Chapter 28
Twenty-Eight
Jack dressed with meticulous care though he left his house for Ashburton’s with few hopes for a pleasant evening.
He’d decided to find an opportunity to speak with his mother privately before the other guests arrived.
He couldn’t stand to have Lucy embarrassed by an evening of fruitless matchmaking hints.
The visit to Caroline’s had been bad enough.
Torture, really, for both of them, though for very different reasons.
Lucy would probably find this evening difficult enough as it was. The Sedgewicks were invited, and George too, but so were several of Nell’s and his mother’s friends. Far too many people for Lucy. Or far too many people she had little in common with.
He’d seen her now, dining at Caroline’s with her artist friends. He’d seen what she was like when she was in the right kind of company. She opened up like a flower in the sun. But tonight, she’d suffer.
Not just tonight, he thought, impatiently waiting to cross a busy road. George’s parents, George himself… They were all high sticklers, not the type to invite the Cottons and Thorntons and Villars and Mollers of the world to their table.
Or maybe George would permit it. A man deeply in love did many an unusual thing.
But he’d do it unwillingly, his family frowning.
And Lucy would know. Lucy was sensitive.
For all her bravery outside Thornton’s—was it only last night?
How could that be!—for all her bravery and determination, she might shut down under the pressure of disapproval.
She would close up, retreat inside herself, hide behind fleeting flashes of silver eyes, all the vibrancy and intelligence hidden and overlooked.
He couldn’t allow that to happen.
But what could he do when she became George’s wife? Living with George, mistress of George’s house, out there in the prim, Bedfordshire countryside?
Be her friend still. Visit and remain in her life. Smooth the wheels of her artist’s dream however he could and ensure she was kept in the sun.
And…
And love her from afar.
His step hitched, and he stood stock still in the street, ignoring the people who tutted and stepped around him.
Yes. He loved Lucy. Had probably always loved her, in all the ways it was possible to love a person. And now…now he would love her like this, secretly and hopelessly.
It would hurt like hell. It already did, and it would never stop, but he’d bury that part of himself and keep the dangerous shards well out of sight.
He was no threat to their marriage, and his base wants, his sore heart, all the pathetic, fractured, starving parts of himself, they meant nothing at all compared to remaining her friend.
With a sharp breath, he continued on his way.
Certain he was holding himself together, he arrived at his sister’s house. The porter let him in with a frown Jack didn’t understand until he caught sight of himself in the hallway mirror. A stark, ghastly face stared back, bleak as a man facing the noose. That wouldn’t do.
He removed his hat and made his hair a little more rakish, slapped colour into his cheek—all with the porter silently observing. Jack grinned at the man just to make sure he could still fashion a smile and strode off towards the drawing room.
His mother and sisters were within. Lord Ashburton was there, and the Sedgewicks, and George. But it was only Lucy he really noticed as she stood and returned his bow from across the room with a small curtsy.
Heaven help him. She was wearing the green dress she’d worn the night they danced the waltz.
She met his eyes, George at her side, and despite all the resolutions made on the walk here, he felt sure his feelings must be writ large on his face, so acute was the pain that seized him.
He looked away, but it was almost as bad, for it was George his gaze met next.
So much for their marriage being safe from him when his longing was blazoned across his face.
I’m sorry, he willed silently to his friend.
I’m so, so sorry. I’ll take myself away.
I’ll learn to conquer this. But there was no anger or jealousy or even suspicion on George’s face, only a sorrow that seemed almost as deep as his own.
Jack looked down, numbly took the drink that was handed to him, and replied just as numbly to some friendly comment from Ashburton. He sat down near his mother, took a large swallow of his drink, and fought for courage.
“Doesn’t our Lucy look ravishing tonight?” his mother said in a whisper designed to be overheard.
“Yes.”
It was a statement of fact. But even the green dress wasn’t as bad as last night when she’d been barefooted, wrapped in a robe, hair wild around her shoulders. And he’d promised to come again tonight, and every night, until her work was done… Well, then! He’d just have to damn well cope.
“Hard to believe she’s the same girl who used to come and play with you and the girls. How close you all were! The two of you in particular.”
“What’s that?” called Ashburton. “What are you saying, Lady Orton? The acoustics in this room are very bad. It is the high ceilings, you know. The sound travels upwards instead of outwards.”
“Oh,” replied his mother, undoubtedly pleased to repeat her sentiments to the room. “I was only reminiscing with Jack about the years when Miss Fanshaw was our neighbour. They were inseparable, you know. And perhaps,” she added significantly, “they always will be.”
Jack met Lucy’s stricken expression. “Mother,” he whispered, leaning in. “I really must discuss something with you in private.”
“No!”
The voice, to his surprise, was Lucy’s. She’d stood suddenly, every eye on her as she blushed and stammered.
“I-I apologise. A sudden cramp.”
Frowning, Jack was on his feet and going to her aid before he could recall the impropriety of the action.
He remembered halfway towards her and stopped stupidly, just as his mother called, “Yes, Jack, what an excellent idea. Escort Miss Fanshaw to the back terrace, I’m sure she is in need of some air.
And a few turns up and down the gallery there might be just the thing to soothe a cramped muscle. ”
He looked at George, waiting for the man to offer his own services, but to Jack’s shock, he only sat back in his chair with an odd smile. “Yes, that should do the trick.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” said Caroline.
“I’m happy to offer my services,” said Captain Sedgewick, beginning to stand. Caroline stopped him with a hand on his arm.
“No, brother. See, Lord Orton is already there, ready and willing. Isn’t that so?” she asked him with a smile.
They were all smiling oddly now—Caroline, George, his mother, Nell. Only Ashburton seemed oblivious. The captain looked annoyed. Lucy looked faint.
Could heartbreak drive a man mad this quickly? Or was everyone really acting as strangely as it seemed?
“Of course,” he answered Caroline. With a somewhat stiff smile, he offered his arm to Lucy and escorted her from the room.
“I’m sorry,” he started to say as they walked through the house together. “I mean to have a word with my mother and explain—”
“Oh, shush, Jack! Don’t!”
He glanced at her in surprise. Her arm was tense and trembling in his, and her voice was tight with the threat of tears.
“Why, Lucy? What is the matter?”
“I need to tell you… I need to tell you… Oh, I cannot do it here!” She looked around wildly, then spying a half open door, dragged him through it and shut the door behind them.
It was the library, a room seldom used by Nell or her husband. The air was heavy with the scent of books and polished leather. Lucy stood against the closed door, chest rising and falling with the agitation of her breath.
“Lucy,” he said in concern, taking a step towards her. “What is it?”
“Jack… George and I…” She broke off, shaking her head, and took several hasty steps into the room before turning quickly to face him, a large desk between them. “George and I…” she said again.
“Yes?”
“It’s not…not real.”
He stared at her, his chest giving a thump. “Not…real?” Understanding dawned. “You…you do not feel you love him as you ought, perhaps? Or he you?”
“No, I—”
“It can be worked on,” Jack forced himself to say. “It might come in time.”
“No, Jack. I mean I have never loved him.”
He was less surprised than he should have been.
He pressed a thumbnail hard into the leather of a book left upon the desk, unable to look at her.
“Do you…do you think you might cry off?” No, no, that was not what he should be asking, not as George’s friend.
He summoned all his strength in a better effort at loyalty.
“I mean, it is one option, Lucy, but there might be a way to save things if—”
“Jack! Listen to me!”
His head snapped up.
“It was never real. None of it. There never has been an engagement. It’s a story, Jack. Something we made up. I’ve never once wanted to marry George.”
Silence. The rapid beating of his heart. The unravelling of the remnant of his wits.
“Lucy…” he said, almost pleading. “I don’t…I don’t understand.”
“It was a prank.” Her voice was small, miserable. “It was…it was petty revenge for all the things you said in the park. Or that’s why I did it. And I am so sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”
“A prank?”
“I’m sorry!”
“You’re not marrying George?”
She shook her head, slow and sorrowful, biting back tears.
“You were never going to marry George? Were never engaged at all?”
The guilt and apology in her eyes confirmed it.
Never engaged… She wasn’t marrying George…
His ears were ringing. Suddenly weak, he gripped the edge of the desk, squeezing his eyes so tightly shut that when he opened them his vision danced with stars. Lucy was still there, wavering like a mirage, green satin and tumbling warm brown curls. But not a mirage. Real. True.
And not engaged to George.
Never engaged to George.
A prank.
“Lucy,” he said.
She jumped at his voice, as well she might, for it held a note of wrath he’d never heard himself utter. Dark and grim, promising swift vengeance.
“Lucy,” he said again, taking a step around the desk. She squeaked and jumped back. “You, my girl, are in so much trouble.”
“Jack…” She backed a few paces, hands up. But she gasped a laugh because the devil of a grin was breaking out across his face.
“Come here,” he ordered.
She shook her head. “No.”
“A prank,” he said, stepping inexorably forwards as she backed further and further away. “Revenge?”
“You deserved it!”
“Did I, indeed?”
He tried to close the gap between them, but she turned and ran, getting as far as the bookshelves, where she turned to face him, cornered, breathing hard, half laughing, half crying as he advanced towards her.
“Jack, what are you going to—”
“Do to you? I have no idea. What do you deserve, Lucy, you minx?”
He was as close as he could be now without touching.
He looked down at her wide-open eyes, the silver for once turned to his, unblinking.
“A prank,” he said again, his grin fading as he reached out and twisted a finger into one of the curls at her neck.
“Have you any idea,” he said, his voice a near whisper, “what I suffered?”
Her breathing was shallow, cheeks flushed, her chest rising rapidly, squeezed by the confines of her green satin. But her voice was sombre.
“I think I do.”
“You have suffered?” he asked softly, a wholly new idea occurring to him. Lucy had suffered? Lucy…? It was a new idea and yet…not new at all, only the truth again, coming into focus for the first time.
His eyes dipped to her mouth as he leant closer, closer.
“Why have you suffered, Lucy?”
“In…in wanting what I could not.”
He felt the air of her words against his cheek, hushed and warm.
“In loving who you could not?”
A pause.
“Yes.”
Their voices were only breaths, mingling, and still Jack leaned closer.
“And now?” he asked, lips almost on hers.
“I…” She gasped as he slid the hand tangled in her curls round to cup the nape of her neck. “You tell me, Jack.”
His reply was a kiss.
She made a sound halfway between a moan and whimper. It was only the brush of his lips on hers, but it was her first kiss…it was their first kiss…and he felt all the weight and the wonder of it even as surging heat melted his thoughts.
Yes, every fibre in his body breathed with relief and hunger both. Yes, this is absolutely right.
She was divinely warm and soft, her mouth turned up to his, parted around a trembling breath.
He took it from her, this most precious of gifts; he took the invitation and the trust in her softness and openness and coaxed her lips with his.
She hardly needed any lessons. Everything about her was just how it had always been, natural and honest and right.
She kissed him back as he pressed her to him, the soft curve of her lower back under his palm, the heavy silk of her curls in his other, and the feel of her, the smell of her skin and perfume and the secret sigh she gave to him, all of it was right and as necessary as breathing.
“Lucy.” He moved closer still, thigh touching the heat of hers, the edge of a growl in the urgent way he said her name, thick and heavy as wet cloth. Her head tipped back in his hand, and he touched her tongue with his, hearing that half-moan, half-whimper again.
“Lucy, Lucy,” he breathed against her mouth, “be mine. Are you mine, Lucy?”
“I…I always have been.”
He groaned, forehead sinking against hers as he pulled her to him, just holding her tightly for a moment, his face pressed to her hair as he breathed a shuddering breath.
His.
It unlocked something inside him, all the cogs and wheels of a lifelong puzzle clicking into place. It opened up a new world. Here was goodness and purpose and the right course to walk. Here was the very reason to live and be a man.
“You know I’m yours too? You know that?”
Then he kissed her again; how could he not? He’d been waiting his whole life, and now he’d never stop.
Until, that is, he heard his mother’s voice.
She gave a tinkling little cough as he spun around.
“Ah. A little forward, my dears, but I confess, it’s exactly as I’d hoped.”
She stood in the open doorway, surveying the breathless couple with a satisfied smile. Furiously hot, Jack looked down at Lucy and found her looking even more mortified than he felt. He took her hand in his and gave it a reassuring squeeze.
“Come along,” said his mother. “I can’t leave you here, I’m afraid, though I only came to find you because I supposed you must have missed the dinner gong. It’s time to go in. And what perfect timing it is—we can announce your engagement tonight!”