Besides, that silly woman Daphne is married to her rakehell husband. Will tells me hair-raising stories about the man’s profligacy and debts. Your Ivo will soon come to realise that he has had a very lucky escape.
You are right not to hate her, although in your shoes I would want to give her a good shake. And push her in the lake, if truth be told.
Now—gowns. Armed with your instructions, we bridesmaids—I cannot keep serious at the thought of my being a matron of honour!—have ordered gowns in various shades of cream and emerald and will look very fine...
* * *
The day after Verity’s letter arrived Jane laid out the drawings of every one of Lord Westhaven’s indoor and outdoor staff on the longest library table and held her breath.
The Marquess walked slowly down, pausing at each image, then back, and then at the point where Jane had to breathe, once more. ‘These are excellent,’ he said gruffly. ‘Quite exceptional. Partridge has informed me that the staff are very much gratified by the attention and I am most gratified with the result.’ He peered at her from under beetling brows. ‘It was a great deal of work, I imagine.’
‘I find sketching relaxing, my lord.’
He grunted. ‘Painting this many will take some time and will not be as relaxing, I imagine.’
‘You wish me to paint them all in oils? I had thought uniform-size canvases would be best.’ She showed him the modest panel she had selected.
‘Partridge and the boot boy on equal terms, eh?’
‘I thought so, my lord. I had hoped to convey the person rather than the role.’
‘An interesting conceit. Very well, but begin with Partridge, Mrs French and Cook or the servants will think the revolutionaries have taken over the establishment and declared equality for all. Order what you need for supplies, Ranwick will deal with it, although I imagine you will not have time to begin on these until after the wedding.’
Jane was not so foolish as to take that for a question, instead of the command it was. ‘Yes, my lord.’
The old man regarded her steadily. ‘You are a good girl. Are you happy? Eh? No second thoughts?’
‘No, none at all.’ Just hopes and worries and awful moments when she wondered at her presumption in thinking she was ever going to be able to cope with this new life, with the man she was falling deeper in love with every day. And then, when she was ready to flee, Ivo would find her in some secluded part of the house or garden and kiss her and she had to fight the desire to drag him into the nearest bedchamber.
‘You are good for the boy,’ he said.
‘He is not a boy, my lord.’
‘No, he is not, is he? But when you are my age anyone under forty seems a mere youth.’ The sudden smile was almost a grin and he looked so much like Ivo in that moment that Jane laughed. ‘He is down in the garden. Run and tell him that Foskett has written to accept my offer for that land to the west of the Long Plantation. He’ll need to make certain the steward marks it out accurately because I trust Foskett as far as I can throw him, the old fox.’
‘Yes, sir.’ Jane ran downstairs, humming under her breath. All those portraits to look forward to and the Marquess apparently approving of her. And there was Ivo leaning on the back of a garden seat and contemplating the fountain, all broad shoulders and long legs and the not-handsome face she had come to love.
‘What are you smiling about?’ he asked as she came to his side.
‘You, looking very fine in the sunshine. What is wrong with the fountain?’
‘It has two dribbling nymphs and one with a drooping spout. We need a plumber to sort it out before the wedding.’
‘I agree, dribbling nymphs are not at all the thing. Your grandfather has sent me with a message about Sir James Foskett and the land he is selling, and, Ivo—he is pleased with the drawings and wants me to paint all of them in oils. Is that not marvellous?’
‘It is, although there are the devil of a lot of them.
He is handing you a vast task.’
Jane shrugged. ‘There is no time limit set, although I am not to begin until after the wedding, he decrees.’
‘And not until after our honeymoon.’ The heat in Ivo’s eyes fuelled the warmth inside her. ‘I am not having my wife giving all her attention to the staff.’ His voice dropped to a growl. ‘Not when I want it all to myself.’
Jane swallowed. ‘How long will the honeymoon be? Are we staying here?’ It had not occurred to her that things would be different—she would be a countess, of course. Ivo would come to her bed. She would take over managing the household. It occurred to her now that those three things were not quite in the right order of importance. Not for her and, it seemed, not for Ivo.
‘As long as you like and we can close ourselves off in our wing of the house or we can make an expedition to wherever you desire.’
More decisions.