Chapter Nine
The daisy chain crown was in his pocket, like a talisman.
A silly thought, when it had been given to her by another man.
A man he found himself rather liking—friendly, witty, carelessly at ease with all, unthreateningly flirtatious with the women but equally ready to join in intelligent conversation with them or anyone else.
There was an appealing egalitarianism about him, and a recklessness that Jack secretly envied.
Durward seemed to have laughed, danced, quarrelled, and duelled his way through life with equal fervour.
All Jack had ever done was bolt, run away from home like a foolish child.
But he would waste no more of the life that had suddenly become as precious to him as it had always been to those who surrounded him.
During tea, he watched and listened and strove to loosen his shy tongue just a little, carefully at first so that he didn’t say anything stupid and then, gradually, with more confidence.
The attitudes towards him were mixed. There was a lot of awe, as though he were some mythical being suddenly sprung to life.
Marriageable girls and their mamas were jostling for his attention.
Everyone was curious, a few, like Lord Carily, ready to scorn and ridicule because he was no sporting Corinthian, but only so far for his rank conferred considerable protection.
Jack found that faintly despicable. And he definitely did not like the possessive way Carily leaned over Tabitha.
She had warned him against Carily. Was that because it was Carily he had to win her from? Or was it Durward? This society was alien to him.
But he found, as he made his way inside with everyone else, that despite the novel jealousy, he did not care that she had taken lovers, provided he could win her love now and she would be true to him.
It had seemed such a fine idea in London. Here, among the attractive and sophisticated gentlemen who made up her world, he could not help feeling daunted.
“Your grace,” murmured someone walking beside him, and he turned to see Lieutenant Meade.
“Someone else I need to apologize to,” Jack said ruefully. “I beg your pardon.”
“Oh, I can see the benefits of a nomme de guerre.”
“Very good of you,” Jack said, offering his hand, which Meade shook as though surprised.
“What did you learn about Smith?” he asked.
“I’ll tell you in private. I seem to have been persuaded to join the party.”
***
WHEN HE JOINED THE gathering in the gallery before dinner, there was already a jest floating around the company that he would be accompanied by a food-taster and his very own manservant to wash the ducal hands and wipe the ducal mouth.
He pretended not to hear and was, in any case, welcomed with loud joviality by his host, Sir Peter Hawthorn, who gave him a glass of excellent sherry.
“I’m afraid your grace is the object of curiosity that must seem quite vulgar,” Hawthorn confided with a hint of anxiety. “It’s the novelty, you know, but it will die down.”
“It’s of no moment,” Jack assured him. “I am only grateful for your kind hospitality with no notice and at a time when you must particularly wish me at Jericho.”
“Good Lord, no,” Sir Peter assured him. “You are quite the feather in my wife’s cap—everyone will be talking about her party for months now.” He flushed, adding endearingly, “Too honest?”
“There is no such thing,” Jack said lightly.
It was odd to find himself in the position of soothing his sophisticated host’s social anxieties, but it gave him more confidence.
People stared and joked because they didn’t know what to make of him—which meant he was working from a fresh slate as he had wanted from the moment he had made the decision to leave Isley Place alone.
At last, he found Tabitha. She was with Lily at the centre of a lively group that included both Meade and Durward.
Her beauty took his breath away, even as he registered that this was the part of her she showed the world.
He had glimpsed the reality beneath, the inquisitive, vulnerable, warm young woman who had learned the necessity of a shell to survive an atrocious marriage.
It was a lovely shell. But he wanted all of her with an intensity that made it difficult to concentrate on his host and the guests he was introducing.
Jack felt himself to be a somewhat fraudulent guest of honour as he was invited to escort his hostess to dinner.
Any faint hopes he might have harboured about enjoying Tabitha’s company on his other side were dashed immediately when he saw her being seated on the opposite side of the table by Lord Carily.
On her other side was the young man who had been following Carily around during tea this afternoon.
On Jack’s right, sat one of the chaperones he had met already, one Lady Kenwood, who might have been a formidable dining companion had he not had the benefit of many formal dinners with the aunts and uncles at Isley Place in celebration of Christmas, Easter and his birthdays.
Entertaining Lady Kenwood proved to be unexpectedly familiar and easy to do —largely by listening, although she was eager to point out her youngest daughter, Amelia further down the table beside Lieutenant Meade.
On his left, he discovered his hostess was a great friend of Tabitha’s, and suspected there must therefore be more to her than the ambitious and charming, if slightly silly, hostess.
He took the trouble to draw her out, and found a warm, slightly chaotic young woman, devoted to her husband and young son, and to her closest friends.
“I owe so much to Tabbie—Lady Sark,” she confided once.
“Oh?” he said encouragingly.
“Believe it or not,” she said, her eyes dancing, “I was quite a handful as a young girl. Tabitha extracted me from my worst scrape and really made it possible for me to marry Peter —even though she suffered for it.”
“Suffered?” he repeated, startled.
Lady Hawthorn hesitated, then leaned closer and lowered her voice.
“You never met old Sark, did you? Vile old man. He cut her off from all her friends, read her letters and destroyed them when he chose. He happened to be away from home the day she—er... rescued me, and I stayed with her for several days. He was absolutely furious when he came home and found me there. She stood up for me, though, insisted I stayed until my mother came to collect me. Goodness, I am being indiscreet. Let me just say that if anyone deserves happiness, it is Tabitha.”
She glanced along the table to where Carily was laughing at something Tabitha had said. There would be no happiness there. Jack knew it instinctively. But it didn’t quite quell the jealousy.
Lady Hawthorn was obliged to give her attention to her other neighbour and Jack turned to the redoubtable Lady Kenwood.
When the ladies finally withdrew, many of them cast him curious and assessing looks on their way to the door.
Tabitha did not. She sailed out with Lily’s arm linked to hers, smiling as she listened to the girl’s chatter.
Lily glanced at him though, with more than a hint of apprehension.
He supposed he should talk to her—or would that only frighten her more?
Without the ladies, the atmosphere was suddenly subdued. Jack felt like the spectre at the feast, inhibiting and unwelcome. Until Durward suddenly called down the table to him.
“I’ve just worked it out! The message you brought to Tabbie Sark—it was about the highwayman, wasn’t it? You were the fellow he robbed!”
“I was,” Jack said as everyone stopped talking to look at him, some with simple astonishment, others with gloating anticipation.
“Lose much?” Hawthorn asked.
“I was lucky to keep the coat on my back. The knave rode off with my purse, my pistol, and my damned horse.”
Durward grinned. “Bad luck.”
“Extremely,” Carily drawled. “Your grace’s entourage must have grown fat and lazy.”
“On that particular day, I was quite alone.”
“Not so much as a groom or a valet?” Carily said in blatant disbelief.
“Alas no.”
“Your grace should have shot the scoundrel rather than hand over your pistol,” said Carily’s acolyte with a brave hint of contempt.
Jack raised his brows. “Do you think so?”
“Don’t be an ass,” Durward threw over his shoulder. “The scoundrel already had a weapon pointed at his grace. You’d have done the same.”
“Wouldn’t,” muttered the boy.
Durward ignored him and again addressed Jack with genuine curiosity. “Were you more angry or alarmed?”
Jack considered. “I suppose I was a bit annoyed about the horse. But actually, it was quite exhilarating. I’d never been robbed before.”
A few jaws dropped. Durward let out a shout of laughter. “That’s the way to look at it!” He raised his glass to Jack, and added, “I shall cultivate that attitude. Because I know damned well I’d just fly into a rage at the injustice and get myself or someone else killed.”
“Well, no one died at the time, though I don’t fancy poor Whitey’s chances at the assizes.”
“And his capture was your message to Lady Sark,” Durward said. He jerked his head toward Carily and his follower and possibly other devotees of Tabitha’s. “These idiots were all getting jealous, imagining you were some unwitting go-between in a love affair.”
“Why would she need a go-between?” Carily demanded aggressively. The implication being, presumably, that he was right here under the same roof.
“Exactly,” said Durward with a hint of contempt. “You needn’t try to sully the lady’s reputation for your own gratification.”
Carily glared at him, his face flushing with anger. “What the devil do you mean by that?”
“Nothing,” Hawthorn said hastily. “He means nothing. And none of us will be giving Durward cause to flee the country again, will we?”
There were a few guffaws at that, particularly from the older gentlemen. Durward himself grinned good-naturedly and finished his port.