Cool superiority met her gaze. “When they need organising and I wish to achieve some goal, yes.” Jason watched as she swallowed that piece of arrogance, hoping he had distracted her sufficiently from the question of who was financially responsible for her trousseau. He had had to argue long and hard to wring that concession from the Lester men; only their inability to give him an assurance that Lenore would not appear in London in pinafores had forced them to accede to his odd request.
Unconvinced that he was not engaged in some sleight of hand but unable to see any motive beyond his obvious wish to get their marriage over and done with, an unsurprising reaction given that he had been driven to the altar as it were, Lenore sighed. Slanting him a glance from beneath her lashes, she saw he was waiting for some sign of her capitulation. Inwardly grimacing, she raised her head. “As we have agreed to marry, and as you clearly wish it so, I’ll agree to marry you in four weeks, Your Grace.”
Jason flashed her a brilliant smile. Lenore felt a slight blush rise to her cheeks. Seeing it, Jason’s smile deepened. He straightened and moved closer.
Abruptly, Lenore decided that four weeks were four weeks; she should take advantage of what time was left to her. “And now, if you’ll excuse me, Your Grace, I have many tasks awaiting my attention.” She bobbed a slight curtsy, rising as he took her hand. He raised it to his lips; she steeled herself to feel his kiss on her fingertips. It came, a tantalisingly light caress. Immediately overpowered by a shaft of pure desire, as, turning her hand, he pressed a far more intimate kiss into her palm.
Lenore’s knees shook. She drew herself up, saying the first words that came to her tongue. “I sincerely hope, Your Grace, that you will not regret choosing me as your bride.”
Jason’s grey gaze sharpened. “Regret? Never, Lenore.”
The reverberations of his vow echoed within her as, with a slight nod, Lenore turned and walked to the door.
Jason stood and watched her go, shackling the urge to call her back to reassure her that she would never regret marrying him.
CHAPTER SEVEN
TUESDAY DAWNED and, as His Grace of Eversleigh had decreed, Lenore, with Jack lounging beside her, headed for London in the Lester carriage. Eversleigh himself had taken his leave of her after luncheon on Saturday; he had promised to meet her at Lady Agatha Colebatch’s house in Green Street.
Amelia had left Lester Hall the previous day, also bound for London. Her cousin had been bubbling with plans; Lenore hoped that Frederick Marshall brought her the happiness she deserved. Amelia had been as stunned as she at the news of her betrothal but, unlike herself, had seen nothing to quibble about. Instead, Amelia had enacted the part of rapturous joy for her, praising Eversleigh to such an extent that Lenore had been forced to avoid her for some hours, in case her sharp tongue punctuated the balloon of Amelia’s illusions.
She herself had spent the hours since Eversleigh’s departure in a state of unaccustomed inertia. While marriage to Eversleigh had seemed a most concrete proposition when he had been standing beside her, once he had gone she had considerable difficulty believing in her fate. In control of her life for so long, she felt adrift, rudderless. Even slightly lost.
With a determined effort, Lenore shifted her gaze to take in the streets of London. They had entered the capital some time before; Green Street could not be far off.
Noise had been her first impression of the seat of the fashionable, an unending cacophony of calls and cries of vendors and street urchins, stridently vying against the constant rumble of carriage-wheels on the cobbles and the brisk clop of hooves. The lilting music of buskers threaded a magical note through the din. Beyond the carriage window, people bustled past on the pavements, hurrying home as twilight approached. In less than the distance of a field, she was sure she had seen more people than she had in her entire life before. Eventually the meaner dwellings gave way to neat brick houses, crammed cheek-by-jowl along the busy road. Then these, too, fell behind, replaced first by larger town houses, handsome with their brightly lit windows, and then by mansions set back from the road.
Their trip had been uneventful, beyond confirming Eversleigh’s insight into her family’s affairs. Out of the blue, Jack had asked for her help, once she was established as Eversleigh’s duchess, in the matter of finding him a bride.
“The old man’s been looking so much better since receiving Eversleigh’s offer for you, I’ll end feeling guilty if I don’t.” When she had looked her puzzlement, he had explained, “You’ve been one of his concerns; I’ve been the other. Now Eversleigh’s bitten the bullet, I suppose I should think about getting leg-shackled. Put the pater’s mind at rest, y’know.”
Leaning her head against the squabs, Lenore quelled a resigned sigh. She was, however reluctantly, going forward into the only life open to her. It was up to her to make of it what she could. Swaying as the carriage lumbered around a corner into a quiet street lined with tall town houses, she allowed herself to wonder, fleetingly, just how much might be possible if she put her heart into her marriage.
The carriage slowed, then rocked to a halt before an elegant town house, two rows of handsome windows visible above the pavement with dormers set in under the roof. As Lenore looked out, the doors were thrown wide. Light spilled forth, illuminating the shallow steps.
Jack descended first, then handed her from the coach. Within minutes, they were being ushered into the drawing-room by her ladyship’s intimidating butler.
“Lenore, dear child! Welcome to London.” Pushing aside the small buhl table on which she had been idly playing cards, Lady Agatha rose majestically, her haughty features relaxing in sincere welcome.
Lenore glided forward, intending to curtsy before her hostess, but Agatha would have none of it, catching her hands and drawing her into a scented embrace. “Nonsense, my dear. We need not stand on ceremony, you and I.” Her gimlet gaze fastened on Jack, watching his sister’s reception with an indulgent smile. He caught her ladyship’s eye and immediately made his bow.
“I have to thank you, Lester, for bringing your sister to me. Eversleigh said to make his apologies—he had to visit the Abbey on urgent business, something to do with the settlements. Your sister and I will be spending the evening very quietly; Lenore needs to look her best tomorrow. Dare say you’d prefer to dine at your club?”
Hiding a grin at this masterly dismissal, Jack inclined his head. “Indeed, yes, ma’am, if all’s well here?”
Lady Agatha nodded imperiously. “You may be content that it is.” She held out a hand, watching critically as Jack bowed over it. “You may look in on your sister some time, but I warn you, we’ll be busy tomorrow.”
Jack nodded. With a brotherly wink for Lenore, he departed.
As the door closed behind him, Agatha waved Lenore to sit beside her on the chaise. “Hope you don’t mind, my dear, but men, brothers especially, are devilish in the way sometimes.”
Entirely in the dark, Lenore found herself nodding.
Agatha was studying Lenore’s gown, a frown in her obsidian eyes. “By the by,” she said absent-mindedly. “Eversleigh also intends to drop in on Henry on the way back from the Abbey, just to make sure all’s well.”
Lenore looked blank. Agatha noticed and explained. “My cousin, the Bishop of Salisbury. He’ll be officiating, of course.” Relinquishing Lenore’s old-fashioned travelling dress to view the far more attractive future, her ladyship sighed. “It’ll be the event of the year, of course. We haven’t had an Eversleigh wedding for an age, quite literally. The entire town will turn out, mark my words.”
Struggling to view the event with something of her hostess’s enthusiasm, Lenore felt her confidence waver. But her ladyship was full of revelations. Swivelling to face Lenore, she said, “Can’t tell you how pleased we all are, my sisters and I, that you agreed to take Eversleigh on. Didn’t think you would, quite frankly.”