Chapter Sixteen
Reginald had never understood the strange, misty-eyed expression that so often clouded a man’s face—and judgment—after they had trotted down the aisle.
It was foolishness. It was a fallacy.
It was now his reality.
The whole of Stanphrey Lacey looked glorious in the dying afternoon sun as he sat with Jessica in his arms in the library’s sofa. Her soft breath was slow as her eyes meandered over the lines of the book in her hands. She was reading Nicholas Nickleby. He was reading her.
And what a fantastic book she was. Reginald could hardly stop looking at her, seeing new meaning in every facet of her expression.
The more he looked, the more he understood, the more he wanted to read. She was a truly epic tale, one that he would spend the rest of his life attempting to understand. It was an honor, indeed, to be even allowed to open the pages.
Reginald swallowed. And opened the pages of the book he had in his hands.
“Ravish me, Reginald. Love me.”
Shifting on the sofa and hoping to goodness he was not disturbing the woman he loved, Reginald tried not to think too closely about the incredible evening that they had shared. An evening that had revealed so much, and not just the stupendous curves those long gowns had been hiding.
No, they had opened up to each other that evening, and it had been perfect. Now all they had to do was wait for the last of the banns to be read this Sunday and they could get married.
Jessica pressed a silent kiss onto his shoulder as she turned a page. His stomach twisted pleasantly.
Who could have predicted that there was such joy to be had in these small moments?
When Reginald had thought about love, and it was not something he had done overly often, it had usually been the dramatic, loud, energetic kind.
Star-crossed lovers, weeks of wooing, of hiding their relationship from the world—all of that.
And there was nothing wrong with that. Of course there was not.
But it was only now that he realized that it was not the only flavor.
No, there was also this: a quiet, gentle love.
The love of a wallflower. The love that whispered in comfort and settled happily without words, and communicated silently that here was the place where two people had found true happiness.
Reginald’s smile, he was sure, looked utterly foolish. But as it was only the two of them in the library, he did not have to worry. The only person who could see him was Jessica herself, and he was more than happy to be a fool for her.
“You know,” Jessica said softly, turning another page, “when you suggested that we read in the library, I thought you meant something quite different.”
Parts of Reginald that had absolutely no business getting involved in the conversation stiffened. “You did?”
Gracious, that hadn’t even occurred to him. The delicious minx.
“Yes,” said Jessica quietly, glancing up with mischief in her eyes. “But now I am reading Nicholas Nickleby, I am afraid you will have to wait.”
Reginald groaned. “Now you’ve put the damned idea in my head.”
“Letter for you, Lord Llyne,” came a breezy voice as Lucy entered in a swish of skirts.
“I snatched it from Nicholl’s tray on my way past him in the hall just now.
Good lord, I hope I’m not interrupting something I shouldn’t be seeing!
Is there no chaperone in here with you? I suppose you are engaged. ”
“I’m reading, Lucy,” Jessica pointed out primly, as though nothing else of the sort had ever or could ever enter her mind. “Really.”
Reginald stifled a grin. It was a damned good thing that the younger Chance cousin had not heard their previous few sentences, or there would have been a much more awkward conversation.
As it was, the woman grinned. “Oh, you can’t blame me for wondering. After all, the two of you will soon be married. It is not as though, by their own accounts, any of our parents waited for—”
“Yes, thank you,” Jessica interrupted with a stern look.
His beautiful future bride had been direct and blunt, something that did not come easily to her. It was time to rescue her, if the wince of her shoulders was anything to go by.
“Did you say that a letter has arrived for me?” he asked into the awkward silence. “I am surprised. I would have thought my butler would keep correspondence waiting for me at Llyne Hall.”
That was what he had written and requested of his servant after receiving Peter’s last letter, after all.
One more letter from his brother, and he would be forced to step up as head of the house and do something about it—leave Stanphrey Lacey, to be more precise.
And that was not something Reginald wanted to do.
“It has urgent marked on the envelope,” said Lucy, her curiosity so tangible, it was almost radiating from her. “Which is why I suppose it was sent on. What do you think—”
“I’ll take that, if you don’t mind,” said Reginald quickly, hoping to goodness his tone was not too stiff.
His shoulders certainly were. Any letter marked ‘urgent’ had to be about his treacherous brother. Had a date been set for his trial—could a treason trial occur with the accusant absent?
Had someone finally tracked him down in France?
The envelope was handed over and Lucy appeared to realize that her presence was no longer required.
“My papa says we’ll have predinner drinks at around seven,” she said with a sniff. “I suppose I shall see you then?”
“Yes,” said Jessica, to the sound of another page turning.
Despite his racing heartbeat, Reginald grinned. The book must have been good.
“Well, until then,” said Lucy with a shrug, sauntering out of the library and disappearing around the corner.
With a great deal of regret, Reginald disentangled himself from the ardent and comfortable embrace that he and Jessica had settled themselves in, and looked down at the letter.
It was a hefty one. More accurately, it appeared to be a package of letters that had been covered in brown paper and tied with string.
What could it be? A set of evidence against his brother that he had been asked to verify?
A long list of crimes that his brother was going to be publicly accused of?
Had he waited too long to wed Miss Jessica Chance? He ought to have insisted on a special license instead of waiting for the banns.
“I tend to find,” came the gentle voice of his companion, “that it is a lot easier to read letters when the envelopes have been removed.”
He had to chuckle at that. “I suppose so. You don’t mind?”
Jessica waved a hand vaguely, her eyes not stirring from the page. “Can’t talk. Heroine about to enter the dungeon.”
“In—In Nicholas Nickleby?”
“Just checking you were paying attention.”
Reginald’s chuckles continued as he carefully pulled the string off the package and started to unfold the brown paper.
That was something else that he could not have predicted about the young woman who was soon to be his wife.
Her fascination with danger—at least of the fictional kind—had been completely unexpected.
A number of sheets of paper fell out of the brown paper, scattering across not only his own lap, but that of Jessica, not to mention the few pieces that slipped to the floor.
“Damn.”
“Don’t mind me,” said Jessica quietly, a smile lilting the corners of her mouth. “Just use me as a desk.”
“Why, thank you, that is most generous of you,” Reginald quipped, picking up a piece of paper and examining it.
It was a note from his steward.
My lord—
As your absence continues, I am sorry to say that there are a number of things requiring your attention.
As your precise return date is unfixed, I took it upon myself to gather up a number of important things from your desk and send them on to you, in the hope that you will review my decisions for the autumn and new year.
If you are happy with the decisions enclosed, please countersign and return in the next post.
I remain your humble servant,
Evans
Reginald sighed. At least it was not the terrible news he’d feared for a moment. He supposed he had ignored the requirements of management—but then, he had not himself planned to stay at Stanphrey Lacey this long. It was all Jessica’s fault; she was the reason he had not bothered to yet return.
If he had his way, he would marry her immediately, then take her down to Kent and show her the country idyll that would now be her home.
Days, weeks, months—years ahead of them to explore the woodland together, to sit on the chalky downs and picnic, to sit on the cliffs and watch the tides come.
“What is this?”
That should have been his first warning. Not the shortness of the statement, for Jessica rarely utilized seventeen words when seven would do. No, it was the clipped nature of those tones.
But Reginald did not look up. He had just picked up a long list of what appeared to be focused on cattle, columns indicating which should be sold at the harvest and which should be kept for breeding over the winter. “Hmm?”
“This. What is this?”
Reginald looked up, his mind mostly engaged with the decision over the three bulls in the top field herd. “What?”
And that was when his thoughts stopped.
Jessica was looking at him. She had looked at him several times a day over the last few weeks, but this look was one he had not seen before. Her brows drew together, her lips in a thin line. She had never given him this sort of look.
A cold, distant look. A fearful, confused look. One that said they were so far apart from each other, despite the fact they were seated on the same sofa, that she hardly knew him.
“What is it?” Reginald asked quietly, dropping the cattle paper onto his lap.
That was when his attention fell onto the paper that Jessica was holding in her hand.
It was nothing to look at, as far as paper went. The quality was average, and the size was about that of a sheet of paper. There was nothing remarkable like a border, or any color—just rows and rows of his handwriting.
A few of the lines caught his eye.