Chapter 20
He couldn’t chase it away.
Inside, deep within, he felt dread.
Of course, the Earl of Dragmore refused to acknowledge such feelings. Just as he refused to dwell on the rudeness he’d encountered in Regents Park with Jane. Instead, he focused on the pertinent issue—how to get back into Society? For until he achieved this, he could not find Jane a husband.
But the dread was there, deep inside.
The Duchess of Lancaster was, he calculated quickly, now in her late forties.
Ten years ago when Nick had first arrived in London with his grandfather, she had been a stunning, elegant woman.
It mattered little that she was married, he soon found out, when she pressed her attentions upon him in an arbor at the Baron Ridington’s country estate one weekend.
Nick was only too eager to oblige her. He had kept obliging her through that entire fall.
He’d run into the duchess from time to time during his marriage, but not since the trial.
Indeed, since the trial he had rarely come to London, residing exclusively at Dragmore.
Now he found himself not just back in London, but faced with the formidable task of gaining an entre into its social circles, and to do so, he stood awaiting the duchess in her parlor.
“You still ignore decorum,” she said, entering.
He was startled, but hid it. Time had ravaged her. Where she had been an auburn-haired beauty at thirty-eight, now she was wrinkled, too thin, and graying. But Nick took her hand and bowed over it. He did not kiss it. “Forgive me.”
She lifted his chin to look into his eyes. “A woman could never deny you when you speak like that.”
Uncomfortable, the earl eased back.
“You should have left your card with the butler,” the duchess told him. “And after you would receive an invitation from me to visit—if I decided to see you.”
“I know. Claire, I could not wait.”
They both stared at each other with this intimacy, a blatant reminder of the past.
“I heard you were back. Have you had enough of that isolated estate?”
“No. I need your help.”
She raised an auburn brow. Its color was exaggerated. “I am about to swoon. The grand earl needs me? Whatever for?”
“I need to regain my place in Society.”
“Ahh, yes, I should have guessed. I know you, Nick. You never gave a damn about Society, not then, and I suspect you don’t now. Why?”
“I have a ward. I must find her a husband.”
The duchess smiled, intrigued. “Who is she?”
“The Duke of Weston’s granddaughter.”
“I had heard there was some other offspring— from the wrong side of the blanket. So it’s true!”
“It’s true. Will you help me?”
She smiled again and touched his face. “One favor begets another.” Her hand lingered. “I will help you, Nick.”
“Thank you.”
Her hand had moved to his strong neck. “You are still beautiful,” she murmured. Then her tone became crisp. “Come this afternoon. At four.”
The earl stared. “So there is a price?”
“I am a selfish woman.”
“So I see.” He walked to the door and turned. “But I am no prostitute.” “Nick—”
Shoulders rigid, he left.
Jane was excited. Her excitement was barely contained. On the plush seat in the earl’s carriage, sitting beside him, she was wiggling enthusiastically. Hands clasped, she turned to him, her face wreathed with happiness. “I can’t tell you what this means to me!”
The earl stared at her. They were on their way to the Lyceum to see Henry Irving perform.
He was feeling very uncomfortable. His decision to go to the theater was calculated—he wanted Jane to be seen by the right people.
He had not even considered how she would react to the prospect, while she apparently thought he was trying to please her.
He wondered if he might be blushing slightly, but fortunately, it was dark in the carriage.
Jane was babbling on and on about Mr. Irving, who was a well-known actor.
The earl barely heard. She was stunning tonight in her new finery, a modest rose evening gown with flounces and polonaise.
She wore her hair curled and hanging loose down her back.
She was a vision, an earthly angel, beyond description.
He thought of the Duchess of Lancaster and felt sickened. So much for friendship. He should have known better. No one did anything for nothing. Jane touched his arm. The earl tensed.
“We’re here,” she told him excitedly.
He smiled slightly, unable to restrain himself.
Her smile answered his, and hers was uncontained.
The lobby was filled with the crowd. People were milling, quickly exchanging a few words, and hurrying to find their seats.
Most socializing took place during the intermission.
The earl took Jane’s arm firmly. He spotted Lindley with a young woman and another couple just as they were entering the auditorium. He tensed.
“Look,” Jane said, pressing close. “Lindley’s here.”
He was aware of her body warm and soft against his. Second, he was aware of her close scrutiny. Mostly, he was aware of his body’s flaming, uninhibited response. He cursed himself. You are in a public place, for Gods sake!
He maneuvered Jane apart from him. “Let’s take our seats.”
As they took their seats in a private box, there was a tangible hush in those around them. Then he was cognizant of the whispers. “Ignore them,” he told Jane.
Jane looked around with a fierce glare. “I cannot!”
“Sit.” He gently pushed her down. “We are here to enjoy ourselves,” he lied. But he did not seat himself immediately. He stood in the box, raking the entire theater with his gaze, daring them all. Satisfied he had shown his courage and disdain, he sat. Jane was regarding him intensely.
His gaze skittered away from hers.
She placed her small, delicate, gloved hand upon his. “You are more man than all of them put together.”
He did not know what to say. Was she flirting? Her tone was sincere. He shifted and stared at the curtains of the stage.
The earl was fond of Hamlet, yet he could not concentrate on the production, despite Mr. Irving’s laudable performance. He found himself watching Jane. She was mesmerized with the drama, while he was mesmerized with her.
She laughed. She clapped. She ohhed and ahhed. She cried, she wept. She giggled, she shrieked. He could not take his eyes off of her. And he was glad he had brought her, even if it had not been for the right reason.
“Isn’t it wonderful?” Jane cried as they made their way to the lobby for refreshments during the intermission.
“Quite,” he said dryly.
“Have you been paying any attention to the play?” she demanded.
“Of course.” He actually smiled at her.
She smiled back, knowing it was untrue, and then they both laughed.
Amazed, Jane saw two dimples appear in the earl’s cheeks. Her heart turned over. Impulsively she reached for his hand and squeezed it. He jerked his palm away. She flushed.
Then she saw he was gazing at someone, and she looked too.
He was regarding an older, elegant auburn-haired woman, expensively dressed and heavily jeweled.
The woman was staring at them, then she raised a gloved hand to whisper to her companion.
Her eyes never left them. It was obvious she was talking about them and that her words were unkind.
Jane moved closer, protectively, to the earl.
“Would you like some lemonade?” he asked stiffly.
“No, I’m fine.” She hoped they could stand in this corner and be left alone for the entire intermission.
“You must be thirsty.” His gaze was direct.
“I am not.”
“I am.” He took her elbow. Jane felt the dread. They moved into the crowd.
A path cleared before them. Everyone was staring and gasping and whispering. “Look, look, it’s he! Dragmore!” “… Lord of Darkness. Who is she?” “… Weston’s granddaughter…. Illegitimate” “… He killed his wife.”
The earl’s shoulders were squared, his face an expressionless mask. Jane fought tears. These people were cruel. She hated London. She hated them. She wanted to go home.
“They were in the park today, I saw them,” someone said loudly. “He was kissing her, he was. Right in public!”
Jane halted, furious, and saw that the speaker was the rider who had stopped after she had fallen off her horse. He hastily looked away. The earl dragged her forward. “Ignore them,” he said, but his face had that sunburned look.
“I hate them! Let’s go home!”
“The performance is not over.” He paused in front of the refreshment stand. The man he was standing behind in the queue turned slightly. It was Lindley.
Jane could have sworn his eyes were sympathetic.
The two men stared, then nodded stiffly. Lindley moved aside, but paused to bow before Jane and kiss her hand. “Hullo, Jane,” he said softly.
With her eyes, she begged him for compassion for the earl. “Hello.”
“Jonathon,” a woman said in a whining voice.
Lindley smiled slightly and left. Jane turned to find the earl there, handing her a lemonade. His face was dark and he was drinking brandy. “Please let’s go home.”
“No,” he said, and they went back inside.