“Oh, we’ll come,” Glenda said, and walked toward him, her eyes on his crotch. She stood beside him on that bottom step, her breasts brushing his arm. Mrs. Warfield just beamed at the two of them. “Yes,” she said, “let’s go see dear Jessie.”
Dear Jessie was feeling very low. Her head ached viciously. James wouldn’t let her read the Federal Gazette, telling her it would just make her head hurt more. She was bored. She wanted James here
so they could argue—that or she could just look at him. When he suddenly appeared in the doorway, she felt as if the sun had just burst through black clouds. She gave him a big smile. Then she saw Glenda and her mother sweeping past him, bearing down on her, and her smile dissolved into the wainscotting.
“Ah, my dearest Jessie,” said Mrs. Warfield, frowning at her daughter.
“Well, sister, don’t you look ugly with your hair all frazzled and that silly bandage around your forehead.”
James briefly closed his eyes.
“Hello, Mother, Glenda. I’m fine, I just look bad. Where’s Papa?”
“Your dear papa didn’t have the time to come to get you. You put him out sorely, Jessie, what with that latest exploit of yours. Your poor papa had to sleep in a strange bed just to keep your reputation from being ruined.”
But her papa had told her he’d come back to get her himself, and then he’d winked at her, and she knew he would spare her a visit by her mother. But he’d failed. Jessie sighed, looking longingly at the teapot James was carrying and said, “I think Papa liked staying here last night, Mama. He was telling James all sorts of things he needed to do to make the house better.”
“That’s right, Mrs. Warfield. Your husband isn’t shy, and he much enjoyed himself.” And my brandy, James thought.
Glenda was walking around the small bedchamber, looking at nothing in particular. James couldn’t figure out what she was doing. Finally it hit him that she was showing herself off to him—from all angles. Not a bad sight. She turned then and smiled sweetly at him. “Why don’t you and I go downstairs, James, and let Mama help Jessie dress?”
“Oh dear,” Mrs. Warfield said. “I forgot clothes, Jessie. Oh well, I suppose you’ll just have to wear the gown you had on last night.”
Jessie thought of her breeches and paled.
James said easily as he set down the tray, “I’m sorry, Mrs. Warfield, but Jessie’s gown was ruined from the rain last night. Old Bess tried to save it, but it wasn’t possible.”
“Your papa never did tell me why you were out riding around in the rain, Jessie. If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you countless times, that you must stop acting so strangely. Now what are we to do?”
“If James will lend me this nightshirt and a robe, then I can go home like this.”
“My nightshirt is yours, Jessie,” James said, giving her a slight bow.
“Shall we go downstairs, James?” Glenda asked, coming to stand very close to him. He could smell her rose perfume. He wanted to sneeze.
“I don’t think we have to do that, Glenda,” he said. “Here, Mrs. Warfield, let me carry Jessie downstairs. Ah, first, let me fetch a robe for her. Jessie, don’t move. I’ll be back in a moment.”
Glenda watched James leave the bedchamber to get a robe. She turned to Jessie. “James is so handsome. Did he ask you about me?”
“I don’t recall that he did,” Jessie said.
“Surely he must have. Why, I danced with him at the Poppletons’ ball. He was leaning over my hand before I even noticed him. He couldn’t take his eyes off me. He told me how gracefully I danced.”
Jessie just shook her head.
Glenda twitched her skirt away from a water stain on the wall. “I know you, Jessie. You forced him to pay attention to you, didn’t you? You pretended you didn’t feel well, and he was obliged to let you stay here. I’ll bet you even moaned and carried on so he wouldn’t leave you. He held your hand, didn’t he? He didn’t want to, Jessie. He doesn’t even think of you as a female—you know that.”
“That’s enough, Glenda,” Mrs. Warfield said, looking nervously over her shoulder.
“And now you’re forcing him to carry you downstairs. Carry you. That’s shameful, Jessie. I’ll just bet you ruined that gown of yours on purpose.”
“That’s enough, Glenda,” Mrs. Warfield said again, seeing that Jessie was alarmingly pale. “Perhaps your sister truly isn’t all that well. Leave her be. That’s right, go look out the window, dearest. Ah, James, here you are again.”
Without thinking, he walked to the bed and was going to put Jessie into the robe when Mrs. Warfield gasped. “Oh no, James, how improper. No, dear boy, take dear Glenda outside for a moment and I’ll see to Jessie. That’s right, Glenda, go with James.”
James carried Jessie downstairs. She was stiff in his arms, withdrawn from him; he could feel it. He’d overheard most of what had been said to her, and it made him feel guilty for making her leave. He couldn’t imagine that her life at Warfield farm was all that pleasant. No wonder she spent all her time with the horses. She mucked out stalls. She mended bridles. She rode and raced. She beat him regularly. So surely she was well able to handle her mother and her disconcerting sister and if she couldn’t, well, she could always escape.
He carried her to the carriage and set her on the seat inside. “There you are, Jessie. I’ll be by tomorrow to see how you’re getting along. Take care.”