The Clergyman's Daughter (18 page)

Daphne murmured, “I know I have admired Renard Chase since the first time I saw it, some years ago when I stopped here overnight with my father and brother. I was very young, but I remember even then wondering what it would be like to be mistress of all this.”

Her fingers stroked pensively over the Jacobean embroidery embellishing her chair. She seemed to have forgotten to whom she was speaking. She mused, “Odd though you may think me, sometimes I regret that our sex is so unsuited to the independent life; it seems unfair that even an ambitious woman has no alternative to marriage, when men are so…so….” She shuddered delicately. “Yet I suppose the indignities a married woman is forced to endure may well be worthwhile if in return she gains such a prize as this.” Her gaze retraced the room. “So lovely,” she breathed. “By comparison, Crowell Hall…it wants renovation, you know, and like our father before him, William declines to spend his competence on anything but drink and—”

She broke off abruptly and peered sharply at Jessica, who gave no sign of having heard that revealing slip. After a moment Daphne relaxed and gushed brightly, “But Renard Chase: the magnificence of its architecture, its size and elegance, the richness of the furnishings, the paintings…I ask you bluntly, Mrs. Foxe, how can any woman
not
covet it?”

Jessica listened with dismay to what she guessed must be one of the most revealing speeches Daphne Templeton had ever made. She wondered what impulse had made her speak so candidly to a woman she claimed to despise. Jessica could hardly pretend to be surprised by Daphne’s acquisitive and expedient outlook on marriage—it was, after all, the accepted fashion for her class—but still she found infinitely painful the revelation that the future wife of the man she loved regarded him only as a…an indignity that had to be endured. Despite the conventions of a society marriage, such an attitude seemed a recipe for disaster. Poor Graham, she thought with wistful sorrow; you’re a man of lusty appetites. Will it truly be worth it, do you think, on your wedding night when you have to bed your unwilling but oh-so-suitable bride?

She was finding the conversation increasingly unendurable. Anxious to end it, she said urgently, “My lady, I don’t understand why you tell me these things. I am no threat to you. I have no interest in usurping your position as mistress of Renard Chase.”

Daphne’s thin mouth tightened. “You have lived on your own since your husband’s death, Mrs. Foxe. Until Graham found you and brought you here you enjoyed a freedom most women can only dream about. Are you now trying to convince me that you no longer have a taste to be mistress of your own household?”

“Of course I’m not saying that,” Jessica responded, her thoughts harking back nostalgically to her tiny cottage in Brighton, where, despite the squalor of their surroundings, she and her dependents had lived in unprecedented liberty, answerable to no one. She said fervently, “More than anything else in the world I should like once more to be in charge of my own life—but, I repeat, I do not seek my independence at your cost. You are entirely welcome to Renard Chase!”

It is only his master that I want
…. The words reverberated unspoken in Jessica’s brain; then she chided herself sternly.
Stop it!
she thought,
you are fast becoming as puling and maudlin as a heroine in one of Claire’s romances
. With a deep, racking breath, Jessica said huskily, “Lady Daphne, I still do not understand what it is that you fear from me. How can I possibly threaten you or your position? I am only the widow of Graham Foxe’s brother; you are going to be his
wife
.”

For several moments Daphne gazed at Jessica with a blind and vacant expression that indicated her mind was elsewhere. She seemed to be trying to come to some crucial decision. At last her sparse lashes quivered and she again looked sharply at Jessica, her thoughts framed. Flashing a smile of patent insincerity, Lady Daphne said coolly, “I think you misunderstand the situation, Mrs. Foxe. I do not fear you—there is, after all, no way that one such as yourself can harm me—but I do regard you as something of an…annoyance.”

She leaned forward in her chair, and her voice roughened with insinuation. “I will pay you the compliment of speaking frankly; I do not like you and you do not like me. That is hardly extraordinary considering our utterly disparate stations and backgrounds, but in normal circumstances our lack of charity would be of little significance because the two of us would be most unlikely ever to meet…. Unfortunately, the circumstances can hardly be called normal. Because my fiancé’
s
late brother was enticed into a rash marriage, which can only be regarded as a shocking misalliance, you and I must now meet as equals, relations—and I do not think either of us is over-pleased with the situation.”

“You are too kind, my lady,” Jessica drawled, secretly amused at the woman’s candor. If Daphne had hoped that her words would make her uncomfortable, she had failed. “What you say is all too true—but I confess I still do not understand the point you are endeavoring to make.”

High spots of color painted Daphne’s cheeks as she said tersely, forcefully, “The point, Mrs. Foxe, is that despite Graham’s regrettable indulgence regarding you, and despite the fact that he was willing to acknowledge your brief marriage to his brother, I consider you encroaching and common, an upstart of decidedly dubious morals, and a most unwholesome influence on the mind of an impressionable young person like Claire—or, for that matter, on the children I of course expect someday to have. Bluntly, I do not want you in my house after I am married.”

It was Daphne’s casual mention of children that cut through Jessica’s studied indifference, engendering in her breast a fierce and blinding anger. To imply that she would harm any child of Graham’s…. The truce had well and truly expired, the battle was resumed with a vengeance, and nothing could make her sit quiescent under an assault such as that. Her hands clenched the arms of her chair and she took a deep breath to steady herself to return the salvo.

“Fair enough,” she murmured evenly, green eyes sparking. “I had been expecting something like this…. My dear Lady Daphne, let me return your compliment and say that I consider you a cold, pretentious prig whose insensitivity and affectations will undoubtedly make life at Renard Chase a continual misery for those unfortunate enough to fall under your authority. Believe me, I have no desire to subject myself or my daughter to the kind of treatment we will certainly suffer if we must live under the same roof as you, and I assure you that we will go from these premises as quickly as we can, today if possible. We require only enough time to pack.”

With the air of one who had burnt her bridges, Jessica settled back into her chair and regarded her opponent steadily. She noted with surprise that the triumph she had expected to read in Daphne’s face was lacking, replaced by an expression of puzzled uncertainty. “Go?” Daphne echoed, blinking. “Alone? Now?”

“Of course now,” Jessica retorted sharply, impatiently. “Did you think I would remain here and endure your insults in silence?”

“I had rather thought that…. I was going to suggest an alternative.”

“An alternative?” Jessica asked, momentarily distracted. “What do you mean?”

“I thought perhaps—” Daphne began bravely enough, but under Jessica’s piercing green gaze she soon floundered. “You are, after all, attractive in a way that appeals to men…if a reasonable portion were made available…despite your unfortunate…a husband might yet be found….”

Jessica stared. She had suspected for months that the ultimate aim of the Foxe family—even Claire, although her motives were kinder—was to marry her off, but to have it spelled out so crudely…. She closed her eyes and trembled with revulsion, sickened by the very thought of being wed to any man but Graham, having to submit to the embraces of someone she did not want. Groaning, she demanded, “Is this some scheme you have concocted yourself or is”—her voice grew husky as she faced the ultimate betrayal—“is it Graham’s idea?”

Daphne scowled, confused by Jessica’s lack of enthusiasm. “Mine, I suppose—but I should think you would be delighted at the prospect of a good second marriage. Any woman would. I am not proposing that someone unsuitable be foisted off on you. After all, by dint of your alliance with my fiancé’s late brother, you are a family connection—”

Jessica snapped sarcastically, “How kind you are, my lady! I don’t suppose it ever occurred to you that I have no wish to marry again? Well, I don’t—and I won’t! I shall take my child and my servant and leave this house as quickly as it may be arranged.”

Daphne shook her head in genuine bewilderment. “You think to manage without male protection? Is that possible? Where will you go? How will you live?”

“I am not without resources,” Jessica said with obscure dryness.

“You mean you already receive some allowance from your late husband’s estate?”

“No,” Jessica responded quietly, enjoying a moment of smug satisfaction at the thought that she, the despised plebeian, knew how to cope in circumstances that would leave her wellborn rival utterly helpless. “No, that is not what I meant.” She stood up abruptly. “If you will excuse me, I think it is time we terminate this interview. You will want to prepare for the outing this afternoon, and I must return to my room and make my plans.”

Lady Daphne bit her lip, suddenly apprehending that this private conversation had been a most unwise move. She had thought only to put the upstart drawing teacher in her place, and instead she had precipitated a scene that Raeburn, who seemed to cherish an unreasoning affection for his sister-in-law and her brat, was bound to resent deeply, when he heard of it…. She watched her rival cross the room to the door, her tall, slender figure moving with a confidence and grace that bordered on insolence in one of such common breed. But Jessica Foxe was not common, Daphne suddenly acknowledged with painful, jealous insight; she was something quite out of the ordinary—and Raeburn’s anger was bound to fall heavily on anyone responsible for driving her from his home.

With a quavering smile of appeasement, Lady Daphne said lightly, “Mrs. Foxe, I beg you, don’t fly up in the boughs over our—our little chat! I didn’t mean to anger you. Of course you must not think of leaving Renard Chase, not now! Why…it’s almost Christmas!”

Jessica hesitated at the door, one slim hand on the knob. When she looked back at Lady Daphne, who regarded her with dread, her eyes were opaque as jade. “Christmas,” she drawled slowly, her mouth turning upward in a sardonic smile. “Why, so it is…. I had almost forgotten. Well, then, my lady, I reckon I must wish you the joy of the season,” The bitter humor in her voice lingered in the library long after the sound of her footsteps had faded away.

“Here now, Jess.” Raeburn laughed, wheeling his gray stallion away from Lord Crowell, who was talking to his sister and Claire, and moving back along the line of vehicles to the second sleigh, “everyone else has offered an opinion. Tell us, what do you think of the log we’ve selected?” His eyes glinted with a warmth that belied the frosty air.

Beneath her voluminous cape Jessica shrugged and smiled uncertainly, the slight movement of her mouth tickling her cheeks against the rich sable that trimmed the hood. “Well, it’s—it’s big enough to fill even the fireplace in the great hall, of course,” she ventured, glancing at the large oak tree that workmen had felled and were now stripping of branches, “but won’t it be far too green to burn?”

“A Yule log is supposed to be green,” Raeburn explained with good-natured impatience. “It lasts longer that way, and the longer it bums, the more good luck it brings. I thought everyone knew that. Haven’t you ever had one before?”

Jessica shook her head. “My father always claimed Yule logs were heathenish.”

“That father of yours would make one of Cromwell’s roundheads seem a veritable beacon of enlightenment….” Raeburn snorted.

Jessica’s forehead wrinkled delicately as she suggested, “Graham, it might be that he is simply too proud to admit that we could never afford—”She broke off her words, blinking with an astonishment that was repeated in Raeburn’s expression as suddenly she realized that for the first time in her life she had actually defended one of her father’s animadversions. For a moment she pondered the significance of that unprecedented event.

Beside Jessica, John Mason asked, “Then your father is still living, Mrs. Foxe?”

“Of course, sir,” Jessica answered tightly. Her newfound tolerance did not seem to extend to the artist, and she thought she had exercised commendable restraint ever since circumstances forced her into close proximity with the man.

She had come away from her interview with Lady Daphne shaking with a burning desire to leave Renard Chase that very day if possible, but as soon as she reached her own room, Willa had pointed out the rashness of such a scheme. “No matter how much Her fine Ladyship infuriates you, you cannot disappear into the night as you did that other time,” her friend had pointed out calmly. “ ‘Tis the dead of winter now, Miss Jess, and you have a little one to think about….” Reluctantly Jessica had admitted the truth of Willa’s words: she was a woman now, not an impulsive girl, and no longer could she evade troubles by simply running away. With a moue of resignation she had begun to change into something suitable for the excursion into the woods.

Jessica had almost pleaded a sudden megrim when she saw the seating arrangements for the short journey. Raeburn and Lord Crowell had chosen to take their horses, and the grooms, footmen, and carpenters required to cut down the tree once it was selected followed along behind on an old sledge that also carried the hamper of refreshments and extra fur rugs. That left Jessica, Claire, Lady Daphne, and John Mason—Flora Talmadge had not been invited—to ride in the two small sleighs. Daphne immediately chose Claire as her partner, claiming it would give her the chance for a quiet coze with her future sister-in-law—“We need to discuss the gown you’re to wear when you’re my bridesmaid, my dear!”—and Jessica had been forced to share the cramped confines of the second vehicle with a man she both feared and detested.