Chapter Nine #2
Jessica half-sighed as she stepped forward to join him beside the painting. It was large, at least ten feet high, and perhaps six feet wide. The frame was a masterpiece, all gilt gold and furls and twists, but it was the painting itself that always drew her whenever she visited Stanphrey Lacey.
Four boys—well, two young men and two boys, really.
The older two had to be nearing the time when they would go off to university, and the younger two appeared to be squabbling, each attempting to get closer to the middle.
They were standing in a garden—a garden not too unlike the one currently flourishing in the grounds.
“Your father and his three brothers, I suppose,” Reginald said quietly. “I can see the resemblance.”
It was not so impressive a statement. A small plaque had been attached to the bottom of the painting years ago, before Jessica could remember, with the inscription: The sons of the Duke of Cothrom: William, John, and George.
She could remember the additional plaque that had been attached beside it, remember her father’s face when he had first seen it, when her Uncle William had proudly taken the Pernrith family to the portrait on their second visit.
And Frederick.
Jessica had not understood the significance of it then. She understood now.
“Strange, that the names of the four brothers were made over two plaques,” mused Reginald, clearly utterly blasé about the whole thing. “Especially when your father and your Uncle George, they look around about the same age.”
“Yes,” Jessica said quietly. “Well, there’s a story there. I am surprised you do not know it.”
Perhaps she should not have been. Oh, her mother had always said that there had been a great to-do about her father’s legitimization when it had happened, but that had been so long ago. There were plenty of people who had surely forgotten.
Not her father, of course.
“‘Know it’?” repeated Reginald, his brow furrowing as his hand glanced across hers.
Jessica gasped.
She should have been wearing her gloves—the gloves she had thoughtlessly loaned to her sister, now miles away.
She might have not needed to wear gloves indoors, at home, particularly when she had thought herself the only one in the building, but it would have prevented the searing heat that flashed across her knuckles as Reginald brushed past them.
Did he feel it too? Was that why his eyes had glittered, just for a moment?
“The painting, the two plaques,” prompted the man she was to marry in a few short weeks. “Will you tell me the story?”
Jessica hesitated, but only for a moment.
“Never be ashamed.” That was what her father had always said. “If you’re ashamed of where you’ve come from, you’ll learn to become ashamed of where you’re going.”
“There is only a month’s difference between my Uncle George, and my father,” Jessica said aloud, looking up at the two young boys. Her father’s eyes were sad, even in the painting, even as a small boy.
For some reason, Reginald did not appear to need any further explanation. “Ah. You are happy to speak of your father’s initial illegitimacy, then.”
She could not help but stare in surprise. “How—How did you…?”
“Your father is not the only man born without a name but given one as he grew older,” Reginald said, his smile not quite faltering.
And that was what Jessica noticed. Precisely how his smile did not falter—as though he were well-practiced, in fact, in ensuring that his smile in that moment did not falter.
Quite why she did it, she did not know. Jessica slipped her hand into his and squeezed his fingers.
There was an answering squeeze—and though she had intended merely to squeeze his hand then release it, to show comfort and retain propriety, somehow, Jessica did not wish to. She stood there, staring into Reginald’s eyes, his warm hand encircling hers, and did not pull away.
Reginald was the first to break the moment, and he did so by looking back at the painting. “Your father was illegitimate. A half-brother.”
“Y-Yes.” Jessica inhaled deeply and mirrored him.
Her father as a child looked out at the painting with joy at being included, yes, but also confusion as to why.
It broke her heart. “He always knew he was, and his brothers…they grew to accept it. Uncle William first, many years ago. It was he who, upon inheriting the duchy gave the estate of Pernrith to my father. He decided to give all his brothers titles, give them permanently for their own heirs.”
“I did wonder,” said Reginald with a wry look. “It is unusual. But people say the Chances are unusual—not in a bad way, of course.”
“My uncle thought it was fairer.” It was all Jessica could think to say, when her mind was still reeling from what he had said mere minutes ago.
“Your father is not the only man born without a name but given one as he grew older.”
So did that…did that mean—
“Yes,” said Reginald quietly, once again demonstrating that peculiar habit he had of being able to read her mind. “Yes, my parents were not married to each other. I was legitimized as a young boy when my father’s wife could not have children.”
Jessica swallowed, but there was no bitterness in the man’s tone. If anything, he sounded…calm. At peace. “But you said—you had a sister.”
His laugh was bright, too. “Yes, about a year after I was formally legitimized and brought into the family, my stepmother started having children. Three in all—one died very young, but my father was delighted at the other two. I was still his heir, and now he had a larger family. It was all he ever wanted, I think. You do not remark on my parentage.”
The last sentence was hardly accusatory, but it was curious. Jessica was all of a sudden very conscious of the fact that she was still holding hands with the man.
Aside from that kiss, that heady kiss, it was perhaps the most intimate she had ever been with a gentleman.
“I see no reason to remark on it,” she said aloud.
“Judging a man on his birth is hardly fair, and it’s rarely correct.
Some of the most dissolute gentlemen in Society are, from what I read in the newspapers, from the best families without a stain on their bloodline.
My father is one of the best men I have ever known.
I suppose you might fall into the latter category. ”
She risked a glance and saw to her relief that Reginald was smiling.
She had made him smile. Why did that light a blaze in her belly and make her fingers tingle?
“You flatter me with the comparison,” he said lightly.
“You have earned it.” And exactly why she was telling him this, Jessica did not know. She flushed as she continued. “I mean, you have been nothing but honest and honorable. You have asked for my hand and I…I am grateful.”
“I do not merely want your gratitude.”
And what on earth was she supposed to say to that?
Before Jessica could manage a flustered reply, Reginald continued.
“I admit myself impressed by the Chance family. Oh, I knew you were respected and esteemed, I knew that you had one of the most elegant family trees, an ancestry that went all the way back to the Conqueror…but I admire more than that. Your family’s acceptance of your father, the way you could not tell to look at you all now, the sincerity between you—the way you were raised, it is quite wonderful. ”
Quite wonderful.
Jessica was not sure why she did it. There she was, standing before a painting of her father and uncles, the picture of almost happiness, hand in hand with a man who was willing to marry her—quite unlike any other man she had ever encountered—and she was about to do something reckless.
She was going to be honest.
“I would not call it all ‘wonderful.’”
The words had been quiet, but they had echoed around the large portrait gallery as if she had shouted them.
Reginald let go of her hand. “Why would you say that?”
He was meandering now, away from her, just as she had expected. Why, oh, why had she let her guard down—why had she allowed herself to be so truthful?
He had stopped now before a painting that Jessica knew almost as well as the first. “You and your sisters?”
Jessica moved to stand beside him, stomach twisting as she wondered if she could avoid any more truth-telling. Well, other than this. “Yes.”
They had been young when this had been painted—Jessica could remember it clearly, but Gwen couldn’t recall it at all.
“You all look so happy,” Reginald said quietly, and there was no malice in his words, no accusation, just interest. “You all look happy now. Was it not so?”
“It… It’s not that I am not happy…” Oh, blast, where is one supposed to find the words?
“It’s more that—well, one can feel lonely in a crowd.
When one is around so many people, so many vibrant, handsome, charming people…
it is a challenge to be noticed. You can feel ignored, not because people are purposefully ignoring you, but because…
” She should never have attempted this. “Because there is always someone more interesting. More charming. More adventurous. More intellectual. A painter, or an archer, or a Society beauty. There’s always—”
“Always a distraction,” Reginald said, and his smile was genial, and comforting, and somehow spiced. “You’ve been lonely, then.”
I’m lonely now. That was what Jessica wanted to say, but it felt like a disservice, a betrayal of her family to speak so.
It was not their fault she was a wallflower. It was not their fault she struggled to maintain a conversation with someone for three minutes together.
“I was lonely,” she said aloud, tamping down the thoughts as best she could. “But it is not the worst thing in the world. I am accustomed to being ignored.”
For some reason, Reginald’s brow had furrowed. “But, Jessica—I mean, no one who sees you, truly sees you, could ever ignore you.”
One way or another, her breath was catching in her lungs, every movement of her ribs painful as Jessica stared up into his dark eyes. “I-I beg your pardon?”
“Anyone who sees you as I do,” he repeated quietly, and he had taken a step toward her, and Jessica had retreated but her back had hit the gallery wall right beside the frame, and she could not retreat farther, “anyone who truly sees you, Miss Jessica Chance, would never wish to ignore you. God, it’s all I can do to stay away from you. ”
Jessica gasped, unable to help herself, and the sudden movement of her breasts grabbed Reginald’s gaze and she burned, burned to be looked at by him.
Truly looked at. Truly seen.
“Then… Then don’t.”
He did not appear to understand her. “Don’t what?”
His voice was a growl and hers was only a whisper when Jessica managed, “Don’t stay away.”
It was a miracle that she was able to get all three words out, for Reginald moved, pressing her against the wall and capturing her mouth with his own.
And oh, it was heaven—it was heaven to be so desired, to find herself devoured, to feel his hands on her waist pulling her into him as his chest pressed against her breasts, pinning her against the wall as his lips teased pleasure out of her in roaring waves.
Jessica whimpered, splaying her palms against him then curling her fingers around his lapels to bring him closer. Oh, he could never be close enough. His kisses were fiery and his left hand was gently sliding down her gown to cup her buttocks and all she could think was more, more, more—
“Jessica,” Reginald groaned into her mouth, as though he were entirely at her mercy. “Jessica…”
“Reginald,” she moaned in turn, her whole body sparking with sensual bliss, his mouth moving now to trail kisses down her neck.
Oh, God, how had no one told her that it could be like this?
Her body was alive, alive in a way it never had been before, and though his left hand remained cupping her buttocks, his right hand was moving up, slowly caressing her breast as his mouth nuzzled her décolletage, and a servant could walk in on them at any moment and yet she did not care, and if not for the wall, Jessica would surely be falling, falling—
A crash—a roaring, echoing noise that near deafened her.
Jessica started as Reginald pulled away, staring with dazed eyes at the large painting that had slipped to the floor.
“Oh… Oh, dear,” Jessica said weakly.
The painting was not damaged—it had only been knocked off its hook—but it had been their passionate kissing, Reginald’s ardent caresses that had done it.
When she looked up with nervous eyes, it was to see her future husband grinning.
“Well, now that we’ve done all the damage we can,” he said blithely, moving to press her back against the wall and grinning as Jessica gasped, “I’d like to keep kissing…”