He dropped his hands to his sides. “You conjure me up in your dreams when a damned dog licks your nose. That puts me in my place.”
“Oh no. I can’t imagine you sitting on my chest.” She stared up at his mouth and swallowed. “Again, please, James?”
“No,” he said more violently than he
’d meant to. “It’s time for luncheon. Come along. Mrs. Catsdoor will have prepared something for us.”
15
HE FELT AS if he were standing in front of a tribunal. All they needed were those rolled white wigs on their heads and long, thin noses. He wondered if Maggie could ever be convinced to cover her glorious hair with one of those things. Probably, if she cared enough. He wasn’t actually standing in a docket. He was seated on a gilt chair given to him by the Duchess, in his own drawing room, drinking Mrs. Catsdoor’s tea. The tribunal were all staring at him over their teacups. A silver tray lovingly loaded by Mrs. Catsdoor with small delicately trimmed cucumber sandwiches and slivers of lemon cake hadn’t been touched. He knew she’d prepared them to impress Badger, whom she held in awe. He wondered if Badger knew that Mrs. Catsdoor admired him excessively, and that admiration had nothing to do with his cooking. They continued to stare at him. He felt like a criminal.
“All right, out with it,” James said. “Why are you here? What have I done now?”
Spears lay down his cup of tea and cleared his throat. “James, we came to Candlethorpe today because we’ve discussed the situation thoroughly and have come to a decision.”
“Did you tell Marcus and the Duchess your decision first?”
“No, we’re telling you first,” Badger said.
“What situation?”
Maggie smoothed her brilliant emerald green satin skirts as she said, “You’ve grown up into a fine man, James. That’s what I told Jessie and I mean it. We’re all very proud of you. However, it’s time for you to get a good hold on yourself and do the Right Thing.”
“The Right Thing?”
“Yes, James,” Sampson said, the judge of the tribunal. “We also agree that you know our decision first. It concerns you, not his lordship or the Duchess. It does concern them, but not as directly as it does you.”
“Just what is this Right Thing, if I may inquire?” James rose to stroll over to the fireplace. It gave him an illusory sense of freedom to be able to walk even across his own drawing room. The grate was empty, swept clean. He leaned negligently against the mantelpiece, his arms crossed over his chest, which was difficult since he was still holding his teacup. “Come, Spears, spit it out.”
“Very well, James,” Spears said, and rose, all austere as a judge ready to deliver his verdict. He took three measured steps, then turned to face all of them. He cleared his throat. Garrick acting on Drury Lane couldn’t have done it better. He said, “We believe you should marry Jessie.”
James stared at him. He’d known all along what they meant by that Right Thing business, but he just hadn’t wanted to accept it. Now it was all said, all out in the open. He’d not wanted to confront it like this, well, perhaps he already had in the deepest recesses of his brain, but he’d dismissed it. Surely he had. He didn’t ever want to consider such a thing, at least not when he was fully conscious. He stared some more. He fidgeted. Finally, he spoke. “This is none of your collective business. Jessie has nothing to do with any of you. She has nothing to do with me. She’s whined to you that I ruined her? I didn’t ruin her. I had nothing to do with anything. When I didn’t ruin her, when I told her father I hadn’t ruined her, he still kept after me. It was Jessie who refused to let it continue. So she’s changed her tune now, has she? Now she wants not only my hide, she also wants my name?”
Maggie studied her thumbnail, then turned the wedding ring slowly, ever so slowly around her finger. “That is quite the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard you say, James. Jessie is innocent; she’s extremely vulnerable; she’s in a foreign country; she still doesn’t know what’s good for her, though our hints have become a mite more specific over the past three days. She’ll go to her grave protecting you, or trying to. She hasn’t changed any tune. I don’t think she even wants to marry you.”
“You see? I was right. She has no interest in me at all.”
Badger cleared his throat. “As Miss Maggie was about to point out, the only reason Jessie won’t hear of marrying you is because she believes you don’t even like her. I believe, Miss Maggie, that you made that telling point last evening over my dessert of stewed pears and sponge cake.”
“Damn all of you meddlers! You want the truth? Very well. I rarely like her. I can count on my left hand the number of times I’ve liked her more than rarely.”
Spears cleared his throat. He waited until all the murmuring had died down. He waited until all eyes were on him. Then he said, “We questioned Jessie closely. She was shut down as tightly as a clam protecting its innards. All she would allow was that she found Candlethorpe splendid. We all found that observation very telling.”
“What the hell does that mean? Telling? That tells me she’s got eyes in her head and a modicum of sense. Candlethorpe is an excellent property. Why shouldn’t she acknowledge that?”
Sampson and his wife, Maggie, exchanged glances. Badger was studying those delicate slivers of lemon cake. He ate one, chewed for a very long time, his eyes half closed, then nodded to himself. Spears looked more austere than ever.
“This is gaining us nothing,” Badger said, the lemon cake forgotten, his voice now colder than James had ever heard it. “Listen, Mr. Spears, let us just lay the cards on the table. James, you must marry Jessie Warfield. You will do it immediately. There is no other choice. She will never be able to return to the Colonies with her head up unless you do. Regardless of your part in it, she’s the one who is blamed. If you’re a gentleman, you will put things to right and you will do it very soon.”
“James,” Maggie said, fingering the exquisite emerald earrings that dangled from her white ears, “Jessie has loved you since she was a girl. She will make you a splendid wife.”
“She hasn’t liked me any more than I’ve liked her, Maggie. You’re quite wrong.”
Sampson cleared his throat. “Are we in error to assume you are no more mourning your late wife?”
“Yes,” Badger said. “If you’re still mourning her then we’ve a problem.”
“No, I’m not still mourning Alicia. She’s been dead for over three years. I have learned to live without her. All of you know it was difficult for me for a very long time, but no longer. My life is full to brimming. I don’t want another wife. I don’t want an American girl who’s a hoyden, who many times beats me in races and who’s changed her stripes completely and now dresses like a damned trollop since she crossed the hallowed threshold of Chase Park.”