Brenda Hiatt Page 20

  Joining Nessa in the drawing room a short while later, he was surprised to find a small table set for their meal.

  “The dining room table has paper and glue pots on it, so this made more sense,” she explained apologetically. “It should be only for one night, or perhaps two.”

  “I begin to think we should have returned to Fox Manor until the renovations were complete,” he commented, seating first Nessa and then himself at the little table. “But I know that you prefer to oversee the process yourself.”

  “I’m sorry, Jack. I know you don’t like all of this disorder, but it will be over soon, I promise you.” She took a spoonful of soup—and grimaced. “I fear we’ll have to look for a new cook before holding a major entertainment. I hope this one has not been with you long.”

  He shook his head. “All of Grandfather’s servants left when the house was shut up during the time my Uncle Luther held the title. I fear I never paid proper attention to hiring a competent staff to replace them, but relied solely on an employment agency.”

  “Then I won’t have the slightest reservation about seeking a new staff at once. I’ll begin tomorrow.”

  When Jack’s after-dinner brandy was served, she rose. “As we are already in the drawing room, I’ll withdraw to my chamber upstairs, if you do not mind. I imagine Simmons will need direction on where to bestow some of the clutter.”

  He considered asking her to remain, but then nodded. An early night would do them both good. “As you wish, my dear. I’ll join you shortly.” She responded to his wink with a grin, then left the room.

  Scarcely twenty minutes later, Jack followed her upstairs. Somehow she had managed to have the carpet laid in his bedchamber while they were below, he noticed. Shaking his head in awe at her efficiency, he quickly changed into his dressing gown and opened the connecting door to her room.

  A lone candle burned on the nightstand, and Nessa lay beneath the coverlet—sound asleep. Smiling tenderly, Jack leaned over and kissed her cheek, careful not to awaken her. Extinguishing the candle, he quietly returned to his own bedchamber. Climbing into his own bed, alone for the first night since their marriage, he stared up at the ceiling.

  Two hours later, with sleep as far away as ever, he rose and went down to the library, to clear a chair of debris. Poking the banked fire into a small blaze, he poured himself a measure of brandy and sat down to consider his options—and the exact nature of these disturbing feelings he had for his own wife.

  16

  Nessa awoke from the deepest sleep imaginable to find the room dark and the bed empty, save for herself. Momentarily confused, she fumbled for a candle, then rose to light it at the fireplace. She must have fallen asleep before Jack joined her. Not surprising, considering how tired she’d been. No doubt he’d returned to his own chamber rather than wake her, which was considerate of him, if a trifle disappointing.

  Softly, she opened the adjoining door and tiptoed across the fresh-laid carpet to his bed—only to find it empty. Confused again, she went to look at the clock on his mantelpiece. Why, it was after two o’clock in the morning! His bed appeared to have been slept in, but where could he be now?

  She returned to her room to don a wrapper, but then stopped. Doubtless he was simply downstairs in the library, reading. He had done so once or twice before when unable to sleep, she knew. And what would it look like if she went padding down after him? Might he think she didn’t trust him? Climbing back into bed, she decided to distract herself by thinking about finishing the house this week.

  It was clear Jack did not care for the disorder the workmen had created, though he was good enough not to say so. She would take care he did not catch her acting like a servant again, as he had clearly disapproved. That thought rankled a bit, reminding her too vividly of her childhood and first marriage, but she pushed it aside. She would direct her energies to more efficient delegation, hiring more and better servants, and carefully supervising the workmen. Inside of a week, Foxhaven House would do its master credit, she was determined.

  By their third meeting, Jack was convinced he’d extracted all the useful information he could from Miranda. Jameson and Cranshall had indeed been important links in the abortive assassination plot—as had Miranda herself. For a handsome fee, she had passed along certain information about Wellington’s plans while in Paris last fall, which they in turn had forwarded to the would-be assassin—whose name Jack had finally discovered.

  “Surely you needn’t leave so early today, Jack.” Miranda pouted across the little table at Bellamy’s coffeehouse, where they’d shared luncheon. “If you’ll just come home with me for a moment, I’ve a new gown to show you that I think you’ll approve.” She leaned forward to give him an unobstructed view of her ample cleavage.

  Though once or twice Jack had felt the stirrings of old lust, he had by now learned enough about Miranda to effectively douse any admiration. There was nothing, seemingly, that the woman wouldn’t do for money. She’d betrayed her country for it, and now that her coconspirators had lost their funds, she just as readily betrayed them. Jack had to force himself to smile.

  “I fear not, my dear. I’ve decided to take up my duties in Parliament at last, and have much to catch up on there. Besides, we don’t wish to arouse gossip, do we?”

  She shrugged negligently. “It’s a bit late for that, don’t you think? Even with your string of excuses to avoid being entirely alone with me, we’ve been seen in public often enough. If all London believes me to be in your pocket anyway, you may as well enjoy the advantages.” She lowered her lashes seductively.

  With an effort, Jack restrained himself from glancing around the room. He’d tried to be discreet, meeting with her at times and places when fewer people would be about, but he feared she might be right. It was time to break things off, now that he had that all-important name to pass along to the Home Office.

  He stood. “If we’ve become an object of gossip, as you say, then we’d best not meet again. I don’t want my wife hurt.”

  Miranda remained seated. “Goodness, we can’t offend the sensibilities of the oh-so-proper Lady Foxhaven, can we, Jack?” She trilled a laugh, a shade too loudly. “Do you really think she’s as innocent as all that?”

  When he didn’t reply, she rose languidly and tried another ploy. “I’ve heard Cranshall is about to open a gaming hall. If you’ll come give me your opinion of that gown, I’ll tell you all about it.”

  Jack shook his head. “I think not, Miranda. Here’s the money Jameson owed you. I was able to put your information to good use, as you’d promised.” He held out a folded wad of notes, money authorized by the Home Office.

  Her eyes blazed, but she snatched the money from him. “So pleased we could be of use to each other,” she snapped.

  “As am I.” Bowing so that she could not see the irony in his expression, Jack turned and walked away from her for good.

  Nessa could not suppress a tendency to smugness as she surveyed the results of her hard work and management. She had consulted with experts and read dozens of periodicals and was now satisfied that Foxhaven House was smack up to the nines—and just happened to suit her own taste as well. Bright, cheerful, new upholstery, carpets, and drapes throughout, but nothing that would soon go out of style.

  In addition, she had hired an entire new staff. Daniels, the new butler, had arrived two days since, as had the new cook, and already meals were much improved. Mrs. Blessing seemed destined to live up to her name in the capacity of housekeeper. Nessa had gladly turned the keys over to her this very morning. How Jack had managed without a housekeeper was beyond her.

  Now it was midafternoon, and Nessa was occupied in writing out the invitations to the soiree—to be held on the last day of January—which was to formally open the house and introduce her to Society in her new role. After weeks of answering servants, tradesmen, and workers, she was becoming accustomed to the name of Lady Foxhaven. But would she ever get used to her husband?

  Jack had become r
ather an enigma of late. Out all day, he would return for dinner but say little about how he’d spent his time. The night after the one she’d spent alone in bed, Nessa had made a point of encouraging him to new heights of passion—and he’d seemed more than willing to be encouraged. The next day, however, her monthly courses had commenced, so there had been no further opportunities.

  Nessa sighed and addressed the next envelope. Jack had been most understanding, of course, but she herself was more than a little frustrated—and disappointed. And now she must find a way to let Jack know that she was once more approachable.

  Her courses had come late, and not until their arrival did she realize how much she’d hoped to discover she was with child. If Jack were similarly disappointed, he’d given no hint of it—unlike Lord Haughton, who had always contrived somehow to make Nessa feel guilty for failing to produce an heir.

  Throat-clearing from the open parlor doorway interrupted her musings. “Lady Creamcroft, milady,” Daniels informed her.

  Nessa set down her pen and turned with a smile. “Prudence! Welcome to Foxhaven House at last.” She rose to greet her sister with outstretched hands.

  “I’ve been all impatience to see what you’ve done here, Nessa!” exclaimed Prudence, returning her kiss. “What I’ve seen so far is charming. I insist on a full tour before you ring for tea.”

  Nessa complied, as eager to show off the house as Prudence was to see it. “Now, you must be totally honest with me,” she said when at length they returned to the parlor. “What have I forgotten? What would you have done differently?”

  “Not a thing,” Prudence assured her. “In fact, I’m now itching to make changes to my own Townhouse in an effort to duplicate the light, airy feel you’ve given yours. Did you really direct all of the redecorating yourself?”

  Nessa rang for the tea tray then, and they were soon deep in a discussion of fabrics, colors, and furniture arrangement. They were still so when Jack returned, half an hour later. At once, Prudence rose to take her leave.

  “I’ll give you good day, Nessa, and you as well, my lord. You must realize by now that your wife is a woman of many talents. I’ve no doubt that she will do you great credit…if you will allow it.” With those enigmatic words, Prudence departed.

  Nessa regarded Jack questioningly. “What was that about? Have you been antagonizing Prudence in some way?”

  He had been frowning after her sister, but summoned a smile—with an effort, she thought—when he turned to face her. “Antagonizing? I? Certainly not. Perhaps she is still waiting for me to prove I have reformed my ways.”

  “You’re most likely right,” Nessa agreed. “Prudence still feels herself responsible for me at times, I believe.”

  “Commendable, of course, but I should hope unnecessary. My lady wife, let me congratulate you upon what you’ve accomplished. I wish now I’d taken bets on how quickly the transformation of this house could be achieved—I might have been able to double our fortune!”

  Nessa dimpled at the compliment. “I trust I have not depleted it to the extent that such measures will be necessary.”

  Jack walked across the room to survey her writing desk. “I see you are in the throes of invitation-writing. We are still on for next Tuesday night, I presume?” Without turning to see her nod, he picked up the address list and perused it, then gave a low whistle.

  “Very ambitious, my dear! Do you really believe most of these paragons will be willing to set foot under the notorious Jack Ashecroft’s roof?”

  Nessa crossed to stand beside him. “Not all will come, of course. Prudence tells me that the Prince Regent is indisposed just now. But if even one of the royal dukes attends, it will set the seal on your accep tance, so I felt it imperative to extend the invitations.”

  She did not add that Edward, Duke of Kent, had been an intimate of both her father and Lord Haughton, and was at least somewhat likely to attend on that consideration. No sense elevating Jack’s hopes just yet.

  His hopes, however, did not appear in need of elevating. He grinned at her. “So you have some of the gambler in you after all, Nessa! I suspected it when you revealed yourself such an excellent whist player, but now I see you’re willing to play for much higher stakes.”

  She sniffed at him in mock reproof. “My lord, I assure you that the eminently respectable Marchioness of Foxhaven would never deign to engage in deep play. ’Twould be most unseemly!” But her lips twitched even as she spoke.

  “Would it indeed? And what of this?” He suddenly caught her to him for a kiss that was anything but seemly, in full view of the open parlor door.

  She giggled when he finally released her, though she darted a glance out the door to be certain no passing servants had witnessed their embrace. “Should word get about that Lord Foxhaven treats his wife with such affectionate abandon, it could wreck all, of course. Such behavior, my good sir, should be reserved for the bedchamber.”

  “Madam!” he exclaimed in feigned shock. “Are you propositioning me, and before dinner?”

  Nessa gave him a look of wide-eyed innocence. “Dinner will not be for an hour and more, my lord, I assure you.”

  His eyes narrowed to devilish slits of glittering blue. “In that case, we must find some way to pass the time, must we not? I’ve a mind to see the new decor of your chamber, my lady—in intimate detail.”

  “I’d been hoping you’d ask.” And she accompanied him upstairs most willingly, more than ready to resume her interrupted education.

  The day of the Foxhaven soirée dawned dull, with fog and freezing drizzle. Nessa prayed the weather would not keep everyone at home—though surely Londoners must be well accustomed to this vile winter climate! At least Prudence had been able to assure her that no other important functions were being held this evening to draw off attendance.

  Food and flowers were delivered, but the weather worsened as the day drew on. Nessa’s anxiety increased, and she was just as happy Jack was not at home to witness it. Parliament was back in session now, and rather to her surprise he had made a regular habit of occupying his seat in the House of Lords. Thus, she had still seen little of him during the daytime, though their nights together were more satisfactory than ever.

  Still, Nessa was beginning to wonder whether lovemaking, however skilled, was truly enough to sustain a marriage. She and Jack traded witticisms across the dinner table, of course, and she found that nearly as pleasant as their time in bed, but they rarely discussed anything of substance. At times, in fact, she almost had the impression that Jack was avoiding anything approaching serious conversation. There was much she still did not know about him, she had to admit.

  She walked once more to the drawing room window, which afforded a fine view of Berkley Square below. Just as she reached it, a shy beam of sunlight escaped the lowering clouds to turn the drizzle to silver for a moment. Nessa’s heart lifted in response. Everything would turn out right, she was certain, if she just had faith and patience.

  A few hours later, it seemed that her optimism was justified. Only an hour into the soirée, the ballroom was filled nearly to capacity, which was quite a feat as thin of company as London yet was. And only moments ago, the Duke of Kent had arrived, just as she had hoped. She still found him overbearing and pompous and far too similar in demeanor to her father for comfort, but his presence must put an incontestable stamp of approval upon the evening—and upon Lord and Lady Foxhaven.

  “My dear, I congratulate you yet again,” murmured Jack in her ear during a brief lull. “Not that I ever really doubted you, of course.”

  “Did you not?” She gazed around at the thronged ballroom from her place at the open double doors, where she and Jack still stood to greet their guests. “I confess I spent much of the day doubting intensely, and am most relieved to find my fears were groundless.”

  More guests arrived then to add to the crush—among them, Lord and Lady Mountheath. Both parties managed to behave as though their uncomfortable last encounter had never taken pl
ace.

  “I heard you had done wonders with the house over the past month,” said Lady Mountheath after cool but cordial greetings were exchanged, “and I see ’tis true. Of course—” Her eyes widened and her words ceased. Surreptitiously following her gaze, Nessa realized she had just caught sight of the royal duke.

  “Thank you, my lady,” Nessa responded, keeping her expression solemn with an effort.

  Recovering herself with a start, Lady Mountheath colored slightly before continuing, explaining that she had not been inside Foxhaven House for several years. After she left them to join the throng, Jack began to chuckle.

  “Shh!” Nessa cautioned him. “You’ll start me laughing too, and then all my hard work to restore you to respectability will be for naught.”

  “Hardly that, I think. Why, with one of the royals and Lady Mountheath here, our social position should be well nigh unassailable, should it not?”

  “I admit, I never expected Lady Mountheath to attend. I only sent the invitation for fear it might cause gossip if I did not.”

  Jack draped an arm over her shoulders and gave her a quick squeeze. “As always, your judgment was unerring.” Before Nessa could protest such a public display of affection, the Creamcrofts approached, accompanied by the Heathertons.

  “Oh, Nessa, I’m so proud of you!” whispered Prudence excitedly when she reached her sister’s side. “Such a success! The papers will be full of it tomorrow. I had no idea so many of the ton were even in London!”

  Mrs. Heatherton agreed. “I daresay nearly every important personage in residence is here tonight. A triumph, Lady Foxhaven. No doubt about it.”

  “A most enjoyable evening, if a bit crowded,” chimed in Mr. Heatherton, a good-natured, heavyset man nearing middle age. “The food is first-rate, the servants most attentive—no glass allowed to go empty. And, of course, it always increases everyone’s enjoyment to be around happy newlyweds. So much to be said for a love match! Can’t imagine why some old biddies frown on them.” He winked at his own wife, and Mrs. Heatherton’s plain but pleasant face flushed, making her almost pretty.