She whirled and disappeared through the door.
Jenny was left with the echo of her cousin’s last words dying in her ears.
She would be a fool to allow anything Cassandra said in this state to upset her, but there was no avoiding the truth.
Miles was marrying her out of pity. The scene Cassandra had engineered had given him no choice but to protect her.
Miles had made one disastrous marriage already.
Miles arrived at the Benedict house, handing the footman his gloves and hat. He was shown into the salon, and as he stood there, awaiting Jenny, he found he was nervous.
Jenny entered shortly after he, dressed in a demure day gown of a dove gray material embroidered with pale ivory filigree. She looked very pretty, even if a bit serious.
“Thank you for coming, Miles,” she said. She held her hands clasped together nervously in front of her. “I wished to speak to you about this insane idea of marriage.” The laugh she forced sounded like she’d caught sand in her throat.
“Insane idea?”
“I know why you did it, of course, and I appreciate so much that gallant gesture.”
His eyebrows hiked. “Do you?”
“But it is impossible, of course. You see that.”
“Jenny, what is it you are trying to tell me?”
“I . . . I don’t want to marry you.” She stopped short, shook her head a little as if to clear it, and drew in a shaking breath. “What I mean is,” she amended, “I don’t want you to marry me.”
“Are those not the same thing?”
She spread her arms wide. “I don’t want you to do something you will regret for the rest of your life. So, I’m setting you free.”
He tilted his head back and smiled. To Jenny, he seemed relieved. “Ah. I see. Well, that is very good of you.”
“Aren’t you relieved?” she inquired, puzzled at his nonchalance.
“Immensely.” He moved, peeling off his gloves as he took a seat.
Miles felt his body relax as he realized what all of this nonsense had been about. If he hadn’t exactly planned to propose marriage a week ago, he wasn’t gnashing his teeth over his impetuosity. In fact, he was quite looking forward to it. The idea of claiming her as his stirred something primitive and satisfying.
Maybe he’d intended to have her all along. He hadn’t foreseen that, or anything like it, happening when he’d first come to London. But he had to admit he’d certainly had no interest in anyone else, not seriously and not even fleetingly.
He had been so determined that this time, his wife would be a logical choice, a deliberated selection made on consideration of factors having to do with breeding and all manner of things he had no faith in, he’d failed to see what was, in retrospect, ridiculously obvious. He’d wanted Jenny all along.
“I thought a country setting might be best for the ceremony,” he said, his voice casual. He pointedly ignored her amazement. “My home is in Sussex, and I believe that will do nicely. It might be best to have the wedding away from the city, in the event talk would linger.”
“But, I—”
“Or do you prefer that Reverend Morley perform the ceremony? We can certainly face down the gossips if you are inclined.”
“No. I don’t like him.” She shook her head, bemused. “I don’t wish to be married here in London.”
“Ah, good. I didn’t take to that stuffy church of his myself. Well, then, as soon as we can make the arrangements, we shall set off for Sussex.”
“Miles!” She held up her hand.
His lips twitched as he fought a smile. She blinked at him, her eyes wide, and tiny creases of confusion lined her brow. She was absolutely stunning, just like this.
How blind he’d been. He’d never stopped to examine the way Jenny had come to dominate his thoughts, how her favor or disfavor governed his mood, and how enslaved his sense of contentment had become entwined with whether she was happy with him. He’d blundered into passion, never stopping to think.
And damn it if he wasn’t a fool for the second time in his life. Desiring a woman past reason was not in his plan, but if that was so . . .
Why wasn’t he unhappy about the sudden turn of events? For he most assuredly was not.
And he was not going to allow her to get away.
“I don’t know why you are doing this,” she said.
“How could you not?” He said this as if it were a ridiculous notion. “Poor girl. I am afraid you have quite misunderstood the way of things. Now, do you wish to have a wedding breakfast instead of an afternoon banquet?”
“Stop planning this . . . this . . . absurd . . . thing.”
“The correct term is a wedding,” he supplied with a grin.
“I am not even certain how it all came about.” She sighed. “Miles, why did you tell everyone we were engaged?”
“It seemed logical.”
She looked so vulnerable as she turned away. He sighed. Did she really know so little?
Didn’t the blasted woman know when a man was in love with her?
She said, “You cannot want this.”
He stood, going to her and taking her hand in his. “If you wish for me to tell you what I want, then I will happily do so. But you must first take off your spectacles. I am going to kiss you again. And hurry. I am not in a mood to wait.”
She looked dismayed. He pulled her up tightly against him and slid her eyeglasses off, holding them while he pressed his lips quickly against hers. He forced himself to make their contact light, merely a touch, for he did not trust himself further than that.
Sighing softly, her eyelids fluttered open, her moist lips parted as if inviting him to indulge more. After a dazed moment, she curved them slightly in a sultry smile that was nearly his undoing, and she said, “Then you do hold me in some affection?”
He frowned, but did not release her. “I seem to be unable to stop kissing you. I would say that indicates a fair amount of affection.”
“And you do wish to marry me?”
“I find myself quite unaccountably taken by the idea.”
“And the fact that I am not an heiress? Or anyone important?”
He felt a wave of embarrassment. “Did I appear so mer cenary?”
“You were quite clear that you were in the marriage market to see your duty done. And I recall your having said something about wanting a rich wife to make the trouble worthwhile.”
He grimaced. “Not one of my finer moments.” A mischievous impulse made him add, “There are other considerations that more than make up for your lack of a fortune. You are a sensible girl, quite bright, which I find I like. I believe we shall suit. And do not think I have not noticed,” he added wickedly, “that you are still in possession of all of your teeth.”
She laughed. She really was beautiful when she laughed. “Oh,” he added, pressing his cheek against her temple, “I neglected to tell you the most important reason of all. I have fallen completely in love with you.”
She looked at him, and he had to laugh at her. “You are adorable when you are disconcerted,” he informed her. “Does it please you to know you’ve brought down a man committed to logic and reason, to see him throw all of that away for the passion of the heart?”
“Oh, Miles. I love you, too. I was so afraid . . .”
“Afraid of what?”
“That it could not be. Because of Cassandra. I still worry—”
But he was going to have none of that. “She will recover, and quickly if my mark of her is correct. I hardly think it is the catastrophe you seem to think. It is better she be miserable now for a few days than get what she wanted and be miserable for the rest of her life. I could never make her contented, Jenny, but with you . . . with you, I feel I see a whole new future. Does that sound as droll as I think it does?”
“No. It sounds wonderful.”
“And you, do you wish to marry me? After all, you never really accepted me.”
“You never really asked,” she rem
inded him with a hint of coquettishness that warmed his blood.
“Then I shall do so, and properly.”
On bended knee, he requested the honor of her hand in marriage, and with tears in her eyes, Jenny accepted.
“There,” he said, rising to embrace her again. “It is done just as it should be. Now there are no regrets, no questions. Jenny. Why are you still frowning?”
“It is just . . . Aunt Iris . . .”
“She can handle her own daughter. Where did you get the idea that you were indispensable?”
“I never considered myself indispensable,” she retorted. But she realized she had been under the impression, perhaps quite false, that Aunt Iris could not survive without her. “Perhaps I did,” she admitted. “I think it was my vanity. I was so indebted to Aunt Iris for all she gave me when my parents died that I wanted to give something back. I only wished to help, to show her how much I appreciated her taking me so generously into her home. . . . Oh, Miles, do you really think this will all turn out right? I do not want to hurt anyone.”
“Well, Miss Alt, it will hurt me greatly if you do not consent to marriage. The rest will sort itself out, I promise you.”
She smiled, and it filled him with a clean wash of pride and happiness.
“Now, one last question,” he inquired, releasing her. “French champagne or Italian?”
Epilogue
Jenny balked when she saw the family cathedral, a monstrosity of deeply cut paneling and jewel-toned glass windows depicting some of the more gruesome moments in various saints’ lives. Miles changed the arrangements to a smaller church with a cozy feeling, delighting Jenny with his thoughtfulness.
On the morning of the ceremony, she wore a gown of pale blue silk. It was cut smartly in the latest style, with short puff sleeves and a high waist. The skirt fell in soft folds, swishing prettily as she walked. Her new maid—Miles had insisted—piled Jenny’s hair in a mass of curls, then wove in a strand of pearls that Miles had presented to her as an engagement gift. As for her spectacles, she changed her mind twenty times, but when the moment came to enter the church, she slipped them off and faced the future without them, determined not to hide any longer.
As she walked up the aisle, she passed faces that smiled at her, most of them belonging to strangers. Miles’s obligations to his title had led to a huge guest list. The only people who belonged to her were her family, Amy Collins, and her new fiancé Lord Erroll.
Aunt Iris beamed with happiness even as she dabbed at her eyes. Jenny smiled back at her and felt a catch in her throat.
Beside her, Cassandra smiled weakly. For once, she was subdued, for she had received a hearty comeuppance for the mischief she’d made. Then again, the presence of the man on her other side might have something to do with her mollification. Lord George Pinkney might be a portly fellow of advanced years, but he was not unattractive. He was also wealthy, and he was besotted with Cassandra. And Cassandra was besotted with his being besotted with her. Jenny had no idea if this would be the last and final of her cousin’s suitors, but she was happy that she had, if grudgingly, accepted Miles’s decision.
She had no ill will toward Cassandra. She had been spoiled, but some of the blame had to go to those who did the spoiling, namely herself. She truly hoped that whomever Cassandra chose for her husband, she would mature in the relationship to find affection and contentment in her marriage. Stranger things had happened. Look at her, for example, a simple “mouse” marrying an earl.
The “intimate wedding breakfast” consisted of all one hundred fifty guests dining for hours on elegant cuisine. A subdued orchestra played softly. And the champagne was French.
That was how she became a countess. Later, in the quiet of the huge bedchamber that was the traditional bastion of the master and mistress of Kinwood House, she became a wife.
“I love you,” Miles told her when the door had been closed and bolted and they stood alone in the bedchamber.
Jenny glided into his arms. “I love you,” she murmured, turning her face up to be kissed.
His fingers brushed the back of her neck, toying with the neckline of her peignoir.
“I want to make you happy,” she said. “I want to make you a good wife.”
“I am quite certain that I could not have made a better choice for that,” he assured her. “Do you like the house?”
“It is wonderful.”
“I want you to love it as much as I do. Country life is much different from the city. I hope you will find it to your liking.”
She laid a finger against his lips. “Miles,” she whispered, “I am happy. I am the happiest I could ever imagine being. I love it here, and this is my home. I feel it so profoundly.”
“Good,” he said fervently. He laid his forehead against hers. “That is what I so desperately wanted.”
She peered shyly up at him. “Is that all you wanted, for me to like it here?”
His grin deepened, and a delicious shiver passed through her. “I want to make you happy. I want . . . things I did not ever think to imagine would be mine. Ours—ours, Jenny. It makes all the difference, having you by my side. It is an entirely new world.”
“For me, too.” She slipped her hands around his neck. “We will discover this new world together.” She tilted her head and worried her bottom lip with her teeth. “How do you suggest we begin?”
His gaze dipped to the wide gap in her bodice, and his smile disappeared. Dragging his gaze up to meet hers, he smiled again. “One should always begin with a kiss.”
Rebecca Hagan Lee, Talk of the Ton
(Series: Free Fellows League # 4.50)
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