He set out late and arrived just before everyone was seated for supper.
Joanna had been equally at sixes and sevens, but had managed to dress without destroying any of her wardrobe. She was wearing the sea-foam green gown that she had worn in London, and Tony, who was seated across from her, couldn’t keep his attention on his supper partner, the vicar’s wife.
Tony claimed Joanna for two dances, a waltz and a cotillion. Their waltz lived up to neither’s expectations. They were both aroused by their closeness to one another, yet were too unsure of each other to enjoy it. By the end of the dance, Joanna was convinced that Tony still felt nothing more for her than affection, and was about to give herself over to despair. But she remembered her mother’s advice, and as they walked over to join a group of their neighbors, she managed to ask him if he would like to join her for an early-morning ride, now that the work of the harvest was done.
* * * *
The next morning, she regretted her impulsiveness. She had spent her summer away from Kent in order to kill off the hope that he might one day look at her as a lover. She thought she had done it. She had returned home feeling calm and ready to turn her mind and heart to other possibilities. And the first time she saw him, bloody hope sprang eternal, she thought. Well, done was done, but this was the last time she would risk her heart, no matter what her mother’s advice.
* * * *
When Tony arrived, Joanna was waiting for him, and she hurried them off, not wanting to spend one second more than was necessary in that awful state of anticipation and despair that came over her in his presence.
It was a sunny day, but already there was a hint of autumn in the air, as if the weather knew the harvest was in, and it was safe for the cold to return.
They rode slowly along the boundary of the two properties and chatted about Tony’s plans for Ashford.
“Lady Fairhaven proved a good and generous friend,” said Joanna softly.
“Yes. She changed my life. And a few others,” he added with a grin, “Jim, the erstwhile clerk and footman, is planning to purchase a tobacco shop. He has become his own man.”
“But that is also thanks to you, Tony,” Joanna reminded him.
“And Gideon Naylor…” Tony chuckled.
“What of Gideon?”
“He hardly presents himself as a romantic figure, does he?”
Joanna laughed. “Indeed not. He is much too ordinary-looking. And strong feeling is not something I would associate with him.”
“Oh, but there is strength and passion there, Joanna. Remember, I saw him in action. Gideon plans to continue for a few more years as a Runner while Mrs. Blisse Spencer trains Carrie to take over her, uh, business and then the two of them will retire to Somerset.”
“What was Mrs. Spencer’s house like, Tony?” Joanna asked without thinking.
“A very clean, orderly, and well-disciplined establishment, I can assure you. But I should not be discussing bawdy houses with you, Joanna!”
“It is surely the only chance I would ever have to picture the inside of one. Do you think Mrs. Spencer worthy of Gideon?”
“Mrs. Spencer is Gideon’s match in every way, I would think. And she hasn’t been personally involved with customers for a number of years.”
Joanna was curious about Tony’s familiarity with whores and whorehouses, but even she was not bold enough to ask those questions.
They were now approaching what Joanna considered their wood and had to make a choice whether to go through the trees or around them.
“Why don’t we visit the old oak today, Joanna?” Tony suggested.
Joanna nodded her agreement and they walked their horses down the small path that wound its way through the trees.
At a certain point it was easier and safer to dismount, and Tony slipped quickly off his horse in order to be there for Joanna. She had been ready to dismount by herself, and when his hands went around her waist to lift her off, she ended up falling against his chest.
Tony held her there for a minute, feeling the softness of her breasts under the light wool habit, and drank in the scent of lavender water that she was accustomed to wear. Joanna felt as if time had stopped, and then, all of a sudden, he let her down and turned away quickly.
He had to turn away to hide the evidence of his arousal. Thank God, ladies went first, he thought, as they led their horses. Or maybe not, he groaned to himself, catching glimpses of Joanna’s curves as she moved gracefully in front of him. But by the time they reached the old oak, he had himself under control.
He wondered what she was thinking. Was she remembering all the make-believe that had brought her and Ned and him together? He could almost hear the faint echo of their voices in the wood. Ned was more present here than anywhere else, and Tony realized that finally he was at peace with his brother’s loss. He would always miss him, always believe that Ned would have been the better earl, but he knew he could always come here and find him again.
“I miss Ned,” said Joanna, turning around to look at Tony.
Tony took her reins and tied both horses to a nearby tree. He gestured to an old stump that had served as Joanna’s throne, the Round Table, or anything else they required it to be, and she sat down. Tony leaned back against the oak and was silent for a minute. “I miss him too, but a moment ago I felt he was right here with us. I will never be able to replace him, but at last I feel I am not letting him down.”
“I think,” said Joanna slowly, “that you might well turn out to be better for Ashford.”
Tony looked at her in surprise.
“Ned wasn’t very interested in change, Tony. Or taking chances. He would have continued to run the estate the way your father had. And his father. You are a risk-taker, and in the long run, that may very well be what the Varden family needs in an earl!”
“Thank you, Jo. That means a great deal to me. Although I didn’t think you much appreciated the risk-taker in me!”
“Not when you were merely wasting yourself at the tables, no.”
“Or even when I was in the army.”
“I confess that your propensity to rush into adventures, forgetting those you left behind, has caused me some concern, my lord!”
Tony laughed. “You will never forget that day I forgot I was Lancelot, will you? But I did eventually come to your rescue, Jo.”
“By that time I had almost gotten myself free.”
“Yes, and I still have the scars to prove it,” said Tony, rubbing one leg against the other.
Joanna didn’t smile at his joke, but sat there quietly, suddenly experiencing what felt like her whole history with Tony. She was the young Joanna, waiting patiently, then angrily, for her supposed champion. She was the Joanna of her first two Seasons, hoping against hope that when Tony was back on one of his infrequent leaves he would notice her. She was the Joanna of the past year, living daily with the expectation that he was to wed another woman. And here she was today, the whole come full circle. Her heart was too full of grief and anger to hold it in anymore. She had been “good old Jo” all these years so that at least she would have Tony’s friendship, if nothing else. But at this moment, she didn’t
care
whether she lost him as a friend or not. She looked up at him and said, with suppressed passion, “If I had the courage I had as a girl, I would be kicking your shins right now.” Her voice was shaking and, to her horror, her eyes were filling up and overflowing.
“Why, Jo, what is it?” Tony was bending over her.
“Don’t call me that!”
“Don’t call you Jo? Why, Jo is my oldest and dearest friend,” said Tony tenderly, kneeling down in front of her.
“Yes, and that is all she is. She is good old Jo; she doesn’t mind waiting for me to remember that I am her knight. She’ll always be there for the times when I think to come home. When I am not risking my life in Spain or my estate on St. James Street, or my heart with Lady Fairhaven. Well, I will not be good old Jo for you another minute, Tony Varden,” said Joanna, pushing him away so hard that he landed on his rump, looking as startled and surprised as when she had attacked him years ago.
She laughed. She couldn’t help it. Tony gave her a hesitant smile, which disappeared when he realized she had gone from laughter to tears in an instant.
“Joanna, dearest, don’t cry like this.” He was beside her now, holding her against him. She tried to pull away, but he wouldn’t let her. “Please listen to me for a minute.”
He was smoothing her hair and gently rocking her, and her sobbing slowly subsided.
“Joanna, I have always loved to wager. My life against the French. Anything against the cards. And perhaps you are right, my life, not against Claudia so much as with Claudia against the odds. And a part of my heart was involved in that gamble, Joanna. But I would like to take one last risk. To lay one last wager on the table. All or nothing. My heart is yours, Jo, if you want it. I’m wagering that you do love me, that you do want me. I’m wagering that we could make a fine life together, Jo. And I
will
call you Jo, because she is who I loved first. Oh, I never knew how much a part of me she was. I took her quite for granted, I admit. But here I am at last, her knight most errant, hoping she will play this last gamble with me.”
Joanna sat very still, her soul shivering at Tony’s low-pitched voice. It was almost too much, after all these years, to be hearing what she had dreamed of hearing. She couldn’t take it in at once and so she said nothing.
Tony waited, and then releasing her gently, stood up. “It is all right, Joanna. I understand that it is too late. Or that you can’t trust that I would be worth the risk. And you will always have my friendship, whether you wish it or not.”
It took Joanna another minute to understand what Tony was saying.
“I love you, Tony Varden. I have loved you since I was ten and I will love you until I die,” she said fiercely.
Tony turned back to her, and then she was in his arms, crying and laughing again.
She pulled back after a moment and said: “Now I have put my heart on the table, and you haven’t yet said you loved me.”
He was about to protest, when she added, “Well, not in so many words.”
He grasped her hand and led her over to the old oak, where they sat down, their backs to the broad trunk. Tony lifted her chin and looked directly into her eyes. “I love you, Jo. Joanna. Lady Joanna Barrand. Lady Ashford?” Joanna nodded and he leaned down to kiss her gently on the lips. Joanna opened her mouth under his soft pressure and welcomed him in a longer, deeper kiss.
They slipped down and were lying in each other’s arms and Tony’s hand reached in back to unbutton the top of her habit. He slipped inside and caressed one soft breast. Joanna gasped with delight and she moved her own hand to Tony’s shirt. She twined her fingers in the blond curls on his chest, something she had been wanting to do since the day of the harvest. She could feel him stirring and swelling against her hips. She almost pulled away, but then lowered her hand to rest on this moving, living part of him that was fighting to get free.
Tony covered her hand with his and moved it back to his chest. “I do not want to take you on the forest floor, Jo. If you keep touching me, I will forget my resolve.”
Joanna buried her head against his shoulder, flushed with both desire and embarrassment. “I am sorry, Tony.”
“Sorry! Oh, no, Jo, don’t be sorry. I want more than anything for you to touch me, but we will wait until you are my wife.”
They had to get up, of course, or else nothing could have stopped them. They brushed the leaf mold off each other and when Joanna reached out to take a piece of oak leaf out of Tony’s curls, he pulled her to him again for another long kiss.
“Come on, my dear,” he said, finally pulling away. “This old wood has us under a spell.”
“If this is what Guinevere felt for Lancelot, then I think I understand better why she betrayed her husband,” Joanna confessed with a rueful smile.
“And I am glad that we only were playing at their story as children. Our story will have no such tragic ending, Jo.”
“Ah, but it could have had so easily, Tony.”
“Only because I was a fool. But I am no longer, Jo. I now appreciate what is valuable enough to wager my heart for.”
I am deeply indebted to the anonymous author of
The Fatal Effects of Gambling exemplified in the Murder of Mr. Weare and the Trial and Fate of John Thurtell
published by Thos. Kelly of Paternoster Row, London, in 1824. Without his detailed descriptions, I would not have been able to paint so authentically the inside of a gaming hell.
“
Rouge et Noir
,” which was played nightly at most hells, bears a resemblance to our Blackjack. Court cards counted for ten, aces for one, and the rest of the cards as marked. The dealer always dealt the black first. As soon as the count went over thirty, he would call the final digit (i.e., “one” for thirty-one, “three” for thirty-three, etc.), stop, and then deal red. Whichever color was closest to thirty won. If both turned up thirty-one, the dealer called “one
après”
and dealt again.
The odds were, as always, against the gambler. As
Fatal Effects
tells us, a person playing every day and wagering only £1 per deal, was set to lose £5,616 in a year. The hells took in about £500,000 per year despite the fact that gambling was illegal.
C
opyright © 1994 by Marjorie Farrell
Originally published by Signet (ISBN 0451180496)
Electronically published in 2013 by Belgrave House/Regency Reads
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
No portion of this book may be reprinted in whole or in part, by printing, faxing, E-mail, copying electronically or by any other means without permission of the publisher. For more information, contact Belgrave House, 190 Belgrave Avenue, San Francisco, CA 94117-4228
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