Authors: Heather Graham
Her throat was dry, and she could barely move her parched lips. “No. I have said that I will not marry you.”
He arched a brow, and his mouth curled into a smile. “You mean it?”
“Yes.”
“Well, then, the offer has been made.”
He stepped by her. She stared up at the powerful breadth of his back and his dark head, and she shivered.
The door closed behind him. She opened it and ran, returning to her room. She asked Kathryn to pick her a few warm things, things given to her by Elizabeth, her one true friend. Henry would have her leave in the morning, she was certain.
“Relax, love, it will work out!” Kathryn assured her. “I’ll give you warm milk and you’ll sleep, and it will look better by morning.”
The morning did look better, for by night she had slept, and in sleeping, she had dreamed. She was back in the awful attic, and the wind was raging. It was dark and dreary and cold and filthy, and she was approaching the bed, for Linnet was dying. She had to reach her, she
had to touch her, warm her. She reached out for the threadbare blanket covering her mother, and it was awful, for even before the figure turned, Jassy knew what she would see.
She would see death.
And still she had to touch the figure. And the figure turned, and indeed she saw the death’s-mask, awful, pitiable, horrible. It was the face of starvation and misery and age come by wear, not by years. It was the ravaged, torn face of disease and hunger and desperation.
She started to scream. It was not her mother’s face. It was her own.
“Jassy! Wake up!” Elizabeth was there, shaking her. The dream had been so horrible, it was hard to come from it. Elizabeth shook her again. “Jassy! It is a nightmare, nothing more.”
Jassy looked around her. She saw by the windows that it was nearly dawn. She threw off her covers and ran to her wardrobe.
“Jassy! Where are you going, what are you doing?”
“Is he still there, do you know?”
“Who? Where?”
“Jamie Cameron. Is—is he staying at his house?”
“Yes, I believe so. He is not due to sail until the middle of June.”
Jassy dressed quickly. She was barely aware of what clothing she wore. She started for the door, then she came back and kissed Elizabeth’s cheek. “I love you,” she whispered. Then she ran out the door and down the steps.
The servants were barely awake. She had to call for a groom to come and saddle Mary for her. Impatiently she mounted with no help, and she kicked the little horse with much more vigor than was needed, then she apologized to the faithful mare as she raced along. The sun still had not risen completely when she came to the gates of Jamie Cameron’s magnificent estate. She had to wait for a gatekeeper to come, and as she waited, she stared at the house. It would not be so bad. Nothing would be
so bad, for this would be her home; she would be mistress of this magnificent mansion. If she married him, she would never want again for anything.
She would have to lie with Jamie Cameron, she reminded herself. Night after night, into eternity. That would be her payment for security and riches. She started to tremble, and she almost turned around to ride back. She could remember his bronze fingers on her flesh all too clearly. She could remember his kiss, and the hot way it made her feel. She could not do it.
She nearly turned the mare about, but then the gate opened, and she rode through. Lymon was waiting to greet her on the steps. A groom took the mare, and she started up the steps. “Is—is Lord Cameron awake as yet?” she asked him.
“He is, mistress, and is aware that you have come. I’ll take you to him.”
She hadn’t been up the grand staircase yet. As she mounted it, her heart hammered and she breathed with great difficulty. She tried to look at the finely carved wood, and on the second floor she looked over the fine portrait gallery, the silver sconces on the wall, and the superb deacons’ benches that lined the alcoves of the hallway. Lymon came to great double doors, and he pushed them open for her. “Lord Cameron awaits you, mistress.”
He ushered her into the room. The doors closed behind her.
She was in his bedchamber. It was a huge room with a canopied four-poster bed to the right of a large stone mantel. Huge Elizabethan chairs faced the fire around a circular, inlaid table. By the windows was a large desk, angled so as to make the most of the sunlight. There were brocade drapes tied away from the window. There was another door, which stood ajar and led to a dressing room and privy. It was fine; it was a palace. She could be mistress of it all! she told herself.
Then her eyes wandered to the bed, for there would lie the crux of it all. To marry him gave him the right to
have her. To touch her whenever he chose. A shiver ran down her spine.
He was seated casually upon the thick carved windowsill, staring out at the day. He wore only a white shirt, plain brown breeches, and his high boots. He stared at the sun, and his arms were crossed over his chest. He did not turn to face her.
“Mistress Dupré, to what do I owe this honor?”
She tried very hard to speak, but no sound came. “I—”
He turned to her, and his eyes fell upon her sharply. “Come, come, speak up! You can do much better than that. I cannot believe that the cat could have gotten the better of your very adroit tongue!”
Anger smoldered within her.
“You could make things easier!”
“What things? I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“You do!”
He arched a brow. He leapt from the windowsill and walked around her, smiling. “You want me to help you, mistress? Well, then, I shall try. Have you come, perhaps, to see if my marriage proposal still remains open?”
She couldn’t go through with it. She hated the way he scorned her with his simple words.
She had to go through with it. She would not live as her mother had, nor would she die that way. She lowered her head and nodded.
“I thought so. Now, let me guess.” He strode around her again, slowly, rubbing his jaw. “You awoke in the middle of the night with the sudden and amazing vision that you were deeply and desperately in love with me, and you could hardly bear another night without me. No? Ah, alas, I did not think so. Let’s try again. You woke up in the middle of the night with the sudden and startling realization that you would never get such an offer again. That you would be a lady—not that I think titles matter to you much. Ah, but you would be a rich lady. A very rich lady. Money. That is it, isn’t it?”
She kept her head lowered. She locked her jaw and remained silent.
“Isn’t it!” he snapped, and he came before her and jerked her chin up.
“Yes! Yes, that is it exactly!” she cried, wrenching from his hold. “I never pretended to love you—I never pretended to like you! This has been a bizarre accident and nothing more!”
“But you are determined now that you will marry me. A man whom you hate.”
The passion left her. She lowered her head. “Yes.”
He was silent. She lifted her eyes at last, and she could read nothing from his harsh, dark gaze. “I don’t always hate you,” she said. Then she emitted an impatient oath. “Why offer, then? You have no love for me. Why do you make this proposal?”
“I, at least, want you,” he said softly. He grabbed her hand suddenly and pulled her over to the canopied bed, and he cast her upon it. He clutched the canopy rod and stared down upon her. “This is my bed, mistress. If you go through with this, you will have no room of your own, you will join me here. Nightly. You will not have headaches, nor will you suffer distress. And you are still willing to marry me?”
She furrowed her brow. The image of the dirty attic room and the death’s-head rose before her.
“Yes,” she said coldly.
He laughed then, and pulled her up. “You are a whore,” he told her.
She lunged at him furiously, and he caught her wrist. He did not pull her close but just held her. “If you would engage in battle, my love, be assured that I will ever be ready to enjoin it. Take care, lest the injury you would inflict upon me fall home upon you. I saved you from Henry’s wrath only because I had made up my mind that I would wed you. I think a few more lashes would have stood you well, but should they ever be administered, I think I would prefer to raise the rod myself.”
“Let go of me!” she raged, jerking her wrist.
He quirked his brow. “Come, love! Are those the words
of a tender fiancée?” He held her a moment longer, then released her. He returned to his window seat, and she saw then that he had a number of documents there and had been studying them before her arrival. He had dismissed her, she thought. And she was all too glad. She was ready to turn and flee.
“The wedding will be on the first of June, as I have said. I shall send the dressmaker today, for there is very little time. Tell her that she is free to hire as many seamstresses as she deems necessary to finish your wardrobe by June. Jane and Lenore have excellent taste if you wish advice, though I wonder if you are not as talented with style as you are with accent and manner. I shall send a purse to Henry for anything else you might require before the wedding.”
“There is nothing that I will require.”
“What? You are marrying me for money, and you are shy about taking it?”
She did not know how to tell him that she was marrying him not so much for money as she was for the mere security of steady meals, a soft bed, and a sturdy roof over her head. For heat against the chill of winter and bread against the bite of hunger.
“There is nothing that I require,” she said simply.
He was silent for a moment. She wondered what he thought as he watched her. “That will be to your discretion,” he said at last, and he turned his attention back to his documents.
Jassy didn’t move. Now that the arrangement had been made and she had refused his purse, she thought of a few things she might have done with it. She cleared her throat, and then was annoyed with herself for her manner. When he looked up at her again, clearly irritated by the interruption this time, she spoke sharply. “There are a few things that I would—that I would like done.”
“You will be mistress of the house. You may do as you please.”
She lowered her head. “Molly … the girl at the tavern. She was very good to me. Always. May I bring her here?”
“You may. I’ll have her sent for. She can be here for the wedding.”
“And … and Tamsyn too?”
“Tamsyn?”
“He was a doctor once, I believe. He works at the tavern.”
“That old drunk—”
“He is not an old drunk. He is a man down upon his luck. I can make him work well. He will be sober, I swear it!”
Jamie shrugged. “The servants are your domain. I have vast holdings, and we shall need many of them. Hire whom you will. If this Tamsyn can be found with Molly at Master John’s tavern, then I will see to it that he comes here with Molly. Is there anything else?”
She shook her head. He waited. She moistened her lips.
“Thank you,” she managed to say to him, and then she fled.
The dressmaker came that afternoon, and the afternoon after, and the afternoon after that. Her small room became filled with velvets, taffetas, silks, laces, linens, and brocades. She was fitted for day dresses and evening dresses, warm dresses and summer wear. She was to have several warm muffs, jewelry, caps, elegant hats, and fashionable purses. Jane and Lenore were very much into the spirit of things. Jane produced numerous fashion dolls from Paris. “One must be careful, though, for the king was raised by strict Presbyterians. Alas, fashion hasn’t changed much! At least the ruffs are gone. I remember as a little child that we had to wear them. So uncomfortable!”
“The queen is very fashionable,” Lenore protested.
“Anne of Denmark adds jewels to old styles!” Jane complained.
Jassy barely heard them. She watched her wardrobe grow around her. Sometimes she would touch the soft fur that rimmed a collar or a sleeve, and she would marvel that such beautiful, costly things could be hers.
Then she would realize that the cost of a single muff might have saved her mother’s life and she would be morose again. The days were rushing forward. May passed in a blaze of glory.
On the twentieth of the month, Jamie came to dinner. He and Henry were cordial friends again. Henry, in fact, considered himself the extreme benefactor. Thanks to his good graces, Jassy had been given the opportunity to rise above her station in life.
The meal was good, duckling and early vegetables, but Jassy could barely eat. She could hardly lift her glass to her lips. Robert was with Jamie, and he and Lenore were planning their own wedding. It would take place two weeks after Jassy’s.
Jassy was seated next to Jamie. She could not speak to him, nor could she join into the other conversations. Lenore laughed and said that it was nerves. Jamie commented that it certainly was.
When the meal was over, Jassy fled outside. She went to the stables, and to her mare. Robert found her there again. Bitterly she remembered the first time he had met her there.
He kissed her soundly on the cheeks. “Ah, Jassy, it has come well for you, hasn’t it? Had I but had Jamie’s resources, it might have been different. You are so beautiful.”
“And you are a man betrothed to my sister,” she said to him.
“The sister with the dowry,” he murmured.
“Be good to her,” Jassy warned.
He laughed. “Oh, I will be. Lenore is a beauty too. There’s something about you, though, Jassy. Alas, it is my best friend to wed you. You’ve come so very far. Who would have imagined this of the wench in the tavern?”
“The wench in the tavern makes her own way, Robert,” Jamie said, entering the barn. Jassy did not like the sizzle in his eyes. It was harder than usual.
“Robert was congratulating me,” she said.
“So he was.”
“I’m happy for both of you,” Robert said, and grinned.
“Ah, a haystack! I shall leave you two young lovers alone.”
Jamie remained at one end of the stables. Jassy nervously stroked the mare at the other.
“Strange, how it comes to mind the way that I found you two together the last time I was here.”
“There was no contract between us then,” she said.