no one else.”

Her simple response put him off-balance. “Very noble, Miss Despard, but your ignoble actions show you up for what you are.”

She smiled sadly. “Sometimes actions mask what we truly feel. But I have never lied to give another false hope.”

At that, Salt couldn’t help himself. He was so angry he grabbed her about the upper arms and jerked her close, face thrust in hers. “How dare you feign to be the guilty party in this contemptible union!” he hissed. “How dare you pretend that you
must
marry me! Must? Ha! That’s just a ploy, to justify to yourself why you’re putting me through this—this
hell
. Have you no conscience that you’re taking up my offer of a coronet under despicable circumstances? I wish to God I could lay the damn thing at your feet and walk away!”

Jane stared into his handsome face, distorted with pent up rage, and willed herself to remain calm. How she wanted to fling his coronet at his sneering countenance and run away, never to see him again. But she knew this for a lie. She had thought about him so often in the past four years, that it was surely unhealthy. At first she had blamed him for her predicament, but she was not a hateful person by nature and so the loathing quickly evaporated leaving her with the sad dull ach of longing and in the tragic knowledge that she still loved him. Not this incarnation that sneered down at her, but the man he was four years ago who was kind and loving and honorable. This being she did not know at all and had no wish to marry, but she had to think of Tom and ruining his future should she not go through with the wedding. She wished her stepbrother was with her now. She wanted the ceremony over with as much as this stranger who held her so tightly she was sure both her arms were bruised.

“My lord… My arms…”

Instantly, he let her go. She was so frail and had such slender limbs that he was sure he had hurt her. Remorseful and annoyed with himself for allowing anger to get the better of him he turned back to the fire with a muttered apology.

“Forgive me, Miss Despard. It was not my intention to hurt you.”

“Hurt me? Do you imagine this situation is less hellish for me, my lord?”

With a hand outstretched to the mantle, he looked over his shoulder and saw the tears in her blue eyes. “Only you can end the misery for us both before it begins.”

Her full bottom lip trembled and she dropped her gaze to quickly dry her eyes on a scrap of lace she called a handkerchief before bravely looking up at him. “I’m not about to cry off, my lord. I can’t. I just hope you do not intend to do so again because I—”

“I beg your pardon?” he interrupted, turning to confront her. “What do you mean
cry off
?”

“—I truly must marry and without delay,” she concluded and watched in fascination as his face drained of all natural color. He looked ill. She took a step forward in alarm, only for him to back away, not wanting the nearness of her.

“Are you accusing me of breach of promise?” he asked in wonderment, feeling disorientated and slightly breathless, as if he had been struck between the shoulder blades with a heavy object.

“You may call it whatever name you choose, but it does not alter the truth, my lord.”

“Truth?” Salt could hardly say the word. “What truth is that?”

Jane could well understand why he looked so ill for she had bravely voiced aloud what was indisputable. He might be a nobleman, but like all men of the nobility, the Earl prided himself on being first and foremost a gentleman; his word was his bond. But he had committed what the gentlemanly fraternity considered the deadliest of sins. He had broken his word… to her. He had called off their engagement two months after they had made love in his summerhouse the night of the Salt Hunt Ball, and cast her adrift on the world.

Four years ago, at the Salt Hunt Ball, after a month of secret courtship, the Earl had proposed marriage to Jane and she had accepted. A girl did not forget such a momentous occasion. She remembered everything about such a wonderful moment, down to the smallest detail. He had asked her in his summerhouse with its view out across the still blue lake to an ancient stone bridge. The Palladian exterior of cold marble columns and domed roof belied an opulent and exotic interior, replica of an Ottoman prince’s private apartments whose guest the Earl had been while on the Grand Tour. The rooms were decorated with beautifully colored mosaic tiles and Turkish artifacts, rugs, silk hangings and embroidered cushions that glowed under the soft, muted light cast by a hundred burning candles.

She had been wearing the gown she had on now, and he had given her a gold locket set with sapphires and diamonds; a family heirloom, he told her. The betrothal ring she now wore, with its sapphire and diamonds inlaid in a gold band that was too large for her finger, was fashioned in a similar style and Jane reasoned it must be part of a set to which the locket also belonged.

He had shown her the secret catch at the back of the locket that opened to reveal a small space between the precious stone and the gold backing where could be placed a memento, a lock of hair or a tiny note. He had made her promise that if ever she found herself in difficulty she was to send him a note in the secret compartment of the locket and he would come. He had made her promise this because he was leaving to return to London almost immediately and would be gone for at least a fortnight, perhaps a month, and when he returned their engagement would be officially announced and they would be married without delay.

She had sent him the locket with a note when she realized she was pregnant. He did not come. A month later she received his letter, breaking off their engagement.

The day he had asked her to marry him had been the happiest day of her life and was etched in her memory forever. The day his letter arrived breaking off their engagement she had considered the worst day of her life, that she could sink no lower in despair and wretchedness, and then their baby had been taken from her.

She had kept his letter. She had wanted to burn it, to turn his horrid words of regret and mistake to ash, but her nurse, who could not read or write and so held the written word in reverence, had taken the letter and put it in a safe place, saying that there might come a day when the letter could prove useful. Jane wondered where that letter was now as she turned and regarded the Earl standing by the library window, hands behind his back, staring out into the square below, the latest petitioners dismissed with a view of his strong profile. She wondered if amongst his papers he had kept a copy of that fateful letter, perhaps not. He would not want his secretary coming across such a damning epistle.