The Clergyman's Daughter (6 page)

Glancing at him from behind the curtain of her long lashes, Jessica imagined with spiteful satisfaction Raeburn’s astonishment if she were to identify herself as the mysterious Erinys, with whose work the earl was no doubt familiar. But even as the thought formed in her mind, she realized she could never tell him. Too often he had been the target of her most malicious satire, he and his horses and his overblown lightskirts; his huge frame and blond hair made him ridiculously easy to caricature…. Aware that he awaited her answer, Jessica improvised, “I also…gave drawing lessons.”

“To whom?” Raeburn inquired softly, his gray eyes cold and disbelieving. “To fishermen’s daughters?” When Jessica refused to answer him, he sighed and said, “Well, perhaps it does not matter now. You’re coming home with me.”

Jessica shook her head. “No, Graham. This is our home now. The cottage may not compare to Renard Chase, but it is adequate for our needs.”

“You may have learned to economize when you lived at the vicarage,” Raeburn insisted, “but I tell you right now, this hovel is not adequate for my niece’s needs. She is a Foxe, and she will be raised as befits her station.” His gray eyes narrowed as he surveyed the room once more. “For God’s sake, Jess, how could you run off like that, knowing you were increasing? Weren’t you aware that any child of Andrew’s would inherit a substantial income, the one that would have come to my brother had he lived to his twenty-first birthday?”

“I was never interested in Andrew’s money,” Jessica said wearily. “I told you that, but you refused to believe me.”

Raeburn persisted. “Did it not occur to you that if the baby were a boy, he would be my heir, the next Earl of Raeburn?”

Jessica flushed. Yes, that thought had occurred to her, and she had known a moment’s bitter triumph at the possibility that the son of the detested art mistress might aspire to one of the loftiest titles in the realm. But when she had imagined her child living at Renard Chase, studying at the finest schools, and mixing with the cream of society, she had begun to wonder if he would grow to despise her for her common background, as his father’s people had, and that possibility had made her determined to bring the baby up on her own. She had acquitted herself of any niggling charge of selfishness by deciding that she must save her child from the contaminating influence of wealth and position….

Thinking with loving adoration of her sleeping daughter, Jessica murmured quietly, “But as it happened, Graham, my little one proved to be but a girl. I’m afraid it will be up to you to provide for your own heir.”

Raeburn’s hard cheek twitched. Stonily he said, “And so I’ve done.”

Jessica jerked her head upright and stared at him, oddly breathless. “What do you mean?”

His strong features were absolutely expressionless as he replied, “I am engaged to be married.”

Jessica blinked hard, wondering why her stomach suddenly felt so hollow. “Married?” she echoed with a nervous titter that turned into a hoarse cough. “You, Graham? I—I always thought you were determined never to take that fatal step.”

He said darkly, “As you pointed out so succinctly, a man must have an heir. With Andrew gone….”

“I see,” Jessica murmured, staring blindly at the threadbare square of drugget that passed for a parlor rug. She shook her head in wonder. Raeburn married, leg-shackled. The idea was incomprehensible. Raeburn was a man large of stature, large of appetite. He liked big, fast horses, and his taste in women seemed inclined along the same lines. While Jessica and Andrew were in London, they had attended a performance of
Don Giovanni,
and her husband had pointed out Lucinda, the almost-too-buxom brunette singing the role of Zerlina, as Raeburn’s latest
chere amie.
Of course he would never demean his family name by taking to wife anyone of less than impeccable family and reputation, but the notion of him dancing attendance on some simpering debutante struck Jessica as rather grotesque. With an effort at politeness, she asked, “So who is the lucky girl, Graham, and when may I wish you happy? I seemed to have missed the announcement in the—”

“There’s been no official announcement as yet,” Raeburn interrupted. “The old duke, Daphne’s father, died almost a year ago, and she won’t be out of mourning until the end of November. She’ll be spending Christmas at Renard Chase with her brother the Marquess of—I mean Crowell now—and we’ll make it official then. We intend an Easter wedding.”

Jessica gaped as his words fit together in her mind, and the picture they formed was too shocking for diplomacy. “You’re going to marry
Lady Daphne Templeton
,” she choked in ragged astonishment. Even her artist’s imagination, with its appreciation of the unusual, the novel, could not accept that small, insipid young woman as wife to the large and flamboyant earl, even though their families had long been acquainted. Daphne was two years older than Jessica, and when they had met—and instantly clashed—she had been winding up her fourth unsuccessful Season in the marriage mart, a sorry fact that Andrew had privately attributed to her father’s clutch-fisted refusal to provide an adequate dowry for the girl. Both Daphne and her brother were hanging out for an advantageous marriage, but she was far too conscious of her exalted birth to consider an offer from a wealthy cit, and among her own kind her lack of both portion and particular beauty made a proposal unlikely unless some man fell madly in love with her personality. And since she was by nature prudish and condescending…. The last time Jessica had seen Lady Daphne had been on the dance floor at Almack’s. Her light blue eyes had been alight with rage, and over her bland face, its usual prim expression wiped out by fury, an ostrich feather had dripped with the sticky-sweet almond liqueur that Jessica had flung there…. Jessica giggled wildly at the memory. “Graham, you’ve taken leave of your senses!”

Stiffening, he said frigidly, “Jessica, I advise you to be quiet before you say something you may deeply regret in future. Lady Daphne is a woman of unimpeachable breeding and demeanor. Our fathers were close friends, which I suppose is the chief reason I thought of her when…. She has greatly honored me by consenting to become my wife. You would do well to remember that once we are married, she will not only be mistress of my house but also your kinswoman, and you should conduct yourself accordingly.”

Jessica flushed, acknowledging her ill manners. Whom Raeburn chose to marry was no concern of hers. “I’m sorry if I offended you, Graham,” she admitted tensely, bowing her head so that he could not see the effort this apology cost her. “I was unpardonably rude, and my only excuse is that, as I’m sure you’re aware, your—your fiancée and I have not always been on the most cordial of terms….”

She heard Raeburn snort, and she continued with as much dignity as she could muster, “I am truly sorry, Graham, and I promise I shan’t embarrass you if I meet Lady Daphne again. But—but happily there is little chance of our encountering each other—”

“I should say there was every chance,” Raeburn drawled wryly, “since the two of you will both be living at Renard Chase.”

“No,” Jessica said with flat insistence. “You cannot make me go back there.” She turned to stare at the dying fire, and she shivered. Watching the glowing embers turn softly gray, she wondered why people claimed hell was made of flame and sulphur. Hell was cold, cold as the slick marble walls of the Palladian mansion, cold as the scornful painted smiles of the Foxes and their friends and their household…. Jessica repeated, “I will not go back, Graham.”

She could hear the puzzled frown in his deep voice. “But why not, Jess? I’m not asking you to come back in some inferior position, if that’s what you fear. You’ll be treated with all honor and respect as my sister-in-law, my brother’s widow, and the fact that I am marrying will not change that one jot. It is my duty—and my most earnest wish—to provide for you now that Andrew is gone, and I will continue to do so until such time as you yourself decide to remarry.”

Remarry? Jessica thought bitterly. After the fiasco her union with Andrew had become, despite her love for him, did Raeburn really think she was eager to repeat the experience? No doubt that was what he hoped. He had not yet succeeded in convincing her that she ought to return to his home, and already he was plotting to rid himself of her, to foist her onto someone else, “You should be more prudent with such offers, Graham,” she muttered cynically, still not looking at him, “else you may find yourself with a pensioner for life. I have no intention of ever marrying again.”

At her last words, her voice dropped forlornly, her waspish resentment overpowered by the image of the future she had just outlined for herself, a life without love, without comfort, without…. Something twisted deep inside her as she faced the prospect of never again knowing the sweetness of lying in a man’s hard arms, minds and bodies joined in one perfect moment of communion. She and Andrew had rushed untried into marriage, driven by anger as much as by love, but despite the social and mental differences that inevitably drove them apart, their physical union had been fortuitous—eager, youthful enthusiasm more than compensating for their mutual clumsiness and naïveté. Jessica had cared for her husband, and she had been bitterly hurt when he obviously grew to regret their elopement; but when Andrew died, the thought that had most shattered her was the realization that henceforth she would have to sleep alone….

Raeburn’s large hands closed gently over Jessica’s shoulders through the thickness of her shawl, and he eased her around on the settee so that she faced him. One long finger curled under her drooping chin and tilted her head upward so that he could study her pale, defiant face. He was troubled by the signs of depression bruising her translucent skin, the ashen tint that seemed a reflection of her worn black weeds, and the fire had gone out of her beautiful eyes, leaving them lackluster and bleak. For one grinding moment he felt a perverse urge to rip the ugly, tattered dress from her shoulders, kiss her fiercely until her mouth was red again, her cheeks flushed with color, her eyes glowing with their customary rage at his high-handedness.

Rigorously he repressed that thought, and his hand dropped away from her face. He said with soft insistence, “Of course you’ll marry again someday, Jess.” He wondered why the words set his teeth on edge.

Jessica shook her head in a mute gesture of denial, and Raeburn continued with studied calm. “You were born to be some fortunate man’s wife. Perhaps you think me callous or even cruel for saying such a thing, but I promise you I don’t mean to be. You loved my little brother. So did I. After my father died, it fell to me to be the one to raise Andy and Claire, and not a day passes that I don’t feel his loss acutely…but that doesn’t mean my life stops while I mourn him. Your life must go on too.”

“My life consists solely of my daughter,” Jessica said stiffly, and Raeburn’s expression hardened.

“As you wish,” he muttered, “but in that case, you had better resign yourself to returning to the Chase with me, for that is where my niece is going to be raised…with you or without you.”

Jessica trembled, hugging her arms convulsively. At last he had said it, had uttered aloud the implicit threat that had haunted her since her husband’s death, had made her choose a hard, tenuous life of obscure poverty over the undeniable comfort of the Raeburn estate. Her green eyes enormous, she whispered hoarsely, anxiously, “You mean to take my child from me, Graham?”

He knew a fleeting moment of shame at her obvious fear, but he did not allow his expression to waver. He declared steadily, “I have no wish to part you from your daughter, Jess, but in this I must be adamant, my brother’s child will be raised at Renard Chase in a manner befitting her station in life. Of course I should prefer that you live there too, but if you will not, then you will leave me no choice but to seek custody of her. I am already trustee for any moneys she stands to inherit from her father; it should be easy enough to have myself appointed her guardian as well….”

“But I am her
mother,”
Jessica asserted. “She needs me.” With mute appeal her hands reached up to touch the bodice of her dress. “Graham,” she pleaded hoarsely, “you cannot take Lottie from me. I…I still nurse her.”

His gray eyes flicked over her full bosom covered with somber black bombazine, and he felt a sudden urgent desire to see her swollen breasts bared as she gave suck to her child. He felt his body stir potently at the thought, and he realized with alarmingly jealous surprise that he wanted it to be his child too…. Aloud he said with a shrug, “I believe wet nurses are moderately easy to procure these days.”

Jessica paled, humiliated that she had abased herself. She squared her shoulders and faced him with hate-filled eyes. “I warn you, Graham, if you try to go through with this, I will oppose you.”

With affected unconcern he declared tiredly, “That’s scarcely anything new, Jess. You have always opposed me. You are the least governable woman it has ever been my misfortune….” He stood up deliberately, looming over her, large and intimidating, and when she shrank back instinctively, he softened his tone somewhat, a little ashamed of taking such easy advantage of his superior size and strength. He cajoled, “Be reasonable, my dear. You know it is hopeless to fight me in this; we are not evenly matched.”

“But I
will
fight you,” Jessica insisted doggedly, trying to garner her courage. “I will use every weapon at my disposal.”

“I’m sure you will,” he agreed quietly, and he sat down beside her again and took her icy fingers in his. He spoke conversationally, but his tone was sympathetic, almost—almost pitying. “If there is one thing that I have known about you from the first day we met, Jessica Foxe, it is that you are a fighter. Unfortunately for you, so am I. So…oppose me if you will, but in this matter I will not be swayed: you and your daughter—and your maid too, if you want her—are coming back with me to the place where you belong, the place where my brother’s child will be raised as she ought to be. As soon as I can hire a coach, we are all going home to Renard Chase.”