Chapter Nine
Jane stood off in a corner of the drawing room, near where she and Bea had had their chat the night before, and tried to become invisible.
It was not a trick she’d practiced much.
She stole a glance at Lord Evans to be certain he was still safely on the other side of the room with the baby and two of his nieces—and the all too vivid memory of his broad, naked back, hard with muscle, flashed into her thoughts.
She flushed and looked away. She had to think about something, anything else.
She’d managed to avoid the earl since the disastrous morning. It hadn’t been difficult—and likely he’d been helping, wanting to avoid her as much as she wanted to avoid him. There’d been the christening—Lord Evans had sat with his family and she’d been in a separate pew with Randolph and Lady Eldon—and then the large party Lord and Lady Chanton had hosted for their tenants, servants, and the local gentry. Fortunately, Lord Chanton had suggested an impromptu game of cricket early on, so that had kept the earl and the rest of the men busy. Even Randolph had joined in.
She’d say—quite without bias—that Lord Evans had been the strongest player.
And now she was lurking in the shadows while noise and activity went on around her. In celebration of their brother’s christening that afternoon, all the Livingston-Smythe girls had been invited to join the adults after supper, and the drawing room was as close to complete bedlam as she could imagine. Eight girls was quite a lot, especially when not a one of them was either meek or retiring. When she’d seen them outside this morning, they hadn’t been so overwhelming, but inside . . . they were very loud. And shrill, with all their high young female voices. And they had a tendency to jump and twirl and giggle and poke at one another.
But at least they were keeping Lord Evans busy and so away from her.
This was the last gathering she had to get through. In the morning she and Randolph—and Lady Eldon—would leave.
Lady Eldon was coming with them to Loves Bridge.
Randolph had found Jane soon after she returned to the house this morning—he’d likely been on the lookout for her—to tell her he was marrying Lady Eldon as soon as he could procure a license. She’d congratulated him and then they’d found Lady Eldon so Jane could welcome her into their family.
I must learn to call her Imogen, since she will be my sister.
She frowned. She knew she should be happy for Randolph—she was happy—but she was also . . .
She wasn’t certain what she was. As she’d told Lord Evans, Randolph had mostly ignored her when she was a girl. However, she hadn’t ignored him. Five years was just enough of an age gap that he’d been much larger and more accomplished than she. She’d looked up to him. Hero-worshipped him, really.
And then when she was fourteen and Mama and Papa had died, Randolph had come home to take charge. He’d given up his chance for love and happiness to be mother and father to her.
He’d said that wasn’t the case, that Lady Eld—Imogen’s parents had been so against the match they would never have agreed to it, but Jane wasn’t certain of that. And if he hadn’t had to drop everything to take care of her, he might have found the backbone to elope.
In any event, it was only fair he get this second chance now. As much as she complained about him, as much as he annoyed her, she loved him. He was her only family.
But having someone else join their little circle would take some getting used to.
She glanced at the earl again. Now he was laughing at something one niece said, the baby asleep on his shoulder.
He had such an easy confidence with children.
She’d never been one to coo over babies. To be honest, they frightened her a little. They were so small and unpredictable. But she’d been enchanted holding Christopher’s sturdy little body this morning.
Cat, Anne, Randolph—their lives were all expanding to include a spouse and children, while she—
I’ve got Poppy.
Not the same.
“If I may have your attention,” Lord Chanton said, shouting over the hubbub, “I have two announcements to make.”
She could guess what one of them was. Randolph and Imogen were standing next to the viscount.
A footman appeared at her elbow, and she took a glass from him. Champagne.
“Do you mind that Cousin Imogen is marrying your brother?”
She startled, almost spilling her drink down her front—her well covered front in her high-necked, worn, sensible gown that no cat, no matter how supernatural, could render immodest.
“No, er . . .” Was this Rachel or Rebecca or Ruth? Really, parents should not use the same initial consonant for more than one child. When she had children—
She was the Spinster House spinster. She was never having children.
For the first time, that made her a little sad.
Nonsense. My feelings are merely disordered because I’m out of my element. I’ll feel more myself once I’m back in Loves Bridge.
“I’m Rachel,” the girl said, ascertaining her difficulty. She grinned. “There are a lot of us to keep track of.”
Jane smiled. “Yes, there are. And, no, I don’t mind that Randolph is marrying Imogen. I’m happy for them. It’s not a sudden attraction. They knew each other years ago, before Imogen married Lord Eldon.”
Rachel clearly knew the whole story. “Imogen should have stood up to her father. I’ll give Charlotte that, at least.” She scowled. “Though it would have been better if Charlotte had found her backbone before she accepted Uncle Alex’s offer.”
“Yes.” Jane firmly agreed with that.
Rachel pulled a face. “I know I’m supposed to be polite to her, but I think she’s silly and not very nice. And she hurt Uncle Alex when she jilted him. That was mean.”
“Yes, it was.” Very, very mean. Unconscionable. Lord Evans would not welcome Jane’s pity she well knew, but she did feel very bad for him.
Lord Chanton had announced Randolph and Imogen’s betrothal and was now calling for a toast. Jane took a sip of champagne—
“I like you much better than Lady Charlotte,” Rachel said.
The champagne went up Jane’s nose.
Rachel helpfully slapped her several times on the back before Jane was able to step out of reach.
“I don’t . . . that is . . .”
“And Uncle Alex likes you, too.”
“Rachel, you don’t . . . you mustn’t . . .” This was all so ridiculous. “If you think your uncle has some special regard for me, you are much mistaken.”
“No, I’m not. I’ve seen how he looks at you when he thinks you aren’t watching.”
She couldn’t help herself. She glanced over at Lord Evans—
Lud! He was looking at her.
It’s only a coincidence.
She turned her attention quickly to Lord Chanton, who was now announcing his mother-in-law’s match with Mr. Grant.
That sent her eyes back to the earl. He didn’t look surprised, so his mother must have had a word with him earlier.
“Everyone’s getting betrothed, aren’t they?” Bea said as she came over to join them. “Poor Uncle Alex is the last unattached male.” She gave Jane a pointed look.
She was very happy she was leaving in the morning. “Don’t forget Octavius.” She supposed Septimus didn’t count since he seemed to be privately betrothed to Charlotte.
Bea waved that away. “Octavius is too young.”
“He’s older than you are,” Jane said.
“Yes, but boys are still idiots at twenty.” Bea smiled at her. “Mama thinks you’d make Uncle Alex an excellent wife.”
Oh, dear Lord. “Why in the world does she think that? She just met me.”
“Oh, she knows more about you than you think,” Bea said.
Rachel nodded. “Once she found out Uncle Alex had gone to Loves Bridge in August, she started looking into things. She has spies everywhere.”
This was quite alarming. “Your mother can’t know people in Loves Bridge. It’s a small village.”
Rachel shook her head. “No place is so small that Mama—or Grandmamma—doesn’t know someone there—or they know someone who knows someone.”
“And you’re forgetting Cousin Imogen,” Bea added.
“She and your brother have been corresponding since shortly after Eldon died almost a year ago. It wasn’t hard for Mama to put two and two together.” She grinned. “Or in this case one and one—you and Uncle Alex.”
“Are you going to marry Uncle Alex?” Rachel asked.
“No!” Jane was beginning to feel cornered. “I’m a dedicated spinster. I have no plans to marry anyone.”
“But Uncle Alex isn’t anyone,” Bea said. “He’s special.”
“He needs a wife,” Rachel said. “Mama says he’s especially lonely now that his friends the Duke of Hart and Lord Haywood are married. If you don’t take him, he might marry someone truly dreadful.”
Jane understood the girls were concerned for their uncle, but he was not her responsibility, not to mention she felt quite certain he’d be horrified if he thought anyone considered him a charity case.
“What are you ladies discussing so seriously?”
Jane almost jumped out of her slippers at the sound of Lord Evans’s voice—and his two nieces looked just as guilty.
“Pardon me. Am I interrupting a private conversation?”
He’d passed the baby off to someone else, but his cravat showed signs of having been clutched in tiny fingers and the shoulder of his coat had a wet patch from the baby’s drool.
“Not at all,” Bea said a bit too brightly. “We were just going, weren’t we, Rachel?”
“Yes.” Rachel smiled. If she thought she looked innocent, she was sadly mistaken. “Maybe you two should go for a stroll in the garden so you can have a private conversation.”
“Come on, Rachel,” Bea said, a note of warning in her voice. “Mama needs us.”
Since their mother was happily chatting with her husband, Jane doubted she had any need of her daughters, but perhaps Lord Evans wouldn’t notice that.
A vain hope. The man wasn’t blind—or deaf. Rachel hadn’t been at all subtle.
He raised a brow as the girls went off. “What was that all about?”
Jane sighed. “Have you ever considered your relatives are a bit managing?”
For some reason that surprised Lord Evans into an explosive laugh—which predictably drew all attention their way. Jane forced herself to look back at the staring eyes without flinching.
“Perhaps we should go outside,” Lord Evans said.
Which would convince the meddlers that they’d been successful and that something was indeed developing between them.
Suddenly, she didn’t care. She was feeling warm, and the cool night air would be refreshing. It wasn’t as if she were some naïve young miss. She was twenty-eight.
Lud, that sounded ancient.
“It is rather stuffy in here. A walk would be pleasant.” She took one last swallow of champagne—because she liked champagne, not because she needed any liquid courage—and put her hand on Lord Evans’s arm.
And immediately, vividly remembered how muscled it was. She glanced up and instead of cravat and coat, she saw the strong column of his throat, his broad shoulders and chest, the dusting of hair that trailed down to—
She felt her face flame as they stepped out onto the terrace.
“Would you like to stroll in the garden for a while?” he asked.
Last night in the garden, he’d kissed her.
Perhaps he would do it again.
She felt a frisson of equal parts excitement and alarm. It would be inappropriate, even dishonorable, to allow such intimacies when she had no intention of marrying the man.
Did she have no intention?
She wasn’t entirely certain, and, well, she felt a little reckless. She wanted a small adventure before she went home and took up residence with Poppy again.
Not trusting her voice, she nodded. She walked with him across the terrace, down the steps, and along the primrose path—not that there were any primroses in evidence now, of course.
Her countenance must still be far too red to go back inside. Bea and Rachel—and likely Lady Chanton and everyone else—would leap to embarrassing conclusions if they saw her so flushed. It was better to walk for a while in the shrubbery.
And if something happened . . .
Nothing was going to happen besides, perhaps, a small kiss. She was in control of herself. She would enjoy the light breeze and the moonlight and then she’d say good night and good-bye. She’d quite likely be gone before the earl came downstairs in the morning so she’d not see him for several months, not until he came for the christening of Cat and the duke’s baby. And then they might not have time to exchange more than a pleasantry or two. Assuming the duke was still alive—which is what she was going to assume—the christening would be a grand party, celebrating the breaking of the curse as well as the baby’s birth. It would be crowded and chaotic.
She wanted these last quiet moments alone with him. She might not intend to take him as a husband, but she still liked him very much as a friend.
“I hope Bea and Rachel weren’t annoying you,” Lord Evans said, bringing her back to her surroundings.
“Oh, no. Of course not.”
She did like his voice. It was deep, though not exceptionally so, and full of humor and intelligence. And kindness. Even as she sparred with him verbally—and, she’d admit the sparring was rather exciting—she knew she was safe. He’d never say or do anything to hurt her.
If she were going to marry, she’d want it to be a man like the earl.
But I am not going to marry, am I? I have all I want.
She didn’t feel the satisfying sense of certainty she usually did when she contemplated her spinsterhood. Why?
Likely because as Bea had said, everyone around her was getting married—Randolph, Cat, Anne. As when an illness came through the village, she’d caught a touch of the wedding ague. That was all it was. She’d recover shortly.
“I believe your brother mentioned that you are returning to Loves Bridge in the morning?”
“Yes.” She glanced at him. “Lady Eldon—Imogen—is coming with us. She is to stay with me in the Spinster House until the wedding.” She smiled. “I do hope Poppy will not object.”
His brow arched up. “And what of Lady Charlotte? She’s Imogen’s companion. I would have thought she’d come, too. Then they could stay at the inn and not inconvenience you”—he smiled—“and Poppy.”
That would have been preferable. She truly did not like sharing her space, especially with a woman she barely knew.
“Apparently Lady Charlotte is staying here.” Randolph had been too excited about his impending nuptials to have given Charlotte any thought, and Jane hadn’t felt comfortable asking Imogen herself. “Perhaps your sister has decided Charlotte can help get Bea ready for her Season.”
Lord Evans snorted. “Somehow, I can’t see that working.”
Neither could Jane, given how little Bea thought of the other girl. “Or perhaps they’ve hit upon a way for Charlotte and Septimus to marry.”
The earl shook his head. “I don’t see how they’ll ever bring Buford around. If you think Imogen’s father was bad, Charlotte’s is ten times worse. He’ll never accept an untitled, younger son for his daughter.”
“Perhaps he won’t be asked for his permission.”
Their steps had taken them to the clearing with the fountain. Jane let go of Lord Evans’s arm to go over to look into the water.
Lord Evans followed her. “What do you mean? Charlotte is only nineteen. She can’t marry without her father’s permission.”
“Unless she elopes.”
He laughed. “Shy, well-behaved Charlotte? She’d never do that.”
If only he could have seen “shy, well-behaved” Charlotte with her hand on Septimus’s—
Best not think about that.
“I heard the two of them discussing it here last night.”
The earl’s brows shot up. “And you didn’t say anything to Imogen or Grant?”
“No.” It had never occurred to her to tattle. Perhaps it should have—Charlotte was only nineteen. But she was also a complete stranger—and she’d seemed perfectly confident about what she wanted.
Lord Evans looked incredulous. “Meddling Miss Wilkinson, the woman who managed things so that my two closest friends are now married, didn’t think to try to keep a man from running off with a young girl?”
“I’m not meddling.” And she wasn’t, except when the Spinster House was involved. It might not be flattering to admit it, but she’d been motivated by self-interest there.
And self-interest here, too.
Lud! Perhaps she had been a little interested in having Charlotte married to someone other than the earl. How dog in the manger-ish of her, since she had no thought to marry the man herself.
She again felt a small whisper of uncertainty.
She ignored it.
“And it wasn’t a question of Septimus running off with Charlotte. The scheme was hers, not his. She had to work to convince him.”
Lord Evans crossed his arms and grunted, but whether that meant he saw her point or not, she couldn’t say.
“I’m sorry if it upsets you, but it is probably for the best if they do marry. It will force you to put Charlotte behind you and move on.”
He grinned suddenly. “Is that an invitation?”
“What do you—oh!” He thought she was encouraging him? “No, of course it’s not an invitation. I’m the Spinster House spinster, remember?”
“How can I forget?”
She wasn’t quite sure what to make of his tone, so she said nothing.
He sighed and leaned against the fountain. “I did think I loved Charlotte, but now, to be honest, I doubt that I ever did. At least my feelings are nothing like your brother’s. I don’t plan to stay single in the hopes that I’ll have another chance with her.”
She’d admit to being surprised and, well, puzzled about Randolph’s romance. He must care deeply for Imogen, but he’d never shown any sign of lovesickness that she had seen—and there had been those weekly visits to Mrs. Conklin.
Clearly, she had no understanding of romantic love from the male point of view.
“I need to marry,” Lord Evans said. “I need an heir, and I want a family”—he grinned—“though perhaps not as large as my sister’s.”
She nodded. An earl would definitely need a son to continue his line and inherit his estates. And, after watching Lord Evans with the baby and his nieces, she thought he’d make an excellent father.
“I suppose I just convinced myself Charlotte would do.”
But perhaps not the best husband. “Well, I’m certain you’ll find a suitable replacement soon enough.” He, unlike Randolph or Septimus, had a title, after all.
His brows rose, indicating he’d heard the waspishness in her voice, but he didn’t comment on it. “I hope you are correct. My requirements aren’t so unusual.” Did his voice have a note of teasing in it now? “I just want a nice, quiet, restful sort of female.”
She took the bait. “That sounds dreadfully dull.”
He grinned. “I would call it heaven. You may have noticed my sister and nieces are not quiet or restful. I would prefer a bit less confusion and hubbub in my own home.”
Jane had been around Cat’s large family—there were ten Hutting offspring—so she had observed confusion and hubbub firsthand. “I don’t see how you can completely escape those things with children.”
That surprised a laugh from him. “All right, I’ll grant you that.” He frowned. “But I would also like a woman who isn’t constantly meddling in my concerns. Diana and Mama have had their fingers in my affairs my entire life, and now even my nieces are getting into the act.”
That was the beauty of the Spinster House, wasn’t it? The only meddling creature in her orbit was Poppy.
However, these were Lord Evans’s relatives. “Don’t you think they meddle because they love you and want the best for you?” She sighed. “I sometimes wish I had . . . well, not someone to meddle obviously, but someone who cared about me so intensely.” No, that wasn’t fair. “Not that Randolph doesn’t care. He does.” And she cared about him—they just never talked about it. “But a brother’s concern—or perhaps just the way he expresses it—is not the same as a mother’s or, I would imagine, a sister’s.”
Lord Evans’s expression suddenly turned sympathetic. “Right. How old were you when your parents died?”
“Fourteen.”
“Caroline’s age.”
“Yes.” Lord Evans’s niece had looked so young, reading on the blanket this morning.
Jane had been reading when Cat’s mother came to tell her about the carriage accident.
Lord Evans stepped closer, putting a hand on her well-covered shoulder. His touch was comforting.
“Had you no family to go to?”
“No. Not really.” Papa and Mama had both been only children. There might have been a distant cousin who would have taken Jane in, but she hadn’t wanted to leave Loves Bridge and grow up among strangers. And she couldn’t desert Randolph—he’d needed her. His future was in the village with the family business. He’d never have been able to manage things by himself.
“We did very well. I do feel quite badly for Randolph, though.” She shook her head. “I should have been more meddling. I’ve heard rumors over the years that he’d had to give up his love when he came home, but I never asked him about it.”
Her eyes were suddenly wet. She sniffed. How could she have been so oblivious? She’d thought of no one but herself. “I should have meddled right away. Perhaps I would have saved Randolph years of loneliness.”
Lord Evans put a finger under her chin to tilt her face up to his. “You were only fourteen. And Imogen’s parents would never have allowed the match, Jane.”
“But if I hadn’t been an anchor around Randolph’s neck, he and Imogen might have run for the border and married in Scotland.”
Somehow her hands had found their way to Lord Evans’s chest.
“You didn’t stop him. Randolph could have taken Imogen to Gretna Green if he’d had the courage to,” Lord Evans said. “Once they were wed, there would have been little Imogen’s father could have done. And then Randolph could have brought her home to the village.”
“And poor Imogen would have been stuck living with me. I’m only three years younger than she, Lord Evans, and, I will admit, not always the easiest person to get along with.”
That made him smile. “Really? I never would have guessed.”
She laughed and pushed away from him. “Don’t tease.”
He captured her hands, drawing her back. “You can’t change the past, Jane, so don’t fret about it.”
That was true. As hard as it was, sometimes you just had to accept things as they were.
A breeze caused the branches around them to sway then, and a few strands of her hair fluttered over her face. Lord Evans—Alex—brushed them away as he had last night, but this time his fingers lingered on her temple and then slid down to cup her jaw. His eyes focused on her mouth.
The air felt charged. She moistened her lips—and saw his gaze sharpen.
I should move. This isn’t the past. This I can change.
She didn’t want to change it. She wanted him to kiss her again. She wanted to see if it had been as wonderful as she’d remembered.
An owl hooted in the distance. Her heart—and lower organs—pounded, making it difficult to breathe—
And then his mouth touched hers and she no longer cared about anything as mundane as air.
His lips were firm and dry. They brushed over hers as they had last night, the slight friction shooting straight to her breasts and the place between her legs.
This time she let herself relax into him.
Let herself? She melted—it was the only way she could describe it. Hot and boneless, she would have puddled at his feet if he wasn’t holding her.
Mmm. His body was hard, warm. She remembered what it had look like naked. She wished his clothes would vanish—his clothes and hers—so she could feel his skin—
His tongue touched her bottom lip and, as if a spark had been set to tinder, need flashed through her. She opened her mouth, letting his tongue slip in as she pressed against him, her hands grabbing his arse—
Dear God! What is the matter with me? I’ve never felt this way before.
She shoved against Lord Evans’s chest.
He let her go at once. Concern filled his voice and darkened his eyes. “Jane, what’s amiss?”
“I . . .” He must think her mad. Likely no other grown woman reacted this way to a simple kiss.
She felt so out of control, her emotions a confusing, churning mess. She didn’t like it. It . . . it frightened her.
“Nothing. I just wish to return to the house.” Her voice shook slightly. “At once.”