‘I am not promised to anyone, you have my word on it.’ Ivo gestured towards a seat against the wall. ‘Shall we?’ He stopped as she tugged on his arm and came to look up into his face. ‘No, Jane, there is no one who has hopes of me, upon my honour.’
‘In that case...’ Jane swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. There would be no going back from this and the implications were life-changing, whichever choice she made. On the one hand, scandal and disgrace, not just within her family, but within a wide social circle. She would be the girl who jilted the Earl of Kendall after she had done something so awful that he had felt bound to offer for her. On the other, to marry out of her world, to take on responsibilities she could hardly guess at, to risk never being able to practise her art as she so passionately wished to. And to be married to a man she did not love, who certainly did not love her, the two of them tied for ever.
But I like him. I think he finds me...interesting. I trust him. I will do my best to make sure he does not regret this and his grandfather seems disposed to approve of the match. I wonder why, when he had plans for another marriage altogether?
She had not so much hesitated as come to a complete stop. She glanced at Ivo who had abandoned trying to get her to sit and was leaning one shoulder against the down-bent branch of a gnarled apple tree. He did not look impatient, or bored, either of which would have been understandable, Jane thought. Instead he appeared interested, as though he was following her mental processes and found that a worthwhile exercise.
If he had merely been politely patient, that would have made her hesitate, but if Ivo was inclined to find her worthy of curiosity, then she would have some foundation to build a marriage with him. It would be like painting a portrait: they had a rough scribbled outline of a relationship and now she had to lay down a ground to support the picture as they built it up together—layers of colour, of light and shade or ambiguity and certainty.
‘You are smiling,’ Ivo said. ‘Does that mean that you have made up your mind?’ He straightened up from the tree, tall and strong in the dappled shade and her breath caught. Why had she not thought him handsome merely because his face had strength and character and power? She, an artist, should have known better: this was a masculine beauty all its own and she wanted it for herself.
‘Yes, I have.’ Jane took a step towards him, reached for him. ‘And I accept, if you are quite certain. I will not hold it against you if you have changed your mind.’
‘I was rather hoping to hold you against me,’ Ivo said and took her hand, drawing her in close, then leaning back into the bough so she tipped forward against his chest with a squeak of alarm. ‘I have you safe. And we have an audience. Shall we show them that they have something to celebrate?’
‘Them? Where? Who? I thought we were out of sight now.’ Jane tried to see but Ivo settled her more firmly in his embrace and bent his head.
‘An entire flock of chaperons has decided to take the air and admire the orchard and is tactfully pretending they cannot see us,’ he murmured against her hair. His breath was warm and it tickled a little, then his cheek was against hers, the faint grain of his beard, even after a close shave, a new sensation. His breath was teasing her ear now and he was murmuring soft words, too low for her to understand.
It seemed her body did know this whispered language because Jane found herself pressing closer against the intriguing layers of male clothing, the softness of broadcloth and the crispness of linen, the buttons in places ladies had no buttons, the faint discomfort of his watch chain against her ribs.
Her own mouth was moving, too, without her will. She kissed slowly across his cheek, tasting faint saltiness while her nostrils registered verbena and spice and shaving soap and an interesting muskiness. Then Ivo moved his head and their lips met.
They had not learned each other yet, she realised, surprised to find that learning was needed, that exploration would be pleasurable. Their noses bumped, she found the corner of his mouth...and then they had it, lips moving together, parting to share heat and moisture, ready for new discoveries.
‘Hurrumph.’
Jane jumped. Against her lips Ivo sighed, then he straightened, setting her on her feet and steadying her with one hand under her elbow as he turned to face his grandfather, two trees away, apparently studying the graft on a pear.
‘You startled me, sir. I had no idea anyone was in the garden.’
Fibber, Jane thought, embarrassed, but also amused.
‘No time to be billing and cooing out here,’ the Marques
s said, still glowering at the lumpy bark. ‘Plenty of time for that. Business to be completed, agreements to be made, dates to be set.’ He looked at them then and Jane had the sudden thought that he had tears in his eyes, then she blinked and the fleeting impression was gone. What would he have to be sad about? If he disliked the idea of this match, then he would make his feelings very plain.
‘My grandfather is not of a romantic inclination, you note, Jane,’ Ivo said drily. ‘You will be glad to hear that Miss Newnham has accepted my offer, sir.’
‘I should hope so after that exhibition. Come along in, the pair of you, and speak to Mrs Newnham. The poor lady has no idea whether she is on her head or her heels with you two and your harum-scarum idea of courtship. Wouldn’t have done in my day, I can tell you.’ He turned then looked back. ‘I have got rid of their Ladyships, you’ll be glad to hear. Told them in confidence that the reason your mama is in such a taking is that her sensibilities are shattered by an engagement when we’re in mourning. They are in such awe of her putting such scruples before an advantageous match that they are quite prepared to overlook the disparity in rank that had been exercising them before and have rushed back to Bath to inform all their acquaintance of the fact.’
‘And you, my lord?’ Jane asked, finding herself suddenly bold enough to ask. ‘Can you accept such a disparity?’
He looked at her from under thick grey brows. ‘Frankly, Miss Newnham, I would overlook my grandson marrying any young lady of good upbringing if she keeps him in the present and not in the past.’
She felt Ivo stiffen, then he said, ‘I do not think I need a wife to remind me that I am not in the army any longer, Grandfather. I suspect that the work you are heaping on me will serve that purpose well enough.’
Jane felt a pang of guilt. It had not occurred to her that Ivo might be mourning not only his father, but also the loss of his military career. She had been so tied up in her own hopes and dreams and frustrations that she had been selfish, she realised. She gave his arm a little squeeze. ‘I am afraid that I will be adding to your burdens, because there must be a great deal for me to learn.’
* * *
Ivo felt the light pressure of Jane’s fingers, the anxiety in her voice, and frowned at his grandfather’s back as he led the way out of the orchard. Not only had the old man dropped a heavy hint that Ivo had some kind of past to be put behind him, but now Jane was worrying about her new life.
‘It will not be a burden—I will be discovering a new life at the same time. Don’t forget that I have to learn about the estates and become used to life as a civilian again. We can muddle along together.’
He was aware of her relaxing a little and she chuckled. ‘I cannot imagine you muddling anything, Ivo.’
No? What have I just done if not landed us both in a muddle?