Jenny’s hand trembled. He watched her clatter her cup on the saucer. The sound seemed to startle her, and the cup began to tip. She tried to right it and only succeeded in doing worse. It toppled, spilling chocolate down the front of her bodice.
Iris cried out in alarm. “Oh dear, are you all right?”
“I am fine,” Jenny stammered. “Thank goodness it wasn’t hot. Oh, dear, now we surely shall be late.”
“Today of all days.” Iris cast a worried look at Hatherleigh. “This will make a terrible first impression. The Reverend Morley abhors tardiness. Do you recall what he did to Amelia Cosgrove last spring, pointing her out to everyone as she took her seat late? I swear, the poor woman’s complexion was as red as a ripe cherry for a week.”
Brent came to the door. “Madam, the carriage is in front.”
“Oh, dear,” Iris cried, wringing her hands.
“I shall hurry and change,” Jenny assured her and started for the door.
“We shall never make it to our pew before Reverend Morley’s procession!” Iris looked apoplectic.
Miles acted quickly. “I suggest then that you and Cassandra go on ahead, and I will bring Jenny right behind, using my carriage. I am certain we can have her put to rights and be under way without too much delay. Have your man send word to have my carriage brought around.”
“No!” Cassandra cried, then gathered herself together and spoke more reasonably. “That is quite unnecessary. Jenny will make haste—go on, Jenny. We should all arrive together. Mother, tell him that is a terrible idea.”
Jenny didn’t move—she did not take orders from Cassandra, Miles was proud to see—and Iris hesitated. “I think we should go, Cassandra. I could make some excuse . . . well, the truth will suffice, and perhaps Reverend Morley will understand if I forewarn him.” She waved to her daughter. “Come, hurry, so that we can arrive while he is still out greeting everyone.”
“I’ll stay as well, then,” Cassandra declared. “You go on, Mother. I will be along with Jenny and Miles.”
“Do not be ridiculous, Cassandra,” Hatherleigh said flatly. “Do you not think it unseemly for your mother to go into church alone and have the whole of her family lagging behind? We will be but a moment.”
Cassandra was clearly frustrated. Miles supposed he should be flattered, but an idea occurred to him that made him suspicious of the young girl. Was it her possessiveness that had caused Jenny to keep her distance?
Iris spoke in a firm voice. “I think it best, Cassandra. Please come along.”
Leveling a narrow look at her cousin, Cassandra snapped, “Jenny, why do you have to be such a bother? Oh, all right. Try to hurry, will you?” She flounced and followed her mother out of the house.
Jenny looked to Miles, bewildered for a moment. He suppressed the urge to rub his hands together, for he was quite pleased.
He said, “I would like to avoid being dogged by the infamous reverend. Could you make haste?”
As she hurried away, he called after her, “Come directly out to the carrigeway when you are finished. I will be waiting at the door.”
It did not take her long to change. She emerged less than a quarter of an hour later in a fresh dress, her hat in her hand.
“Excellent, Miss Alt. Your speed is appreciated.” Kicking the fold-out step into place, Miles held out his hand to her. He saw that she hesitated, her eyes wary behind her lenses. He waited, hiking one brow. “We must be under way,” he reminded her.
She took his hand with a shrug and allowed him to hand her into the carriage, where she pretended to fuss with her dress while he reclined in the seat across from her. He rapped upon the wall behind him, a signal for the driver to go.
She pushed up her glasses nervously. “I thank you for waiting for me. I am not normally late, not as a rule. But . . . What are you looking at?”
He raised a finger and pointed at her, waving it generally in the region of her head. “You might wish to don your hat.”
Quickly, she jammed the hat on her head. As she was about to place in the pin, he shook his head. “Oh, dear. It looks like a sparrow collided with your head.”
Adjusting the angle, she asked, “Is this better?”
Leaning forward, he studied her critically. “Not that I’m an expert on these things,” he said, and grabbed one side, giving it a neck-jarring yank. “That should do.”
She winced. “Well, I suppose that does it for my hair. It is no doubt squashed unmercifully.”
“I hope you did not go to so much trouble on my account,” he commented.
“I certainly did not.”
“But your cousin commented on your appearance. It is not your habit to take such care, I gathered. I can only assume—”
“Wrongly, I assure you. What conceit.”
He smiled, not at all insulted. She had changed her appearance because she was to see him today, he was sure of it.
She dismissed the topic with a sniff. “We should be arriving shortly, although there is never any telling. There is sometimes a glut if everyone happens to arrive at the same time.” She glanced at him. “Are you nervous?”
“I . . .” He hesitated. “I am not in the habit of attending religious services.”
“Afraid you will go up in a puff of smoke?”
He swiveled his head, giving a small nod to acknowledge the quip.
“Cassandra seems to have appointed herself your great friend. She will see to it you are well received. She is quite popular, you know, and well thought of by everyone.”
“Yes, indeed, she is impressively well-connected, as I have already seen in this past week. Thanks to her as well as your aunt’s diligent work on my behalf, the ton seems to have forgotten all about my past.” He spoke in a bored tone. “Or as Iris refers to it, ‘The tragedy,’ ” he added with a snort.
“Do you mean your wife?”
“I cannot think you are ignorant of the details.”
Jenny flushed. “I do not listen to gossip.”
“Yes. I suppose that would be beneath you. Or perhaps you are simply not interested.”
“Was it so bad?” she asked, and he was surprised to find her voice gentle, her gaze intent. She was not uninterested, then.
“It was ghastly,” he said flatly. He scowled, letting out a long breath. “As most things done in haste are, it was a mistake, ill-fated from the start. I was in a rush to marry her, thus I did not think the thing through.”
“Then it was a grande passion.”
He snorted. It was lust, plain and simple. “It was somewhat less than that. My motives, I now see, were not quite as admirable. When the . . . feeling between us died, we found we did not suit at all. She hated the country, hated the life I led. She came to hate me. We had a strange existence in those years. It seemed our goal was to shock and maim the other’s pride.”
“That is wretched,” she said sympathetically, as if she really was sorry.
He looked at her oddly. “I am not a martyr, Miss Alt. I made my bed, as they say, and I was prepared to lie in it. However, since she died and I still have no issue, I must take the plunge again.”
“I am sure you will make a better choice.”
“I intend to take great pains to do so. Marriage is a contract, an arrangement not unlike any other partnership.”
She glanced out the window.
“You do not agree?”
“I am not in a position to say,” she answered, “but surely you realize not all marriages result in that sort of situation you experienced.”
“I hope not,” he replied dryly.
She turned suddenly to face him. “You know, Cassandra has a lovely voice. Has she sung for you?”
The abrupt change of subject disconcerted him for a moment. He decided to follow her lead. “No, she has not.”
“You should ask her to. When we are at dinner parties, she is often pressed to showcase her talent. It has won her many admirers, as you might have already noticed.”
“I
noticed she attracts male admiration.”
“Well, of course she is lovely,” Jenny said, smiling at him. “But it is not just her beauty that recommends her. She is very accomplished.”
“And what of you, Miss Alt? You have no callers, Cassandra tells me. I find that strange, a woman like yourself finding no one to suit. Is it you are not interested in marriage?”
She glanced away. “It is not that.”
“Ah.”>
“What does that mean—‘ah?’ There is nothing to ‘ah’ about.” Her jaw worked, and he saw she was struggling to remain calm. “Cassandra is very funny. She is a delightful conversationalist. Do you not agree?”
“I do agree.” He leaned forward. “But let us not forget the subject of why you have spurned men’s attentions.”
She swallowed, then gave him her most mutinous look. “Have you not heard, my lord, that I am a bluestocking? You have heard Cassandra say it. Men do not care for my type.”
“The devil they don’t. So, then, Miss Alt, you mean to tell me that you do not mind being left behind, if only just a little bit?”
It was like watching a storm gather. Her face twitched, that finely wrought nose curled at the nostrils, and her eyes, nearly hidden behind her spectacles, grew narrow.
“Not every woman is bent on capturing a man. I am quite content.”
“And brave, to lead a life of independence. Tell me something, then, if you are as brave as you claim. Why do you wear those eyeglasses? Your cousin tells me you only require them in order to read. Certainly you do not rely on them to attend Sunday services.”
Touching her fingers to the hinges of her glasses self-consciously, she tried to shrug off his question. “I . . . I like my spectacles.”
His lips curled into a dangerous smile. “I think it is because you are hiding.”
“That is a preposterous thing to say!”
“Is it? Take them off. I want to get a good look at your eyes.”
She pressed back into the squabs, horrified, as if he’d suggested she disrobe. The wayward thought plunged his heart into his stomach, and he realized the idea of Jenny Alt undressed aroused him.
“My lord,” she said, cutting out each word with a hard edge, “I have grown used to being dismissed, considered unimportant, and, yes, even odd. But your ridicule is not to be borne.”
He felt a moment’s hesitation. She seemed dangerously close to tears. If he could see her eyes . . .
He folded his arms in front of him. “Tell me, Jenny, how long have you lived with your aunt?”
“What concern is that of yours? What relevance could it possibly have—?”
“Answer my question, please.”
The understated air of command annoyed her, but she couldn’t see a way to refuse to tell him. “I came to live with Aunt Iris eight years ago.”
“And you were how old at the time?”
She paused before admitting, “Fourteen.”
“At the very cusp of womanhood. Cassandra is younger, isn’t she? A few years, I think. Four or five? She’s very pretty. Was she a pretty child?”
“Yes, of course. She was always very pretty.”
“If I were the poor relation—please pardon the term, but I use it only to make a point—I would hardly want to tempt jealousy, not with Cassandra. As the uncontested beauty of the family, she enjoys being the center of attention. Thrives on it, needs it. Am I correct? If I were a homeless cousin, dependent on the family for a home, I might not want to appear to be too much competition, if you understand what I am saying. And you do understand, don’t you?”
She stared at him, not moving a muscle. He slipped closer, trying to read what was in her face.
“Miss Alt,” he said, “I think you wear your glasses to discourage your cousin’s jealousy.”
Her scent was light. Flowers and spice. It was clean, refreshing, doing things to the insides of him that were altogether too pleasurable.
“I . . .” She tried to speak, but nothing more came forward.
“Miss Alt,” he said again. His voice was softer. He leaned in closer. “I am going to remove your spectacles.”
She might have been in shock, or perhaps she wanted him to do it. In any event, she did not protest as he gently slid the eyewear from her face.
His eyes flickered, taking in every feature. He did not think he had ever looked this closely at any woman in his life. It was as if he could study that face for hours and not grow tired of its fascination.
Her eyes were blue, and innocent. She did not blink, and he did not breathe. It occurred to him that he had done something very dangerous here.
“I had guessed they were pretty.” He took in a long breath and let it out softly. “Very lovely. You should not hide them.”
She did so now, lowering heavily lashed lids.
He was used to women playing coy, but this was not her game. The more she retreated, the more doggedly he pursued, even while he asked himself why. He was not sure, but she was singular, unique, and he could not allow her to slip away.
On impulse, he lowered his head. He wanted to kiss her.
This time, she did not cringe. She did not hide. She remained perfectly still as he lowered his mouth.
He felt the cool brush of her breath against his lips. And just when he was anticipating the soft contact, a blaze of light slammed into the carriage. He sprang back and swung about to see the cheerful face of the driver at the door.
He had not realized they’d stopped!
“I think this will do,” the coachman said cheerfully, bending down to unfold the step. “Not too far a walk, but the queue is long today. I don’t think you want to wait.”
As soon as the step was down, Miles bolted from the carriage. He left Jenny to the coachman. Once she had alighted, she held out her hand to him and stammered, “Please. I need my eyeglasses.”
He gave them to her without a word, and she slipped them safely into place.
“Shall we go inside? I think we’ve managed to make it in time after all.” His voice was steady, calm. So different than how he felt.
Cassandra waited for them at the door to the church, just inside the vestibule. Her beautiful milk and roses complexion was mottled with anger.
“The reverend is due to start. I told Mother I would wait a moment longer to show you to our pew. You’ve made it just in time.”
Cassandra slipped her hand into the crook of Miles’s elbow, edging Jenny out of the way.
Chapter Four
Coming down the steps of the church, Jenny paused to thank the Reverend Morley for his sermon. He basked in her praise.
She saw Cassandra with Miles and headed in the other direction. Unfortunately, she was so intent on avoiding them that she did not see who was approaching her. But the moment she heard the sound of his voice, her heart sank.
“Miss Genvieve Alt, I must say you do look particularly fine today.”
Jenny paused and made herself smile. “It is good to see you as well, Mr. Darlington.”
The young gentleman beamed at her. Though his age was a few years older than hers, he was gifted with boyish good looks so that he appeared younger. However, his personality was similarly immature.
“I was looking for you all day. You were late.” He grinned wolfishly as he wagged a finger at her. “You know how the reverend feels about that.”
“I was late, yes. Could you excuse me?”
She stepped past him, but Darlington had never been one to take a hint. He was the one man who had refused to be discouraged by her aloofness. Jenny considered this very unfortunate. He had a tendency to drink too much at social affairs and could be loud and very embarrassing with his often unpleasant wit.
For some reason, he had singled her out for a relentless flirtation she had never done anything to encourage. And try as she might, she could not dissuade him. Short of rudeness, which she could not bring herself to employ, he did not seem to take heed of anything she said or did to make it plain that she
did not return his interest.
“You know, you amaze me, Miss Alt,” he said as he fell into step beside her. “You do know that, do you not?”
“Why is that, Mr. Darlington?”
“Because you do not flirt. All the girls flirt, but you do not. Do you know how intriguing that makes you?”
“I would think it makes me unappealing.”
“What, do not tell me the rumors are true about you.”
She stopped in her tracks. “What?”
He laughed, completely missing her stricken expression. “Come now, you must know what they all say about you.”
“No, I do not.” She was lying. She was considered strange.
“You, Miss Alt, are a challenge.” He puffed out his chest. “You are more discerning, not one to lose your head just because a man makes a bow. You see, I believe I understand you. You are seeking the right man, not just a man.”
She regarded him with shock. “And do you think you are that man, Mr. Darlington?”
“I think there is more to you than meets the eye,” he said. His voice lowered, and he leaned into her, causing her to back up. “You are not like most girls.”
Having had enough of him, she turned on her heel. As she did so, she caught Miles’s gaze on her.
It was not the look she was used to seeing on his face. It was dark and accusatory. He’d been watching her.
Aunt Iris motioned for her to come over. Jenny guessed she had some exciting news.
“Lord and Lady Pierpont have invited us over this afternoon!” She clapped her hands together. “I think Lady Pierpont wishes to get a closer look at Miles. This is so thrilling!”
“I am happy for you, but I think I should go home.”
“Nonsense, Jenny. Come on, now, into the carriage. Miles has gone to his driver to send him home. He is coming with us.”
Miserably, Jenny followed her aunt. She would just have to do a better job at avoiding Miles. Snubbing him as she had was certainly a mistake she would not repeat. It only seemed to incense him.
In the carriage, Aunt Iris was still gloating.
“That went so very well. Very well, indeed. Did you see Lord Iverton come up to us? He said he knew Miles’s father—imagine he would remember him after all these years. And he spoke of him so kindly. He was very kind to Miles as well.”