The Clergyman's Daughter (4 page)

* * * *

“Willa,” Jessica said quietly, “I think I—I ought to go lie down for a while. I’m feeling very tired.”

The maid nodded, setting aside the pan of vegetables she had been scraping. “Yes, I think that would be a good idea. You’re not completely recovered from your cold yet, and you’ve overtaxed yourself today. Shall I bring a warming pan?”

Jessica shook her head as she rose stiffly from her chair. “No,” she said, reaching up to unpin her black widow’s cap as she trudged in her stockinged feet toward her bedroom. “I’ll be all right, if only I can get some….” Slipping into the lumpy feather bed, she fell into a deep sleep troubled by dreams that she had thought were behind her, memories of the bitter arguments that had arisen when a girl in love with love and a boy bent only on spiting his authoritarian older brother had found that their spring-fresh sexual attraction, while intense, was not adequate to bind them securely in the face of a disapproving world….

She was jolted from her restless slumber by a loud pounding on the front door of the cottage. “My God,” she choked, sitting upright, “who can that—” Her hand flew to her mouth as the realization came to her. “W-Willa,” she called tremulously, “don’t let him—” but she was too late. The loud knock came again, and from the little sitting room Jessica could hear the metallic scrape of the bolt being drawn back.

“Your Lordship!” she heard the maid exclaim, and the front door banged as if it had been pushed all the way open. Hard-soled boots strode imperiously across the uncarpeted entryway.

“Well, well, Willa Brown,” she heard Raeburn’s deep voice drawl hatefully, “I might have known I’d find you here. Now go fetch my sister-in-law and tell her I’ve come to get her.”

“There’s no need to announce you, Graham,” Jessica said drily from her bedroom door, affecting a good deal more aplomb than she actually felt. “I see that you still have not learned the art of making a gracious entrance.”

She stood barefoot in the archway, masses of gleaming hair flowing like a river of ink until they curled just under the curve of her small bottom. The cold penetrating the soles of her feet was nothing compared to the chill in her heart as she gazed resignedly at the man whose image had haunted her more surely even than that of her dead husband. She had tried to exorcise him from her fevered brain, hoping that if she poured all her bitterness into her cartoons, she would at last be free of him, but each time her pen sketched his broad, compelling features, she had found she was only feeding her obsession. Sometimes she thought she would never be released from the hold he had had on her since that shocking spring afternoon by the roadside…. Now at last he had found her again. But a short year since she had fled him, thirteen brief months to relish her uncertain liberty before he tracked her down like one of the deer in the park surrounding Renard Chase, and now he was closing in for the kill. She faced him stiffly, like a doe at bay, her slanting green eyes wide and wary in her ashen face. She would show him no fear, she vowed proudly; though he threatened her and her child, she would never….

Jessica blinked hard, her heart pounding fiercely. Oh, God, her child! In that first instant of seeing him once more, of affecting cool disinterest in his sudden appearance, she had forgotten that Raeburn didn’t know about Lottie. When Jessica fled from the Raeburn estate, no one but Willa had suspected that she was pregnant, that within her she had carried a new life conceived during the last night she slept with her husband, the last night he wrapped his strong young arms around her and pretended that he cared nothing about society’s disapproval…. She had not even garnered the courage to tell Andrew. By the time he contracted the influenza that killed him, he had begun to despise both his common-born wife and himself for their misalliance, and although Jessica, nursed him tirelessly and diligently throughout his illness, she had known that even if he recovered, she had lost him forever….

Raeburn whirled around, his greatcoat fanning out from his body. “Jess—” he said unsteadily, breaking off the word as he stared at her dishevelment. He had obviously interrupted a nap or something, and he knew a moment’s irritation that while he had been scouring the cold and dreary confines of Brighton like a madman, collaring total strangers and demanding to know the whereabouts of the young woman in the long widow’s veil, she had been sleeping peacefully in her snug little cottage.

And yet, Raeburn admitted honestly, glancing about him, the cottage did not appear particularly snug, nor did Jessica look as if peace were her frequent companion. He was shocked by her pallor, her enormous green eyes the only color in a face so white and pinched that her pronounced cheekbones made her appear almost catlike. She seemed to vibrate with tension, and in her dull weeds she looked incredibly fragile, thinner, except for—except for…. Her body had altered somehow, he thought, frowning. He studied her judiciously, until after a moment he realized what seemed different about her; her breasts were larger. For a second he wondered if this change was an optical illusion caused by her unnatural slenderness, but soon his connoisseur’s eyes recognized that the bosom pressing against the worn bombazine of her short-waisted gown was indeed fuller, more rounded, than he remembered. No longer were Jessica’s the high, girlish breasts that he had felt under his hungry hands one bright afternoon less than two years before. She was a woman now, with a woman’s body, and despite her lack of color, her thinness, he thought she had never been more beautiful.

Aloud Raeburn said, “You look like hell.”

Jessica endured his infuriating appraisal with iron control, knowing she dared not let him see that he flustered her. She could never best the earl in a clash of tempers, and if he realized that his presence made her nervous and apprehensive, he might begin to wonder why.

When she remained silent, he probed again. “I’d venture to guess you’ve dropped at least a stone since last I saw you….”

Aware that her unusual silence might be as damning as a display of temperament, Jessica nodded with exaggerated courtesy and responded tartly, “And you look bigger than ever—too big to be quite natural. Are you sure your mother didn’t mate with a Minotaur or something?”

Raeburn’s mouth thinned. “Charming as ever, I see,” he muttered tightly. His gray eyes scanned the dim parlor again, noting the drab furnishings, the threadbare rug, the pathetically small fire in the grate. He could feel the chill through the thickness of his caped driving coat. Mentally he contrasted the cottage with the elegance of Renard Chase, where logs blazed continually in every room, making even the slick marble floors seem warm. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Jessica shiver, hugging her thin arms and rubbing her bare toes together, and he snapped harshly, “Why on earth don’t you quit hopping around and put on your—” He blanched, stricken. “Good Lord, Jess,” he choked, “don’t tell me you don’t have any—”

“Of course I have shoes,” Jessica replied impatiently. “They’re warming on the hearth in the kitchen.”

Raeburn relaxed visibly. “I’m grateful to hear that there’s a fire someplace in this house. I was beginning to think….”

He smiled, the comers of his wide mouth spreading until they almost touched his blond side-whiskers, and Jessica, watching him warily, was reminded that when Graham Foxe chose to do so, he could radiate a charm that was well-nigh irresistible. She had seen him use it on the most stickling of dowagers during those miserable weeks in London when he had tried to get the
ton
to accept her clandestine marriage to Andrew. In retrospect she admitted honestly that he might have succeeded in his quest had she herself not been so incredibly defensive about her position that she managed to alienate almost everyone, including her husband. But Jessica had been very young and sensitive to snubs even when none were intended, and her nature was such that when she felt herself attacked, she attacked in return. After Raeburn managed somehow to cajole one of the, patronesses of Almack’s into issuing a pair of vouchers for the errant couple, Jessica had capped her abortive introduction to society by tossing a cup of sticky-sweet orgeat into the sneering face of Lady Daphne Templeton, the Duke of Crowell’s daughter. She had lost her temper completely when that haughty young woman asked, with a significant glance toward Jessica’s waistline, whether she planned to have her children christened by a blacksmith, since she had seen fit to be married by one….

Raeburn suggested lightly, “If it’s warmer in the kitchen, Jess, why don’t we go in there? You and I have a great many things to discuss.”

Jessica stiffened with alarm, and her green eyes shot sidelong toward Willa, who was standing apart, pretending not to listen to the conversation. Both women were thinking of the cradle where little Charlotte lay sleeping serenely, as ignorant of her volatile uncle’s existence as he, thankfully, was of hers. Thus far, Raeburn had conducted this reunion with far more restraint than Jessica had anticipated, but if he should discover that she had kept his brother’s only child from him….

Bobbing a deferential curtsy, Willa gushed with an obsequiousness that, Jessica suspected, must have choked her, “Begging you pardon, Your Lordship, but I’ve been scrubbing the floor in the kitchen, and ‘tis all atumble in there right now. If Your Lordship would allow me, I’ll bring the scuttle in here and build up a fine fire faster than you can say—”

“All right, girl,” Raeburn said impatiently, dismissing her. “Just be quick about it. And make sure you bring your mistress’s shoes and a warm wrap.”

“Yes, Your Lordship,” Willa mumbled, and she fled to the kitchen. In a moment she was back with the coal and the requested garments, and as Jessica stooped to tie the ribbons of her toasty slippers, she glanced questioningly at the maid, who stood just behind Raeburn. Willa shook her head slightly and pantomimed sleep.

Jessica sighed and seated herself on the sprung settee, draping her wool shawl about her thin shoulders. With an uncertain smile she motioned to the seat beside her. “Please do sit down and make yourself comfortable, Graham,” she said archly. “Let Willa take your coat back into the kitchen with her, and it will be most pleasantly warm when you are ready to leave.”

Raeburn glanced suspiciously at Jessica and murmured enigmatically, “Don’t think you’re going to get rid of me that easily, my girl.” He shrugged the greatcoat from his broad shoulders and passed it to Willa, who had to carry it high against her chest to keep the tails from dragging the floor. When she had departed from the parlor again, Raeburn turned to Jessica and regarded her silently for a long moment, watching her fingers begin to plait her hair deftly and reshape it into the coiled knot that seemed almost too heavy for her slender neck. He commented curiously, “How do you do that? My sister needs two maids and a half a dozen mirrors….”

Her task completed, Jessica folded her hands sedately in her lap and shrugged, her expression carefully neutral. “Those of us who have not been so…blessed…as Lady Claire must learn to do for ourselves.”

Raeburn’s frown deepened. “ ‘Lady Claire’?” he echoed mockingly. “Why so formal with your sister-in-law? You’ve never had any difficulty calling me Graham.”

But you and I went beyond the bounds of formality the first day we met,
Jessica thought with a stab of bitterness, recalling anew his assault on her innocence, those groping hands and braising lips that had ravaged her dreams…. Aloud she said waspishly, “When I…joined your family, Lady Claire told me bluntly that although she was Andrew’s sister, she would never be mine. After that I took pains never to encroach upon our accidental connection.”

His fair brows lifted sharply at the venom in her voice. “Forgiving little thing, aren’t you?” he muttered.

Jessica eyed him squarely. “My father may have been a clergyman,” she said slowly, “but I have never learned to turn the other cheek.”

Raeburn’s gray gaze was equally direct. “I’m well aware of that,” he said. After the briefest of hesitations he continued. “Speaking of your father, did you know that he has married again?”

Jessica caught her breath with a hiss. “Remarried?” she demanded hoarsely. “You mean he has already found someone to take my mother’s place, after he killed her with his lust?” Her jade eyes lost their luster as she thought of her mother’s body wasted in death, her emaciation made even more grotesque by her bloated belly. She had writhed in agony for a day and a night, calling out her oldest daughter’s name repeatedly, before Jessica’s father—who had vowed publicly never to speak to his thankless child again—relented enough to allow one of her brothers to ride his old cob to Renard Chase to fetch her. By the time Jessica and Andrew raced to the vicarage with the Foxe family physician in tow, her mother was dead, the infant still unborn….

Jessica leaped to her feet and paced nervously about the tiny parlor, trying to compose herself. With withering scorn she snapped, “Well, I suppose he requires someone to care for the children who are yet at home, but for the sake of his new wife, I hope she proves barren!”

Raeburn watched her jerky movements with concern. “She is, I believe, a widow with three young ones of her own,” he said quietly.

Jessica whirled on him, her pale face luminous with hatred. “You seem to be exceptionally well informed about the affairs of an unremarkable country parson,” she accused, her voice growing high and shrill. “Am I to assume that your concern is in the nature of payment for services rendered?”

Raeburn stared. “What the
hell
is that supposed to mean?”

Through clenched teeth Jessica snarled, “You know what I mean! When the great Earl of Raeburn found he couldn’t control the encroaching country girl with the sheer force of his personality, he decided to strike at her through her family….”

Beneath a drooping lock of fair hair, Raeburn’s face purpled with rage, and he swore viciously. Unfolding his long frame from the settee with surprising grace, he stood up, his broad shoulders and impressive bulk filling the little room as he loomed over Jessica. Suddenly apprehensive, she tried to back away, but his large hands snaked out to capture her arms, and he hauled her up against him, his gray eyes glittering like mica. “Listen to me, my girl,” he growled, his blunt fingertips digging into the softness of her flesh, “the only reason I have ever had any congress with that sycophantic father of yours was to find out if you had contacted him to let him know your whereabouts. My sole concern was and is your well-being—”