Chapter Nine
So many thoughts had whirled around in Jessica’s head the last few days that she finally capitulated and went to bed early.
When she awoke, therefore, head heavy and temples throbbing, it was with a great relief that after dressing she sent a note downstairs in the hands of Wharton, her and her sisters’ lady’s maid, to say that she would not be descending for breakfast.
Lord Llyne. Reginald. The man was an enigma. An enigma wrapped in a puzzle. An enigma wrapped in a puzzle behind a locked door, and he was inside, holding the key.
What did he truly want with her? Why her, of all women in the Chance family—of all women in Society?
It was confusing to the extreme, and the worst of it was that Jessica knew she was attracted to him. There was a…a way about him that made one want to sit at his feet and smile as he spoke, and that, she thought firmly, was pathetic.
She may have been a wallflower, but that did not mean she was willing to lavish her attentions onto anyone who walked by.
It was all greatly confusing. The marriage was agreed, but she could break it, if she wished. But should she? Was suspicion of a man she hardly knew sufficient cause to break such a thing?
Jessica could not help but grin as the gentle knock on the door ten minutes later revealed Wharton had returned with a breakfast tray.
“Almost as though I’m a married lady,” she said with a weak grin as she propped herself up against two pillows, fully dressed, and welcomed the tray of hot buttered toast, a pot of jam, a pot of marmalade, and a pot of tea.
“That’s what my cousin Liliana does now she’s married, all the wives. They have breakfast in bed.”
“Well, you’ll be joining them soon, won’t you, miss?” opined the narrow-faced maid with a beaming look before heading to the door. “I’ll be back shortly to help you dress, after I help your sisters.”
Jessica did not turn around to watch her go, staying perfectly still in horrified shock.
Because her maid was right. In a few weeks, she would be married, and she would also be having breakfast in bed, like all married ladies did.
Oh, goodness.
The thought did nothing to improve her headache, and so when Irene bounded up into her bedchamber calling out that she needed to borrow a pair of gloves, Jessica raised a hand to her throbbing head and winced.
“Do you not have your own gloves, Reeny?” she asked her sister peevishly, as her sister rummaged through the chest of drawers on the other side of the room.
“Oh, yes, but we’re going into Stanhampton today, all of us, and I have lost both the lefts of my pairs—ah, there they are, can I borrow these?”
Jessica would have offered Irene her own head if it meant she would go away. “Of course. What do you mean, everyone is going?”
“Well, most of us. Not Thomas or Victoria, of course, with the new baby at the Lodge, and maybe one or two others have their own plans once we get into town. But the rest of us came up with the plan last night, after you retired early. You’re welcome, too, of course.
” Irene looked her over. “If Wharton can help you get ready in time.”
“No, that’s quite all right. I…I’ll stay. I don’t feel up for a drive today, I don’t think. It’s my head again.”
“You won’t mind being left alone?” It appeared that it was only now that her sister had considered the implication. “I mean, should I stay with you, keep you company, that sort of thing? I could read to you, I could tell you what I can see through the window, I could sing—”
“No,” Jessica said, perhaps a little too hastily.
It was an open secret in the family that Irene’s musical appreciation was second to none, but so was her musical ability.
In the opposite direction. “No, I thank you, but I believe I shall doze most of the morning. Are you all going to Stanhampton for the morning?”
“For the whole day, Uncle William says. Something about spreading about the family money in the place,” Irene said breezily, pulling on her sister’s gloves. “Goodness, these are lovely. We might be back for afternoon tea, definitely for dinner. You don’t mind being alone with the family gone?”
She would welcome it, though it was hardly the sort of thing Jessica could say. “I do not mind,” she said, completely truthfully. “I hope you have a wonderful time. And come back with both gloves.”
Irene pulled a face. “Not likely, given my current run with gloves, is it? Feel better soon, Jess.”
And that was that. The whirlstorm that was her sister and her incredible glove-losing skills rushed out of her bedchamber, and silence reigned once more.
For a while, it was precisely what Jessica needed. She closed her eyes and allowed her mind to drift away, trying to ignore the throb of her temples. A bird sang gloriously outside. The room lightened, warmed up as the day continued fine.
But after what felt like an age Jessica opened her eyes again, she saw it had only been an hour—Wharton had no doubt peeked in on her and left her alone, as her clothes were laid out for her on the chair in front of the dressing table.
Quite unaccountably, Jessica was bored.
Bored.
Her temples no longer throbbed and she was to be alone all day, the family gone to town. There was no reason why she would have to stay up here, was there?
She quickly dressed, perhaps not quite reaching all the buttons on her back that Wharton would have reached for her. But she had no desire to ring for the maid, even if it meant her hair was a bit messy as she attempted to pin it up without assistance.
An empty house. It was something Jessica had craved, though she had been unable to put words to it, from the moment her branch of the Chance family had arrived at Stanphrey Lacey.
Oh, her family was all very well—in truth, she rather suspected that she had a very pleasant family, all things considered.
But there were so many of them. On and on, every room one entered, there was bound to be someone in it. Privacy and silence were in short supply.
Until today.
Jessica smiled to herself as she stepped down the sweeping staircase and walked along the corridor toward one of her favorite places in the manor.
Her footsteps echoed into the still silence, the heat somehow keeping the air stilted.
Other than the servants, who seemed to manage to keep themselves out of sight most of the time, she was all alone here.
All alone, not to be interrupted, able to do whatever she wanted.
Her fingers reached out for the door of the place she had longed to come since arrival, but it had always been so busy, so frantic. And now—
“Ah, Jessica,” said Reginald with a smile as he turned to see who had entered the portrait gallery. “Your sister informed me you were unwell before they left. I trust you are feeling better?”
It was all Jessica could do not to faint away, which would not have spoken well of her health, and almost certainly led to some dramatics, including Reginald picking her up and carrying her upstairs to—and she had to swallow at the mere thought of this—her bedchamber.
The image flashed in her mind. Her cheeks pale, her loose hair tumbling down her shoulders as she wilted against Reginald’s broad chest, her whole body in his arms as he gently lowered her onto her bed and leaned forward to brush away—
Jessica shook her head momentarily, as though attempting to rid her ears of water.
She did not understand. They were all meant to be—the house was supposed to be empty—had not Irene said that they had all planned on leaving?
“Is everything quite well?” Reginald asked, peering at her with furrowed brows indicating what appeared to be genuine concern.
All the family had gone to town. Why had she not noticed the flaw in her sister’s statement?
Reginald was not family, and so Irene had not thought to include him in her mental list of those taking the carriages to Stanhampton. And that meant he was here.
That meant the two of them were alone.
It was most remiss of her mother, to be sure—of all the aunts, too. To be left alone in the house, without a chaperone! Well, there was Wharton, but she was no doubt busy mending several of her sisters’ clothes.
Perhaps her mother approved of Jessica spending time alone with her betrothed, as her father did. The banns had started to be read, after all. This marriage was going to take place.
Or perhaps everyone had made the same mistake Irene had. Perhaps they had all forgotten Reginald.
Jessica swallowed, the sound seeming to echo in the impossibly long portrait gallery. Forget Reginald? Forget a man that tall? That broad? With that twinkle in his eye, that searing magnetism that surely drew every woman under the age of five and forty toward him?
Heavens.
“I… I thought you had gone with my family to Stanhampton,” Jessica managed to say, navigating speaking and walking two paces forward with great difficulty.
How did he manage to do this to her?
“Oh, I was worried about you. I did not wish to leave you here alone,” came the quiet reply.
That made her smile, at least. “Alone, other than the butler, the housekeeper, footmen, underfootmen, maids, lady’s maids, valets, the cook, kitchen maids, a scullery maid or two, I would suppose, laundry maids, gardeners, stablehands, groundsmen, and our steward?” Jessica asked lightly.
She had not intended to injure, and yet that appeared to be the effect of her quip. Reginald’s cheeks flushed with color and he looked away for a moment before turning his blazing gaze back at her.
“Yes,” he said simply.
Well, what on earth was a lady supposed to reply to that? Goodness, the man was impossible—and even more confusingly, he was standing right before one of her favorite paintings, the one she had come to stand before.
Maybe something of her thoughts showed in her face, for Reginald turned back to the frame and said quietly, “Magnificent, isn’t it?”