Regency Sting (23 page)

“It was not their good will I assumed to be temporary, but my stay among them. You see, I never intended—and don't intend now—to remain here in London.”

“I don't understand. Do you mean you intend to spend your days buried away on our estate in Derbyshire, as Uncle Osborn did?”

He gave her a strange look. “No, my dear. I shan't be going to Derbyshire. I shall be going
home
,” he said with a small, rather patient smile.

“
Home
?” She stared at him incredulously. “You can't mean …
America
!”

He gave a wry laugh. “I'm constantly amazed, my dear, at your persistent tendency to regard the place of my birth as some sort of untamed, indigent backwater from which one would wish only to escape.”

There was something in his tone that made her peer at him closely. “I didn't mean to offend you, Jason,” she said quickly. “I
honor
you for feeling an attachment to the place of your birth. And I shall have to admit,” she added, lowering her eyes to her cup, “that you've quite convinced me that your country is adequately civilized …”

“Thank you for that,” he said with a half-smile. “
But
—?”

She flicked a quick glance at him and nodded. “Yes, there is a
but
.”

“I was sure there would be.” He made a mocking gesture, as if bracing himself for an attack. “Go ahead.”

“Don't joke, Jason. I'm quite serious. I only want to say that … to be a
peer of England
, and especially in this time of our history … why, that is the most
fortunate
position to hold in all the
world
! You cannot expect me to take seriously the notion that you would give it all up and return to America!”

“I can't seem to make you take
anything
I say seriously.” He reached across the table and took one of her hands in his. “I wish …” He paused and fixed his eyes on her hand, its fingers lying relaxed and unresisting in his large palm.

“
What
do you wish?” she prodded encouragingly.

His hand closed over hers. “… that one day I might be able to show you my home,” he said softly.

The sincerity of his tone caught her unaware. Her throat tightened unaccountably. “I would like to, very much,” she answered. “Tell me about it.”

“I'm not much good at describin' things with words,” he said, lifting his eyes to her face. “It's somethin' you have to see for yourself. America is so vast, you know, that when you travel from north to south it's like travelin' from one world to another. New England is mountainous and craggy, with violent changes in weather and a kind of harsh, strong face. But where I come from, in Virginia, it's all soft and green, with rollin' hills and blue-shadowed mountains and wispy mornin' fog. The changes of the seasons kind of sneak up on you. One mornin' you look around and all the colors of spring have burst out—the white dogwood's in bloom all through the woods, and the azaleas have gone crazy. Or it turns autumn, and suddenly the trees look like they're goin' up in flames. One time, I remember, I'd been trekkin' through the Shenandoahs, and I'd slept in the forest. Durin' the night, there'd been a touch of frost. When I woke, there were the pines with drops of ice hangin' from every needle—it looked like the forest had grown a beard!”

“It sounds … very beautiful …”

“It
is
very beautiful.”

She sighed. “But England is beautiful, too, you know,” she suggested gently.

“I don't deny that, my dear.”

“Don't you see, Jason, what's troubling you? You've come all this way, from a land that you obviously love, to find yourself pushed and coaxed and prodded and coerced into taking on the role of an English nobleman. And just when you'd finally convinced us—yes, I'm willing at last to admit it—that you could be perfectly acceptable just the way you are, you are suddenly and heartlessly ostracized! No wonder you want to chuck it all away. But you're only
homesick
! It's perfectly understandable under the circumstances, but I assure you it will pass.”

“Anne, when will you ever
listen
, to me?” he asked rather plaintively. “This ostracism has nothing whatever to do with how I feel.”

“That's what you think
now
. But just you wait.” Withdrawing her hand from his clasp, she rose and went to stand behind his chair, putting a comforting hand on his shoulder. “I'll find a way to end this situation in which you find yourself. And when I do, you'll feel quite differently.”

He let out a long, discouraged breath. “Don't trouble yourself, girl,” he said shortly. “Nothin' you do in
that
direction is likely to cause me to change my mind.”

“We'll see about that,” she answered airily and went to the door. But before leaving, she paused and looked back at him curiously. “Did you mean to suggest by your last remark that there is some
other
direction I could take which would cause you to change your mind?”

“Well, I doubt if
anything
you did could really change my mind about leavin', but there
is
somethin' that might make me
postpone
my departure for a bit.”

“And what would that be?” she inquired archly.

He turned in his chair and regarded her speculatively. “Can't you guess, ma'am?”

“I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about,” she responded decisively and was immediately disconcerted by feeling a rush of blood to her cheeks. What
was
there in the expression of his eyes that caused her color to rise?

His light-colored eyes seemed to penetrate her thoughts, and his lips curled in a mocking smile. “If you really don't know, it won't do for me to tell you, girl. At least, not yet,” he said. And he turned, picked up his newspaper and resumed his reading.

She stood in the doorway watching him for a moment, but he didn't look up. Finally, with an exasperated sniff, she left him alone.

Eighteen

Anne sat on the window seat of her bedroom and watched the rain, but her thoughts were on the surprising conversation with Jason. He couldn't have been serious when he said he intended to return to America. She could not believe that. No, she
wouldn't
believe it! The thought of his leaving, she suddenly realized, was intolerable. She had become accustomed to his presence in the house; it made her feel protected and secure.

She tried to imagine the America he had described. He had spoken so lovingly of it, she almost longed to see it for herself. She closed her eyes and tried to imagine a voyage through the United States, with Jason as guide and companion. The prospect set off little bubbles of excitement in her blood. But of course it was an
impossible
prospect—she would be in Shropshire before long. All at once, a question occurred to her which made her very uncomfortable: why was the prospect of seeing the green hills of
Virginia
so much more exciting to her than that of seeing the green hills of
Shropshire
? Before she permitted herself to search for an answer, she banished the question from her mind.

But one thing become increasingly clear to her as her musings continued. Jason was not to be permitted to leave—for Harriet's and Peter's sakes, if not for her own. They needed him. She must see Jason reestablished. Once he found contentment in his new life, his homesickness would fade-of that she was certain.

Her first step in her attempt to reestablish Jason in society was to give herself ample time to accomplish her goal. To that end, she went immediately to her writing desk and penned a note to Arthur, telling him that the family crisis necessitated a brief postponement of their elopement. That done, she found her spirits amazingly lightened—so much so that her puce-colored dress seemed suddenly inappropriate, and she promptly changed into a shirred muslin creation the color of jonquils.

Arthur, who had not seen his betrothed for weeks, had been having a difficult time. He couldn't tear from his memory the image of a heart-shaped face topped with dusky curls. In all his twenty-five years, Arthur Claybridge had been a model of manly rectitude, the pride of an evangelical mother and the despair of a dissolute father. Arthur considered himself an honorable man. An honorable man, however, did
not
spend his days and nights dreaming of
one
young lady while betrothed to
another
.

Arthur took stern measures to cleanse from his soul what he feared was a tendency to profligacy. He took long walks. He gave up meat. He immersed himself daily in a tub filled with cold water. He studied scripture for long hours at a time. Before he fell asleep at night, he tried to picture himself in a cottage in Shropshire, gazing contentedly across the table at a countrified Anne with a baby in her arms and a child at her knee. Somehow the vision seemed too unreal to give him comfort.

When Arthur received Anne's note, his first reaction was one of relief. But as soon as he recognized the feeling for the unworthy thing it was, he banished it from his mind. In its place came a wave of resentment. How dared she
use
him in this way? Why should everyone else in her life come before
him
? His rancor was not a feeling he found to be worthy of a man about to take holy orders, but he could not banish it. Thrusting the note in the pocket of his coat, he rushed out of the house into the rain.

Anne was sitting in the library, engrossed in concocting schemes to reunite Jason with the Prince, when she was interrupted by Coyne, who informed her that she had a caller.

“What? In this downpour? Who is it, Coyne?” she asked.

“It's a Miss Alexandra de Guis, Miss Anne. Shall I send her in?”

“
Lexie
? What on earth—? She can't want to see
me
. You must have misunderstood. It's probably his lordship she's come to see. Just tell her he's gone out.”

“She particularly told me it was
you
she wanted to see, Miss Anne,” Coyne insisted.

“Really? I wonder what—? Well, send her in, then, Coyne.”

In a moment Lexie entered the room. Anne rose to greet her, and the two touched cheeks. “What a surprise, Miss de Guis,” Anne murmured with affected politeness. “Here, let Coyne have your pelisse—it's quite damp.”

Lexie removed her stylish cape and handed it to the butler. “What a charming room,” she said, looking about her with what Anne thought was a proprietary interest.

“Thank you,” Anne said coldly. “Coyne, bring in a tea tray, will you? Miss de Guis would not doubt like a cup after having ridden out through such a downpour.”

“No, thank you, Miss Hartley. I can only stay a moment. I'm keeping my coachman waiting at the door. Please don't bother with tea.”

The butler left, and Anne motioned Lexie to a chair. Lexie settled back gracefully and watched while Anne took a chair facing her, her almond-shaped eyes searching Anne's face and her lips curled in a slightly sardonic smile. “You don't like me very much, do you, Miss Hartley?” she asked abruptly. “Don't bother to deny it—most women don't like me. I attribute their dislike to simple jealousy, but in your case, I admit to being puzzled. You are quite lovely enough not to have to be jealous of anyone. And you've already won your heart's desire, have you not? Lord Claybridge is quite besotted over you, they say.”

Anne, very uncomfortable under Lexie's direct gaze, tried to avoid an answer. “I suppose you've come to call on Lord Mainwaring,” she said irrelevantly, trying to change the subject. “I'm sorry, but he's gone out.”

“I know that. It's his afternoon for the boxing saloon. Amazing, isn't it, how many otherwise sensible gentlemen are addicted to that barbarous sport? But never mind that. I came purposely to see
you
, my dear, and I particularly did
not
want Jason to know.”

Lexie's words indicated a degree of intimacy with Jason which irritated Anne in the extreme. “Is that so?” she inquired cooly.

“Yes. You see, it's because of him that I've come to see you.”

“Because of Lord Mainwaring?”

Lexie raised an eyebrow. “Lord Mainwaring? Dear me, how formal you are. Come now, Miss Hartley, may we not speak comfortably with each other? I've come merely as a friend of the family. I believe you all have need of a friend at this time.”

“I wasn't aware, Miss de Guis, that we are short of friends.”

“My, my. We
are
at sword's point, aren't we?” Lexie murmured, half to herself. “May I ask, Miss Hartley, what it is about me that sets up your bristles? I have never done you a disservice that I'm aware of, have I?”

“No, of course not,” Anne answered hastily, Lexie's bluntness making her decidedly uncomfortable.

“Then what
is
it that stands between us? Is it my reputation? I assure you that any gossip you may have heard regarding my being ‘fast' is nothing by nonsense. Why, the worst thing that may honestly be claimed against my character is that I damp my dresses. But I venture to guess that there have been times when
you
have done so.”

Anne had to smile. “More than once, I must admit. Although I caught the most dreadful chill the last time I tried it, and so I've given up the practice.”

“There! You
see
? So why does
my
doing it set all the tongues wagging? It is because Mama was so imprudent as to run off with a French emigré? And how long must I be blamed for my mother's headstrong behavior?”

Anne tried to remember when and for what cause she had first believed that Lexie was “fast.” Could she have been misjudging Miss de Guis all these years? She looked with dawning compassion across the room at the lovely creature sitting opposite her. “No one blames your mother in the least, as far as I know,” she assured the girl. “Why should they? The Compte de Guis is a most respected gentleman. You must not imagine that your parents are the subjects of malicious gossip. I assure you they are not.”