A Season for Love (14 page)

That night—the second of her married life at
Longville House—Jen eyed the filmy nightwear her maid was
proffering and shook her head. Now that she had full access to her
wardrobe, perhaps she should wear something more suitable to a
great gawk. Something she could hide behind—a proper long-sleeved
white cotton that disguised, rather than revealed, her Junoesque
proportions. Donning the gossamer silk Tess had selected was an
admission that she expected a visit from her husband. Yet . . . if
she wore it and he did not come, she would be crushingly
embarrassed, because somehow the whole household would know that
for a second night in a row the duke had not joined his bride.

Jen’s lips curled in speculation, with just a
tad of defiance. What would Marcus think if she wore the voluminous
white cotton gown adorned with nothing more than pale pink
embroidery on the yoke and a lace-trimmed flounce? And topped it
with her well-worn green wool robe?

Would he assume she was being missish instead
of asserting her pride? Would he mistake her gesture of
independence for rejection? After all, if she could not compete
with the first duchess—which she surely could not—was it not best
to flaunt her true nature? Good, sensible, reliable Jen. Solid,
dependable. Like the Rock of Gibraltar. And just about as
exciting.

Or perhaps he would not notice, dismissing
her nightwear as of no consequence to the great Duke of Longville?
He had married a helmsman, had he not, instead of an ornamental
figurehead?

Somehow she had to discover if a spark
of personal interest could be found behind the ducal façade. Not
that he had not demonstrated his interest in her as a
female
, but did he have any thoughts
for Jenny? As unlikely as the possibility seemed, it was an avenue
the new duchess wished to explore.

Once again, Jen shook her head,
ignoring Tess’s disapproving frown as the maid went to fetch her
mistress’s opaque cotton nightgown. As the duchess thrust her arms
through the long sleeves and let the familiar oft-washed garment
settle over the length of her, her face was grim. Last night, their
first in London, Marcus had not come to her, sending word via Sims
that he intended to visit his clubs and would return late.
A message!
Not delivered in person or
via a hand-written note, but a verbal message delivered by the
butler. The blushing bride had transformed back into the great gawk
upon the instant. Strong as she was, the new duchess had shed more
than a few tears into her pillow.

“
A nightbraid, Tess,” Jen ordered as
she seated herself at an ormolu and ebony dressing table decorated
with porcelain ovals, an exquisite and delicate piece of furniture
which, once again, made her feel like a bull in the china
shop.

The stalwart, middle-aged woman who had gone
to war with her mistress, paused in the midst of brushing the
duchess’s hair. “Less than a fortnight married and you’re not
leaving it free?” she demanded with the forthrightness of long
service.

Jen blushed. “You know what a tangle it’s
been each morning,” she murmured.

“
Aye, and I know full well how it got
that way. As I know there’s few men wish to fondle a braid. Just
because his lordship went out last night doesn’t mean he won’t come
to y’r bed tonight.”

“
That’s quite enough, Tess. Do up the
braid and go.”

Mumbling an occasional remark about how
Captain Wharton had never liked a nightbraid, interspersed by
grumbles about women who didn’t raise a finger to entice their men
deserved what they got, Tess finished her task and stalked out,
adding a very formal, “Goodnight, Your Grace,” as she exited the
room.

Jen stifled a sigh. The number of sighs that
had tumbled from her mouth since their return to town was
appalling. Lady Caroline might have befriended Susan, but her
attitude toward the second Duchess of Longville remained frosty.
And Tony—her very own brother who ought to have known better—seemed
to be showing an interest in that direction. And Laurence—poor
little Laurence—was the object of vicious gossip. Not to mention a
mama-in-law who seemed determined to terrorize her family, no
matter how many insincere apologies she might profess.

And as wife of the Duke of Longville, she,
Eugenia Norville Wharton Carlington, was expected to deal with
these problems. As well as with a husband who seemed to have
forgotten her the moment he arrived back amongst the more enticing
attractions of London. She had been a country fling, Jen decided.
Interesting the mighty Duke of Longville only because nothing
better was at hand.

The duchess was so lost in agonized thought
she did not hear the dressing room door open.

“
Jenny, my dear,” said the duke, “would
you be good enough to join me? I have something to show you.” The
duchess gasped, stared, wide-eyed, at her husband’s reflection in
the dressing table mirror. “Good God, I had not thought to startle
you,” he apologized before his mouth quirked up in a hint of a
smile. Nonchalantly, he leaned a shoulder against the door frame.
“Pray tell, my darling duchess, just whom else were you
expecting?”

Jen grasped the dressing table with both
hands, levered herself to her feet. It was not fair that Marcus was
always so certain of his place in the scheme of things, that he
could tease or mock while confusion reigned inside the skin of
lesser mortals, namely herself. “I had thought you gone out,” she
said, cloaking herself in all the dignity she could muster. “As you
did last night.”

His amber gaze roamed over her, taking in the
unadorned wool robe, the peek of white cotton beneath the hem, the
heavy hair skinned back from her face in what Jen knew was a most
unflattering manner. Her stomach flip-flopped. Her small rebellion,
her petty revenge for his neglect the previous night, no longer
seemed a sensible maneuver.

Yet all he said was: “Were you cold, my dear?
Shall I have a fire lit?”

Jen, murmuring that she did not need a fire,
hastened to join her husband. “You have something to show me?” she
prompted, struggling for composure.

“
Ah, yes,” said the duke, sweeping his
arm toward the dressing room and his chamber beyond. “After you, my
dear.” Meekly, Jen moved ahead, overwhelmed by warring emotions.
She had sworn she would not go to him. And yet, as she entered her
husband’s highly masculine bedchamber, both pride and curiosity
about what he wished to show her were lost in a sudden sweeping
desire to try out the huge four-poster with its elaborately carved
oak tester and heavy burgundy velvet hangings.

“
Over here,” the duke said, indicating
a large secretaire whose fold-down front was open, supporting two
decorated wooden boxes, one of marquetry, the other lacquered over
an intricate oriental design . “My mother has sent the Carlington
jewels. I thought you would wish to see them before I place them in
the vault.”

Opening the marquetry box, he picked up a
diamond necklace worthy of an empress and draped it around her
neck. Solemnly, Marcus shook his head. “Not quite the effect I
pictured,” he drawled.

Jenny, having no difficulty interpreting his
words as a comparison of diamonds laid over green wool to diamonds
set off by the transparent silk she should have been wearing,
drooped. As a duchess, she was a colossal failure. How could he not
compare her to the dainty Amy who had once worn these gems?

“
My dear Jen, you’re not looking,”
Marcus chided gently. He returned the diamonds to their black
velvet nest, then opened the swinging door of the lacquered box and
began pulling out shallow drawers, revealing parures of every
description. Pearls, emeralds, sapphires, rubies, intricate gold
work—surely as fine as the queen’s own collection, Jen thought. And
all to be worn by a duchess who looked like a dark-haired Valkyrie
instead of properly ethereal and regal duchess.

A long aristocratic finger reached
under her chin, turned her downcast face up to meet her husband’s
gaze. “You will look magnificent,” the duke assured her. “These
gems tend to overwhelm their wearers. Not so with you. You will be
the envy of the
ton
.”

She was almost certain he meant it. How very
odd. It was almost as if he had read her thoughts.

The duke turned away, carefully closing and
locking both jewelry boxes. Shoving them toward the back of the
secretaire, he folded up the front, then locked it as well. “And
now,” he declared with a lazy smile that curled Jen’s toes, “I
believe there’s a braid that needs to come down.”

By the simple expedient of informing Sims,
the butler, that Lord Frayne was not to be admitted to the
Longville House drawing room without being shown into the bookroom
first, the duke found himself face to face in private with his
brother-in-law.

“
May I say you are looking remarkably
fine, Longville,” the viscount drawled as he crossed the room. “It
would seem marriage agrees with you.” Tony’s lips clamped tight
together as he realized he might have phrased his casual greeting
with greater care.

“
Ah, yes . . . well, this one does,”
the duke murmured, his customary aplomb wavering for a moment. “A
fine woman, your sister. She makes a splendid duchess.”

“
I’m rather fond of her myself,” Tony
agreed as he seated himself in the wingchair across from his
friend.

After a few equally awkward exchanges about
the days at Totten Court, which the duke described as if the sole
purpose of the trip were the refurbishment of the dilapidated
country house, Lord Frayne began to suspect that there was more to
this meeting than a social exchange between two gentlemen who were
now closely related by marriage. He could think of only one topic.
The viscount braced himself.

The duke leaned back, his fingers drumming a
tattoo on the arm of the chair. “I believe I must thank you for
your kind attention to my children during my absence,” he
began.

Tony assured him their few excursions had
been no trouble at all. In fact, he had rather enjoyed revisiting
some of the sights he had treasured in childhood.

“
Not your cup of tea, I should think?
Bear-leading the infantry?” The duke, his sharp gaze never leaving
the viscount’s face, raised a dark brow and paused, awaiting Tony’s
response.

“
Truly, I enjoyed it.”

“
And just how many excursions did you
undertake?”

“
I believe it was six, Your Grace,”
Tony murmured after a slight hesitation.

“
Six in nine days,” the duke mused,
steepling his fingers beneath his chin. “Such avuncular devotion,
Tony. I confess I am surprised.”

“
Marcus
,” Tony
groaned, hoping to end this game of cat and mouse.

“
Very well,” the duke declared, “allow
me to suggest that your kindness to the younger children was
possibly the result of an appreciation of the attractions of the
eldest of my offspring.”

“
Blast you, Longville,” Tony returned
quite evenly. “I’ve been a good uncle to Susan and was happy to
welcome Laurence into the Norville family fold. Oddly enough, I
happen to like children, no matter how unfashionable that might be.
But I would have to be blind or dead not to notice Lady Caroline is
a beauty destined to take London by storm. Did I wish to enjoy her
company? Did I enjoy showing her off on our drives about town? Of
course I did. I’d have been a demmed idiot, else.”

“
And that is it?” the duke inquired in
accents so soft and deadly Tony felt a quiver creep up his spine.
“You are a park saunterer showing off the latest
diamond?”

“
No, that is not it,” the viscount
declared, flashing a hint of steel of his own. “From the night I
met Caroline I found her delightful. A captivating mix of naiveté
and world-weary knowledge that life is not always kind.”

“
The
night
you met?” The duke’s amber gaze turned
ominous as he pounced on the viscount’s words..

Hell and the devil!
The little minx had never told him. If only he had watched
his tongue. Tony straightened his shoulders and proceeded to lay
out the entire tale, including his sister’s untimely arrival and
the hot words exchanged by the two women closest to the Duke of
Longville. When he was finished, the duke lowered his head into his
hands. A sound closely resembling a groan was heard. Tony felt
sorry enough for his friend that he did not even gloat over
managing to elicit a groan louder and more anguished than his
own.

“
So you do not anticipate a smooth path
as Jen oversees Caroline’s come-out,” the duke said at
last.

“
I think,” Tony told him, “they are
both well-bred ladies who will get through it somehow without
disgracing either the Norvilles or the Carlingtons.”

“
Poor Jen,” Marcus murmured. “That she
should have thought I . . . The devil of it is I suppose I deserved
her lack of faith.”

“
Not really. Your reputation far
outruns your actual peccadillos.”

A derisive bark echoed from the duke. “A fact
known only to my closest friends,” he conceded. “And I, fool that I
am, assumed that by some miracle my betrothed—my wife—would seize
this knowledge out of thin air and have implicit faith in the
purity of my activities.” Longville paused, struck by a sudden
thought. “No wonder she looked so odd the day after we came back,”
he murmured thoughtfully.