Chapter One
Cavell Court, Dorset, February 1833
“Lord Garson has called, my lady.”
Her butler’s announcement made Lady Jane Norris look up from the huge desk in the library where once her late father, Lord Sefton, had sat to run his estates. Paper littered every surface, as she sorted through the archives. She supposed she could leave this massive task for her cousin Felix, when he took over next month. But a lingering sense of familial obligation had her determined to pass everything to the new earl in good order.
“Garson is here?” she asked, unable to hide her surprise.
Hugh Rutherford, Baron Garson, had known her since she was toddling, although in recent years, he’d rarely visited this isolated manor house in the West Country. She’d last seen him six months ago, when he attended her father’s funeral.
“Yes, my lady,” Billings said. “Are you at home to visitors this afternoon?”
“I suppose so.” Jane cast a rueful glance at her shabby gray frock, with its creases and ink stains. She wasn’t dressed to receive one of the ton’s darlings. “Did he say what he wanted?”
“I’m afraid not.”
She should change into a more suitable gown and tidy her mop of red hair before she greeted her guest. Although she was unhappily aware that whether she combed her hair or not, she remained Lord Sefton’s plain, sensible, spinster daughter.
Oh, stop feeling sorry for yourself, Jane Norris. “Would you please show his lordship into the drawing room, Billings, and say I’ll be with him presently? And perhaps arrange some refreshments.”
Once Billings had gone, instead of dashing upstairs, she stared sightlessly at an account for some bonnets for her mother. Given her mother had been dead nearly twenty years, she could safely throw it away. But she held it in front of her, as her mind raced with conjecture. Garson? Here? Why? It couldn’t be a casual call. Nobody was ever just passing. Cavell Court was out of the way, and the roads leading to it were frightful, especially during a bad winter like this one.
With a sigh, Jane rose and smoothed her hair, confined in a loose knot that she feared was more loose than knot. Her father’s habit of retaining every scrap of paper that crossed his desk made her run her hands through her hair in frustration.
Once she finished with these papers, she’d completed her last duty at the estate. The task felt like some sort of rite. Felix had been nice enough to let her spend her six months of mourning in the house she’d grown up in. The reprieve gave her a chance to say goodbye to the only home she’d ever known, before she ventured into an unknown future. She also said a final farewell to the father she loved and missed, whatever his faults. For over a decade, she’d acted as his right hand, busy and purposeful. Now the time stretching before her seemed depressingly aimless.
At least Garson’s visit might distract her from the constant round of sorrow and worry. Lately she felt like she trudged through an endless mire of toil and exhaustion and grief. Lately? She’d had ten lonely years of shouldering the burdens of the estate and caring for her ill father. No wonder she was so tired, she felt like crying.
* * *
When Jane came downstairs again, she was in a clean gown, and her hair was scraped back into a bun. She crossed the hall to the drawing room. The watery sun lit a space crowded with heavy, old-fashioned furniture. Jane suspected the new Lady Sefton would consign most of the house’s current furnishings to the bonfire.
Standing in profile to her was Lord Garson, the son of her father’s best friend. Six years older than her. Rich. Handsome. Widely praised as the perfect gentleman.
And notorious as the most famous rejected suitor in England.
Three years ago, Garson had been on the point of marrying Morwenna Nash, a naval captain's widow. But Robert Nash turned out to be not as dead as rumor had him, returning to disrupt the ball celebrating Garson’s betrothal. When his fiancée reunited with her husband, she left Garson very publicly nursing a broken heart.
Jane stood in the doorway and observed her childhood friend, curious to see the changes in him. He was an attractive man, with regular features and thick, coffee-brown hair. Tall, vigorous, powerful. The world was his oyster, one would imagine.
Except as he stared pensively into the fire, a melancholy air clung to him. The flames played across his chiseled features, highlighting the straight nose and square, determined lines of chin and jaw. And the grim set of his generous mouth.
When they’d spoken at her father’s funeral, Jane had been shocked at his appearance—she hadn’t seen him for a couple of years, but she’d heard about his romantic disappointment. He’d struck her then as old beyond his years. On this winter afternoon, that impression strengthened.
What a pity that he was so unhappy. She’d always liked him. A kind boy had grown up to be a nice man. He deserved better than to spend his life eating his heart out over a woman he could never have.
Watching him like this without his knowledge, she started to feel awkward, like she intruded on a private matter that was none of her concern. She leveled her shoulders, plastered a smile to her face, and stepped into the room. “Lord Garson, what an unexpected pleasure.”
He looked up, and she watched the social mask descend over his features. The brown eyes warmed as he bowed, and the downturned lips curved into a smile. “You used to call me Hugh, Jane. Or does this mean I must call you your ladyship?”
As children, they’d seen each other often. Less often since they’d reached adulthood. Still, he was right.
“Then welcome, Hugh,” she said with a curtsy. “I didn’t know you were in the neighborhood.”
Briefly that impressive jaw hardened, and a muscle flickered in his tanned cheek. He drew himself up to his full height, making Jane feel ridiculously small, although at nine inches over five feet, she wasn’t exactly tiny. “I came down to see you.”
This visit became more baffling by the minute. “Especially?”
He nodded. “Especially.”
Then in an instant, she understood, and gratitude lightened her heavy heart. “How very kind you are. I didn’t expect you to remember that I’m leaving Cavell Court.”
Billings came in with two footmen and set up the sideboard with cakes and sandwiches. There was ale for Hugh, and tea for Jane. By the time the servants had gone, Hugh was sitting in a leather chair by the fire with his long legs, encased in gleaming Hessians, extended over the faded rug. Jane perched on the window seat with a cup of tea and a cheesecake. She’d miss Mrs. Kelly, the family cook, when she left.
From habit, she added Mrs. Kelly to the long list of everything else she’d miss when she forsook her home. Then she consigned the whole lot to the dark corner, where she locked everything she endured because she had no choice to do otherwise.
When Hugh lifted his tankard for a deep drink, Jane found herself strangely fascinated with the movement of that strong throat as he swallowed. He wore a simple neck cloth, but she noticed that his clothing was more elaborate than was usual for a man in the country. That dark blue coat was a masterpiece of Savile Row tailoring, obvious even to someone as woefully out of touch with fashion as she was. Perhaps after he left her, he intended to go on somewhere else.
“Of course I remembered you had to move out,” he said, returning to their earlier conversation. “I wondered about your plans.”
She and Hugh had spoken at the funeral, but she’d been lost in a fog of grief, and busy playing hostess to the crowd of mourners besides. There hadn’t been occasion for anything beyond what politeness demanded.
“I appreciate you making the effort to check that I’m all right.” She slid her teacup onto the windowsill. “But it wasn’t necessary. I’ll be in Town in a fortnight, staying with my sister Susan and her family.”
He put down the tankard and surveyed her out of somber dark eyes. He’d always been thoughtful rather than flashy. But the serious habit seemed to have grown on him over the years. She wondered when he’d last laughed from sheer joy. A long while ago, she’d wager.
“You never had a London season, did you?”
“One was planned, then Papa fell ill.” And she’d become nurse and companion and estate manager.
“You’ll love the social whirl.”
Her lips twisted in self-derision. “Oh, I’m too old for all that nonsense.”
“Rot, Jane. You’ll find London provides plenty of amusement for a mature woman.”
She tried not to mind that he didn’t argue with her about her age. However ancient she felt after these last difficult months, she was only twenty-eight. She made herself respond lightly. “I hope so.”
His expression was assessing rather than disapproving. “So you’re going to live with Susan?”
“No.” Jane barely hid a shudder. She struggled to sound enthusiastic about her intentions. “That’s only a visit. I hope to find a suitable house in a provincial town. Perhaps Lyme or Weymouth. I’d like to live by the sea. Miss Ashton, my old governess, has agreed to come along to preserve appearances.”
This definitely didn’t please him. Those thick mahogany brows drew together over his long, straight nose. “You can’t be looking forward to that. Within a month, you’ll be bored stiff. Why don’t you stay in London?”
Because in the years following her mother’s death, her father had made a series of unwise investments, and the sum of money Jane had inherited didn’t allow for high jinks in the capital. But that was none of Hugh’s business. In fact, she was puzzled that he thought he had some right to advise her on her future. Despite long acquaintance, as adults they verged on being strangers.
“I like Dorset,” she said.
“You haven’t been anywhere else,” he said shortly. “Wait until you’ve seen London and tasted what it has to offer.”
Actually she had a suspicion that London just offered more family duty. She loved her sister, but she wasn’t blind to Susan’s intention to foist the four youngest children onto Jane, while she launched her oldest daughter Lucy into society.
“Perhaps,” Jane said neutrally. “I haven’t made any final decisions.”
“Susan hasn’t offered you a permanent home?”
A permanent post as poor relation and uncredited governess, he meant. “Yes, she has. But it’s time I tested my independence.”
Compassion turned Hugh’s eyes a deep velvety brown, so deep Jane felt she could drown in the rich color. Why hadn’t she ever noticed what nice eyes he had?
“High time.” He paused. “Although I’m hoping after we’ve spoken, you might choose another path altogether.”
She frowned. “I don’t understand.”
He smiled, although she couldn’t feel he put his heart into it. “It’s a credit to your modesty that you don’t.”
Good heavens, what was all this about? It sounded like the prelude to a proposal of marriage. She’d had a few of those over the years, from older gentlemen who noted her devotion to her father and wanted her to look after them with similar dedication in their declining years.
But Hugh was no decrepit old codger. He was in the prime of life.
“Are you well, Hugh?” she asked in concern, studying that tanned face and the large, powerful body.
Well? He appeared almost aggressively fit.
He looked startled and sat up straight in his chair. “Are you worried about my sanity?”
She supposed the question sounded bizarre. “I’m sorry. I was wondering if you needed a nurse.”
At least his laugh emerged more naturally than his smile. “Not a nurse, you goose.”
He stood and without shifting his attention from her, leaned one brawny arm on the mantelpiece. The room suddenly seemed very small. Jane had never before been quite so aware of his vigorous, masculine energy.
Cavell Court had turned into a female domain, as her father faded and Jane, by necessity, took over the estate. Lord Garson seemed to come from a larger, more charged universe.
She swallowed to banish a ridiculous nervousness and edged back on the window seat until she bumped into the sill behind her. “I thought perhaps you might have a sick relative, if you don’t require a nurse for yourself.”
The genuine fondness in his expression reminded her how she’d hero-worshipped him when she was a child. “You’ve been tucked up away from the world too long, Jane. Surely you can guess what I want. I’m trying in my ham-fisted way to express my admiration.”
That left her more bewildered than ever. “Your admiration?” she repeated in a shamefully scratchy voice.
“Jane, I’m not here seeking a nurse.” His smile was wry as he stared down at her. “I’m here seeking a wife.”
Chapter Two
Garson’s heart sank as he watched shock flood Jane’s expression. He’d assumed she’d already have some idea of why he’d called, togged out in his best clothes and requesting a private interview, but her reaction made it clear that his offer came as a bolt from the blue. Not a particularly welcome bolt, at that.
Although she was no beauty, he liked her face. The even features were pleasing, and those wide, shining gray eyes didn’t miss much. He remembered that as a girl, she’d had a sly sense of humor and a quirky take on life and its vicissitudes.
But that had been before her father’s illness. In recent years, Garson hadn’t seen much of her, an admission that now made him feel a little guilty. Studying the drawn face beneath that severely confined mass of dark red hair, he discerned few traces of her former spark.
She didn’t have to tell him the price family duty had exacted from her. He could see it in her features. Only her extravagant wealth of hair gave any hint of vitality.
As a younger man, he’d never thought of Jane Norris as anything but the daughter of his father’s friend. At least in daylight hours. He’d frequently woken from heated dreams, where he was entwined in skeins of silky red hair, the exact color of Jane’s. Dreams that had been unacceptable then, and now struck him as downright perverse, with her sitting before him as neat and self-contained as a bloody nun. Her gray, high-necked dress, unadorned with anything as frivolous as a frill or a ribbon, just confirmed the fiercely virginal impression.
“What a mad idea.” In a nervous movement, one white hand rose to her throat. She had pretty hands, he noticed, slender and capable.
His eyebrows arched with a touch of hauteur. By God, she didn’t shirk from trampling his vanity. At the very least, he’d assumed she’d find his proposal flattering. In his more optimistic moments, he’d imagined her rushing headlong to accept him. Clearly that optimism was unfounded. “I’m sorry you think so.”
She flushed and made an apologetic gesture. At least her blush made her look less like a little ghost. “I beg your pardon. That wasn’t polite.”
He stepped away from the mantelpiece to approach her window seat. “I’d rather we were honest with each other.”
She regarded him doubtfully. “Are you sure?”
“I’ll try and cope with anything you throw my way.” Despite himself, he smiled. “But won’t you tell me why you find the idea of a match so outlandish?”
When she shook her head, he wasn’t sure whether she expressed confusion or denial. As she recovered from her astonishment, her voice firmed. “For a start, I’ve only seen you half a dozen times in the last ten years.”
“So I feel like a stranger?”
“Not exactly.” Those gray eyes settled on him with such a searching expression that he shifted his booted feet in sudden discomfort. “But you don’t feel like a suitor either.”
“I’m willing to court you, if that’s what you prefer.” It wasn’t what he preferred. He’d hoped that she’d say yes, he’d have the banns called, they’d marry in a couple of weeks, and the whole inconvenient palaver would be done and dusted with a minimum of fuss.
“I don’t know what I prefer, frankly.” She spread her hands. “This has come as a surprise.”
“Perhaps I should have written before I called.”
“I’d still be surprised that you’re offering for me. You’ve never shown any interest before.”
“I’ve always liked you.”
“And I’ve always liked you.” She made another helpless gesture. “But that’s not grounds for marriage.”
He set his jaw stubbornly. “Why not?”
“Because—”
Because there was no love. They both knew that. He went on before she could finish. “A marriage could solve quite a few problems for both of us. I’m thirty-four. It’s time I set up my nursery with a sensible, good-hearted woman, willing to make a useful life with me. From your point of view, please forgive me if I trespass on matters that aren’t my concern—”
“Which means you’re going to,” she said sharply.
He ignored her interruption and ventured closer. Would it help to take her hand? A glance at her face told him it wouldn’t. With every minute, she looked less downtrodden. She was sitting up so straight, her spine could have doubled as a ship’s mast.
“It’s no secret that your father made some disastrous investments, and I suspect your portion isn’t what it was.”
That was why he’d asked about her plans, to confirm that he was right about the unappealing options available to her. She might intend to marry someone else. But she didn’t mention an attachment, and surely she would if there was one. It wasn’t very worthy, but he’d arrived, hoping she might choose to marry him to escape a bleak future.
Two bright spots of color marked her cheeks, and she glared at him as though she disliked him. “I have enough to live on.”
“As long as you retire to some backwater, or you swallow your pride and move in with Susan.”
“She’s my closest family.”
“She’s also very happy to take on an unpaid nursemaid.” Eight years older than Jane, Susan had always been a little cat with a sharp eye to the main chance. He’d never really taken to her. “Is that the best you can do?”
Jane swallowed and avoided his probing stare as he stood over her. “You’re…you’re very blunt, my lord.”
My lord? Hell, he really had upset her.
He sighed and retreated, cursing himself for a thoughtless bully. What in Hades was wrong with him? The world commended his perfect manners, yet here he was acting the complete boor. “I’m making a muddle of this.”
“Could you…could you sit down, so I don’t feel like you’re about to seize me by the scruff of the neck and give me a good shake?” Her voice trembled, as she fought to maintain her composure.
“Damn it, I meant to woo you, not harangue you,” he said ruefully, subsiding into his chair.
Straightaway she looked more at ease, and her bosom rose as she sucked air into her lungs. He couldn’t help noticing how very nicely she filled out that unenticing bodice. With difficulty, he dragged his eyes up to her face.
She gave a shaky laugh and smoothed her austere coiffure, not that it needed it. “And I haven’t even said no.”
“Imagine if you had,” he retorted, before he registered what she said. He leaned forward eagerly. “So you will marry me?”
The humor drained from her face, returning her to the wan shadow she’d been when he arrived. His gut tightened in protest at seeing her this beaten down. She looked so weary, he just wanted to pick her up and take her somewhere she’d never suffer again.
What the deuce? That was a more powerful reaction than he’d anticipated. He’d embarked on this course after coldly and calmly weighing his alternatives. Yet here with Jane, his confused feelings were making him stupid.
“Why do you want to marry me?” He heard the effort she made to keep her voice steady. He also noted she didn’t answer his question. Was that a good sign or a bad one?
He couldn’t tell, although he’d thought he knew her well. Damn it, that familiarity was one of the things that convinced him she’d make a fine wife. Yet looking into the face that he’d never considered anything remarkable, he recognized the presence of mystery.
“I told you.”
“Because we both offer a convenient solution to the other’s difficulties.”
When he heard the tartness lacing her soft voice, Garson hid a grimace. He shifted uncomfortably on his chair. He hadn’t handled his premier foray at all well, blast him. Was it too late to regroup?
“It’s true. As I said before, I like you.”
His lukewarm declaration didn’t deserve to move her. And it quite clearly didn’t. “You’re a rich, attractive man with no obvious vices. You must have your pick of society’s unmarried ladies. Women younger than me who can give you babies, and who I’m sure you could come to like without too much trouble.”
He noticed that she, too, avoided the word “love.” But then, that was the issue that narrowed the list of candidates for his bride to one. Most women expected something stronger than friendship from their future husband.
“Jane, when I saw you at your father’s funeral, I thought you’d make me an ideal wife.” He was relieved to hear himself sounding calm and measured, the soul of logic. He had no idea what had come over him when he’d first proposed. He’d like to blame the ale, but it was an insipid brew. “I’m not a foolish boy anymore. Nor are you a silly girl. You’re a grown woman of good sense. I believe we could make an excellent life together. I pledge my respect and fidelity. You must remember that when I make a promise, I keep it.”
“I do remember.”
Encouraged, he went on. “Think of the advantages. You’ll be mistress of a great house. You’ll have money to do whatever you wish. It’s the life you were born for, not a hand-to-mouth existence as an indigent spinster in cramped lodgings a hundred miles from the fashionable world. Or would you rather be your sister’s dogsbody? You have a choice, Jane. Penury and isolation, or a full, purposeful life as my wife, and the mother of my children.”
“I’d like children,” she said haltingly.
“You’ll make a wonderful mother. You‘ll make a wonderful baroness. Please say you’ll marry me.”
Strangely this speech left her looking more troubled than his hectoring. For a long time, she stared down into her lap, then she glanced up, gray eyes somber. “That’s a very nice proposal, Hugh.”
The tension across his shoulders loosened. She called him Hugh. That meant she relented.
“It’s what I should have said when I arrived. I’m sorry I was such a dunderhead. I’m out of the habit of proposing.”
She didn’t smile. “But then, you have proposed before, haven’t you?”
His blood ran cold. Damn and blast, had the gossip about his failed engagement spread as far as this remote estate? What an ass he was. Of course it had. Susan would share all the on dits in her letters.
“That was over three years ago,” he said stiffly, even as he warned himself about getting all het up again.
Jane sat up straight on her window seat and lifted her chin. Her tone was uncompromising, and her eyes were watchful. “It doesn’t matter how long ago it happened, if you’re still in love with Morwenna Nash.”