But now another was threatening to usurp his mother’s place as the most courageous woman he’d ever known. Jayne.
If he were wise, he’d make excuses rather than an appearance at the ball tonight. No one would question his absence. They would assume he’d found a lovely lady to entertain privately.
But as Ainsley’s valet settled the dark green swallow-tailed jacket onto his shoulders, he knew he would attend the ball and that he’d ask Jayne to dance.
Once. He would hold her in his arms and sweep her over the dance floor. Even though doing so seemed cruel because it would remind her of what she’d lost: a husband with whom she could dance.
But she already had reminders aplenty. What was one more?
He’d thought he was well aware of what his night of debauchery with Walfort had cost her. He had failed to consider that she continued to pay the price for their poor judgment. He supposed Walfort lived with the reminder every day. It was no doubt the reason his friend asked of him what he had.
He’d considered it a ludicrous request, was determined not to honor it. And then he’d walked back to the manor with Jayne. She began the journey with such purpose to her stride, but when the manor came into view, she slowed her step as though she dreaded facing what awaited her there. He wasn’t even certain she was aware of the change in her demeanor.
For the first time he noticed her loneliness, the deep sadness. She’d been young, filled with hope and dreams and a child, when it was all snatched from her.
What Walfort asked of him suddenly seemed a small price to pay to restore happiness to such a remarkable woman.
She remained loyal to her husband, retained her feelings for him. She saw to his needs, asked nothing for herself. She did not whine or complain. She accepted what their foolishness had wrought; albeit grudgingly when it came to Ainsley. She poured all her anger and hatred into him rather than into her husband. He knew he was not deserving of all of it but understood that she needed someone to blame, and it was much easier to lay the fault at his feet—because at least he could still stand.
Now, in the room he’d been assigned, he rubbed the small scar on his chin. He’d not change places with Walfort, not for the world. But he could not deny that he was partly responsible for the debacle that had led to such unhappiness.
With great difficulty he met his gaze in the mirror. Was he seriously considering fulfilling Walfort’s request? Absolutely not. He’d honor Jayne with a dance. Nothing more than that.
As he stepped out of the room he was instantly aware of the liveliness of the manor. He could hear riotous laughter and the din of far too much conversation. Even though people spoke quietly, there were so many voices that they rose in a crescendo. In the hallway, a door opened in front of him and a young lady emerged, her chaperone close on her heels.
The girl’s blue eyes widened. “Your Grace.”
He bowed slightly. “Lady Louisa. Miss . . .”
“Winters,” the chaperone said. An appropriate name considering the chill in her voice.
He extended his arm toward the young lady. “May I have the honor of escorting you downstairs?”
“You risk her reputation, Your Grace,” Miss Winters told him sharply.
“Not with you so near,” Ainsley responded.
“He’s quite right, Miss Winters. I’m perfectly safe.” With a small giggle, the girl placed her hand on his arm. “I’m honored, Your Grace, to have you escort me.”
She appeared remarkably young. As they strolled down the hallway, he remembered overhearing one of the gents last night comment on her age while she was playing on the pianoforte. She was not yet nineteen.
He knew he needed to begin seeing about securing a wife and an heir. Of late, his mother had been lamenting his lack of a duchess. “Unconscionable, Ainsley,” she’d said. He’d promised her that next Season he would see to the duty. He’d not given much thought to the fact that the majority of the ladies available for marriage would be little more than children. He could not begin to imagine bedding one. No matter how lovely she might be, she would still possess far too much innocence.
“Did you enjoy my performance last night, Your Grace?”
“Indeed. It was marvelous, truly entertaining.”
“Will you be seeking a wife soon?”
Why did her eyes suddenly shine with such fervor? And why did she think it was any of her business? These younger girls lacked decorum. Perhaps that was the reason his mother had a young lover. The man couldn’t tolerate the silliness of those new to the ballrooms. “If my mother has her way.”
She laughed, a high, tinkling, irritating sound. The echo of childhood.
They were nearly to the bottom of the stairs when his gaze fell on Jayne. Now there was a woman. Young, but mature. No silly giggling, no tittering. Her gown was a deep purple, and he knew, without seeing her face, that it would bring out the rich blue of her eyes, that it would make them appear violet.
She must have felt his perusal, because she turned, and the impact of her gaze settling on him nearly brought him to his knees. With her ebony hair and exotic features, she was gorgeous. From this distance, he couldn’t see the weariness that often cloaked her. Then her attention shifted to his left and he noted her blatant disapproval. He wanted to announce that nothing untoward had passed between Lady Louisa and himself. The girl’s bloody chaperone was near enough to breathe on his neck. Couldn’t Jayne see that?
She turned toward someone, saying something he couldn’t hear.
“I’ve not yet accepted anyone’s proposal,” Lady Louisa said.
It took Ainsley a moment to realize she was talking to him. He smiled as kindly as he could to soften his words as he took her hand and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. “It would be a mistake to wait on me, Lady Louisa.”
He saw the disappointment in her eyes as she nodded slightly. Damn it. With that brief exchange, she aged—but still not enough for a man as world weary as he.
More laughter and a few squeals floated toward the stairs as people mingled between the parlor and the entry hallway.
“Your Grace?”
Ainsley glanced over at the footman who was extending a copper bowl toward him. He could see three small slips of paper inside, each carefully folded. “What’s this, then?”
“Her ladyship decided to dispense with formal seating arrangements for dinner this evening. Each gentleman draws a number and then seeks out the lady with the matching number. She is to serve as his dinner companion.”
“Oh, what fun!” Lady Louisa exclaimed. She squeezed Ainsley’s arm. “I shall hope we draw matching numbers.”
He would hope for the opposite. She promptly withdrew to find the servant with the bowl containing the ladies’ numbers.
“Rather childish,” Ainsley muttered.
“But then she is almost a child, isn’t she?”
He twisted his head sharply to find Jayne at his side. She’d brought her disapproval of him with her.
“I was referring to this little game you’ve devised to ensure I’m not sitting in your vicinity during dinner.”
“Unfortunately, Walfort insisted you have the chair beside his.” She nodded toward the servant. “You may move on.”
“Yes, m’lady.”
“You seem quite relieved,” she said to Ainsley.
“I have little patience for games except for those that take place in the bedchamber.” While it was true, he wished he’d held his tongue when her eyes darkened with annoyance. He’d much rather see them filled with passion.
“And what game are you playing with Lady Louisa?” she asked.
“I’m not playing a game at all.”
“Is she aware of that?”
“I can only hope. Would it have been better for me to ignore her completely when she stepped out of her room and into my path?”
“She was practically preening as you led her down the stairs. You could have very well ruined her reputation.”
“With her chaperone stepping on my heels? I doubt it.”
“You will do her no favors if you dance with her tonight.”
“I assure you that I intend to dance only once. Whether or not you choose to believe it, I am not in the habit of giving a woman false hope regarding where my affections or interest may lie.”
Shaking her head, she averted her gaze. “My apologies. It is not my place to remark on your behavior.”
“Quite right. Your time would no doubt be better spent attempting to find the gentleman whose number matches yours.”
“Unfortunately, I am already well aware of who the man is.”
“Dear God, don’t tell me you got saddled with Sheffield. The bore.”
“No. I am saddled with the man who has no number.” Her unflinching gaze met his, and for some unaccountable reason, his heart sped up. “You.”
J
ayne was having a most difficult time remaining annoyed with Ainsley. He was slowly, irrevocably, wearing down her resistance to him, her determination to despise the man for as long as he drew breath. How the bond between he and her husband could remain so strong astounded her. But sitting across from him, with Walfort between them at the head of the table, their devoted relationship was more evident than ever.
“I can’t believe Sheffield and his hounds managed to corner more foxes than any others,” Walfort had said sotto voce to Ainsley. “He shall surely bore us to death with that tale now.”
With only a brief look, Ainsley managed to remind her of every moment she’d spent with him in the garden the evening before. She’d even, to her immense shame, enjoyed strolling back to the manor with him that afternoon. Oddly, they’d barely spoken, and yet she found immeasurable comfort in his presence. Then when she saw him descending the stairs with Lady Louisa, she’d experienced a sense of betrayal. Which was obviously ludicrous, as she wanted nothing to do with him.
Although she’d chastised him for his encounter with Lady Louisa, it was obvious he held no real interest in the girl. As he claimed, he was being merely polite, but it was equally apparent that the poor girl had fallen for his charms nonetheless.
She hardly blamed her. Ainsley could be quite charming when he wished to be. Although as she considered it, she recognized that she’d never seen him when he wasn’t charming. And that realization irritated her.
“I know our guests are leaving on the morrow,” Walfort began quietly, “but surely you can stay another day or two.”
Ainsley’s gaze clashed with hers. She’d so hoped that Walfort had given up this ridiculous notion of his, but obviously he hadn’t. She knew it. And so did Ainsley. Why else ask him to lengthen his stay—if not to provide more opportunities to prove the brilliance of his plan to them?
“I’m certain your wife is more than ready to have her household return to normal,” Ainsley replied, reaching for his wineglass.
“Our household has not been normal in three years,” Walfort said, a cutting edge to his voice that caused Ainsley to wince. While she’d never particularly cared for the man, she did not want old wounds reopened before her guests.
“I thought you would be interested in knowing, Your Grace,” she said, “that I spoke with the groomsman before dinner and Cassiopeia will be back to leaping over hedges in no time.”
He smiled at her, and she wished he hadn’t. It only served to make him more handsome, more appealing. “I appreciate knowing that. It’s always sad to have a horse put down.”
“What happened with Cassie?” Walfort asked.
“She took a tumble during the hunt,” Jayne told him.
Walfort’s brows drew together. “Were you hurt?”
“No, not at all.”
“Why didn’t you say something?”
“I didn’t want you to worry.”
“You’re my wife. It’s my place to worry.”
The chastisement in his voice embarrassed her. The choice of his words had been a disappointment as well. Not that he would worry, but that he would do so simply because she was his wife. It was her position, and not
she,
that caused him anxiety.
As though sensing the tension, Ainsley asked quietly, “So your foot has recovered enough for dancing?”
Her mouth went as dry as the Sahara that she and Walfort once dreamed of visiting. “It does not bother me.” She almost reiterated that she had no desire to dance but refrained, wondering if it would indeed add to Walfort’s suffering.
“You knew of the tumble?” he asked Ainsley.
Ainsley sipped his wine, leaving her to confess, “He was kind enough to see after Cassie and to escort me back to the manor.”
“Interesting.” Her husband toyed with the stem of his wineglass as though he were in deep thought. Perhaps he was not as immune to the notion of her being alone with Ainsley as he pretended.
“How is your mother, the duchess?” he suddenly asked, as though desperate to change the subject.
“She is well,” Ainsley said.
Walfort swirled his wine, watching it as though it was the most fascinating display he’d ever seen. “Is she still involved with the painter?”
“The artist? Leo? Yes.”
“His mother thrives in scandal,” Walfort said to Jayne, as though she were unaware of the Duchess of Ainsley’s scandalous behavior.
“She’s earned the right to live her life any way she pleases,” Ainsley said softly, and yet his voice held the promise of a threat.
He would not have his mother maligned, Jayne realized. She didn’t know why she was so touched by his defense of her. She remembered her conversation with Lady Inwood. It was the ladies’ boasting that ruined reputations, not Ainsley. He had told her that he did not gossip about his lovers. Suddenly she understood at least one reason why Walfort had suggested Ainsley as a possible short-lived lover: he knew how to keep secrets, and he did what he could to keep a woman’s reputation intact. Even his mother’s.
“How is Lady Lynnford?” Walfort asked.
“Not so well, I’m afraid,” Ainsley said.
Jayne was well aware that the Earl of Lynnford had served as Ainsley’s guardian. His wife was very ill. A malignancy of the bone that had been tormenting her for years. Knowing they’d be unable to attend, she had not even bothered to invite them.
“A pity. She was always kind,” Walfort said.
“She still is. I say, Walfort, you do know how to go about keeping up one’s spirits.”
Her husband chuckled low. “My apologies. I did start traveling down a morose path, didn’t I? Jayne, please, take us to lighter topics.”
“I’ve been reading
A Tale of Two Cities
.”
“Ah, yes,” Ainsley said. “ ‘It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.’ ”
“That hardly sounds jolly,” Walfort said.
“Do you enjoy Dickens, Your Grace?” Jayne asked.
“I do. He has the uncanny ability to capture the reality of life.”
“I do not want reality when I’m reading,” Walfort said.
The conversation moved on to other writers and other works. Other guests began to join in. Soon arguments, laughter, challenges, and opinions were flowing freely. She watched her husband smile, listened as he laughed, and felt bittersweet happiness.
T
he balls held at Walfort’s estate were almost as famous as the hunts. The previous marchioness, Walfort’s mother, had set the standard, and Jayne had picked up the banner and run with it. She couldn’t deny the pride that swept through her as she and her husband greeted their guests as they entered the grand salon. She heard sharp intakes of breath and exclamations of awe. The orchestra was seated in the balcony, their music wafting through the room. The crystal chandeliers sparkled as the candle flames flickered. Flowers and greenery adorned the massive room that accommodated several small seating areas.
Now she strolled through, ensuring that their guests knew refreshments were available through the open double doors leading into the next room. She partnered young ladies with eligible gentlemen. As she answered questions and assisted with minor inconveniences—explaining which room held a servant who would repair a torn hem—she wasn’t certain she’d ever felt quite so lonely or quite so aged.
“My dear!”
She halted her progress, turned, and greeted her guest. “Lady Inwood.”
“You have certainly outdone yourself,” she said. The woman leaned forward conspiratorially. “And the previous marchioness as well. You have achieved a comfort and elegance that she could not quite accomplish.”
“You give me far too much credit. I daresay, I merely followed her example.”
“You are too modest.” She glanced around. “Ainsley is in top form tonight. I swear he has the devil’s good looks.”
Jayne held her tongue, refusing to acknowledge that he was the most handsome man in attendance.
“I don’t suppose you know if any of the maids found a bed unmade this morning,” Lady Inwood asked, her sharp gaze implying much more. The implication that if Ainsley had slept elsewhere—in a lady’s bed—then his would not need tending. Although Jayne suspected the man was clever enough to rumple it before he departed for his rendezvous.
“Not to my knowledge, no.”
“We cannot determine who he has selected for a dalliance.”
“Perhaps no one.”
The older woman scoffed. “Hardly likely.” Then her expression turned shrewd. “Although you were seen walking with him this afternoon.”
“My horse and I took a tumble. His Grace was kind enough to escort me back to the manor.”
“Hmmm. Fortunate for you . . . that you were not injured, I mean.”
“Very fortunate.”
Lady Inwood squeezed Jayne’s hand. “If you do hear anything regarding who has earned Ainsley’s favor, you will let me know, won’t you?”
Absolutely not!
Rather than speak the words, however, Jayne merely smiled. She felt rather out of sorts of a sudden. Turning, she spotted Walfort sitting off to the side, appearing as lonely as she felt. With only a few people stopping her for a quick chat, she managed to make it to his side before the current dance ended. Sitting in a chair beside him, she took his hand. “I think everything is going splendidly.”
“You’ve done a wonderful job of it, Jayne. Even my mother, may she rest in peace, would have been impressed.”
“We’ve been fortunate that the weather has held. I’ve seen a few go out into the garden.” She bit her lower lip. “Is this difficult for you, Walfort? Watching everyone waltzing about?”
“No. I never really fancied dancing.”
“But you were so good at it.”
“Only when I was with you.” His quick smile withered. “Do you miss it, Jayne?”
“How can I when I am right where I wish to be: beside the man I love?”
“You deserve so much better than I’ve given you.”
“Walfort, please, let’s not go there.”
He nodded. His face brightened. “Ainsley, where have you been, old chap?”
She glanced up as Ainsley came to stand before them. Everything about him was perfect. His cravat appeared as though it had not been touched since his valet secured it. He had not a single dark hair out of place. With sudden surprise, she realized she was searching for some sign that he’d had an assignation. What did she care what he did with whom?
“I was playing cards,” he said.
“He has the devil’s own luck at cards,” Walfort muttered to her. “Now that you’ve left the tables, perhaps I’ll give it a go. Although I hate to leave Jayne alone.”
“She’s hardly alone in this mash of people.”
“I suppose that’s true enough.”
She didn’t like them talking around her as though she wasn’t there. Still, she touched Walfort’s wrist, slid her hand over his. “You should go to the card room if that’s where you prefer to be. I’ll be perfectly all right.”
“If you’re sure.”
“Of course.”
“Perhaps to lessen the pain of his parting, you would honor me with a dance,” Ainsley said.
She and Walfort both jerked their heads to the duke. Her heart slammed against her ribs and her chest tightened as though her corset had suddenly shrunk. “As we discussed previously,” she replied, “I do not dance.”
“Of course you dance, Jayne,” Walfort said.
“Darling.” She shook her head.
“I’ve made you uncomfortable with Ainsley, have I? With my proposal—”
“No, I—”
“I only want you to be happy. You always smiled so much when you danced. Please, Jayne, I’ve taken so much from you. Don’t let the list include your love of dancing.”
Blast Ainsley for putting her on the spot like this, more for being right, that she was punishing Walfort by denying herself the pleasures he could no longer enjoy.
“Oh, all right, then.” She forced a smile. “Your Grace, I would be honored to dance with you.”
As if on cue, the music faded away, quickly followed by the lilting strains of a waltz. As she rose to her feet and placed her hand on Ainsley’s arm, she didn’t wish to acknowledge the strength she felt there or the excitement that thrummed through her. She would not anticipate the next few moments. She would simply endure them.
“I do not appreciate the position in which you placed me,” she said cuttingly as they moved away from her husband. “You know I did not wish to dance.”
“If you truly didn’t wish to, you’d have never accepted.”
She eyed him sharply. “You do not know me well enough to know what I wish for.”
But when he took her in his arms and swept her over the dance floor, a thrill shot through her that she could not deny. She had so loved dancing: the graceful movements, the music inhabiting her soul in ways it could not when she was merely a spectator. And Ainsley, damn him, was particularly talented when it came to leading her. He held her the proper distance away from him, and yet it was as though they were one, without a misstep. His gaze never once strayed from her, as though she were the only one who mattered.