Wren came to sit beside Anna while the room was buzzing with happy plans for the wedding, small though it was going to be.
“Anna,” Wren said, keeping her voice low, “I suppose you know—do you?”
“Well, I do,” Anna said, “and so do Avery and Mother. If you mean what I believe you mean, that is.”
“Alexander was part of the group at Elizabeth and Colin’s party when Mr. Rochford told his story,” Wren said. “He was uneasy about it. He had a word with Avery.”
“Ah,” Anna said.
“The valet Avery’s secretary took with him to Brierley was able to—”
“Mr. Goddard took a valet?” Anna said, frowning.
“He was one of our men,” Wren explained. “Not really a valet at all. He was able to relate far more easily with the local people than poor Mr. Goddard, who cannot blend at all well. I am not sure what Avery was able to tell you this morning after they returned, but if you and Cousin Louise are at all worried, Anna, as I daresay you are, I believe I can relieve your minds. Mr. Rochford said at the party that his cousin Gabriel Rochford was a wild young man, even vicious as he grew older. That is not at all how the local people remember him. He had a reputation as a quiet, studious, sweet-natured boy.”
“I am so glad,” Anna said.
“Miss Beck, a lady who lives the life of a hermit in a small house on the estate, is quite adamant about the alibi she can offer Mr. Thorne for the afternoon when that unfortunate young man was killed,” Wren said. “She understands that she may not be believed because she had a very close friendship with Mr. Thorne, but she was able to name a groom from the house who had brought her the injured fawn she and Mr. Thorne were tending at the time. Apparently the groom stayed to watch. And he still works at Brierley—and is willing to testify.”
Anna smiled. “I can remember a time,” she said, “when Avery and Alexander did not particularly like each other. Then Avery fought a duel—it was for the honor of Camille against that horrid man who used to be betrothed to her—and Alexander was his second.”
“Alexander has told me the story,” Wren said. “If he told it as it was and was not exaggerating, Avery felled his very large, boastful, and contemptuous opponent with one bare foot to the chin and almost gave Alexander an apoplexy. I wish I could have been there.”
“I was,” Anna told her. “With Elizabeth. We hid behind a tree.”
They both dissolved into laughter, their heads almost touching.
“Now what is amusing you two?” Elizabeth asked.
“Avery’s duel with Viscount Uxbury,” Anna said, and Elizabeth joined in their laughter.
There was no betrothal announcement in the morning papers. There were no banns. Life proceeded as though nothing of any great moment had happened or was about to happen.
Jessica drove in the park with Mr. Rochford the day her mother and Anna went to her grandmother’s to discuss wedding plans with the rest of the Westcott ladies. On the evening of the following day, her wedding eve, she attended a ball and found herself surrounded by her usual court. She danced with a number of them. She was relieved to discover that Mr. Rochford was not there. That was unusual for him.
She intended to leave before supper since she did not wish to arrive home in the early hours of her wedding day. But the dance before supper was a waltz, and she looked around her court, wondering which gentleman she could encourage to ask her to dance it. Lord Jennings again? Someone touched her arm, however, and she turned to find herself looking into Gabriel’s face.
“Lady Jessica,” he said, “may I have the honor?”
Her court had fallen into a rather sullen silence.
“You are late, Mr. Thorne,” she said.
“Rather,” he said, “I am hoping I have arrived just in time.”
He had told her he would probably not attend the ball. He wished to leave for Brierley the day after their wedding—the day after tomorrow, that was—and wanted to be sure he had tied up some loose ends of business first. It was still difficult for Jessica to believe that two days from now she would have left London and family and everything that was familiar behind her and embarked upon a wholly new life in new surroundings and with new challenges to face.
There was nothing unusual about a woman having to give up everything when she married, of course. In this case, however, it was what they would both be doing. Gabriel had given up the life with which he had been happy in Boston. They were both about to embark upon a new world, a world full of uncertainty and difficulty.
“You have, sir,” she said, placing her hand in his. “I have not promised the set to anyone.”
A protesting murmur rippled through her court. She wondered if they would miss her. She wondered if she would miss them, if she would soon be nostalgic for this life she had lived since she left the schoolroom.
Elizabeth, she could see, was going to waltz with Colin, and Anna with Avery. Mr. Adrian Sawyer, Viscount Dirkson’s son, was leading Estelle onto the floor, and Bertrand was smiling down at a young girl Jessica did not know. Aunt Matilda was going to dance with Viscount Dirkson, a lovely thing to see when very few older people danced at ton balls, especially with their spouses. And they were smiling at each other, seemingly unaware of anyone else. Even Aunt Viola and Marcel, Marquess of Dorchester, were stepping onto the floor and looking at each other like a couple of people half their age.
What was it about the waltz that made one think of romance?
Jessica felt a momentary pang. But she had known for several years now that she was not going to find that deep, romantic sort of love that so many members of her family had found. She had decided very sensibly this year that at last she would marry anyway, that she would settle for a good man and a good match. And that was what she was doing. She was happy with her choice, for surely she had not just settled. She looked up into Gabriel’s face as he placed one hand behind her waist and clasped her right hand with his other. She really did want to be married to him, to face with him the unknown adventure that lay ahead. And she really did want him.
Tomorrow night . . .
She placed her left hand on his shoulder. He was gazing steadily at her with those dark blue, intent eyes of his, his look inscrutable. She wondered if he was having similar thoughts and coming to the same conclusion. She hoped it was not a different conclusion. She hoped he was not regretting this hasty marriage with someone he scarcely knew. He had not wanted to come back from America. He had not wanted to be the Earl of Lyndale or to return to Brierley. He was taking a bride out of sheer necessity. He had chosen the very best candidate available—she could think so without conceit. She had once told him—at Richmond Park—that when he looked at her, he saw only Lady Jessica Archer, daughter and sister of a Duke of Netherby. She had told him that if he wished to have a chance with her, he must come to know her, the person beneath the aristocratic veneer. Did he know her any better now than he had known her then?
Had she sold herself too easily?
The music began. And she discovered that he waltzed beautifully. She did not have to think of the steps. She did not have to fear missing one or treading on anyone’s toes or having her own trodden upon or crashing into any other couple. She did not have to fear getting her feet tangled up with each other during the twirls. She was soon unaware of the other dancers around her and of the people standing watching. She was unaware of the ballroom and the chandeliers and the long mirrors and the flowers decked everywhere, of their heady scent, all of which she had admired before he’d arrived.
She smiled into the eyes of her partner and felt a little as she had felt when he’d played Bach on Elizabeth and Colin’s pianoforte, as though she were being drawn into the soul of the music. But this time it filled her body too, and sound mingled with color and light. Yet all she was really aware of was the man with whom she waltzed.
He gazed steadily at her throughout. She lowered her eyes after a while to avoid being mesmerized, but when she looked back, his eyes met hers with a smile that did not quite make it to his face.
“Jessie,” he said. Just that.
That name on his lips somehow sent shivers down her spine.
“Gabriel,” she said.
And that was the full extent of their conversation.
Bertie Vickers came to Gabriel’s hotel suite the following morning in time to go to church with him. Gabriel had asked him to be his best man.
“I say, Gabe,” he said, looking his friend over from head to toe, “you look as fine as fivepence. It is a shame you are not getting married at St. George’s on Hanover Square with all the ton to gaze upon your splendor.”
Gabriel had decided upon knee breeches and stockings and buckled shoes and a lace-edged neckcloth. Even the sleeves of his shirt were edged with lace rather than plain starched cuffs. His breeches and waistcoat were silver gray, his tailed coat a darker gray. His stockings and linen were snowy white. Horbath had excelled with the folds of his neckcloth, and he had placed a diamond pin in just exactly the right place. He hoped he had not overdone the outfit, but Horbath had assured him he had not.
“A man has only one wedding day, sir,” he had said.
“It is quite enough,” Gabriel said now, “that I will have all the Westcotts and your parents in attendance, Bertie. Weddings are an abomination.”