Chapter Twenty

A week passed. The earl made a good recovery and seemed stronger every day, although he tired easily, and his face still had the grayish hue of lingering illness. As far as Jane knew, there had been no more lapses of memory or coherent thought, either, and she began to hope all would be well from now on. She knew Timmins went about every day, making sure the decanters were filled only with the brandy he bought in Earl Shilton, and that nobody had tampered with them.

For his part, the earl reveled in Ben’s company. The pair of them were frequently found, heads together, grins wide. Ben giggled a lot, and Lord Barwell encouraged that. This morning, they sat together at the breakfast table, both eating heartily as they shared a joke only they understood. Mama watched them, wistfully. “I should have investigated further,” she murmured. “They’ve missed so much because I didn’t.”

“You weren’t to know,” Jane answered. “It was better to err on the side of caution and keep Ben safe.”

“That’s what Lord Barwell said.” Mama took a deep breath and exhaled heavily. “I’m glad they’re happy together now.”

“Not everybody shares your gladness,” said Jane. She gave a tiny nod to the far end of the table, where Lady Barwell sat, glaring venomously at her husband and Ben.

“I feel sorry for her,” whispered Mama. Jane blinked. Mama spooned jam onto her bread. “Don’t be too quick to judge her. Learning about Ben must have been a shock.”

Jane thought about that. She had been shocked and upset to discover the truth herself, but it hadn’t really had a negative effect on her. True, she no longer had a blood brother, but Ben remained as close to her as he’d ever been, a brother in all but name. They’d had to leave Bloomfold because of the revelation, but after Mr. Turner’s lies, Jane would have had to leave there anyway. The future for her and Mama was uncertain, and that was a worry, but in the meantime, they were hardly living in uncomfortable or reduced circumstances.

It must have been much harder for Lady Barwell. The countess had had to welcome this young man into her home and her life, knowing he would one day be the head of her family, with power over her. Not that Jane believed for an instant that Ben would exercise his power malevolently; it simply wasn’t in his nature, and besides, Robert would be on hand to ensure Ben did as he should. However, Lady Barwell could not know these things, and she must be more than a little anxious for herself and her son.

True, Jane had heard the countess make disparaging remarks about Ben, calling him deficient. The memory of that conversation still made her bristle. However, she could also see that Mama was correct; Ben must have been a shock to the woman.

The countess might feel some discomfort in Ben’s company, too. Growing up with Ben, Jane had never thought of him as anything but her big brother, but she knew there were many who were wary of him, who gave him a wide berth, much as they might a stalking tiger or a ravenous wolf. She’d been taught to pity them their lack of understanding.

Now, Jane resolved to try harder to befriend Lady Barwell. Mayhap she could help her see that Ben was no threat to her or anyone else. She should talk to Robert, too, ask him for his help in this matter. She made no doubt he would wish to put his stepmother’s fears to rest.

Thinking of Robert made Jane smile. They’d spent much of the last week together, although they were rarely alone, which was a good thing, considering how she’d made a fool of herself in the study last week.

What would I do without you?

Jane had completely misinterpreted his words. She’d thought—wished—he was saying that he cared for her. In her fevered imagination, she’d heard him declare his undying love for her before gathering her into his arms and kissing her the way he had in the inn at St. Albans. She’d all but tasted his lips on hers, strong and firm, his kiss warm and filled with desire. The air had been redolent with the scents of him: the morning coffee he’d drunk, the woodsy cologne he wore, the crispness of his linen shirt and the starch in his cravat. She’d known the soft wool of his coat would be warm beneath her hands, and his strong, steady heartbeat would pulse through her fingertips. In that instant, she fancied she heard him growl as he pulled her closer, his hand on the back of her neck sending shivers along her spine and making parts of her ache in delicious and indescribable ways. The sensation of her hair, tumbling heavily down over her shoulders, joyously freed of its pins, had been so real she would have sworn it had actually happened. There’d been a jellylike sensation in her knees, a longing ache deep in her stomach…

And then the fantasy had burst like a soap bubble. He’d meant nothing by the comment, nothing more than friendship and gratitude for her gumption.

Cool and calm. Levelheaded. Resourceful. Intelligent. The compliments he’d handed her still made her want to weep, a whole week later.

Which was silly. Hadn’t she wished a man might see her value? She had been so angry that Sydney saw her only as a young virgin to deflower, and the likes of Mr. Turner saw her as easy prey, while the gossips saw her as entertainment over their cups of tea. She should be glad Robert saw her properly, as a person he respected as his intelligent, levelheaded equal.

She was glad. She truly was.

As if her thoughts conjured him, Robert came into the room. He looked well, countryside color in his cheeks. His hair was tousled, small curls falling onto his forehead where the wind had caressed them, then dropped them and let them fall where they may. The light from the window created pinpoints in his eyes, and his black coat made the white of his shirt and cravat shine. His buff-colored pantalons were tucked inside black boots, which gleamed. Jane licked her lips in appreciation of the sight he presented, then turned her head quickly and said something inane to her mother when he looked her way.

He helped himself to breakfast, sat, and gave everyone his greetings. Jane mumbled a hello in return. Her cheeks heated and she concentrated her gaze on her plate.

“Did you sleep well, Mrs. Frobisher?” asked Lady Barwell.

Startled, Jane looked up. The countess was rarely solicitous, and her expression of a moment ago had indicated she felt anything but friendly this morning. “Yes, I thank you,” she replied, bracing herself for whatever comment came next. It would not be complimentary, Jane knew from experience. She also knew it would be couched in words that pretended a friendly concern, and would be accompanied by a smile that didn’t reach the lady’s eyes.

The countess opened her mouth to deliver her blow, but before she could say anything, Ben called across the table, “Mama?”

Lady Barwell winced. Ben could not accept Mama was not, in fact, his mother. He continued to call her that, something the earl not only allowed but actively encouraged. Unfortunately, Ben also could not comprehend that Mama could be his mother and Lord Barwell his papa, excepting they were married and, therefore, they must be in love. Lady Barwell was an irrelevance to him, just someone in the family, like Jane or Robert or Lucy. Daily, they explained the truth to him, to no avail. Jane sympathized with Lady Barwell’s dismay at this constant disregard of her position by the heir apparent.

“Mama?” repeated Ben. He looked joyful, his eyes sparkling, grin wide. “Papa say I go with him and Robson to Leicester, see horses at the…” He looked to his father for assistance.

“The Haymarket,” responded the earl. His own smile was as broad as Ben’s.

“Haymarket,” repeated Ben. “That all right?”

“We will be back for dinner,” said the earl. “Robson, my head groom, wants me to look over some horses he heard of. I thought Ben might enjoy it. We’ll take good care of him.”

Jane smiled. The earl was a good man, considerate and kind. He could simply have taken Ben with him today and told Mama she had no right to gainsay him, just as Robert could have taken Ben from them at Bloomfold and left them behind. Instead, both men had shown care and respect to Jane and her mother and acknowledged their importance in Ben’s life.

“I have no doubt you will,” Mama answered the earl. “I look forward to hearing all about it when you return.”

“You will be careful,” said Lady Barwell, anxiously. “You’ve been very ill.”

“I am not an invalid,” said her husband. His tone was calm and friendly, but his teeth were gritted. He’d made it clear, several times in the past week, he hated to be mollycoddled.

“I didn’t mean to imply that you were.” Lady Barwell’s return smile was strained. She looked as though she’d sucked a lemon dipped in vinegar.

“Lucy asked me to take her to Earl Shilton,” said Mama, defusing the tension a little. “She heard there is a ruined castle there, and nothing will do but to discover if there is also a princess who’s been asleep for a hundred years.”

“Will you be taking the trap?” asked Robert. He poured himself a second cup of coffee.

“No, not at all.” Mama laughed. “Earl Shilton is but a mile from here. The walk will do us good.” She sipped her hot chocolate before adding, “there have been so few sunny days this summer, it seems a shame not to make what we can of this one.”

“Quite right,” said Lord Barwell. “Come, Ben, we must away if we’re to get to Leicester in good time.” He put his napkin onto his empty plate and stood. He hesitated for a moment while his legs unstiffened, limped the first two steps, then strode from the room, his gait strong and sure. Ben trotted after him like an eager puppy.

Mama excused herself too, leaving Robert, Jane, and Lady Barwell at the table. There was a moment of silence, which Robert broke.

“As Mrs. Winter doesn’t need the trap, I thought I would use it to tour the estate. Would you care to come with me, Mrs. Frobisher?”

Jane looked at him, startled. His eyes seemed to plead with her to say yes. It might be a good idea at that, for it would give them an opportunity to clear the air between them. Although they’d been friendly enough since that moment in the study, there was also an awkwardness between them that should be addressed. Being alone with him, away from the house, meant they could talk, and perhaps return things to how they had been.

“I would be delighted,” she said. “I’ll change my dress and join you presently.”

She stood as Lady Barwell sighed. “Everybody is so busy, out and about,” said the countess. “I will be alone. What shall I do, I wonder?”

If she thought Robert would invite her to join them, she soon learned she was mistaken. Quite apart from the fact that the trap only seated two, the iciness of his smile said everything. “You could take Barnaby and go with Lucy and Mrs. Winter to the castle,” he said.

Lady Barwell gave him a withering look. “Barnaby does not enjoy going out.”

Robert barked a laugh. “Of course Barnaby enjoys going out. He’s a boy.”

“He prefers to stay indoors,” insisted the countess.

“He needs to go out. It’s not good for a child to be shut inside the way he is. Besides, Lucy will be there. With her to play with, Barnaby will love it.”

The countess gave a contemptuous sniff. “Thank you for your opinion,” she said. She stood up sharply, making her knife rattle against her plate, and stalked from the room.

Jane gave Robert a nervous smile. “I will be ready in twenty minutes,” she said. He stood and bowed, and Jane retreated to her chamber.

****

In fact, Robert noted, she was changed and ready in less than fifteen minutes. She came downstairs wearing a sky-blue dress with a royal blue spencer and matching hat decorated with silk flowers in shades of blue and cream. The style of the dress was from three or four Seasons ago, and the gloves she wore had clearly seen better days, but nonetheless, she looked stunning. Proudly, Robert offered her his arm and walked her to the trap in the driveway, a picnic hamper strapped to the back. He handed her into the seat, then climbed in and walked the pony sedately over the gravel driveway and toward the estate, which was bordered on three sides by the hamlets of Elmesthorpe, Stoney Stanton, and Barwell. The earl owned several properties within the hamlets, as well as in the nearby village of Earl Shilton, but today Robert wanted to concentrate on the tenants at the farms. Last year, there had been no summer at all, and this year had been only marginally better. Robert wished to make sure the tenants were able to cope with the hardships and that there wasn’t anything they needed.

Sitting beside Janey was sweet torture. The seat of the trap was not wide, and the hem of her skirts brushed the tip of his left boot. He fancied he felt the warm fabric caressing his toes, though he knew that was impossible. His thigh leaned against hers, both innocent and sensual, and he had to force himself not to reach his arm around her shoulders and pull her closer. That way lay madness, to say nothing of the slap she would probably give him.

Janey seemed oblivious to his struggle. She was cool and calm, her hands resting demurely in her lap as she watched the passing countryside with a look of serene contentedness.

If only that serenity could be passed on! What on earth had possessed him to suggest this outing? It had seemed a good idea when he first thought of it, a way of spending time with her, regaining the amity they’d shared, and putting the awkwardness of the past few days to rest. But now she was here, he had been struck dumb. Wrack his brains though he might, he could not think of a single sensible thing to say.

Thankfully, Janey could. She asked questions about the land and its uses, the people who worked it, the benefits and difficulties of the farming methods they employed. Her questions were intelligent and interested, making him feel easier, the tension of the last week disappearing.

They met with the tenants. Janey was wonderful, charming them with her interest in them and their lives, and the empathy she shared over their worries and troubles. One or two of the older men gave Robert a surreptitious wink and a nod of approval, and old Joe Eatough, invoking the privilege of being in his eighties and having known Robert since birth, even went so far as to nudge him and nod, while murmuring, “She’ll do, lad. She’ll do.”

At first, Robert wondered if he should deny their implications, although doing that would likely draw Janey’s attention to them, something he was loath to do. He didn’t wish to make the situation between the two of them awkward again, and the conversation his denial would lead to might do just that. So he said nothing and let the men surmise what they may.

He did wonder, though, what it would be like if Janey did become the lady of the manor, so to speak. Ben might be the next earl, but he would need Robert to help him run the estate, and Robert’s wife must take on the duties that normally fell to the countess. Janey would play that role to perfection. In her care, the people of Barwell would thrive.

He was pulled from his woolgathering as they made their way back along the lane from the hamlet of Stoney Stanton, between fields of sheep on one side of the road and woods on the other. He could see, from her expression, that she’d asked him a question.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t hear what you asked.”

Janey blushed. Her cheeks were a soft, rose-petal pink that made her eyes shine bright blue and turned the curls around the edge of her bonnet into spun gold. He looked at her and could not look away.

“It doesn’t matter,” she answered. “I was prying. Forgive me.”

“No, please ask. I genuinely didn’t hear your question.” She continued to hesitate, and he smiled at her. “Please. I would like to answer you, if I can.”

She studied him for a moment longer, then stared at the pony pulling them along the road. “I said, I couldn’t help but notice a tension between you and Lady Barwell.”

Robert nodded. There had always been a tension between himself and the present Lady Barwell.

He hadn’t begrudged his father the happiness and companionship of a new marriage when he’d heard the news. Robert had been at university at the time and hadn’t even known his father was in the market for a wife until he’d read of the wedding in the Society pages. He hurried home to congratulate the pair and to get to know his new stepmother, a lady he’d never met, nor heard of.

Things went wrong from the start. Robert and Jessica had disliked each other on sight. To be fair to Jessica, Father had not given her all the facts of his life before making his vows, and he’d completely neglected to mention Robert’s existence to her.

“Why wouldn’t he tell her?” asked Janey, shocked at the earl’s omission.

Robert shrugged. “He thought she knew. The family details are in Debrett’s, and of course, the ton knew of me.” He smiled, grimly. “However, Jessica was not a member of the ton before her marriage.”

“One would never guess now.”

“One would never have guessed then, either. Not that it would ever have mattered, provided she makes Father happy.”

“Does she?”

Robert hesitated. He thought no, not really, but he was honest enough to own his personal feelings could affect his judgment. “He has never said she makes him unhappy,” he said at last.

Janey was silent for a moment. Her expression told him she was thinking, assimilating the information. She had a quick mind and the ability to see things from angles no one else had noticed. It was one of the things he loved about her. So many of the ladies he had met could only be described, if one was being kind, as vacuous. They had pretty faces and coy ways they learned from their mamas, but underneath there was nothing. Their conversations consisted of ribbons and bows, and catty remarks about their rivals. Janey’s intelligence was like a breath of fresh air.

On top of which, she was beautiful and goodhearted. She cared deeply for Ben, was a wonderful mother to Lucy, and seemed at ease with everybody. She had fitted well into the earl’s privileged household but was equally at home talking to the tenants.

She was also perceptive. “So,” she said now, “she married your father, expecting to bear his heir, only to discover that wasn’t the case. That must have disappointed her.”

She was right, of course. He supposed most ladies who married a title would like to think their sons would continue the line. Jessica would certainly have enjoyed being the mother of an earl, and the influence it gave her.

“And with Ben’s arrival,” continued Janey, “your youngest brother isn’t even second in line.”

“No,” said Robert.

A new sympathy for Jessica moved through him. She’d been given a wooden penny when she expected a golden guinea. Not only were her stepsons a shock to her but knowing her own son was unlikely ever to be the earl must leave her insecure about her own future. Robert decided he would attempt to build a bridge to her, let her know she would always be accorded the honor and status due to his father’s wife, no matter who wore the coronet.

But enough of his family’s tribulations. It was a beautiful day and he had a beautiful woman at his side. He should concentrate his attention on her while he had the chance. So he changed the subject and asked, “would you like to take a trip out onto the lake? See the summerhouse?”

“I think that would be lovely.” She smiled.

By the boathouse the sun shone on the water, making it glisten like diamonds in a tiara. The trees were a glorious mix of greens and browns, light and dark, with here and there a splash of deeper color as the first golden leaves of autumn fluttered on the soothing breeze. The island looked closer than it truly was in the clear sunshine, the summerhouse windows catching the light and bouncing it back so he had to squint to look at it.

He helped Janey down from the trap and led her to the boathouse door.

****

Jane enjoyed the ride over the placid lake. Robert removed his coat so he could row, and his muscles flexed beneath his linen shirt with every stroke. His shoulders were broad, his chest muscular, and with every oar stroke his thighs tightened under his pantalons. His hat sat beside him on the seat and the wind ruffled his hair, giving him a rakish look that suited him far too well. She blushed and tried to push away thoughts of running her hands over that hair, smoothing it, reveling in its cool softness.

At the island, he handed her out of the boat and onto the jetty, then led her along a path that cut through waist-high grasses and multi-colored wildflowers to the small mound in the middle, on which perched the summerhouse.

It was a large building, the stone walls of which had once been a bright white but which were now a grimy gray, the paint chipped. The windowpanes had the chewed appearance of wood left exposed too long to the ravages of wind and rain. The windows were spotted with dust and rain marks, and the place had an unloved, unused air.

“When my mother was alive, we picnicked here most weekends in summer,” said Robert. “She had the icehouse built under it. The water keeps the temperature down in the hottest weather, and we didn’t have to row the ice across for those meals.” He grinned. “It can be heavy in the boat, and dashed slippery when you try to lift it out. Of course, it had to be rowed over to the mainland when we needed it in the house, but to be honest, we rarely had need of ice over there. My parents were not ones for formal parties.”

“Just picnics,” she said.

He laughed. “Just picnics.”

“I am intrigued. Show me this icehouse.”

He took her through the large room that made up most of the summerhouse, with its chairs and tables, gray with dust and disuse. To one side was a small dais where an orchestra might have sat, and there was a space on the floor that would have been ideal for dancing. Thickly coated cobwebs decorated the walls and ceilings and joined chair backs to table legs. Cricket bats and a pell-mell set lay incongruously on a table, ready for play.

At the rear was a small hallway that led, she presumed, to other rooms, and a second, less opulent corridor, which Jane assumed led to the service part of the summerhouse—the kitchens, the pantries, and other servants’ rooms.

Halfway along this corridor, he stopped by a thick, wooden door, gray with age but sturdy and solid. Even through the wood, Jane felt the drop in temperature. Robert used his handkerchief to wipe grime and cobwebs from the dull brass door handle before he turned the key in the enormous lock. The heavy door creaked its protest when he strained to pull it open. A blast of ice-cold air hit Jane squarely in the face. She flinched and coughed.

“Sorry.” He grinned. “There’s been no need of ice for some time. Are you sure you wish to go down there?”

She shrugged her shoulders, uneasy, though she could not have said why. “It’s not absolutely necessary.” She shuddered and peered down into the impenetrable darkness.

“It’s ideal for storing ice, but not a friendly place to visit.” He closed the door. “Now, let me give you a tour of the rest of the island.” He chuckled. “It should take us, oh, I’d say, four or five minutes to see everything.”