The Ungrateful Governness

10

They were to leave for Hendon Park in just a few days' time. Jessica was not sure whether to be glad or sorry. She was glad that perhaps at last her future would be settled once and for all. Sorry because she was almost sure to see the Earl of Rutherford again. At least, he seemed not to have sent word to anyone that he did not intend to join his family for Christmas.

Jessica had allowed the dowager to send a letter to her grandfather. She should have written to him herself, of course. If she wanted his help-and she did-then it was only right that she be the one to write to him. Besides, it was time to patch up their quarrel. He was her only living relative, and she his. They had been fond of each other all through her childhood and girlhood. It was absurd to break all connection with each other over a stupid matter of pride. And he was not getting any younger. Perhaps the opportunity to mend their differences would not be open to her for much longer. And how would she ever forgive herself if she let the chance forever pass her by?

More than anything she needed his help. The Dowager Duchess of Middleburgh continued to shower new clothes and gifts on her and continued to extend her full hospitality. To a young lady who had been brought up to be proudly independent, it was an increasing embarrassment to accept such charity from a lady on whom she had no claim of kinship. She must let her grandfather support her, either with an allowance in her present abode or in his own home in the country.

She should have written herself. But how could she begin to explain herself to him? How strike the right note of humility without sounding servile? She had given in to cowardice when her hostess, with her usual iron-willed insistence, declared that the letter would be much better coming from her. Jessica did not know what had been in that letter except that the marquess had been invited to Hendon Park for Christmas.

There had been no reply yet. Would he come? She did not know. Her grandfather had never been given much to traveling. For this particular occasion perhaps he might. Perhaps he still loved her enough. But surely some reply would come there even if he did not arrive in person. Somehow by Christmas she would be independent again, or at least independent of all except her own family. It was something to look forward to.

And now more than ever it was imperative that she be free of her obligation to the dowager duchess. The last few weeks had been dreadfully hard to live through. It was true that she had not set eyes on the Earl of Rutherford since he had left her abruptly after his insulting offer of marriage-and neither had anyone else, it seemed. At least she had been spared that embarrassment. But she had had to face the severe disappointment of his grandmother-the same woman who was paying for her very keep.

She had returned to the drawing room with Lady Hope quite soon after Lord Rutherford's departure, but she had kept her surprise at finding Jessica the room's only occupant well concealed until her granddaughter had taken her leave. It had not taken her long after that to discover the truth.

She had been very kind. Jessica had to admit that. There was no accusation of ingratitude, no suggestion that she was no longer welcome at Berkeley Square. Quite the contrary, in fact. When Jessica, in great distress, had insisted that she must leave, whether her hostess was willing to find her a situation or not, that lady had shown uncharacteristic gentleness, patting her on the shoulder and telling her that she was a goose if she thought their friendship must come to an end merely because Jessica had had the good sense to reject "that puppy."

But she clearly was disappointed, Jessica knew. Although she rarely spoke with open kindness either to or about him, it was very clear that the dowager doted on her grandson and wished dearly that he would settle down with a wife and family. And she had wanted that wife to be Jessica. She had not pried. She had merely assumed that Rutherford had presented himself as if he were God's answer to a maiden's prayer and had offended Jessica's pride.

"Spoiled," she had said, handing Jessica her own lace handkerchief with which to dry her eyes. "Charles has always been surrounded with women ready to jump at his every bidding. Too many females in the family and not enough males. Middleburgh is no earthly good- always buried in his library or ensconced at one of his clubs. Dear Charles has grown up with the belief that he has merely to snap his fingers and a female will come running. He is too handsome for his own good too, of course. This will do him good, Jessica, m'dear. Just what he needs."

But Jessica knew that she did not mean it. She was beginning to know her hostess rather well, and the severe outer appearance hid deep feelings. Jessica knew every time a visitor was announced that the dowager looked up expecting it to be Lord Rutherford. She knew when the old lady looked around her at any gathering that she was looking for his tall, distinctive figure. And she sensed that her hostess's enthusiasm for the various gentlemen who came to call on her and take her walking and driving was somewhat forced.

Strange as the idea seemed, Jessica became more and more convinced that the Dowager Duchess of Middleburgh had grown to love her and had wished to gift her with what was most precious in her life: her grandson, the Earl of Rutherford.

Jessica did not know where he had gone and did not care, provided only that he stayed there. She did not wish to see him ever again. And she did not like to explore the reason for her reluctance. It was embarrassment merely, she would have assured herself. How can one face and be civil to a man whose marriage proposal one had rejected out of hand? It was intense dislike. The man had had only one use for her ever since he had set eyes on her. At least his offers to make her his mistress were an honest acknowledgement of that fact.

His offer of marriage was pure insult. He was desperate enough to possess her that he would even marry her to get what he wanted. Clearly he valued marriage very little. It meant nothing to him but the acquisition of an elusive bedfellow. What would he do when he grew tired of her? Presumably by that time she would have presented him with a male heir and she could be respectably housed on one of his country estates. There would be nothing to hold him after his passion cooled, of course. Unless he discovered something of her background. He would probably be suitably impressed to discover that Papa had been the youngest son of a baronet and Mama the daughter of a marquess.

Jessica was not necessarily in search of a love match. She knew that if she was to marry within her social class, she would probably marry and be married for any of several reasons. Her grandfather would wish her to ally herself to wealth and rank. She would wish also to like and respect her prospective husband. He would offer for her probably because of her relationship to the Marquess of Heddingly. She would hope also that she would be respected for her modest education and accomplishments.

She would not be married solely because she had a desirable body. And she would not marry a man for whom she felt only physical attraction. No matter how powerful that attraction was. She would never marry the Earl of Rutherford.

Her relief at not seeing him probably stemmed as much from this undesirable attraction as from embarrassment or dislike. When he was there, when she saw him, she was aware of nothing and of no one else. He was tall and athletic and of course impossibly handsome, as his grandmother had pointed out. And there was even a certain integrity in his character that drew her against her will. She knew that no matter what the circumstances, her person would somehow be safe with Lord Rutherford. There was the memory of the night at the inn, when he had entertained her with charming conversation during dinner and afterward insisted that she take his bed.

And always there were the memories of his kisses, of his touch, and the certain knowledge that he would be a lover who could make her forget all her scruples and even her very self if she would let him. And when she was with him, when he touched her, she always came perilously close to giving herself up to his care. To relax into his desire, to give herself to him body and soul, to forget that the person that was Jessica Moore mattered not at all to him, to forget that the future would hold nothing for them except a waning of passion and a long boredom: it was very hard to hold firm against all these urges when she saw him.

She was glad that he had made his offer the way he had. He had been so relaxed, so smilingly confident that she would swoon at his feet with gratitude for the great honor he had done her, so arrogant. Oh, yes, he had quite correctly labeled his own attitude. It had been relatively easy to refuse him. Anger had carried her through. And pride.

But oh, it had been difficult when he took her hand and uncurled her fingers not to lean forward to rest her forehead against his chest. And difficult not to call to him in panic when he strode from the room. Or to run after him down the stairs.

She wanted him, ached for him even when she could not see him. How much more dreadful it would be if she had to meet him as frequently as she had for the days preceding his offer. And how impossibly difficult it would be to see him at Hendon Park after all this time. To be in the privileged company of his family for that most intimate of seasons, Christmas.

Perhaps he would not come, Jessica sometimes thought, when she allowed herself to think of him consciously at all. But that possibility was so dreadful that she would always crowd it out of her mind and think of other more pleasant matters.

She had made several friends, young ladies whom she met frequently at various social functions, gentlemen of various ages, some of whom singled her out for a lone evening of gallantry only, some of whom became regular visitors at Berkeley Square and occasional escorts on the walks and drives that were becoming almost daily occurrences.

There was Sir Godfrey Hall, of course, but he was an easy, amiable friend merely. Jessica enjoyed his company and noted with amusement that whenever she saw him she almost invariably saw Lady Hope too, the latter trying with something less than subtlety to throw the two of them together. Yet it seemed that whenever Sir Godfrey offered to escort her anywhere, he had always asked Lady Hope first. There was Lord Graves, an older man of solid substance and little humor, whom she suspected of the intention to begin to court her seriously. There was Lord Beasley, who liked to show off his high-perch phaeton, a dangerous vehicle for winter conditions and for a man of his bulk, Jessica always felt, as she clung, smiling and apparently relaxed, to the seat beside him. And Mr. Menteith frequently sat beside her at assemblies or danced with her.

It would not be difficult, Jessica concluded, to acquire a husband for herself before the end of the coming Season. Despite her age, she seemed quite able to attract the notice of eligible gentlemen. And even if the fact that she was the guest of the Dowager Duchess of Middleburgh was part of the attraction, it could not be the whole matter, for the dowager had never substantiated that very vague explanation that Jessica was the granddaughter of a dear friend of hers. No one knew that she was the only granddaughter of a very wealthy marquess.

She would wait and see what Grandpapa would do about the dowager's letter. Perhaps she would go home with him and be content to live quietly in the country. Perhaps she would allow him to arrange a marriage for her or wait for one of the gentlemen she knew to offer for her. Perhaps she would be able to find something to do that would take her mind off the dreadful obsession she had with the Earl of Rutherford.

Lord Rutherford rested one booted leg against the velvet upholstery of the seat opposite him in his traveling carriage. He shifted his position and tried to find a more comfortable resting place for his back. Four days of travel, even inside a comfortable coach, were beginning to feel like protracted torture. He would have far preferred to ride the distance on horseback, or at least part of it. But good manners dictated that he stay with his companion. It was some relief to see the countryside begin to grow familiar and to know that there was only one tollgate between them and London. They would stay at his town house for the night before proceeding the short distance south to Hendon Park to join the rest of the family.

"We should be home in good time for dinner, sir," he said. "You will doubtless be as relieved as I to see the end of this journey."

"Never could stand traveling," the Marquess of Heddingly grumbled. "Roads full of potholes. Beds in inns full of fleas. Other places just as full of fools as the places one has just left behind. It always seemed pointless trouble to me."

"My grandmother will be delighted to see you, I

know," Lord Rutherford said. "And of course there will be mutual delight when you are reunited with Miss Moore."

"Headstrong girl," the marquess said. "Too much like her grandfather, I suppose. We never could agree on anything for more than five minutes together. I am glad to hear she has finally come to her senses, anyway."

"And she will have a secure future," Rutherford said. "Of that I can assure you, sir. She will not want for any luxury or any care as my wife."

"It is just as well," Lord Heddingly said, turning to look keenly from beneath bushy white eyebrows at his companion. "It is perfectly clear that you must marry the girl, Rutherford, as you have admitted yourself. But no great harm is done, I believe. I could not have chosen a more eligible husband for the girl myself."

"Thank you, sir," his companion said. "I would have been very careful, of course, not to compromise your granddaughter had I realized who she was. But she has never been willing to tell me. One is not always so careful of the honor of a governess."

"Typical of Jessica," the marquess said. "She probably don't even realize that she is bound to marry you. Will she have you without fuss, do you think? Does she care for you?"

"I have reason to believe that she does," Rutherford said after a pause. "But she is stubborn, sir, if you will pardon me for saying so. She will not take kindly to being told what she must do."

"Hm," the marquess said. "Leave her to me, my boy. Though Jessica has never been known to do as I say merely because I have said it."

"My grandmother will perhaps be my best advocate," Lord Rutherford said. "I believe Miss Moore is fond of her."

"And so she should be," the marquess said, "taken in off the street as she was. Dratted girl. She would probably have gone to the poorhouse sooner than come to me for help. I hope you will be firm with her when she is your wife, Rutherford. I do not believe that fool of a father of hers ever once gave the girl a good thrashing. Would probably do her the world of good even now."

Lord Rutherford did not reply. He turned his attention to the window to view the final tollgate at which the carriage had already stopped. He felt a wave of amusement although he did not allow his expression to show it. He was quite sure that if he ever did persuade Jess to marry him, he would feel regular urges to pinion her beneath his arm and wallop her until she was too sore to sit down. He was equally sure that if he ever tried it, she would be sitting down in comfort long before his eyes recovered from their rainbow colored bruises.

But would she ever marry him? That was the key question. And he was far from confident even though his discoveries of the past few weeks had made it quite imperative that she do so. Confronting her with his new knowledge would only make her so much more stubborn and contemptuous, he did not doubt. He had a powerful ally in her grandfather, but it seemed that she could defy him too in a grand manner when she chose to do so.

And to think that he had once labeled Jess Moore as a little mouse, a gray governess, Rutherford thought with a grimace of wry humor as the carriage lurched into motion again.

Granddaughter of the Marquess of Heddingly, indeed! The only direct descendant of that legendary aristocrat, a man rarely seen but fabled to be enormously wealthy and very influential in the affairs of his country despite his physical retirement on his country estate. Jess was his granddaughter! And rather than submit to allowing the marquess to bring her out and arrange some sort of brilliant match for her, she had taken a situation as governess with those unspeakable Barries and become the colorless, demure creature he had first encountered. It was almost unbelievable.

It had taken him an irritatingly long time to find out the truth. All he had known for certain-and indeed he had not been thoroughly sure of even that-was that her father, one Adam Moore, had been a country parson in the county of Gloucestershire. Who could possibly have guessed that there would be two Adam Moores with parishes in that county and that he would have the misfortune to investigate the wrong one first? However, he had finally been brought face to face with the incredible truth. And he had taken himself off to call on the Marquess of Heddingly.

He was not quite sure why he had rushed away from London after her rejection without telling anyone he was leaving and without taking even the indispensable Jeremy with him. He knew he was going in search of her background, but why he did so he had not stopped to consider. She had refused him in a very definite manner. There seemed no possible way he could persuade her to reconsider. Indeed, he had not even wanted to change her mind when he left. He had been more furious than he could remember being for a long time. Had she had to treat his offer with such open contempt? Did she not understand what an effort of nerve it cost a man to propose marriage to the woman of his choice?

Perhaps he had been hoping to find that the worst of the stories she had told about herself were true. He did not know. He could not remember. Perhaps it would have soothed him to know for certain that he had narrowly missed allying himself to someone quite unsuitable for the rank of countess. Perhaps he had no clear motive at all. Perhaps there had just been the unconscious need to keep some contact with her.

He had certainly not dreamed of finding a very powerful reason for going back to her and insisting that she reconsider. When he recalled his relationship with Jess in light of his meeting with her grandfather-the attempted seduction in the Barries' library, the very nearly consummated seduction at the inn, the unchaste embrace and renewed offer of carte blanche at Lord

Chalmers' ball-he shuddered with embarrassment. He had never before dreamed of doing more than kiss the fingertips of an unmarried lady of her rank. He had had Jessica Moore in bed, his hands roaming and exploring every inch of her body! He had been within moments of violating that body.

She would have to marry him. Surely even a lady of her stubborn independence must see that. She had been hopelessly dishonored, her reputation compromised beyond repair. The only way out for her was to wed her would-be seducer. Once her grandfather arrived at Hendon, once he had talked to her, once everyone knew her real identity, she would realize for herself that she had absolutely no choice in the matter. Even if she hated him, even if she was repulsed by him, she must marry him.

But it was not as bad as that. She did not hate him, Rutherford convinced himself. She was certainly not repulsed by him. It was just that their relationship had made a very poor start, a purely physical start, and she was convinced that he saw her as a sexual object only. Her pride was hurt. But she wanted him as badly as he wanted her. She just needed to be persuaded that marriage to him was the answer.

He just wished that there were someone more tactful than he to do the persuading. Somehow he did not seem to have the gift of talking to Jess. He was always so conscious of her, of his great need for her, that he could not possibly act naturally with her. Always he seemed like two persons, the one taking the most disastrous approaches to communicating with her, the other standing back and watching in dismay.

Unfortunately, he did not believe there was any more tactful advocate of his cause. Obviously her grandfather was not the man. The marquess himself admitted that he and Jess had never been able to agree on anything for any length of time. And she had rebelled in no uncertain manner the last time he had tried to order her life. And Rutherford was not convinced that even his grandmother would be able to change Jess's mind once it was made up. The dowager might have a will of iron, but he suspected that perhaps she had met her match in Jess.

Lord Rutherford sighed as he gazed about him with some satisfaction at the buildings of London. Jess. How would he ever get her out of his blood if she refused him this time? He might have agreed with her a few weeks before that his need for her was a purely physical thing, that if he could once bed her a few times, the obsession would disappear and she would become merely a woman to be used until all pleasure gave way to boredom. But it was not so. How absurd ever to have thought it.

Jess was part of his very being. He did not know her very well. She had never allowed him close enough to the person that she was. But he knew one thing. The one goal of his life, the one activity that could make it worth living, was to reach beyond the self-imposed barriers and learn to know her as well as he knew himself. He wanted her in his bed, yes. Nothing had changed that desire. But that would not be enough. Not nearly enough. He wanted Jess in his home, in his life. In his heart.

If he had discovered one thing during his long and tedious travels of the previous few weeks, he had discovered that. He loved Jessica Moore.

"We will be home in ten minutes, sir," he said, turning to his silent traveling companion with a smile, "and I do believe we will have time for a rest before dinner. I am sure you could use one."

"Damn the rest," the marquess said. "A hot bath and a good stiff drink will go a much farther way to restoring me, Rutherford. I shall spend long enough in my bed, doubtless, in the coming years unless I have the good fortune to pop off suddenly."