Chapter Three #2
Jessica’s lips parted, but no sound came out as the man took her hand—her actual hand!—and placed it in the crook of his arm before starting to walk down the corridor.
What—what is he…? How can this be happening?
“I suppose there’s a room somewhere we can—ah.”
Ah, indeed. Jessica’s whole body roared with heat as Mr. Blakley opened a door and smiled at three of her cousins who had married this year, along with their spouses.
“Come to find the marrieds, eh?” Cousin Thomas grinned, his hand territorially resting on his wife’s huge belly. “We were just talking about baby names. Do you have any you favor?”
Jessica slammed the door shut.
“You do not wish to discuss baby names?” Mr. Blakley asked with an arched eyebrow. “Or perhaps you would rather keep your excellent ideas for our children?”
It was a good thing she was leaning upon the man’s arm because at that moment, Jessica was ready to either faint or flee, neither of which was particularly easy with her hand trapped in his.
This is madness—madness! It was ridiculous enough that she had somehow managed to gain a betrothed from one day to the next, but to hear her betrothed talk about baby names of their children.
Children!
“I need to sit down,” Jessica managed to say, as calmly as she could.
“And presumably not in there,” Mr. Blakley said with a grin, glancing at the closed door. “Let us attempt to find an empty room, then.”
It did not take long. Stanphrey Lacey was vast—her Uncle William had once said that he should have had twelve children to even attempt to fill the place up, and Jessica had seen her Aunt Alice hit him hard on the shoulder at such a remark.
The second door Mr. Blakley tried was the music room and it was empty, which was a surprise. She supposed Lilianna could not be practicing the pianoforte all the time.
“Here,” said her betrothed softly as he closed the door behind them and led her over to a large armchair. “Sit.”
It was an order that Jessica could actually obey and she grasped at it with both hands.
Metaphorically. What she actually did was release the man with both her hands, dropping like a stone into the chair and wishing to goodness that she had half the elegance of Gwen or half the composure of Teddy.
As it was…
“So,” said Mr. Blakley with a wry smile, “I suppose I should properly introduce myself.”
It was not as though we engaged in a great deal of conversation yesterday, Jessica thought awkwardly as she folded her hands in her lap, then unfolded them, then folded them again.
No, there had been a plethora of cousins surrounding them and probably attempting to congratulate them on their engagement, but she had escaped before she’d even let a single one get a word out.
In fact, she had probably spent almost as much time in Mr. Blakley’s presence today as she had yesterday.
Not very much.
Mr. Blakley pulled an armchair closer to hers so he could sit opposite her and languidly sat back in it. Jessica could not help but be envious. How was it that some people were just…just so much more at home in their own bodies?
She did not understand it. After all, it was not as though her body were new to her; she had had it quite some time. And yet every movement she made appeared to be awkward, unpleasant, disjointed.
There was Mr. Blakley, on the other hand, lounging back and examining her with a not quite critical eye, one foot resting on his other leg and his hands steepled together, as though he were perfectly content.
Content. And her betrothed.
“My name is Reginald, and my sister calls me ‘Reggie,’ which I detest,” the man said quietly, a slow grin on his face. “I have a small family. Not like yours.”
Jessica tried to smile. No one had a family like hers. Wild, loud, numerous, overbearing, nosy, and bouncing from scandal to scandal.
Well, not scandal. They were too well-respected for that. Adventure to adventure, perhaps.
Speaking of, it suddenly occurred to her that she ought to have had a chaperone present, shouldn’t she?
Then again, she thought that was for before the proposal and one was allowed some private time with one’s betrothed…
But she wasn’t sure. She’d never had the need for a chaperone—because no gentleman who wasn’t a relation had ever deigned to spend time with her alone before.
“Right,” Jessica said tensely, realizing Mr. Blakley seemed to be waiting for her to respond in some form. If the man thought she had planned to start calling him ‘Reggie,’ though, he was quite mistaken.
Call a man she didn’t know by his first name! Not even a first name, but a nickname?
“Most people call me ‘Lin.’”
“‘Lin’?” Jessica repeated. At least, that was what it sounded like he had said.
For some reason, Mr. Blakley chuckled. “Pronounced Lin, yes, but spelled L-L-Y-N-E.”
Llyne. She was not sure why it mattered, though she couldn’t see the connection to his name.
But after all, they called her sister Theodora ‘Teddy.’ Her cousin Frank had confused many people.
Frank Chance had been invited to a gentleman’s club once by an unsuspecting gentleman new to Town and had had quite the shock when Lady Francesca Chance had arrived.
“Yes, I am the eighth Baron Llyne,” continued Mr. Blakley—or rather, not Mr. Blakley, as it turned out. “So I answer to ‘Lord Llyne’ as well.”
Jessica’s eyes widened.
So, that would explain part of it: why the man was so self-assured, why he felt he could just barge into a family house party like this. He was a titled gentleman, just like her father.
Well, not like her father, not really. Her father had been the by-blow of the late duke, and according to family legend—or at least, what the cousins gossiped about among themselves—it had been a good few years before the three legitimate Chance brothers had accepted their illegitimate connection.
Besides, even though her father was illegitimate, he was still a viscount. This man was only a baron.
‘Only a baron,’ Jessica thought darkly. What had she become?
“I see you are not impressed,” said Lord Llyne quietly.
Heat splattered over her cheeks, red marks surely across her face. “It’s… It’s not that. I just…”
Jessica’s voice trailed off. Usually, whomever she was conversing with was quick to interject when her words failed her. It was irritating at times, but sometimes, it was a blessed relief. It was always pleasant when the other person in a conversation took the weight of it.
But Lord Llyne… He just sat there, looking at her.
Listening.
It was unaccountable.
“You will no longer be the Honorable Jessica Chance, once we are married,” said Lord Llyne quietly. “You will become Lady Llyne.”
It was a good thing that Jessica was seated, for her legs would most certainly have given way at that point.
Lady…Lady Llyne?
It had never been much of a point of contention between the cousins. The daughters of Uncle William, Uncle George, and Uncle John were all titled as Ladies. That was because they were daughters of high rank.
She and her sisters, on the other hand… Well, they were mere daughters of a viscount. No one said it. She rather believed no one even thought it.
But they were lesser. Just Honorables on a first introduction, and after that, just plain Miss Chance.
Miss Chance. Lady Llyne.
Jessica had to admit, even if only in the privacy of her own mind…it had a certain ring to it.
“I suppose you have an unimpressive dowry.”
Her eyes darted up and the words had slipped from her mouth before she could stop them. “I suppose you have an unimpressive income.”
Painful shame curled around her heart and Jessica’s gaze darted to the door in an effort to think about escape—but a strange noise was coming out of Lord Llyne and it transfixed her to the chair.
The man was…laughing?
“I suppose I deserved that,” he said with a grin. “And do not concern yourself, or your parents, Miss Chance. I have an income of five thousand four hundred a year. More than enough, I would hope, to keep you in comfort.”
It was a might more than her father, to be sure, Jessica could not help but think. But then, there were so many of them. Her parents, herself, her four siblings, all the servants that running two households required.
The baron hadn’t spoken of debts, naturally, which had to have been the reason he was seeking out a rich bride. Perhaps she would never hear about them, but her dowry would help them to go away. Was that not how it worked, so often?
And when she was the Baroness Llyne—
Can I really go through with this?
Jessica swallowed down her fears. Of course she could. The man wasn’t unpleasant. That was more than enough for many ladies of her age and rank. They would accept any man their parents put before them who did not spit, snort, and spew tobacco in their faces.
It was a low bar, and yet so many gentlemen did not overcome it.
And he was…attractive.
Dazzlingly so. The man had charisma as though it were going out of fashion, and Jessica knew he was the reason that her skin was tingling and that her breath was short.
It was all too easy to grow distracted by just how good-looking the man was and completely lose the fact that she was going to be his wife. His wife. And that meant—
Do not think about it, Jessica warned herself as her décolletage did not get the message and immediately started boiling. Thank goodness she had had the foresight to select a high-necked gown for today, despite the slightly warmer weather.
“Look, this is perhaps not the way you had envisioned securing a husband,” said Lord Llyne, cutting through her thoughts.
Jessica tried to smile. “Not exactly.”
She had thought she would become a spinster.
It was not all bad, she had reasoned. Spinsters had a greater choice of attire and hours, they selected their own meals if not in the care of a married parent or sibling, and there were surely going to be enough nieces and nephews from her four siblings to take care of her in her old age.
In truth, she rather wondered why more wallflowers of means did not aim for such a state.
And yet in had walked a gentleman who made her blood fizz, and intrigued her, and he had offered her his hand, and she had said yes.
Only now did she start to wonder whether she should have asked more questions about the man attached to the hand in question.
“Lord Llyne,” Jessica said slowly, wondering how on earth to phrase the question ‘Tell me all about yourself, including the bad bits so I know what I am getting myself in for’ without being rude. “Tell me—”
“I am sure you have a great number of questions for me,” interrupted the man, glancing at his pocket watch in a move that made Jessica feel intensely small.
Was she already boring him? Within ten minutes?
“Yes, I do, and—”
“And I will be more than happy to answer them for the next five minutes,” said Lord Llyne with a smile he obviously thought was pleasant and Jessica instantly believed was vague. “I will then have some business to attend to.”
Jessica bit her lip, her hands immediately twisting into her lap.
So, this was how it would be.
She was not sure what else she had expected. This was hardly a love match—clearly, the man wished to marry her because of her reputation, which was impeccable. It was difficult to ruin a reputation when you were never invited anywhere, but still.
But despite the fact that this was far more a marriage of convenience than a love match, as all four of her wedded cousins’ marriages had been, Jessica had hoped for… Well. Not romance.
Effort, maybe?
She looked up into his dark eyes and swiftly lost herself within them. It was quite unfair for a man to have such beautiful eyelashes. So long, and thick. And that mouth, why, it just invited the onlooker to imagine—
“Questions, Miss Chance?”
Jessica started. Lord Llyne appeared far too pleased with himself. Had he noticed how she was staring at him—dear God, had she been staring at him?
Shaking herself mentally and straightening up physically, Jessica nodded. “Y-Yes, I have many questions. You said you had family.”
“A sister and a brother. Parents dead,” came the immediate reply.
“Oh. I am sorry for your—”
“It was a long time ago,” said Lord Llyne with a shrug. “Next question.”
It felt too much like an interview for Jessica’s taste.
Not that she had ever been interviewed for anything, but she had once assisted her mother in the interview of a new housekeeper for their London home.
Rapid questions, rapid answers, but neither party appeared to actually learn anything new about the other.
And he was so damned attractive. Jessica was tempted to tug a finger around her high-necked collar. Is it just me, or is it mightily warm in here?
“I am sorry, I have to go,” said Lord Llyne, rising to his feet and inclining his head.
It could not have been five minutes. And what business did he have at her uncle’s house that did not involve her?
“But I am here for the next three weeks, Miss Chance, after which we shall return to London and immediately get married. I look forward to getting to know my bride.”
And then he did the strangest thing.
He leaned forward, picked up her bare hand, for she had not yet had time to put on gloves this day after breakfast…and brought it to his lips.
He kissed her hand.
Jessica could not help the gasp that passed her lips. His mouth, hot and firm on her hand, her skin tingling, a sizzling heat in the air, a connection, his eyes fixed on hers, a moment of frisson—
Lord Llyne dropped her hand, turned, and strode out of the room. He did not even close the door behind him.
Jessica fell back into the chair and fanned herself ineffectually with the very hand that was still burning from his touch.
He looked forward to getting to know his bride?
She looked forward to being able to be in the same room as him—and not expire.