Authors: Elizabeth Mansfield
“That’s
just
what I intend,” Gwen said waspishly, “if he has the effrontery to make another appearance at my door.”
“Aren’t you in the least bit curious? Don’t you want to know what it is he wants to see you about?”
“I know what he wants. He wants to apologize. As if an apology can make amends for murder!”
“Gwen, I wish you would stop calling it murder. You must know perfectly well that it was nothing of the kind.”
“What do
you
call the shooting of your own son?” Gwen burst out angrily. Then, immediately contrite, she reached across the table and squeezed her mother-in-law’s hand. “Oh, Hazel, forgive me! That dreadful man is turning me into a thoughtless shrew. He’s opened up all the wounds again.”
“
He’s
not to blame for that. All he did was to dance with a girl he’d never seen before. It was
you
who caused the upset.”
“I don’t want to talk about that any more. I only want to apologize to
you
for permitting Rowle’s name to crop up so often…”
“Nonsense!” Hazel said with asperity. “I don’t wince at the sound of Edward’s name. You may talk of him as much as you like. In fact, I wish you would. What upsets me, my dear, is your stubbornness. It’s so unlike you, you know.”
“About
what
am I being stubborn? It’s
that man
who repeatedly tries to see me—”
“There. You keep calling him
that man
. Why can’t you call him Lord Jamison? That’s a sign of stubbornness. And you’re stubborn in insisting that the accident was murder.”
“It was murder! What else could it have been?”
“If Drew Jamison had done anything wrong in that duel, he would have been brought before the magistrates—”
“A man with titles and influence doesn’t have to answer for his crimes!” Gwen said bitterly. “Sir George told me—”
“Sir George is a … a…” Lady Hazel faltered.
“A what?” Gwen asked, looking at Hazel curiously.
“Never mind. I don’t trust anything he says, however.”
“I don’t see why.”
“Don’t you?” Lady Hazel’s faded blue eyes studied Gwen’s face shrewdly. “Are you … er … partial to Sir George, my dear?”
Gwen shrugged. “He’s witty and handsome and good company. He helps to take my mind off—” She cut herself off abruptly.
Lady Hazel had disliked George Pollard ever since he had befriended her son. She suspected that Pollard had encouraged Rowle to indulge in gambling and dissolute living even more than he normally would. Hazel certainly didn’t want to see her beloved Gwen become attached to yet another loose fish. But it would not do to oppose her now. Now was the time to urge her to seek male companionship, not to encourage her to view all males with suspicion. “I understand,” she said pleasantly, “and I’ll say no more against him. I’m delighted to see you amuse yourself in male company. But…”
“But?”
“If I were young,” Lady Hazel added, giving her daughter-in-law a roguish glance, “I know whose company
I’d
seek…”
“Whose?” asked Gwen banteringly, glad to turn the conversation from the serious and morbid to the nonsensical and light.
“Drew Jamison’s, of course.”
“Drew—!” gasped Gwen, her smile fading.
“Yes, my dear, Drew. I’m told he’s the most handsome, the most witty, the most charming of all the bachelors in London. The very man you’ve kept cooling his heels downstairs for three mornings in a row,” Hazel said, meeting her daughter-in-law’s kindling eye without a blink.
“If you intend to keep harping on the subject of that
detestable
man, I shall leave the table,” Gwen declared, pushing her chair back angrily.
Lady Hazel remained unmoved. “What?” she asked tauntingly. “Without even waiting for the footman to bring up his card, so that you can tear it and send it down again?”
“What makes you so sure he’ll try again today?” Gwen asked.
“I’m not
sure
at all. I only
hope.
”
“Hope! What a thing to say! Do you
enjoy
seeing him vex me this way?”
“No, not at all. But the man has something to say to you, and I for one am filled with curiosity.” She looked up at Gwen with a challenging and spirited sparkle. “Why
don’t
you go up to your room, my dear? Then, when he comes,
I
can see him and find out what he wants.”
Gwen put her hands on her hips and glared at her mother-in-law, half in amusement and half in irritation. “Oh, no,” she said firmly, “I won’t give you the opportunity to invite that man in. I’ll keep him from setting foot in this house if I have to sit here all morning, every morning, for the rest of my life!”
Lady Hazel hid her smile, looked down at her hands and said demurely, “Whatever you wish, my dear.”
Gwen snorted, glared at Lady Hazel and dropped back into her chair, pouring herself a third cup of tea with a huge sigh of resignation.
It was only a few minutes later when Lord Jamison presented himself, for the fourth time, at the door of the Rowle town house. Three times before, he had knocked on the door, been admitted by the butler, and had handed his calling-card to that overdressed, august personage. Three times before, the butler had crossed the hallway to the liveried footman waiting at the bottom of the stairs, the two had conferred, and the footman had taken the tray, and slowly mounted the stairs. After disappearing for a moment into a room at the top of the first landing, the footman had emerged, had slowly descended the staircase, given the tray to the butler, and impassively resumed his station at the foot of the stairway. The butler had recrossed the floor with his stately tread and held out the tray for Lord Jamison’s inspection. On it lay his card, torn in half. Three times the butler had bowed and said, “It appears that her ladyship is not at home,” and had opened the door, clearly hinting that Lord Jamison was expected to withdraw. Three times Drew had done so.
This time, however, Drew had had enough of the charade. With a decidedly militant look in his eye, he placed his card on the silver tray. The butler bowed and turned, as usual, to take the tray to the footman. Drew quickly crossed the floor and took the stairs two at a time. “I’ll announce myself,” he called back over his shoulder. Before the butler and his henchman realized what had happened, Drew had reached the landing. And by the time they’d recovered from their astonishment, he had disappeared into the breakfast room.
Closing the door behind him and placing his back firmly against it, Drew looked quickly about him. The two occupants of the room were staring at him in astonishment. One was a tall, imposing lady with iron-grey hair and a pair of eyes that were both shrewd and kind. She was undoubtedly Rowle’s mother. As his eyes met hers, her startled look was replaced by an expression which Drew could only describe as glee. He gave her a smile, a polite bow, and turned to look at her breakfast companion.
With his first glance at Gwen, Drew found that he himself was not immune to surprise. He had found Gwen’s beauty ravishing on the night of his sister’s ball, but now the sight of her caused him to miss a breath. Her pale skin, the glowing hair falling loosely over her shoulders, the curve of her breasts under her soft peignoir and, most of all, her dark eyes which were at first wide with shock and were now fiery with mounting fury—all combined to stun him.
The sound of hasty footsteps on the stairs outside the door brought him quickly to his senses. He turned to the grey-haired lady who sat calmly regarding him with an almost imperceptible smile. “Lady Hazel Rowle, is it not? Your servant, ma’am,” he said to her, an answering smile hovering at the corners of his mouth. Then, turning to Gwen, he made an exaggeratedly formal bow. “Ah, Lady Rowle! I’m delighted to find you home
at last.
”
“How
dare
you burst in on us like this!” Gwen hissed.
“Burst in on you?” Drew responded innocently. “I was
sure
you’d be expecting me!”
“And so we were, my dear boy,” said Lady Hazel, rising and offering him her hand.
Drew raised her hand to his lips and then met her eye. “Rowle was as fortunate in his mother as in his wife,” he said.
“Thank you, my lord. But, will you excuse me, please? There seems to be a commotion in the hall that I must see to.”
“Yes, please do,” Gwen said between clenched teeth. “And ask them to come in here and remove this … gentleman.”
“Yes, my dear, I’ll see to it, I assure you,” Lady Hazel said quickly, as Drew stood aside to let her pass. “I shall certainly see to it … in due course.” And she left the room hastily, closing the door behind her.
Gwen rose from her chair in open-mouthed dismay. “In due course?” she cried. “I want him removed at
once
!” There was no response. The sounds in the hallway retreated, and it became quite clear to her that assistance from her mother-in-law would not be immediately forthcoming.
She stamped her foot in chagrin. Determined to take matters into her own hands, she crossed the room in angry strides, intending to open the door and call the servants herself. She found her way blocked by Drew, who had resumed his position with his back against the door. For a silent moment her eyes burned furiously into his. Smiling, he looked back at her, his eyes both imperturbable and appreciative. This only infuriated her more.
“Stand aside, sir,” she ordered coldly, “unless it is your intention to keep me prisoner here.”
“How can you be so foolish?” he responded, his voice warm and affectionate.
“Then of course you will let me by.”
“Of course,” he assured her. “I’m yours to command—as soon as we’ve finished our conversation.”
“I don’t intend to have any conversation with you. We have nothing whatever to say to each other.”
“I don’t like to disagree with you so early in our … relationship … but I have a great many things to say to
you.
”
“Whatever they are, I don’t wish to hear them. I must ask you again either to leave this room or to permit me to do so.”
“I think this is what is known as an impasse,” Drew remarked conversationally. “You refuse to speak to me, and I refuse to leave until you do.”
“You speak as though we’re evenly matched,” Gwen said, lifting her chin defiantly. “Don’t overestimate the strength of your position, sir. Although you seem to have enlisted—heaven knows why!—the support of my mother-in-law, you should realize that I have but to scream to rouse an army of servants who will rush to my assistance.”
“Scream, by all means,” Lord Jamison said encouragingly. “However, I’d be much obliged if you could postpone doing so for a moment or two. In that time, I could have my say and depart content.”
“I’ve no desire to aid you in achieving contentment,” Gwen snapped.
“So it seems,” Drew said wryly. “But even in wars, the opposing armies take time to parlay. If you give me my few minutes, I’ll depart quite willingly, and you won’t find it at all necessary to scream and create a vulgar scene.”
Gwen glared at him for a moment. Then, with a shrug, she sat down at the table and propped her chin in her hand. “The ‘vulgar scene’ would be of your creating, not mine,” she said, “but you’re right in believing that I’ve no love of such display. Very well. Have your ‘parlay’ and be gone.”
“May I sit down?”
Gwen merely waved to the chair nearest him. He sat down and smiled at her disarmingly. “Lady Rowle,” he began, “since I have, albeit unintentionally, robbed you of a husband, I would like to make restitution.”
“Restitution?” Gwen recoiled at the word. Was he suggesting some sort of financial settlement? “You cannot mean to … to
pay me off
?” she exclaimed, horrified.
Drew’s smile faded instantly. “Good God, no! How could you think such a thing! Hang it, I’m doing this very badly…”
“What
did
you mean, then?”
“Well, to be blunt, ma’am, I’d like to provide you with another husband.”
Gwen gasped. “Another husband?”
“Yes, indeed. I have in mind a gentleman not quite thirty, vigorous, in good health, of acceptable birth and breeding, with an affectionate nature and a kind heart,” Drew said, a mischievous twinkle evident in his eyes.
“Indeed!” Gwen said icily. “Pray, who
is
this paragon?”
“Far from a paragon, my dear, but I’m convinced you can turn him into a passable husband. It is
I
.”
Gwen did not blink or react to this declaration with any sign of surprise or interest. She leaned back in her chair and surveyed Drew with eyes that glittered coldly. “You’ve had your little joke, Lord Jamison. Is
this
why you’ve assaulted my door these many mornings? It hardly seems worth it.”
“Joke, ma’am? You call my offer a joke?” he asked in mock offense. “I offer you my titles, my estates, my wealth,
myself
… and you think it a
joke
?”
“Will you be serious?” she said in disgust. “You forced your way in to see me at the cost of considerable time and effort. You must have had
some
purpose other than this rather tasteless nonsense.”
Drew met her look of scorn with one of straightforward honesty. “Sorry. My joke wasn’t meant to offend. Besides, it expresses my intentions truly enough. I mean to wed you, Gwen Rowle. I haven’t expressed myself well, I know. I started at the end. What I intended was to make a beginning here today. To ask you to let me call. To court you … with all of the pomp and formality and ritual you’d find pleasing.” He rose and bowed. “May I have the honor of calling on you soon, Lady Rowle?” he asked with a smile.
Neither his words nor his smile had caused her expression to soften, but now her eyes began to smolder, and she leaned toward him with a look of burning scorn. “I knew you were cruel and murderous,” she said venomously, “and now I see the
arrogance
that breeds the rest!”
“Lady Rowle—!” he said, startled at the vehemence of her dislike.
“You are surprised I think you arrogant? What else but arrogance would lead you to imagine that I’d even consider marriage to the man who murdered my husband?”
“The accusations of murder that you’ve hurled at my head so repeatedly are a definite impediment to our budding relationship,” he remarked, unruffled. “It would help the development of our intimacy in great measure if you tried to accept the fact that I did
not
murder your husband.”