Carola Dunn (15 page)

He could see Jessica’s profile as she laughed at the antics of Bottom and his fellows. Turning her head to make some comment to the earl, she flashed a smile at Matthew, but before he could respond her attention returned to the play.

With the bright stage lights behind her, her hair had a silvery shimmer. Lost in his own midsummer night’s dream, he could not take his eyes off her, the curl lying intimately against her neck, her white shoulders, the graceful curve of one slender arm. Could her skin possibly be as softly satin-smooth as it looked? Perhaps it was just as well he was not sitting directly behind her.

The thunder of applause at the end of the last act took him by surprise.

“Do you wish to stay for the farce, Miss Franklin?” Lord Ilfracombe asked as the clapping died away. “I know your liking for comedy.”

“If we had been watching
Othello
or
King Lear,
I should now be full of solemn, dreadful ideas instead of merriment,” she pointed out. “However, ‘Pyramus and Thisbe’ was farce enough for me. I thought I’d die laughing when Bottom kept addressing the wall: ‘0 wall, 0 sweet and lovely wall.’ I shall be quite happy to go away now—if no one else wishes to stay?”

The Fitzroys and Miss Tibbett disclaimed any desire to see the farce, so they all made their way out of the Theatre Royal. Lord Ilfracombe’s carriage awaited them. His coachman stopped first at the York House Hotel, to drop off Mr. and Mrs. Fitzroy.

“I shall gladly escort Miss Tibbett and Miss Franklin home, sir,” Matthew said to the earl. “There is no need for you to go any farther.’’

“On the contrary, it is my duty as host to see my guests safe to their front door.”

The carriage set off again. The others were discussing the play, Jessica laughing again at the memory of Bottom wearing the ass’s head. Matthew sat in glum silence. What was Ilfracombe’s game? He monopolized Jessica’s attention, deferred to her wishes, even claimed familiarity with her preferences. In fact, he was acting like a suitor. Surely the confirmed bachelor was not seriously contemplating matrimony with a girl half his age!

They reached the end of North Parade. Lord Ilfracombe handed Jessica down from the carriage, leaving Matthew to perform the same courtesy for Miss Tibbett.

“I daresay you’d have rather seen
Julius Caesar,
ma’am,” he said.

“Or
Antony and Cleopatra,
or
Coriolanus,
” she agreed, a note of amusement in her voice. “All tragedies full of murder and mayhem, as Jessica would have it.”

“I am of Miss Franklin’s mind. A comedy is a much pleasanter way to spend an evening.”

“Thank you, my lord, for a splendid evening,” Jessica was saying. “I wish I could invite you and Mr. Walsingham to come in for a glass of wine, but Nathan is still away. Good night, sir.”

As the door shut behind the ladies. Lord Ilfracombe said with a frown, “I cannot like it that young Franklin is not yet returned. He ought to know better than to leave his sister unprotected.”

Matthew was going to retort that if he thought Jessica needed a man’s protection he did not understand her in the least, but the earl turned away to dismiss his coachman, intending to walk back to the hotel.

“Since Miss Franklin cannot entertain us, come in with me and take a glass,” Matthew suggested. “I’d like to talk to you.”

When they were settled before the empty grate in Lord Stone’s drawing room, glasses in hand and a decanter of Lord Stone’s best brandy within easy reach, he went on.

“I know it’s not my place to ask this, but in Nathan’s absence I’d like to know what your intentions are towards Miss Franklin.”

Lord Ilfracombe turned his snifter contemplatively, warming it between his hands. “You’re right, it’s not your place to ask. I shall tell you, though. I am doing my best to protect her from you.”

“From me!” Matthew was shocked to the core. “But I love her! Do you?”

“I consider her an admirable young lady, or I should not trouble myself over her fate.”

“But you are courting her without any intention of offering for her.
I
  want to marry her. You are more likely to hurt her than I.”

“I am too old for her to take my attentions to heart. She has no need of my fortune, if your information is correct, and she is too sensible to be swayed by a title. Besides, I believe her to be fond of you, too fond for her own good. After all, sooner or later she must discover that you have been deceiving her.”

Matthew set down his glass of brandy untouched and said gloomily, “I know it. And then she will despise me. It’s a devilish coil and I don’t see a way out.”

“The worst of it is that I believe you and she would suit very well. Apart from this hare-brained scheme, you seem to have outgrown your taste for kicking up larks....” IIfracombe’s tone was questioning.

“I have. The most innocuous of pastimes are amusing if Jessica is there, and as for setting up a mistress, well, next to her all females are dull. But Uncle Horace would only say that I simply cannot afford riotous living any longer.”

“I might have thought the same, if it weren’t for your leaving Glossop’s card party to attend a concert. You were winning, too. I’ll tell you what, Matthew, I’ll drive out to Stone Gables some time in the next day or two and see if I cannot persuade your uncle that you are reformed.”

“That’s very good of you, sir. I only wish I thought you had the least chance of success.”

However little hope he had, Matthew went over and over the conversation as he lay in bed that night. Though the earl’s disapproval could not have changed his feelings for Jessica, he was vastly pleased that his friend approved of her, for he valued Ilfracombe’s judgment.

Nonetheless, he wondered whether the earl was right in thinking that she considered him too old to be a serious suitor. His lordship was an attractive, distinguished man, and she gave every indication of enjoying his company. It was easy to say that she was too sensible to be swayed by a title, but any female would be tempted by the prospect of becoming “my lady.” And though Jessica had no need for the earl’s wealth, only a fool would deny that money generally weds money.

Matthew realized that he had no idea just how rich she was. Usually the size of an heiress’s fortune was common knowledge to the gossipmongers: Miss Pearson, for instance, was said to have a
dot
of fifty thousand, with many times that to come on her father’s demise. Though Jessica was known to be wealthy, the precise amount of her portion had escaped their calculations, perhaps because her home was in the North.

Or perhaps because her fortune was an illusion, like his own? Nathan might own a vast estate without having anything substantial to give his sister on her marriage. Lying awake tossing and turning in the small hours of the morning, Matthew found it easy to envisage the worst. Suppose she had only a thousand or two. How could he support a wife and family on the little his father had left him?

Yet he could not live without her.

Yet if she really was wealthy, she would despise him as a fortune hunter and he would lose her anyway. Uncle Horace held the only solution, and Uncle Horace never allowed himself to be persuaded.

When Matthew fell asleep at last, he dreamed he was pushing Jessica in a wheelbarrow down St. James’s Street. She was begging to get out, but he could not stop though Lord Stone stood directly in his path, throwing handfuls of money to the winds.

* * * *

By the time he woke, Matthew’s usual buoyant spirits had returned and his cheerfulness was reinforced by the letter his valet brought up with his hot water. Mr. Fitzroy wished to consult him about designing a
cottage ornée
to be built by the sea at Sidmouth, in Devon.

Forgoing breakfast, Matthew dashed over to the hotel. The Fitzroys explained their requirements and he agreed to prepare a few preliminary sketches.

Eager as he was to begin work, he stopped at the Pump Room on the way home. From the door he saw Jessica, chatting with the usual group of friends, and hurried to her side.

“You look like the cat who stole the cream,” she greeted him, smiling. “Good news?”

“The Fitzroys—you recall the couple who were with us last night at the theatre?—they want me to design a house for them.”

“Why, that is splendid news indeed.”

“That is, they want to see my ideas for a summer villa,” he corrected himself scrupulously.

“And have you any ideas?”

“Dozens, all flitting around in my head like so many butterflies.”

Jessica laughed. “Then I hope you catch the best one and pin it down.”

“I must go and chase them now. I wish I had time to solicit your opinion, but the Fitzroys are leaving tomorrow and want the drawings by tonight. I just wanted to tell you....”

Hazel eyes sparkling, she held out both hands to him, and as he clasped them, she said warmly, “I’m glad, and I’m delighted you have this opportunity, and I’m quite, quite certain that they will appreciate your genius and commission you to complete the design.”

“And then
I
shall commission
you
to draw the façade.”

“I shall be ready,” she promised.

All the way back to North Parade, Matthew walked on air. In the chinks of his mind not filled with floor plans and elevations, her words echoed, “I’m glad.” She shared his pleasure, she was glad he had sought her out to tell her his news, she had faith in his ability and she was ready to lend her own talent to his efforts. He could not disappoint her—the simple seaside cottage was going to be a masterpiece of its kind.

He worked hard for the rest of the day, laying out the main rooms to take advantage of the sea view while providing every possible convenience. The deep satisfaction of creating grew as the house took shape beneath his pencil. By six o’clock he was ready to present his ideas to the Fitzroys, and at seven he walked out of the York House Hotel with his first real commission in his pocket.

As he stood in the entrance, wondering whether it could by any stretch of the imagination be considered proper at this hour to go and tell Jessica of his triumph, Bob Barlow came towards him.

“Evening, Walsingham.” His round face was sunk in gloom. “I’ve heard from Glossop.”

“Bad news?”

“His mother wants to see our Kitty before the family decides whether to accept her into their august ranks.”

“That’s only natural.” In his present exalted mood, Matthew was inclined to look for silver linings to every cloud.

“The marchioness is a real Tartar, high in the instep as they come, and Glossop’s terrified of her. Bravest thing he’s ever done, tackling her. She’s coming down to Bath in a couple of weeks, he says. Lord knows when I’ll be able to wed my Mary.”

“At least the Glossops haven’t rejected your sister out of hand,” Matthew pointed out. Barlow was a good fellow, and anyone who struggled with such persistence against all obstacles deserved to win the lady of his choice. “Come and share a bottle to cheer you up.”

They went into the tap-room and Matthew called for a bottle of claret.

“I don’t mind telling you it’s been a long wait,” Barlow confided, swigging his wine. “Two years since Mary and I plighted our troth. Her parents won’t let us get spliced until all my sisters have caught themselves husbands, and Kitty’s the last of ‘em. We’ll miss Kitty when she’s gone, but there will be room enough in my father’s house to set up a second household. I daresay you’ll not have that problem, eh? Plenty of space at Stone Gables, or there’s always the house here in Bath.” He sighed. “Ah, well, riches to riches, it’s the way of the world.”

“Riches to riches?” Matthew asked cautiously, refilling Barlow’s glass and sipping at his own.

“You and Miss Franklin. Oh, I know there’s nothing been announced, but it’s plain as a pikestaff there’s a match in the making. Lord Stone owns half Somerset and Sir Nathan has vast estates in the North—a deuced eligible connexion. And then there’s what she’ll get from the old aunt, you lucky devil.”

“From Miss Tibbett? What makes you suppose that so eccentric a lady has anything worth leaving?”

“Stands to reason, don’t it? Only rich old biddies can afford to have a bee in the bonnet. And she practically brought the girl up so I shouldn’t think there’s much doubt where the rhino’ll go.” Mr. Barlow, having emptied his glass for the third time, became contemplative. “Wonder if old Pearson’s going to pull it off. Sharp as a needle, won’t give just anyone his daughter and her fortune, but looks as if he’s let Franklin slip the hook.”

Matthew took this somewhat muddled statement to mean that Mr. Pearson, a careful man, approved Nathan as his son-in-law, but that Nathan cavilled at marrying a Cit’s daughter. “Did Glossop say when he’s returning from Town?” he asked. “I imagine Franklin will come back with him.”

“Daresay.” Barlow nodded in amicable agreement. “Glossop’s a fine catch for our Kitty, no mistake. Com... comf’able comp’tence and she’ll be her la’ship. If his ma’ll have her. High in the instep, y’know.”

“So you said. I daresay she will be glad to see him settled with so amiable a bride as your sister,” Matthew assured him, and steered him homeward.

By the time he reached North Parade, it was definitely too late to call at Number 15. Jessica and Miss Tibbett would be sitting down to their dinner, and Matthew was hungry for his. There was no assembly that night. He could have dropped in after dinner if Nathan had been at home, but as it was he’d have to wait until the morning to tell her about his commission.

He hoped Nathan would come back soon. As he sat down to a fragrantly steaming steak and kidney pie, he realized that Bob Barlow had not said when Glossop was expected.

He had said a great many other things, though. What impressed Matthew most was that Mr. Pearson favoured Nathan. The shrewd merchant was not likely to be taken in by false claims, so Matthew’s doubts about Jessica’s wealth had been as chimerical as most midnight worries.

Now all he had to worry about was how to confess his own deception without earning her utter contempt.

There was no sign of contempt when he called at Number 15 at the earliest decent hour next morning. Jessica was as pleased as he could have wished at his good news. Together they pored over his preliminary designs for the cottage, and she made several suggestions, a number of which he vowed to adopt, to her evident gratification.