The Harem Bride (28 page)

“
I did not invite her here!”

Jason’s roar brought his wife’s head ’round
in a slow turn, every fiber of her being bristling with wounded
dignity. “You have known her a long time, have you not?”

“
Yes,” the earl ground out.

“
And for how long has she been your
mistress?”

“
Close on two years. But,” Jason added
swiftly, I have not been in her bed since you and I renewed our
vows.”

“
Really?” The countess sounded
surprisingly indifferent. “Have you, I wonder, made your feelings
perfectly clear to Mrs. Coleraine? And do you not feel you have
some obligation to this woman of good family?”

“
Do not be absurd, Penny. She was an
obliging—nay, eager—widow, and I was glad enough to sample her
charms. What else did I have?” the earl added a trifle
petulantly.

“
It seems to me you have had a great
deal,” his wife returned. “Every privilege of your title and your
wealth, while I . . . But pay me no mind. Feeling sorry for myself
will pay no toll.”

Jason raised his hand to touch her,
tell her there was no need to flail herself in this manner, but his
fingers fell back, clenching into a fist as Penny added, “It is
most inconvenient that the Sultan Selim is dead or you could sue
him for criminal concupiscence, as Lord Elgin did with Robert
Ferguson. Elgin received a mere ten thousand pounds. Just think, my
lord, what
you
might have
pried from the Turkish treasury.”

“
Penelope,” the earl intoned, most
awfully.

“
But since you cannot sue poor Selim,”
his wife continued in carefully reasoned tones, “perhaps you may
choose some wealthy gentleman you do not like, and I shall write
him most frightfully incriminating letters, as poor foolish
Ferguson did to Lady Elgin. Then you will be able to collect from
him a satisfactory sum to compensate you for the years you have
endured this most inconvenient match—”

“
If I had ever wanted a divorce,” a
thoroughly incensed Lord Rocksley broke in, “I would have told you
so. And if I did get a divorce, I swear to you I would not marry
Daphne Coleraine. I am,” he added in softer, almost cajoling tones,
“quite content with the wife I have.”

Merciful heavens, his
insouciance must well be one of the wonders of the world!
“If Aunt Cass had allowed us to be truly married,” Penny
managed, “do you think we might be playing this same scene,
rebelling against the inevitability of fate and wishing we had
waited?”

For the first time since he had heard of
Daphne Coleraine’s arrival in Shropshire, Jason felt a bubble of
humor pushing its way through the gloom, for had he not wondered
the same himself? “Very likely,” he agreed, “but, hopefully, our
nursery would be full of young Lisbournes, and we would each know
we were merely encountering a bump on the long road of marriage. We
would, I think, hold hands”—Jason’s action followed his words. “I
would touch your cheek, put my finger to your lips, and tell you we
have both made mistakes and must learn to forgive. I would”—he
moved within a hair’s breadth of her mouth—“kiss you.” A longish
pause while the earl did just that. “And then we would go to bed.”
Gently, ever so gently, the Earl of Rocksley handed his wife down
from the window seat and walked with her toward the waiting bed,
careful to keep his arm only loosely about her, never pinning her
down, making it clear the choice was hers.

Penny walked with him, giving no
indication of the unresolved turmoil inside her.
Content
. Jason Lisbourne was content
with the wife he had. How very gratifying. Though, she had to
admit, it was a step up from
her
wedding night announcement that she was
reconciled
to being his wife. What fools they
both were. Yet who was to provide the sword to cut the Gordian knot
of their marriage?

“
I beg you will not do this!” Penny
declared fervently the next morning as the dowager tied her bonnet
and pulled on her gloves.

“
Needs must when the devil rides,” said
the elder Lady Rocksley with grim determination. “I will not have
that ineffably foolish Tabitha Houghton sending cards to
that woman
!”

“
But I understand Mrs. Coleraine is
received everywhere,” Penny protested. “Attempting to shut her out
only emphasizes the . . . the–ah–unfortunate
association.”

“
Unfortunate association! Dear God,
child, how can you be so charitable? Unnatural, that’s what it is.
Positively unnatural.”

“
Is that . . . is that not what is
expected in the
ton
, my lady?
A wife must accept the inevitable . . . and have the courage to
make the best of what life puts on her plate?”

The Dowager Countess of Rocksley gave
one last tug on her glove, then waved her hand toward the morning
room’s comfortable striped settee. “Sit down, Penelope,” she said.
The elder countess removed her bonnet and, setting it on a side
table, took a seat beside her daughter-in-law. “You may stare when
I tell you, my dear, but Jason’s father was faithful to me for all
the years of our marriage. And, no, I was not some silly ostrich
with my head in a hole. And
your
Jason is made of the same cloth. You may take my word for it,
he was never cut out to be a rakehell. I believe him when he says
he has not been with Mrs. Coleraine since you came to him here in
Shropshire. And so should you. Therefore, we have only to rout this
contemptible creature, who would chase after him like a hound after
a fox, and you may be free to enjoy your marriage to its fullest.”
The dowager, deciding she had made her point quite well, reached
for her bonnet.

“
My lady,” Penny said swiftly, even
though her solemn expression indicated she was considering the
dowager’s words with care, “I still wish you would not speak to
Mrs. Houghton. The poor woman cannot, in all conscience, retract
her invitation. There would be enormous embarrassment on all sides,
not the least of which would be mine, as such a cut to Mrs.
Coleraine could only precipitate the kind of gossip we wish to
avoid. I am so grateful,” Penny added on an urgent note, “so very
grateful you wish to go off and do battle for me, truly I am. But I
beg you not to stir the waters. I will—indeed, I
must
—face Mrs. Coleraine and make
the best of it.”

Penny ducked her head, a blush creeping
up her neck to suffuse her face a glowing pink. “Last night . . .”
She broke off, made another attempt. “Jason has assured me their
liaison is at an end. At some time in the near future, I must meet
Mrs. Coleraine in town. It is best, I think, to endure the initial
introduction here, rather than under the avid scrutiny of the
entire
ton
.”

“
Oh, my dear child,” cried the dowager.
“I doubt I should ever have the strength to be so shockingly
brave.” But, slowly, with resignation, Eulalia Lisbourne, Dowager
Countess of Rocksley, began to work her fingers free of her fine
kid gloves.

Two hours later, as Lord Brawley and Mr.
Dinsmore once again indulged in a desultory game of billiards, they
paused, eyebrows raised in query as Lord Rocksley entered the room.
Gant Deveny rested his cue against the soft carpet, eyeing his
friend’s gloomy face with sympathy. “The lady was not cooperative,”
he intoned. It was not a question.

“
She was not,” the earl concurred
flatly.

“
But how can she wish to stay where her
name is anathema?” Harry Dinsmore demanded.

“
She has, it seems, convinced herself
that my wife’s reputation is so thoroughly ruined that I
must
divorce her, leaving the
ever-faithful Daphne to assuage my wounded pride and provide me
with the necessary heir.”

“
Elgin has at least two brats in his
second marriage, after four or five with the first,”. Gant Deveny
drawled, deliberately goading his friend. “I swear the man breeds
like a rabbit.”

The Earl of Rocksley grabbed the billiards
cue from Brawley’s hand and snapped the birdseye maple stick into
two pieces, while looking very much as if he wished to break it
over the viscount’s head. “I have told you,” Jason ground out, “I
do not want a divorce. I do not want Daphne as mother of my
children.”

“
She wasn’t ‘ever-faithful’ either,”
Harry Dinsmore commented. “Must have seen her with Ormsby or
Haliburton a dozen times or more, Rock, since you sent us all
packing last winter.”

“
So the squire’s musical evening is
likely to feature fireworks,” murmured Lord Brawley, enjoying, as
always, his role of
provocateur
.

“
Perhaps we should all be afflicted
with the influenza,” Mr. Dinsmore offered.

“
Cut line, Harry,” the earl snapped. “I
fear we must, quite literally, face the music.” While his friends
groaned at this sally, Jason tossed the pieces of the broken cue
into a corner, then lifted a fresh stick from the rack on the wall.
“And do not forget,” he added with savage satisfaction, “I believe
my wife expects you both to do the pretty with the village maidens,
who are, I believe, all aflutter at the thought of having such fine
London gentlemen among them.”

With that Parthian shot, the earl strolled
nonchalantly from the room, paying no heed to Mr. Dinsmore’s
sputtered, “Oh, I say, Rock!”

The younger Countess of Rocksley brought up
her heavy guns for the Houghtons’ musical evening. With Wellington
winning battles at last on the Peninsula, military terms were on
everyone’s tongues, and Penny’s was no exception. If the Houghtons’
attempt at culture could not qualify as a battle, it was most
certainly a skirmish, and the wife of the Earl of Rocksley would
dress accordingly. Yes, Penny admitted to herself, as Noreen
entwined a strand of small but finely matched pearls in her hair,
she might be a wee bit overdressed for a country musicale, but—as
she had known when “Mrs. Galworthy” slipped off to London to
acquire a new wardrobe—fine clothing was armor. And tonight she
very much needed it.

Her high-waisted gown of French blue was
beautifully understated, falling in a graceful column topped by a
half-skirt of delicate white lace. Lace also peeped out from
beneath her hemline and from the cuffs of her tiny puffed sleeves
and at the edge of her daring décolletage. A single sequin,
glittering iridescently, winked from the center of each pristine
flower fashioned into the white lace. In addition to the pearls in
her hair, Penny wore a modest aigrette of sequined feathers on one
side of her head. The aigrette was sheer defiance, a reminder of
the jeweled feathers that distinguished the turbans of the Ottoman
sultans.

After Noreen fastened the diamond necklace
the earl had given his wife and helped affix the matching earbobs,
Penny turned to her long-time companion. “Will I do?” she
inquired.

“
Indeed you will, me darlin’. There’s
none can touch ye,” Noreen affirmed, her Irish even more broad than
usual.

The eager light faded from Penny’s eyes. “If
only that were true,” she sighed. “I may look quite splendid, but I
am all aquake inside.”

“
She canna hold a candle to ye, love,”
Noreen declared.

“
You
have not
seen the woman.” Penny sighed.

“
She could be that Venus they talk
about, but you’re the wife, and never forget it!”

Penny gave Noreen a hug, squared her
shoulders, and went to war. Somehow, the poor bachelor vicar,
Adrian Stanmore, and his possible brides, Miss Mary Houghton and
Miss Helen Seagrave, had vanished from her mind.

When, however, the party from Rockbourne
Crest arrived at Squire Houghton’s, Penny was instantly reminded of
her broken vow to concentrate on the problems of her friends so she
might not have time to contemplate her own. For as the guests were
ushered to the fragile-looking chairs Tabitha Houghton had had set
up in her drawing room, Helen Seagrave was just finishing the
tuning of her harp, which had been brought by wagon from Cranmere
several hours later than the carter had originally promised.

Such a lovely picture Helen made, Penny
thought, for Miss Seagrave had been persuaded she could not perform
while wearing anything so old cattish as a cap. Her gown of rose
lustring added color to her pale cheeks and her brown hair glowed
with vibrance under the light from two tall multi-branched
candelabras placed to illuminate the performance area. Miss
Seagrave’s fingers were long and graceful, her lovely gray eyes
tantalizingly hidden beneath long lashes as she kept her eyes fixed
on her strings, their tuning pegs, and the chromatic pedals that
were the very latest addition to harp design.

Helen looked up, glanced at the earl and his
guests, and, with the briefest of smiles to the countess, she
effaced herself, slipping out of the room before anyone else might
see her at her plebeian task. Penny looked around for Mr. Stanmore,
pleased to discover him in the third row on the left, though he was
barely visible behind the bevy of women surrounding him. Continuing
what she hoped was a subtle inspection of the room, while nodding
and smiling to acquaintances, Penny was infinitely relieved when
she did not see the dashing beauty of Daphne Coleraine. Could it be
someone had persuaded the dratted woman not to come? For as much as
she could not blame Mrs. Coleraine’s obsession with the earl—even
to the point of feeling sympathy with the poor creature to whom
Jason seemed so coldly indifferent in spite of their long-time
association—Penny truly did not care to be reminded that little
Penny Blayne was no competition for an accomplished courtesan (no
matter how gentle her birth).