The Earl's Marriage Bargain (Liberated Ladies)

Oh, yes. I was not wrong. He loves her still.

Somehow she kept her thoughts from her expression. ‘I thought you were childhood sweethearts. Your aunt implied you were.’

‘My aunt is an interfering harridan,’ Ivo retorted sharply. ‘And I would be obliged if you would refrain from vulgar speculation.’

Chapter Fourteen

There was a deadly silence before Jane managed to find her voice. ‘I beg your pardon.’

Inside, something hurt and indignant wanted to protest, It was sympathy, not vulgar speculation. I want to help. And I am hurting, too. But she managed to close her lips on the words. Ivo was feeling raw and guilty and, surely, bitterly betrayed by Daphne Parris’s reaction to his attempts to help her.

‘And I apologise, too,’ Ivo said. ‘You clearly meant well and no speculation was necessary when Aunt Augusta was painting such a very clear picture. I believe Lady Parris once crossed her badly in public with a witty retort to one of Augusta’s nasty jibes. Those who heard it tittered. You do not laugh at her and expect it to be forgotten, I fear.’

‘Miss Parris is very pretty, I gather.’ Jane hoped that did not betray the shameful jealousy she felt about Ivo’s sweetheart. He might not love Daphne now, she still had no proof of that, and it was pathetic to care what she looked like, but Jane found herself afraid of the comparison.

And Daphne had spirit. She had gone for what she wanted, defied convention and eloped with her lover, however unsuitable he might be. Her own attempt at kicking over the traces and making a bid for freedom had run aground because she had not thought about what she really wanted and how she might achieve it. She had dreamt of the grand gesture even though it was not right for her. Ivo probably admired Daphne’s courage although he deplored the outcome.

‘Pretty?’ Ivo seemed to be looking at some mental picture. ‘She is of a type that is very much admired, yes. She has always been lovely and, as a result, she was spo

iled by a great deal of admiration and indulgence.’ Jane thought that was all he was going to say until he added, ‘I appear to be one of the few people who does not do what she wants, when she wants it.’

There did not seem to be much to add to that. Jane let the silence hang for a few minutes, then asked, ‘Your grandfather asked me about my painting and said that he might have a commission for me. Do you know what he wants?’

Ivo seemed glad of the change of subject. ‘He said something about having the servants painted, all of them. He has heard about the series of portraits of the staff at Erddig in Wales that the Yorke family commissioned and was interested. Then he saw the miniatures that the Duke of Dorset has at Knole and conceived of the idea of having our own staff immortalised.’

‘I have never tried miniatures.’

‘I believe he wants normal-sized canvases. Think about it, because he will want to discuss it with you himself.’

How many of them were there? Inside and outside staff? Distracted, Jane pulled the little sketchbook out of her reticule and began making notes of the things she must ask the Marquess.

* * *

Perhaps half an hour later she came to herself to find that she was curled up in one corner of the carriage, feet tucked under her, shoes on the floor and a neat list of queries on the page. Ivo was asleep. At least, his eyes were closed and he seemed more relaxed than he had when they had been talking earlier. Perhaps she had been saying too much, asking too many questions, and he welcomed her silence. If he still loved Daphne—she made herself think the words even though her mind kept skittering away from them—then it must be exhausting to have the woman you were going to marry talking about her.

Jane grimaced at her reflection in the glass of the window, noticing that they had reached the City already. She was not cut out to be a silent woman, she knew that. She wanted to ask questions, make observations, exchange ideas.

As she thought it, Ivo opened his eyes. ‘Why are you pulling faces at me?’

‘I am pulling them at myself, thinking.’

‘You think too much,’ he said and moved purposefully along the bench seat until she was within arm’s reach. ‘If what you are thinking makes you wrinkle your nose, I shall have to take your mind off it.’

The kiss was exciting, made more so by the movement of the carriage and the fact that it had slowed almost to a walk in the Bath traffic and anyone might look in and see them. Jane clung to Ivo’s lapels as he held her. It was awkward, but somehow the discomfort and the danger made it more urgent. Then they turned a corner, the carriage lurched and they fell apart, sprawled on opposite seats. Jane found that she could not look away from him.

‘We are here,’ Ivo said with a hasty glance through the window. He straightened his neckcloth and reached out to set her bonnet back straight on her head.

His breathing was decidedly rapid, which Jane decided to take as a compliment. ‘My mind has been so far distracted that I am going to appear a complete airhead to your great-aunt.’

‘You think too much,’ he had said. Was that what he wanted, a compliant wife with no thoughts in her head? One who would melt in his arms whenever he felt like kissing her and then return to a state of passivity? It was not a pleasant thought. She gave herself a brisk mental shake. This was nerves, that was all. She had tumbled into a betrothal when she had no intention of marrying, she had placed her freedom to pursue her art in the power of a man and her world, already shifting on its foundations, was about to be turned upside down. No wonder she felt out of sorts. But understanding why she felt like this was not reassurance.

Jane tweaked her bonnet ribbons into order and allowed Ivo to hand her down. They were between the Circus and Queen’s Square, she realised as they climbed the two shallow steps and crossed the slab that lay like a bridge across the sunken service area. Two chairmen, labouring under their burden, trudged up the steep street behind them and she flinched inwardly at the reminder of how she had found herself in this position.

An elderly manservant admitted them, showed them through to a drawing room cluttered with china ornaments, heavily framed watercolours and much drapery, then creaked off to ascertain whether her Ladyship was receiving.

He left the door ajar so they were perfectly able to hear Lady Gravestock in the next room.

‘Of course I am at home to my great-nephew, Smithers! What is the matter with you? Bring him in this moment and send for refreshments. The scones as well as the cakes and do not forget the jam.’