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No Ordinary Groom by Gayle Callen
Miss Jane Whittington's hopes have been dashed. She'd always imagined
His work as a British spy has kept William apart from proper society for |
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(The following is the property of the author and Avon Books, and cannot be copied or reprinted without permission.)
Chapter 1
London
August 1844
Miss Jane Whittington sat at her dressing table, her
chin resting on her hand, and stared at her own reflection. There was a
pensiveness about her that put an odd wrinkle between her slim, black eyebrows,
and turned down the corners of her mouth.
This was now the face of an engaged woman.
No wonder she looked miserable.
She groaned and swept to her feet. Her mother was giving
a dinner party this evening in celebration of Jane's engagement to a baron,
William, Lord Chadwick. Even if Jane had to force a smile, she would do it
for her mother’s sake, though she still felt hurt by her father's haste
and secrecy in arranging the match. She had been waiting for the right time
to tell them she didn't wish to marry at all, that she wanted to control
her own dowry.
Was it too late?
She picked up her thin gloves from the dressing table
and slid them on like armor before a battle. For once she remembered them
without having to be reminded. There was nothing left to do but go downstairs,
greet their guests, and formulate a miraculous plan of escape from her
fate.
When she reached the second floor landing, she was able
to peer over the edge of the wide staircase. She immediately caught the eye
of the man glancing up.
Lord Chadwick, her groom. She wanted to look away, but
there was something in his gaze she hadn't seen before, an intensity that
felt strangely…intimate. A hot blush swept over her face. She was behaving
like a girl fresh from the schoolroom instead of a sensible woman of twenty-one
years. For a moment he didn’t smile, and she felt an absurd hesitation,
a feeling of something dark and hidden beneath his usually cheerful countenance.
Then he gave that irreverent grin that made him seem so…shallow, and
she dismissed her unusual feeling as nothing but a flight of fancy.
She had become acquainted with Lord Chadwick but a week
before, at a dinner party hosted by her sister Charlotte, a widow newly out
of mourning. He had been all charm and good manners and decent looks--and
rather too talkative, she thought reluctantly.
Giving him a cool nod, she put her hand lightly on the
banister and descended the stairs, studying him. He was a man of decent height
and nice breadth of shoulders beneath a perfectly cut black evening coat.
His face was lean, with a pair of deep dimples scoring his cheeks when he
smiled. His teeth were shockingly white and his eyes brown. His dark hair--a
nondescript brown to match his eyes, she thought--was slicked back with macassar
oil, and his long sideburns had a touch of gray that made his age hard to
determine. Her father, Viscount Whittington, hadn’t thought to include
such personal information in the letter that had told her the unwelcome news
about her marriage.
Overall, there was nothing to dislike about Lord Chadwick's
countenance--his description could fit a score of her male acquaintances.
When he wasn’t talking, he could almost be called handsome. Most women
would be quite content, but Jane could not understand settling for such a
feeling.
When she reached the foot of the stairs, Lord Chadwick
bowed over her gloved hand and brought it to his lips for a moment too long.
His eyes, as well as his mouth, smiled up at her. "Good
evening, Miss Whittington."
She nodded perfunctorily and removed her hand from his.
"Good evening, Lord Chadwick."
As he straightened she watched his gaze slide down her
body. It seemed impersonal, as if he were merely deciding if she was properly
dressed for the occasion. She should be offended, but she was only annoyed.
She put her hand on his offered arm and walked beside
him into the drawing room. She could see that only a few guests had arrived.
They were scattered between overstuffed tasseled chairs and sofas, potted
ferns and marble columns. Cluttered on every table and shelf was her mother's
odd collection of bric-a-brac, including the unusual gifts from Jane's father.
Just the thought of his many years in exotic countries
made Jane sigh with a frustrated longing to travel abroad--something her
mother didn't understand. Jane had made plans for her dowry money in anticipation
of her parents' acquiescence, mapping out each country she would visit,
continuing to learn the appropriate languages. She refused to give up on
her dreams so quickly.
Lady Whittington stood arm in arm with Charlotte Sinclair,
Jane's sister. The two women were so alike in their petite, rounded beauty;
Jane felt like a lanky giraffe next to them. They watched her and the baron
with hopeful speculation.
Lord Chadwick led her near a small table, then turned
to face her. "I say, your gown is quite the fashion, my dear."
She began to wonder if he flashed his dimples with
deliberation. "Thank you, my lord. You do justice to your garments, as well."
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her mother whiten with shock.
But Lord Chadwick only looked inordinately pleased. "Do
you really think so? I must say that since I arrived in London a month ago,
I have been frequenting many a tailor to find just the right man for the
style I require."
Jane's smile remained frozen on her face. Surely he would
not subject her to the details.
"I am quite exacting in my demands about the quality
of material and the emphasis on the latest designs."
He suddenly walked about her, and she narrowed her eyes
at the spectacle he was making of himself.
"I do have an exacting eye," he continued, "with a little
help."
To her surprise, he pulled a monocle out of his breast
pocket, and she noticed it was attached to his lapel by a delicate gold chain.
He fixed it before his right eye and squinted down at her.
"Is your gown of satin broche?"
"How--"
"And what a lovely shade of peacock blue."
Peacock? What a perfect description of him! She
was beginning to panic over the thought of endless evenings listening to
such topics, when he paused and grinned.
"Ah, but you're diverting me from the perusal of my lovely
bride-to-be."
Again she felt his gaze linger below her neckline, and
the squint caused by the monocle made it seem as if he leered at her. She
was hardly displaying an immodest amount of skin, and she was affronted by
his rudeness. More and more of her mother's guests were arriving, and she
felt their curious, amused stares.
"That is an exquisite necklace you're wearing," he
murmured.
He had pitched his voice lower, and his eyes seemed overly
warm.
She touched the pearl pendant self-consciously. "My father
sent it to me from India."
"I always knew he had good taste."
She narrowed her eyes as she stared at him. "And how
long have you known my father, my lord?"
He'd been bending near her, but now he straightened almost
imperceptibly and let the monocle drop to hang by its chain. "We've done
business for many years, but as you well know, he's often been abroad. Since
he returned to Yorkshire these two months past, we've renewed our friendship
and have begun even closer ties between our families." He grinned. "And naturally
you will be the bridge between us."
A bridge. How romantic. "And what sort of business
do you and my father engage in?"
"Mostly our estates interact--buying produce, wool and
other goods."
Her father had based the most important decision affecting
her life on someone who bought the estate's farm goods? Although she had
not seen her father in well over two years, he could not have changed so
much. Why the secrecy about her marriage?
And why had her father traveled directly to Yorkshire
instead of London on his return from India? Why had he not visited his wife
and daughters? The pain from this almost made tears well in her eyes, but
she refused to cry before anybody, especially strangers. And that's all William
Chadwick was.
"Excuse me, my lord, I must speak to my mother about
the dinner arrangements."
"By all means," he said cordially, bowing again as he
blotted his forehead with a handkerchief. "I look forward to sharing a meal
with you."
She approached her mother and Charlotte and, after drawing
them into the library, closed the doors. A startled servant looked up from
refilling a sherry decanter and was promptly waved away by Lady
Whittington.
Both women frowned at Jane.
"Why did you leave Lord Chadwick so quickly?" her mother
asked. "You wished for an opportunity to get to know him--this is your
chance."
"I meant before the engagement," Jane answered
dryly. "It might have mattered then."
"Jane," Charlotte said with an underlying impatience
that was new to her character since she'd become a widow, "you are being
very stubborn."
Jane shook her head. "'Stubborn' would be if I refused
to marry at all. But I would never disgrace you that way, Mama." There must
be a way out of the engagement without disgracing anybody at all.
"I know you wouldn't, dear heart," her mother murmured,
touching her arm. "I just wish that you'd trust your father's choice. He
knows you well, after all."
"You don't seem as if you've always trusted his
choices."
Her mother's face blanched, but Jane would not take back
the words. Her parents rarely spoke to one another and usually lived continents
apart.
"I trust his love for you, Jane."
Maybe he no longer understood his own daughter, she thought
with despair. All those years apart--how could mere letters make him understand
her temperament? His correspondence had been full of the wonders of Egyptian
pyramids and African tribes. He’d sent her rare, fanciful gifts from
all around the world: little statues of wood or stone, fans made from the
feathers of birds so exotic she had to look them up in books. Across the
continents, her father had been the one she'd confided in, to whom she’d
told her deepest wishes to live a different sort of life than her mother's.
He had seemed a sympathetic ear, even though he had never encouraged her
to openly leave society's restrictions behind. Had he just been humoring
her?
She needed to see him, to talk to him face-to-face. Once
again she was tempted to abandon all she was, all her mother wanted for her,
and strike off on her own to visit her father. The scandal seemed minor next
to living with a man she couldn't respect or love.
She turned to her sister, saying aloud what Charlotte
had not confided in her. "Surely you understand my concern. You were married
to a man you did not love."
Charlotte's open expression instantly shuttered, and
Jane despaired of ever understanding her. Charlotte was too much like their
mother, so concerned with what society thought.
"Jane," Lady Whittington said quickly, "Charlotte is
too recent a widow. Do not hurt her so."
Before Jane could dutifully apologize, Charlotte held
up a hand. Her wedding ring glistened in the candlelight, and the three of
them hesitated.
Charlotte dropped her hand and sighed. "It has been over
a year now, Mama. No longer so recent, I'm afraid. Jane, it is still difficult
for me to talk about it, but you must understand that although I didn't love
Mr. Sinclair in that girlish way I once thought I would, there was an
understanding between us. You tarnish his memory by assuming the worst."
But what else could Jane assume? She had seen how controlling
Mr. Sinclair had been, how little Charlotte had participated in decisions
that affected her own life. Nothing had shaken Jane more than realizing the
trap that her sister had fallen in. Surely Charlotte was free now--and happier?
But such a thing her proper sister would never admit.
"I don't mean to assault your memories," Jane whispered,
unusually close to tears. "I just--I don't--oh, forgive me. I know not what
has come over me this evening."
Her mother offered a weak smile of relief. "Nerves, dear
heart--nothing more. You need to give your young man a chance to prove himself
to you. Now go find Lord Chadwick, and before we go into dinner, we'll all
offer our congratulations."
Jane nodded and opened wide the doors leading into the
drawing room. All seventeen of their guests seemed in attendance now, and
as her mother circled to greet the newcomers, Jane wandered the perimeter
of the room, looking for Lord Chadwick. With so many people crowded together,
it was growing warmer every second, and she felt a trickle of perspiration
slide between her breasts.
Soon enough, she saw him standing with three other men
beside the columns flanking the tall windows. Lord Chadwick gestured with
his monocle in a flamboyant fashion that made her teeth grind together. As
she approached, they did not seem to see her, and she found herself staying
behind a column, pressing her hands to the cold marble and pausing to
listen.
The four men burst into laughter and she held her
breath.
"Chadwick, I've given you my tailor's name," said Sir
Albert Dean, a genial friend of Charlotte's late husband. "So now you owe
me a game of cards at White's tonight."
"Now come, Sir Albert," Lord Chadwick said with a chuckle
still in his voice, "surely one thing does not equate with the other. We
all know that I am not a master of card games. I simply can't keep track
in my head. Numbers have always bored me."
Sighing, Jane closed her eyes and pressed her forehead
to the column. She loved anything to do with knowledge, and she had insisted
her tutor train her in advanced mathematics, usually a male realm. But her
mother had always told her she didn't need mathematics to be a good wife.
It appeared her mother was right.
"Now Chadwick," said another man, who sounded like Mr.
Roderick, one of the Yorkshire members of Parliament, "there are more ways
to celebrate your loss of freedom than just a dinner party."
More laughter followed this brilliant statement, and
then Jane heard Lord Chadwick's voice.
"But gentlemen, I prefer treating myself to an extravagant
suit of clothing rather than gambling. Speaking of my betrothed, she must
be back in the drawing room, since I see her mother. Adieu until a later
moment."
Jane remained frozen behind the column, hoping Lord Chadwick
did not find her eavesdropping. She couldn't help wincing over his
mispronunciation of adieu. Languages were her great passion.
After a lengthy pause, Mr. Roderick said, "Dean, why
ever did you invite Chadwick to join us? The man truly has no idea how to
play."
Sir Albert Dean laughed again. "But he managed to take
all of your money last time, didn't he? And damned if I know how he did
it."
Mr. Roderick grumbled something unintelligible.
"Gentlemen," Sir Albert said, "the queen made a point
of introducing him to us. We cannot ignore that."
They were all murmuring their agreement when Jane slipped
away, intrigued as to why Queen Victoria had taken special interest in Lord
Chadwick.
She had not gone more than a few paces, when she saw
her betrothed staring at her from across the room.
Website Copyright © 2008 by Gayle Callen