Authors: Lucinda Brant
He laughed out loud at that, as if told a good joke, displaying a perfect white smile. “Thank you. I must remember that when next I show my displeasure.” He dipped his head and brushed the tip of his nose against hers and said seriously, “And when I’m not living atop my pedestal, where am I?”
Jane blushed and lowered her lashes. “In bed with me.” And just as quickly added with a smile, because she felt she had gone too far with her candid observations, “Besides, your family must approve of the name Magnus because you have a beautiful little goddaughter by the name of Magna.”
“Poor Merry! To be saddled with such a name.” He effortlessly lifted her into his arms. “I hope you will go on calling me Magnus…in and out of the bedchamber,” he murmured.
She leaned her cheek against his shoulder and snuggled up to his neck, where traces of his spicy masculine fragrance remained, her disheveled hair a mass of tumbled curls and loose pins, and closed her eyes. “Only if it’s mine to own,” she responded, feeling very sleepy cradled in his arms. “No one else… to have it.”
“No one else,” he muttered and kissed her tangle of hair.
He had a large bare foot on the first step of the curved stair when, from the first landing, there came a squeal of undisguised delight that had Jane instantly wide awake and struggling out of Salt’s arms to stand half-concealed behind him. The owner of the squeal came sailing down the stairs, one hand to the polished balustrade, an elaborately embroidered pink silk dressing gown over her night shift and a lace night cap over her bright copper curls that was tied lopsidedly under her pointed chin.
Jane blinked and wondered if she was witness to an apparition. The girl was not that much younger than her and although she possessed the Sinclair coloring her pretty features had more in common with an Allenby than a Sinclair.
“What the devil are you doing in London?” Salt growled and suffered the girl to throw her arms around his neck. “I hope you dragged the long-suffering Dawson with you and half my laborers as outriders?”
“Of course!” she announced cheerfully and released him. “Dawson refused at first to accompany me but I told her I’d come up to town without her anyway and now she’s simpering in my rooms convinced you mean to dismiss her. Of course I told her that’s rot.” She stepped back and ran her wide-eyed gaze over the Earl, from bare feet to dressed hair and cocked her head in mock disapproval. “You went to the Richmond Ball with your hair powdered but without your stockings and shoes?”
“Don’t be vile, Caroline!” Salt snapped in embarrassment.
Jane muffled a giggle into the Earl’s shoulder, instantly warming her to the girl, and clutched the fur-lined cloak more tightly about her naked body.
“He calls me
Caro
-
line
in that pompous way when he’s uncomfortable,” Lady Caroline confided with a smile, then had the temerity to wrinkle up her little nose with its dusting of freckles to brazenly appraise the half-concealed Jane from tumble of dark hair to small bare feet. “You’re much shorter than I remember, possibly because I’ve grown, but you’re still utterly lovely,” she remarked, as if they were known to one another. “You’re quite the loveliest garden sprite to have lived at the bottom of our garden, isn’t she, Salt? When I say
our
garden of course I mean Salt’s vast seat in Wiltshire; but you know that. Did you ever see us, on the hill overlooking your quaint little cottage? We were on horseback under the stand of old oaks. We’d rest our mounts there. But that was just an excuse so Salt could catch a glimpse of his garden fairy – that’s you, by the way – tending your garden—”
“Caroline! For pity’s sake!”
Lady Caroline rolled her eyes, not at all abashed at making the Earl’s ears go very red. She made her curtsey to Jane and said matter-of-factly, “I’m Caroline Sinclair. Salt’s
long-suffering
sister. You can call me Caro. Even Salt calls me that when he’s being pleasant. Which isn’t often enough, let me tell you!”
“Call you impossible, insufferable, and intolerable!” he retorted, face ablaze with color at the public revelation of details he’d rather leave unsaid. He quickly introduced Jane, adding wearily, “Caro, you really have chosen the most awkward time to land on my doorstep, not to mention the fact you disobeyed me in coming to London.”
“I’m truly sorry, Salt, but my news couldn’t wait,” she said, not at all apologetic. “Besides, now you’re married it makes all the more sense—By the by,” she said, changing tack, “how did you manage to prize the Sinclair locket from Cousin Diana’s talons?”
Jane put a hand to her throat. “This is paste.”
Salt’s head snapped round at Jane and then almost at once looked back at his sister when she said coolly,
“I didn’t think she’d give it up without a fight.”
“I beg your pardon? Will someone tell me what you are talking about?”
Both women exchanged a look. It was enough to make them firm friends.
“I believe your sister knows more about the Sinclair locket than we do, my lord.”
Salt frowned and waited for Caroline to explain.
“Diana keeps the Sinclair locket under her pillow. She has done so for years. I know because once I stole it from its hiding place; if you can call taking back what is rightfully yours stealing, and got whipped for my troubles.”
“She
hit
you?”
Caroline shook her head at her brother. “No. She had her lady’s maid do that for her.”
Salt was aghast. He looked at Jane and seemed to read her mind. He lifted the sapphire with one finger. “No secret compartment in this one…”
Jane swallowed and shook her head.
“But in the other one, the real one, you placed a note in the secret compartment for me.”
She did not trust herself to speak. Her blue eyes filled with tears and he had his answer.
Gently, he brushed a strand of hair from her flushed cheek. “I want to ask you… but perhaps in the morning, when we’ve both had a good night’s sleep, we will be better able to discuss the past…”
Jane nodded.
Intuitively, Lady Caroline knew this quiet exchange between her brother and his wife was a momentous one. Yet, she was still young and selfish enough to believe her news was so important that it could not wait. After all, she had come all the way from Wiltshire to tell her brother, and she wasn’t about to go off to bed again having been woken at three in the morning, so she just blurted out what he needed to know sooner rather than later.
“Salt! Do you want to know why I came up to London?”
“Do I?” the Earl responded with a tired sigh, turning to look down at her. “Could it not wait until morning?”
Lady Caroline beamed mischievously. “I came to tell you that Captain Beresford has asked for my hand in marriage and I have accepted him.”
Salt stared at her in utter disbelief. And if Jane hadn’t been stunned by Lady Caroline’s smile of absolute confidence that the Earl must accept this news as a fait accompli, she would have enjoyed her husband’s hot-headed response.
“Captain Bare-Faced-Cheek can ask for the whole of your damned spoiled carcass, for all I bloody-well care, but he won’t get a hair on your head!” Salt exploded angrily. “And for this you disobeyed me and came up to London?
I
have a mind to whip some sense into you!”
“It won’t do you any good. I’m no longer a child!” Lady Caroline pouted with her chin high in the air; adding for dramatic effect, “I am a woman.”
“Ha! You’re a child until I say otherwise.”
Lady Caroline rolled her eyes and crossed her arms not at all intimidated, nor did she seem to think he meant what he said. Jane had to admire her pluck.
“You’re as beastly and as prejudiced as Tony,” Lady Caroline said without heat, which surprised and alerted Jane, who expected a tearful tantrum at the very least. “Just because Beresford is a penniless war hero, you dismiss him out of hand. And it’s not as if you know him. He only moved into the neighborhood two years ago.”
“Whether I know the Captain or not is inconsequential; more important is that I know
you
,” Salt countered and would have said more except for Jane’s fingers on his crumpled shirt sleeve.
“Perhaps it would be best to continue this engaging discussion over breakfast?” she suggested quietly at his shoulder and couldn’t suppress a shy smile. “You will never win an argument, however sound your case, in your present state of undress.”
Her calm reasoning instantly soothed Salt and he smiled down at her before turning back to Lady Caroline with a weary sigh. “Her ladyship is quite right, Caro. This discussion can wait. I’m very pleased to see you here safe. But go to bed and, for God’s sake, wake up in the morning with some commonsense.”
Lady Caroline took the Earl’s stern directive in her stride and gave his stubbled cheek a perfunctory kiss. “I’ve missed you too, glum chops.”
“Glum chops? How dare you knock me off my pedestal in front of my wife with that old nursery nick-name,” he responded with a huff of embarrassed laughter. “You haven’t called me that in years.”
“Pedestal?” Lady Caroline frowned in puzzlement at Jane, who couldn’t meet her gaze, then said to the Earl with guilty pleasure and a wide, impish grin, “Well, not to your face.”
“You little viper!” Salt retorted and pinched her cheek a little too hard, goading her with, “Glum always wins; remember?” before bounding bare foot up the stairs ahead of her.
Lady Caroline took the bait and with a squeal of delight turned tail and fled up the staircase after him, pink dressing gown trailing behind like a cloak, nightcap outrageously askew. Salt stopped on the first landing and lay in wait. Jane watched him grab his sister about the waist and effortlessly lift her up and spin her about, she squealing and he laughing, before putting her down, whereupon there was a friendly exchange of words before he kissed her goodnight. Caroline gave Jane a friendly wave over the balustrade before disappearing from view.
Jane came up the wide stairs at a more leisurely pace, clutching the fur lined cloak tightly about her slim form, mind whirling with possibilities as to how it came to be that the Lady Caroline Sinclair resembled the females of the Allenby family. It certainly made her wonder anew, as she drifted off into a deep sleep snuggled in her husband’s arms, at the feud between neighbors merchant and noble, and at the bequest left to Caroline in Jacob Allenby’s will. And when she woke next morning there was only one question about the Lady Caroline Sinclair she wanted answered, but she woke very late and to the novel experience of being alone in her bed. Usually she was up and dressed and ready for the day well before her husband stirred, a consequence of Jacob Allenby’s edicts on how she must live while under his protection: Early to bed and early to rise, plain food, few creature comforts and plenty of industry to keep mind and body occupied. A thriving herb and vegetable garden, a storeroom full of jars of pickling and preserves, and enough hard-wearing stockings sewn to warm the legs of an army of poorhouse women were testament to her benefactor.
As she sipped her dish of black tea and nibbled on the dry biscuit Anne customarily left on a silver tray on the bedside table she had a vague memory of her husband’s warmth curled around her in the big four poster bed only for him to be up and gone in the next instance, or so it seemed to Jane in her half-waking state: Loud whispered conversation and being told to go back to sleep, and something about a note from Diana St. John and Salt off to Audley Street to Ron’s bedside yet again.
Finishing her tea, and with her nausea more settled, Jane felt better able to face the day and after washing her face and hands with the tepid water in the porcelain bowl beside her bed, she went through to the dressing room in search of her maid to help her bathe and dress for the day. What she found was the startling sight of Sir Antony sprawled out on the chaise longue by the French windows, a silken arm across his face to shield his eyes from the light, and with Viscount Fourpaws curled up asleep on his stomach. He was dressed in the rich clothes and powdered wig he had worn the night before to the Richmond Ball. Given the crumpled state of his cravat, the deep creases to his black silk breeches, and the fact he was unshaven, Jane knew he had not been to bed since leaving the ball.
Taking his presence in the second most intimate of her rooms in her stride, she threw an embroidered silk dressing gown over her thin nightshift and sat before her dressing table looking glass to brush her waist length hair free of tangles. She wondered if Sir Antony was asleep and guessed he was not. That he was spread-eagled across the chaise longue and avoiding daylight simply meant that he had drunk too much the night before and this, coupled with lack of sleep, had given him an excruciating headache. She knew this to be so when the silver backed hairbrush caught on a knot in her hair and fell with a clatter amongst the clutter on the dressing table. Sir Antony’s body convulsed, sending the kitten fleeing to the safety of Jane’s lap.
He groaned loudly and shifted amongst the cushions to sit up, wig outrageously askew. It was an effort and when he was upright he leaned his elbows on his knees and put his unshaven face in his hands, feeling bilious. Finally, he managed to lift his head and smile weakly.
“You see me at my most damnable, my lady. I can sink no lower,” he announced. “Forgive me, but I had nowhere to go. Well, nowhere else I preferred to lay my weary and battle-scared carcass.”
“You could do with a dish of black tea,” Jane said cheerfully and rang the little hand bell on her dressing table that summoned her maid. “It helps me better able to face the day when I am feeling green.”
“I doubt it will help me. I am not green. I am purple, yellow and puce, a sort of slime. But I am willing to try anything, particularly if it has the power to restore my dignity.”
Anne came and went, and if Jane had not been attending to Sir Antony she would have detained Anne because the woman was miserable. Her face was blotchy and she kept her eyes lowered to the floorboards. That her maid’s misery was compounded by the fact her mistress was entertaining a man other than her husband in her rooms never occurred to Jane.