The Clergyman's Daughter (9 page)

“You thought I had stolen Andrew from you,” Jessica prompted.

Claire grimaced, her young face drooping. “Yes, that’s it exactly. It seems so obvious now that I don’t understand why I didn’t see it then. Andy and I had always been so close. As you know, our mother died when I was born; I used to wonder if our father blamed me for her death, and that was why he was always so distant…. I remember asking Graham about it once, and he said no, I was being silly, and then he hugged me. Funny, but I don’t remember our real father ever hugging me. In some ways Graham seemed more like….” She sighed. “I love Graham too, but he was always so much older than Andy and me, and after he succeeded to the title, he was away most of the time. That just left Andy and me. We used to talk about what we would do when we were all grown up, how the two of us would travel on the Continent, maybe even go to America together….” Her voice faltered, and she lifted her velvety brown eyes to Jessica, pleading for understanding. “The only trouble was Andy grew up long before I did, and while I was still in the schoolroom, he found you.”

Jessica watched the girl compassionately, her heart responding to the plaintive note in her voice, the same note she had once heard in her husband’s voice. Claire was so very like Andrew…. Jessica said, “I understand, Claire, and it really doesn’t matter anymore.”

“Oh, but it does!” Claire insisted, determined now to make a full confession. “You don’t know what I did, Jess. I used to
spy
on you and Andy when you met in the portrait gallery after my drawing lessons. I was just waiting to see him kiss you so I could run to Aunt Talmadge and tell her. But I never could catch him touching you—”

“He never did, not then,” Jessica murmured.

Claire nodded absently. “I guessed he was being careful…. But one day after you’d gone, I saw him standing in the gallery with this funny look on his face, and I heard him say distinctly, ‘Jess and I could go to America’—and I—I exploded. America was
our
dream, his and mine, and now he was talking about taking
you
there! I came out of the place where I was hiding, and I told him that I was going to tell Aunt Talmadge about the two of you. He said, “You stupid chit, there’s nothing to tell, and anyway, I don’t give a damn about a silly old witch like Aunt Talmadge.’ “

Claire paused again, breathless, and she muttered wryly, “I guess that’s when it dawned on me that my brother had become a man. I was still scared witless by my aunt, while he….” She shrugged, and her face shadowed with remorse again. “That’s when I did the thing that shames me most, Jess,” she said drearily, “I was still furious with him, certain that he’d betrayed me, and I said, ‘You may not care about Aunt Talmadge, but I bet you’ll give a damn’—I remember how wickedly daring I felt, saying that word—‘you’ll give a damn when you hear that I wrote to Graham and told him you were making eyes at a vulgar little—’ ”

Claire broke off, blushing. After a moment she continued, “Andrew just stared at me for a long time, then he demanded, ‘What have you done, you little snitch?’ and before I could say anything, he snapped, ‘Well, you needn’t have bothered, because I’ll write to Graham myself and tell him you’re a liar and I’m going to marry Jess whether he likes it or not!’ Within a matter of days, Graham was back from London, storming around in a vile rage, and you and Andy had runaway to Scotland….”

When this recitation ended, the sun-drenched sitting room was silent, except for the cooing of the baby. Jessica relaxed in her chair, eyes closed, absently stroking her daughter’s fiery curls as she mused over what Claire had told her. At last she had the answer to the riddle that had puzzled her for more than a year and a half, the question of why Andrew had applied to his brother for permission to marry her, long before their courtship had progressed to a point where such an action could reasonably be expected. A little girl’s malicious jealousy had precipitated that rash action and, consequently, Jessica and Andrew’s equally rash reaction to Raeburn’s violent opposition. Jessica had thought many times over the past year that if only Andrew had spoken to her first, had told her what he planned to do, she would have discouraged him from even thinking about marriage, much less speaking to his brother about it. And if they had not married, how much less heartbreak there would be….

Claire said humbly, “I’m sorry, Jessica. Please believe me I’d never want to hurt you now.”

Jessica looked at Claire, then at the child sleeping in her arms. Lottie’s hair was almost the exact color Claire’s had been when Jessica first met her. When the baby grew up, except for her emerald-bright eyes, she was going to look very much like her aunt. Funny to think that in a very roundabout way Claire was responsible for Lottie’s existence…. With a smile of ironic gratitude that Jessica knew her sister-in-law would never understand, she said, “Forget it, Claire. You were a child then. When we are little we all do things that embarrass us later, after we’re grown.”

At that moment one of the nursery maids appeared at the door, and Jessica handed over her daughter reluctantly. When the woman had taken Lottie away, Jessica turned back to Claire, whose eyes had brightened as her melancholy mood passed. She stroked the skirt of her gown self-consciously. “Do you think I’m all grown up, Jess?” she asked wistfully.

“I think you’re becoming a beautiful young woman,” Jessica said honestly. “In a couple more years….”

“A couple more years,” Claire echoed with a groan. “You sound just like Graham. I’m seventeen now, old enough to marry, old enough for my come-out, if only Graham would let me.” She leaned forward in her chair, her eyes flashing with indignation, and Jessica could tell that she was about to be the recipient of some long-simmering confidence. Claire declared hotly, “Oh, blast Graham, anyway! For absolutely
ages
I’ve expected that I’d get to make my debut next spring. Everyone did. It was all planned. Since I haven’t any close female relations, Graham was going to get Lady Bergen to sponsor me—she’s a viscountess, widowed and rather poor, but
very
respectable, and she’s done this sort of thing before—and I knew exactly the kind of dress I wanted to wear when I was presented, and the kind of flowers we’d use to decorate the town house for my ball, and all that—and now all of a sudden I have to wait another whole
year,
and it’s all Graham’s fault! Oh, I never dreamed he’d be such a selfish beast….”

When Claire paused her gushing long enough to take a breath, Jessica frowned and inquired, “But whatever is the problem? Graham seems indulgent enough. Why has he decreed that you must wait?”

“Because he’s getting married, silly,” Claire retorted in exasperation. “He and that—that ape-leader Daphne Templeton have decided to wed the day after Easter, and by the time they get back from their honeymoon, the Season will be almost over. Obviously Lady Bergen can’t do anything with Graham not around to pay the bills, so he says I must delay another year, and then his wife can present me.” Claire snorted. “With my luck, old Daphne will be increasing by then, and Graham will tell me I’ll have to wait yet another year until she’s fit to sponsor me. Mustn’t do anything to hazard the heir, you know…. Of course, Graham being the way he is, it may be a dozen years before she’s fit for aught but waddling around with a belly like a whale, although after the women he’s had, like that singer, why he’d want to bed a—”

“Claire!” Jessica exclaimed, blushing hotly at the images the girl’s words put in her mind. “You mustn’t talk that way. It isn’t—it isn’t suitable.”

Unrepentantly Claire scoffed. “Oh, Jess, don’t be missish. You know what men are like. You’re a married woman.”

“Yes, but you’re not,” Jessica said sternly, “and anything you’ve heard is just hearsay, idle gossip, unfit for—”

“Oh, it’s more than hearsay.” Claire laughed, her brown eyes taking on a sly gleam as she glanced toward the sitting-room door to ensure that it was closed. Her girlish voice became low and insinuating, “You know I love Graham dearly, Jess, and I’ll be the first to admit that when he’s here at Renard Chase with me, he’s a—an absolute pattern card of rectitude, but I know for a fact that when he’s in London, he’s not nearly so—so upright. In fact, he’s so notorious that the satirists draw caricatures of him! When he came down from Town the last time, a couple of months ago, one of the grooms who had gone with him brought back some of the cartoons, and he showed them to me. I didn’t understand the point, exactly, but Fred explained them to me. For instance, there was this one picture of Graham as a centaur—it was kind of strange and spiteful but very funny, and it looked just like him, with even the horse part resembling his gray stallion—and he was carrying off this fat woman who….”

Jessica closed her eyes, wishing she could shut out Claire’s eager description as easily. Oh, yes, she was familiar with that cartoon. The original was on the third shelf of her wardrobe, behind a hatbox, locked in a battered tin casket along with all her other sketches…. That one had been one of Erinys’ earlier efforts, drawn, as it happened, not long before Lottie was born, when Jessica’s discomfort and apprehension at her forthcoming confinement had made her pen especially venomous…. Satire was primarily a male interest, a fact which Jessica had used to protect her anonymity; consequently it had never occurred to her that Claire might have occasion to see any of her work. Despite the girl’s uneasy laughter, Jessica wondered if the vicious satire on someone she loved had hurt her. To soothe the pang of remorse growing in her breast, Jessica said sharply, “I doubt your brother would appreciate your being so familiar with a groom, Claire.”

Claire stared, her eyes dark and large in her pale face. “Oh, Jess,” she protested huskily, “you wouldn’t say anything to Graham, would you? Fred might lose his position if you…. Besides, there’s nothing
to
tell—” Her voice choked off as she grimaced curiously, and Jessica, watching the girl, wondered with ironic amusement if she were recalling that once Andrew had pleaded with those exact words….

Jessica began, “Of course I won’t—” but her words were interrupted by a knock at the door. She turned, frowning, as a liveried footman stuck his head inside. “Your pardon, Mrs. Foxe, but your cases have arrived, and the master ordered us to bring them up to you.”

“My cases?” Jessica repeated, confused, as menservants trooped into the room lugging a succession of leather-and-brass trunks, all obviously new, obviously heavy. “What is this?” she murmured, but before anyone could venture an answer, Willa slipped into the room, back early from her half holiday, and took charge of the situation. In the uproar, Jessica had time only to cock one fine eyebrow inquiringly at her friend and murmur, “Were you able to mail the parcel?”

“Yes, Miss Jess,” Willa answered in an undertone. “It took some doing, but they agreed to hold any letters addressed to ‘J.F.’ until the next time I come to the village.”

“Thank you,” Jessica said, and she stood out of the way as Willa began to order the footmen about. Soon the men had departed, leaving Jessica and Claire to gape in astonishment as Willa unlocked case after case packed to overflowing with silk and satin and muslin dresses, velvet cloaks and pelisses trimmed with fur. One trunk contained beribboned slippers to match the dresses and trim ankle boots with contrasting slashings. A second was laden with lacy undergarments of cobweb delicacy, a third with gloves and plumes and fans. Soon Jessica’s bed was covered with a rainbow of rich fabrics, everything beautiful, exquisitely made, of the first stare of fashion. Claire gurgled like a playful child, and even Willa’s round face glowed with feminine delight. Jessica gazed at the bounty surrounding her and she wailed, “But—but he promised!”

Claire glanced up from a jade-colored velvet frock trimmed with swans down and stared at Jessica. “What on earth is wrong with you? Don’t you like Graham’s surprise? When he told me he had ordered some things for you, I had no idea he meant anything so grand.”

Jessica took a deep breath. She splayed her fingers over the skirt of her gray bombazine day dress, and she was surprised to find that they were shaking. In a tremulous voice she whispered hoarsely, “Of course I like the clothes, Claire. A person would have to be blind not to. Everything is incredibly beautiful. But I told Graham while we were still in London…. I thought he understood…that—that I’m not ready to put aside my mourning clothes, not…just yet.” As she spoke her thick lashes drooped heavily on her cheeks, and she realized with wistful self-knowledge that she mourned not so much for her late husband as for the death of her girlish dreams….

Brown eyes heavy with sympathy, Claire tossed aside the green dress and hugged Jessica fiercely. “Oh, Jess,” she sighed, “I’m so very sorry. I know how very difficult it must be for you, even after a year…. But I’m sure Graham didn’t mean to hurt you. He just wanted to make you happy, to make you smile again. We all know that you mourn Andy in your heart—as do we—but you can’t bury yourself alive forever. You’re a young woman,” She loosened her hold on Jessica so that she could see her face clearly as she said with a smile, “There’s to be a house party at Christmas, when Graham and Daphne announce their engagement, and with all your beautiful new clothes you could be quite—quite the Incomparable.
Why,
Graham says that someday soon you’re sure to….” Her voice trailed off at the glowering expression on Jessica’s brow.

With icy control Jessica asked mildly, “What does Graham say I’m sure to do, Claire—find a new husband? Is that why he’s organized this house party, bought me all these frills and furbelows? Less than a fortnight back in his house, and already he’s plotting to be rid of me?”

“Jess, no!” Claire squealed, aghast and bewildered. “You can’t believe that!”

“I believe Graham Foxe would bargain with the devil himself if he thought he could be free of me forever!” Jessica grated. She wrenched away from Claire and dashed out of her room, almost colliding in the corridor with a startled housemaid. “You!” she barked, in a tone uncannily like that of the man she sought. “Do you know where His Lordship is?”