If the Viscount Falls (18 page)

She avoided his gaze. “Actually, I can't recall exactly
when we met, because I would have been very young. We grew up together in Preston, before . . . I went to live with my aunt and uncle. His parents occasionally came to dinners at our house.”

A faint smile touched her lips that made Dom's heart stop. “I'm told that Edwin once pushed me into a puddle to make me stop following him everywhere. I don't remember it, though. I was only four.” Her eyes twinkled. “He
claims
not to remember it either, but given that he was seven, I find that highly suspicious.”

“How old were you when your parents . . .” Lisette trailed off with a pained look.

“I was eight.” Jane smoothed her skirts, a nervous habit he'd noticed early on in their courtship. “And I didn't see Edwin again until my come-out, when he asked me for advice regarding his little sister.”

“I forgot that Blakeborough has a sister,” Dom said. “Her name's Yvette, right?”

Jane nodded. “She's quite a bit younger than he and Samuel.”

“And quite a handful, too, from what the gossips say,” Max added.

“Oh, yes,” Jane admitted ruefully. “There are days when Edwin despairs of ever finding her a husband.”

Lisette chuckled. “That sounds familiar. Dom and Tristan had begun to despair of ever finding
me
a husband.” She shot Max a coy glance. “So I found one for myself.”

“And you managed to hold on to him until you got
him to the altar, which seems to be the most difficult part,” Jane said with a quick glance at Dom.

“No,” Dom said, “the most difficult part is being sure that he's the right man for you. Sometimes it takes a while to figure that out. Some women even know a man for years before they accept his proposal of marriage.” He couldn't keep from smiling smugly at her. “I wonder why that is.”

A sudden glint in her eyes told him he'd made his point. “Probably because when
some
women find their hearts trampled on by some
men,
it takes them years to recover enough to accept another man's proposal.”

He cringed. It hadn't taken her years to recover, had it? That hadn't been his intention.

“But,” she went on, “once they do, they realize they had a jewel under their noses all the time. For example, my Edwin can be surly if you don't know him, but beneath that cold and bitter exterior is a very accomplished and intelligent gentleman who can have quite a soft heart.”

My Edwin.
Damn her for that.

For the next hour, Jane proceeded to sing Blakeborough's praises. To hear her tell it, Blakeborough could win at whist in his sleep, do complicated mathematical equations in his head, and ride a mile-long racecourse in five seconds flat. He even gave generously—and anonymously—to several charities, a fact that she'd only discovered when a friend running one of those charities had revealed it.

But just as Dom was ready to hunt the man down and beat him to a bloody pulp just for being a paragon, it occurred to him that she still hadn't mentioned Blakeborough and “love” in the same breath.

Only then did he relax. Let her go on and on about Blakeborough's brilliance if it made her feel better. As long as she didn't mention loving the blasted fellow, Dom was content.

And he would tell her so as soon as he could get her alone again.

10

S
EVERAL HOURS LATER
, as the group sat down to dinner at the duke's estate in Newark, Jane was relieved to find the seating somewhat informal. The table was too massive for anything else, unless they all wanted to shout to each other during the meal.

Still, everyone had dressed formally, including Jane, who'd taken great care with her attire. Not because she was dining with Dom, oh no. It was because of the duke and duchess. She'd figured they would expect it. That was the only reason. Truly.

Unfortunately, although Jane's maid had assured her that she looked like a queen, she still felt like a queen's
mount
ridden to exhaustion. For the last two hours in the carriage, she'd slept, no longer able to keep her eyes open, and she was still groggy.

Stealing a glance at Dom, who sat across the table from her next to his sister, she stifled a groan.
He
looked like a king—self-assured and positively regal. It was the first time she'd seen him in evening dress since
Lady Zoe's ball, and she'd forgotten how very well he wore it.

He tended to be a sober dresser, leaning more toward practicality than fashion. As he had at the ball, he wore a plain tailcoat and trousers of black superfine, the requisite white shirt, and a simply tied white cravat. But tonight his waistcoat was a gorgeous figured green silk that made his eyes glow like jade in the candlelight. He looked like a viscount in his full glory, not a second son auditioning for the part.

Sweet Lord, she hoped he did become viscount. Nancy could bear a daughter—that would make her perfectly happy. But Dom deserved the title and the estate after everything he'd been through.

Even if he did persist in thinking ill of Nancy. Though perhaps he didn't think
quite
so ill of her now.

Jane had never revealed the truth about Mama's death to anyone. It was her family's most scandalous secret. But she'd had to make them see, make
Dom
see. She'd had to make them understand.

The profound shock of Uncle Horace's tale, the horror of such a dark family secret, had rocked Jane's vision of her past. Coming on top of what she'd initially seen as Dom's betrayal, it had sent her into reclusiveness for quite a while. In time it had faded into a dull memory, a disturbing part of her youth.

Until Dom had come back into her life and stirred it all up again.

As he was doing now, his eyes seeking hers as he sipped his wine. “You look beautiful this evening.”

She fought the urge to preen. “Thank you.” She could hardly compare to Lisette in her duchess finery, but she was glad she'd had her gown of ruby silk with her and her favorite garnet necklace. “You look very well yourself.”

“Except for his hair,” Lisette said. “Jane, do persuade him to let it grow. He keeps it so unfashionably short that I keep expecting him to whip out a powdered barrister's wig and plop it on his head.”

“As soon as I can hire a valet who can cut hair to my liking, I'll be happy to let it grow out to its former wild and unmanageable length,” Dom quipped. “In the meantime, this is easier.”

Lisette eyed him warily. “Please tell me you don't cut it yourself.”

“All right. I won't tell you.”

“Dom!” his sister cried. “You don't really—”

“He's teasing you, dearling,” Max drawled. “Can't you tell?”

Lisette caught Dom winking at Jane, and she rolled her eyes, then dipped her spoon into her bowl of turtle soup. “You're becoming as bad as Tristan, I swear.”

“I doubt there's any chance of that.” Dom cast Jane a sly look. “Tristan was ‘born in a merry hour.' ”

Jane didn't miss a beat. “No, sure, my lord, his mother cried, but then there was a star danced, and under that was he born.”

“
Much Ado about Nothing
?” Max asked.

“Slightly paraphrased,” Jane answered.

“Well, clearly Dom has been spending too much
time around Shaw.” Lisette buttered her roll. “Though I don't know why
Jane
is quoting Shakespeare.”

Because it had been their favorite play. It was still
her
favorite.

Jane shared a knowing smile with Dom, but when his gaze heated and drifted to her bosom, it reminded her exactly what they'd been doing earlier.

Feeling the color rise in her cheeks, she forced her gaze from his. “So,” she said brightly, scrambling for a less dangerous topic, “who is Shaw?”

The duke laughed. “You haven't met Skrimshaw? He used to be Dom's butler . . . of sorts. ‘Shaw' is his stage name; he spends most of his evenings performing in the theater.”

“And his afternoons and his Saturdays and every other Wednesday,” Dom grumbled.

“Good thing he's not your butler anymore,” Lisette said lightly. “Now he's Victor's problem.” Lisette looked at Jane. “Victor and his wife have taken over Manton's Investigations for Dom.”

“Assuming I don't have to return to it before the year is out,” Dom said coolly.

When Nancy's child is born.

They all thought it, which cast a decided pall over the company.

A few moments of silence passed while they ate, but Jane didn't mind. She was famished, having eaten very little in the past two days, so she was happy to concentrate on her soup.

Then Lisette cleared her throat. “Speaking of theat
rical performers, did I tell you, Dom, that I ran into one of Maman's cousins in London two weeks ago?”

Dom laid his spoon down. “I thought they were all still in France. What was this particular cousin doing here?”

“You won't believe this.” Lisette leaned forward, clearly delighted at the chance to share a choice bit of gossip. “She was brought to England by Sadler's Wells Theatre. She's a successful opera singer, of all things!”

“I'm not surprised. It runs in your family.” Dom shifted his gaze to Jane. “Mrs. Bonnaud, Lisette's mother, was said to have captivated many an audience with her voice before our father whisked her away from Toulon.”

Lisette sighed. “I miss Maman's singing.”

“So do I,” Dom said softly.

“Do you remember when she used to direct us in performances of little
opéras comiques
?”

Dom chuckled. “As if I could forget it. I was the one humming the accompaniment, remember?”

“That's right!” Lisette said. “I haven't thought about that in years. And you were such a good sport about it, too.”

“I would have enjoyed it more if I'd known any French arias. But since all I could hum were the bits of Mozart I'd heard played at the manor house, we ended up with a very limited repertoire.”

“Until later,” Lisette said. “You did add
The Marriage of Figaro
. We were all grateful for that, especially
Maman, who made much of it.”

“Your ‘maman' made much of any piece of music derived from something French,” Dom said amiably. “And
The Marriage of Figaro
was taken from a French play.”

“Maman was nothing if not proud of her national origins. Otherwise Tristan wouldn't have tried so hard to play that French bagpipe-type oddity she had brought to England with her.”

“The
bousine.
” Dom shook his head. “That horrible thing sounded like a mare in heat.”

“More like a mare in the final throes of death,” ­Lisette said. “Thank heaven Tristan tripped and dropped it off that cliff at Flamborough Head, or he would probably still be playing it.”

Dom winced. “Actually, he didn't exactly . . . er . . . drop it. He got mad at me when I criticized his playing, and he threw the thing at me. He missed.”

A look that was equal parts delight and horror came over Lisette's face. “You and Tristan
destroyed
Maman's favorite instrument? Why, she cried for days over that!”

“I know. We felt terrible. Well, I only felt terrible because it made your mother cry, not because of the loss of the damned thing.” Dom leaned back as the servant replaced his bowl with an empty plate. “And I'm not even sure Tristan felt all
that
terrible. He seemed relieved that he no longer had to attempt to master it.”

“He couldn't master it because he has a tin ear. Always did.” Lisette smiled. “Maman used to say that you inherited more of her musical inclination than any of her natural children.”

Jane had been watching them for some time in rapt amazement. Lisette and Dom shared the sort of memories a real sister and brother would have, and not what Jane would have imagined of the illegitimate daughter of a man's mistress and the man's legitimate son.

Jane caught Max watching her. “You didn't know, did you?” he said softly. “It's all right to be surprised. It came as a shock to me, too.”

Dom looked perplexed. “What did?”

“That you and Lisette grew up so much in each other's pockets,” Max said.

Jane glanced nervously at Max. “I suppose I
should
have known. Lisette and Tristan were both at our engagement party, and Tristan and Dom attended a number of assemblies with their father. But I assumed that it was only because the old viscount encouraged them to be friendly for such formal occasions, and they acquiesced to please him.”

Dom gave a bark of laughter. “We did it to please ourselves. We preferred each other's company to that of most of the people we met in supposedly ‘good' society.”

Jane tried hard not to show her shock. Such behavior wasn't common among her peers. Many men treated their illegitimate children well—tried to find suitable matches for them or gain them good positions of employment—but they rarely introduced them to their legitimate children. And for the two sets to be raised together? It was unheard of.