Authors: A London Season
"That doesn't matter,” she said impatiently.
"I think it does.” He looked grim.
"David, I could have stopped you if I had wanted to.” There was a pause, then she said flatly, “I didn't want to, you know."
He looked at her for a minute in silence and the glimmer of a smile lightened his grim young mouth. “We will have to get married now."
"That is a point of view I can only agree with,” Jane said approvingly. She propped herself up on the pillows, a quilt pulled up to her chin against the cool night air. “What happened last night?” she asked practically.
He told her, leaning on an elbow and watching her face. He omitted only one thing. Jane went for it like a homing pigeon. “But why, David? Why did Mr. Wrexham want to kill you?"
"I don't know, Jane,” he answered calmly. “He neglected to tell me."
"But it doesn't make any sense!” She was frowning with concentration. “It certainly couldn't have been a whim."
"I shouldn't think so, but I'm afraid we'll never know now."
Jane was still frowning. “David, do you think he could have suspected about you and me?"
The last thing David wanted was Jane's blaming herself for what had happened. “I don't see how he possibly could, Jane."
"I don't either,” she said thoughtfully. “I was very careful. Besides,” she turned to look into his face, “he didn't feel that strongly about me. I would kill for you and you for me, but not Wrexham. He liked me well enough. He thought I was pretty. But he didn't love me like that."
It was David's turn to frown. What she said made sense. But if not for Jane, then why? “All I can think of, Jane, was that the man was mad."
"Well, mad or not, I'm glad he's dead. I was thinking about it last night, and I think we should just wait until someone finds his body. Did anyone see you last night?"
"I don't think so. No."
"Good. Then there's absolutely no reason for anyone to connect you with Wrexham's death. We shall just play dumb and let the storm blow over us."
"I hate to think of him lying there,” David said hesitatingly.
"I don't,” Jane answered flatly. “In fact, I think I know perfectly how Creon felt when he decreed that Polynices’ body should be left unburied for the dogs and birds to eat."
"Jane!” He was half laughing, half appalled. “You don't mean that."
"I do,” she said somberly. Her eyes rested possessively on him. “He tried to kill you,” she said. “I would like to tear his heart out."
She meant it. As he looked at her beautiful, implacable face in the moonlight, he remembered clearly his own emotions of the previous evening. “When I saw Wrexham's body lying there on the outcrop, I was terrified,” he told her. “All I could think of was it might have been me. And if it were, I should never see you again."
Her voice was constricted. “I know. How do you think I have felt these last few days? At least you would be dead.
I
should have to go on living without you."
"Don't.” Instinctively his hand went out to touch her cheek. They stared at each other, both young faces stamped with an identical look. Then Jane said, her voice low, “Love me, David."
You shouldn't, one part of his brain warned. But, the damage is already done, another, more welcome voice said insistently. Slowly he moved toward her until he was bent over her, his lips very lightly upon hers. As her arms came up to circle his neck, his kiss deepened and his hands began to move caressingly over her body. This time he did love her, with an astonishing heart-stopping tenderness and passion that lifted them both to a crescendo of ecstasy they had never imagined existed.
When at last they lay quietly, still locked together, Jane raised heavy, dazed eyes to look up into his face. She wet her lips and whispered, “I had no idea anything could be like that."
He laughed shakenly. “Neither did I.” He kissed her eyelids. “Jane,” he said, his voice full of wonder.
Her smile,
his
smile, was as good as a caress. “I love you."
"And I love you."
As they spoke quietly together the light outside the window altered. “David!” Jane said suddenly, noticing it. “The sun is coming up. I have to get home before they miss me."
They agreed, with great reluctance, to postpone their elopement until after the furor about Julian Wrexham had died down. It would not be wise, Jane pointed out determinedly, to do anything that might attract attention to themselves.
She promised to slip out late one evening soon and come to the cottage. He knew he should tell her not to, but he didn't.
...more light and light it grows.
—William Shakespeare
Jane slept late the next morning. When she finally arrived in the morning parlor at about ten-thirty, she looked rested and radiant. “You look as if you had a good sleep, Jane,” Anne said to her. “Is your headache gone?"
"My headache?” For a moment Jane looked bewildered. Then she smiled. “Oh, yes. My headache. Yes, it is quite gone now."
"Good. Do you have plans for today?” Anne spoke diffidently. Jane had been totally unapproachable for the past few days.
"I thought I'd paint,” Jane answered easily, “unless you need me for something, Anne."
"No, I thank you,” Anne replied faintly, disconcerted by the radical change in Jane's behavior. “Paint by all means, if that is what you wish to do."
And paint Jane did. To the utter astonishment of the Marquis and of Anne, she never went near the stables or David.
They found Julian Wrexham's body on the afternoon of the following day. His horses, which had been tied up in a wood, broke loose and the driverless phaeton was soon discovered. It took the search party five more hours to discover the body.
They brought it back to Heathfield. David was calm when he heard the news from Lord Rayleigh. After making some arrangements for Wrexham's horses, the Marquis said worriedly, “I only hope this doesn't unduly distress my wife."
"Well, it is not very pleasant, my lord,” David replied, “but I should think Jane would be the one to be most upset."
"Jane is not expecting a baby,” the Marquis said irritably. “Really, I can't imagine how Wrexham came to have such an accident."
Lord Rayleigh, whose mind was on his own troubles, did not notice how David suddenly went white. “Jane is not expecting a baby,” the Marquis had said. In a sudden panic David realized that she very well might be.
It was a contingency he had never thought of. He was, after all, only eighteen years of age. He could have told you anything you needed to know about the breeding of horses; with humans he was not so sure. He only knew he had to talk to Jane immediately.
He got her aside late that afternoon. She had come down to the stables by herself and he dragged her into the tack room, scene of so many of their childhood hours together. “Is anything the matter?” she asked, alarmed by the worried look on his face.
He came straight to the point. “Jane, do you think you could be expecting a baby?"
She looked stunned. “What makes you ask me that?"
"Because it happens,” he said, a trifle wildly. “Look at Lady Rayleigh."
Jane's wide eyes remained fixed on his face for a long minute, then she said slowly, “I never thought of that."
"Neither did I,” he answered tightly. “But if you are, we can't delay. We must be married immediately."
"For heaven's sake, David, don't panic. It takes a long time to have a baby. Anne has been pregnant for ages and she's not expecting until September. We have plenty of time.” He had been holding her slender shoulders between his hands and now his unintentionally hard grip relaxed. She didn't look at all upset, only thoughtful. She continued, “I think I know how one tells if one is going to have a baby, but I'm not quite sure. I shall have to ask Anne."
She looked so slender and delicate and young as she stood before him that David's conscience smote him. “It's all my fault,” he said gruffly. “You're too young to have a baby. You don't even like them."
"Don't be so silly.” Her enchanting smile lit her eyes. “Uncle Edward and Mr. Wrexham certainly thought I was old enough. Besides,” she added positively, “I shall like
your
baby."
He reached out and gathered her into his arms. With his lips buried in her sweet-smelling hair, he said “I love you."
She closed her eyes and listened to the sound of his heart, so strong and regular under her cheek. “Don't worry, David,” she murmured. “My having a baby might actually be rather a good thing. Then nobody could separate us."
He held her closer. “Nobody is going to separate us,” he said harshly.
"No one could,” she answered contentedly.
Lord Rayleigh sent a courier to Wymondham, the Wrexham family seat in Derby. Two days later he received a note saying that Lord Wymondham was on his way to Newmarket to escort the body of his nephew home for burial.
The next day Lord Wymondham arrived at Heathfield. The inquest had been held the previous day and the verdict had been death by misadventure. Julian Wrexham's body was free to be laid to rest in the land of his ancestors.
Lord Wymondham had arrived home from Russia only the previous week. He was a diplomat of international reputation, an ambassador relied on by whatever government happened to be in power. He was a man whose force of character made an instant impression; no one who met him ever forgot him.
The Marquis escorted him to the small saloon where Julian Wrexham's body lay. The Earl looked at it without changing expression. Later, in the Marquis's study, he accepted a glass of sherry and asked calmly, “What happened?"
Lord Rayleigh told him what little he himself knew. “Why he came to be atop of Marren Hill, my lord, is a mystery. We can only surmise that he was lured there by someone and then ruthlessly pushed into the quarry. I can only say we are all deeply distressed and offer you my most heartfelt sympathy."
The Earl was gazing at his wine. “It is certainly strange, as you say, Lord Rayleigh. Do you have many such incidents in this part of the world?"
"No more than anywhere else in England, my lord,” the Marquis answered, his gaze on the other's down-looking face. There was something about the Earl that struck a chord of memory in the Marquis's brain, a nagging familiarity in the tall, broad-shouldered form of the older man. The Earl was extremely good-looking, in his early forties, with brown hair and a strong face with authority clearly stamped on it. It must be the family resemblance between him and Wrexham that made him look so familiar, the Marquis decided.
After another sherry the two men rose. “My wife is lying down, Lord Wymondham,” the Marquis apologized. “She will be happy to see you at dinner, however."
"I shall look forward to meeting her,” the Earl responded courteously. “And your niece as well."
They were standing in the great hall now, waiting for the housekeeper to come and take Lord Wymondham to his room. At that moment Jane came in. She had gone into Newmarket to do some shopping for Anne and looked for once elegant and fashionable in her walking dress of French blue cambric. She came forward at her uncle's command to be introduced to Lord Wymondham.
"How do you do, Lady Jane?” he said in a deep voice. Jane held out her hand to be shaken and looked up into David's eyes.
A shock ran through her whole body. She heard herself mechanically replying to his words. She could not drag her eyes from his face.
He looks like David. He looks like David. The refrain ran insistently through her brain. When Mrs. Andrews arrived, she had just enough presence of mind left to say, “I'll show Lord Wymondham to his room, Uncle Edward. The blue room, Mrs. Andrews?"
"Yes, Lady Jane."
"Come this way, Lord Wymondham.” She turned and led the way up the great staircase. All the way she was thinking furiously. This resemblance could not be an accident. It had to have something to do with Wrexham's behavior. By the time they reached the Blue Room she had made up her mind.
She held the door for the Earl to enter, then came in herself and closed the door behind her. He turned to look at her, surprise turning his eyes golden. Jane swallowed, then said determinedly, “My lord, I must ask you a question."
The slightly wary expression on his face was achingly familiar. “Must it be asked behind closed doors, Lady Jane?"
"Yes. I want to ask you if you ever knew a girl named Jeanne Dumont."
The Earl looked like a man who had suddenly been hit over the head. “Why do you ask me this?” he said finally, his voice harsh.
"Because her son has your eyes,” said Jane.
My father!—methinks I see my father.
—William Shakespeare
He stared at her and the silence between them was fraught with emotion. Then, controlling visibly all his dazed senses, he said quietly, “Jeanne Dumont is dead. What do you know about her son?"
Jane's voice sounded slightly breathless, but otherwise it was as calm as his. “I know that his aunt took him out of France shortly after his mother died. She brought him here to Newmarket. He has lived here for seventeen years now."
The Earl, it possible, went even whiter than before. “He is here in Newmarket?"
"Yes."
Lord Wymondham was holding onto the back of a chair. His knuckles were white. “His aunt. What was her name?"
"Heloise Dumont. David's name is not Dumont. It is Chance. His father was the steward of a great estate in Artois. He was killed in the revolution.” Jane looked at the Earl levelly, a challenge in her blue-green gaze. “But if Raoul La Chance was David's father,” she said, “Why does he look like you?"
"If this David is who he appears to be,” the Earl said evenly, “Raoul La Chance is not his father. I am. I must see him. Where can I find him?"
"You will be rather a shock to him,” Jane said grimly. “There has never even been a hint that he was a bastard."
"A bastard?” Lord Wymondham laughed. “If he is my son, Lady Jane, he is no bastard. I was married to Jeanne Dumont."