The Heart's Companion

Dinner progressed more smoothly than Jane had expected. The company was unusually convivial—perhaps because of the events before dinner. Whatever the cause, the dining table resounded with laughter and animated conversation. The only circumstance to mar the perfection of the meal occurred as the guests found their seats in the dining room.

Owing to his position as highest ranking peer, Lord Royce had been placed at Lady Elsbeth’s right. Next to him they’d assigned Millicent Hedgeworth, and next to her Lord Royce’s guest. Lord Conisbrough, taking in the situation, calmly exchanged his place card with Royce’s. Other than raising an eyebrow, Royce displayed no other reaction to his friend’s actions, for in truth, Conisbrough’s rank was the higher. Bowing to Lady Elsbeth, Lord Conisbrough took his seat and proceeded to make himself amenable to both Lady Elsbeth and Millicent. His conversation never strayed beyond practiced social gallantries, which drew an amused smile from Elsbeth.

Jane could not hear what was said from her end of the table. She shifted uneasily in her seat and found she could make only stilted responses to questions. All around her talk flowed easily. No one seemed to notice her reticence. She knew she was behaving badly, but could not seem to help herself. She was embarrassed for having cut up Royce only to have him proved right by Elsbeth’s inexplicable behavior. She hadn’t even known that Elsbeth and the marquis were acquainted, let alone that they had once enjoyed a close relationship! It seemed impossible. The Marquis of Conisbrough’s reputation made Royce seem angelic in comparison. Blackjack, Elsbeth called him, as did most of society whenever his name came up in conversation.

Now in his forties, the once strikingly handsome John Trent, Marquis of Conisbrough, was showing definite signs of weathering. His wavy guinea-gold hair, laced with silver, was worn a bit longer than the fashion, one stubborn curling lock falling across his high brow in a raffish manner. He had a tanned face, lined with years of experience. His pale blue eyes were his most startling feature. He reminded Jane of a pirate. He’d never married, though scores of women threw themselves at him. More than one woman of position was said to have offered herself without promises of matrimony. Jane remembered gossip that he’d once proposed marriage, but the woman had refused him. For whatever reason, he’d never given another woman the same opportunity. Could Aunt Elsbeth have been that woman? It could not be possible. They were so different. As different as—as a Chinaman and an Englishman!

Then what was behind this facade of friendship?

No answers swam into Jane’s beleaguered brain, only more questions, and a nagging fear. Did she listen too closely to society’s tales? Was she a creature of gossip, as Royce suggested? Delicately Jane shuddered and her spirits ebbed. She prayed not. Still, she acknowledged she knew more stories than truths, of the driftwood remains of wrecks than of the vessels themselves. She needed to sift the sands of her knowledge if she wished to turn up gold rather than pottery shards.

When she and Lady Elsbeth rose from dinner, the entire company joined them as they had no host to entertain the gentlemen over port. Though the Marquis and Lady Elsbeth parted after dinner to converse with others, Jane covertly watched him, her eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"And just what is it you fear?" asked a quiet, deep voice behind her.

The rumble of that voice always sent shivers through her body. She jumped in reaction to the feeling and whirled around. Her pride smarted and would not allow for honesty. Her eyes flared, their green light glittering hard like faceted gems. She tossed her head up and turned away before the buttress of prideful strength gave way before his knowing glance.

A laugh now came from behind her, following, mocking, as she walked away. What was worse, what caused the laugh to echo in her head and pulsate throughout her body, was the knowledge that she couldn’t answer the earl’s question. She didn’t know what she feared, and so the feeling fed upon itself and grew.

Jane’s increasing agitation rent her cool society cloak, reducing it to tatters. By the time the rest of the guests arrived for the planned dancing, her color and voice were unnaturally high. She soon replaced the marquis and Lady Elsbeth as the subject of whispered speculation. But Jane did not notice. She drifted through the guests with all the charm of a virtual stranger.

Observing her, the Earl of Royce felt his sardonic amusement fade. He was not as pleased as he knew he should be. He’d vowed to strip away her ice barrier, for those barriers guarded her passionate nature. But this was not the method he’d intended, and he questioned its outcome. He wondered if perchance he had blundered. There was a vulnerability about her that he did not like. Instead of the forbidding Ice Witch, he saw her as the first fragile flower to emerge from winter’s snowy blanket—fresh, delicate, and easily crushed.

Royce watched Sir Garth Helmsdon move up behind Miss Grantley. He appeared to be taking great care not to be seen until he was close enough to touch her. Strange. According to Miss Grantley it was her cousin, Mrs. Hedgeworth, who held Helmsdon’s interest. Observing the gentleman’s behavior, Royce was inclined to argue that idea. It didn’t appear as if he was dangling after Mrs. Hedgeworth. Not once before dinner had he approached her. Certainly the woman never gave a sign of expecting his attentions, either. And a woman of Millicent Hedgeworth’s ilk would not take kindly to losing any suitor, whether she was interested in him or not. The more men that surrounded her, the more her ego was fed. Also, if there were a rivalry between the two cousins, which he sensed, one would not take kindly to being cut out by the other. The earl’s frown deepened.

"La, my lord, you look so serious," teased Millicent, gently pulling down on his arm. It piqued her to so easily lose his attention, especially to that twit, Jane Grantley. But she was too well schooled in the art of flirtation to allow her irritation to show.

He looked down at the beautiful young woman on his arm, a smile returning to his lips. "A thousand apologies, my dear. Ah, but I see I have only to look into your lovely face and all serious thoughts vanish like smoke in the wind."

Millicent coyly tilted her head and lowered her lashes, then opened them to look up at him with an affected, wide-eyed innocence. "You are too kind, I’m sure."

"Why is it that everyone would have me be so?" he asked, a touch of whimsy in his tone.

"My lord?"

"Nothing, my dear, just odd humors. I see the musicians are ready to begin. May I have the honor of the first dance this evening?" he said before she could question him further.

"I should be delighted, my lord." Millicent’s slow, answering smile was full of seductive promise for the future.

Jane felt the light, gliding touch down her bare arm before she was aware of Sir Helmsdon’s position at her side. Startled, she began to pull away, but his hand clamped about her wrist, anchoring her.

"At last, Miss Grantley, it appears we have the opportunity to renew our friendship. "

"Friendship, sir?" she asked with what coldness she could muster.

"Ah, I see you are remembering our little misunderstanding."

"Misunderstanding? I should hardly call an attempt at kidnapping a misunderstanding!" she snapped, then glanced around to see if any had heard. She took a deep breath and tried to calm her tremulous pulse.

He smiled then, and it was almost a sad smile. It shook Jane’s confidence. Instead of pulling away again, she stood still, looking at him warily.

He dropped her wrist and spread his hands before him. "I know the circumstances from your viewpoint were suspicious. You must often be the recipient of fortune hunters’ advances. I will admit, I am not flush in the pockets, and so I must appear to you as another member of that infamous cadre."

"And are you not?"

He looked pained. "My dear, you would do well to call me a liar if I said no. I must marry well, it is true. However, have you never wondered why I have not yet wed so? I could have contracted any number of marriages of convenience, but I have not."

"Because you disdain the smell of the shop," Jane offered.

Sir Helmsdon stiffened. "That is an unkind cut. Not only to me, but to several young women I could name who are well brought up. I would even venture to say they possess a delicacy of manner beyond most young women of society."

Jane looked at him skeptically. "I agree. But if you truly feel so, why have you not married one of them?"

He sighed. "Walk with me a moment, Miss Grantley, and I will tell you," he said, extending his arm to her.

Surprised at his almost humble manner, Jane placed her arm on his. He proceeded to lead her about the room. The musicians were warming up, and sets were assembling. Jane saw Lord Royce lead Millicent out to join the dance. She wished she were lining up to dance, but it appeared Sir Helmsdon was inclined to talk, and she felt obligated to listen.

"The truth," he said after some moments, recalling her wandering thoughts, "is that I am a most foolish fellow. I have it in my head to only marry for love. I know—I know—" he went on hurriedly, "that is an impractical notion, given my unfortunate circumstances in life. Nonetheless, it is why I have heretofore evaded the parson’s trap."

Jane raised an eyebrow. "Trap, sir?"

"A poor turn of phrase for such a serious subject. In a sense true, however. Without love, marriage would be a trap."

Jane halted and looked up at Sir Helmsdon. "What are you trying to say, sir?" she asked bluntly, color high on her cheeks in anticipation of his answer.

"Please, Miss Grantley—" he said, indicating with a nod in the direction of the door his desire for private conversation.

She stared at him a moment, then nodded and allowed him to lead her out of the parlor and into the hall. He led her to the same seat Lord Royce had taken the week before. In some portion of her mind, the humor of the seat’s continued use for private discourse percolated, and she smiled.

"I’m gratified to see you smile. It partially soothes my own trepidation," he said wryly.

Jane laughed. "You, sir, afraid?" The man had much to answer for; still, he was being astonishingly disarming.

"A gentleman—nay, any man is afraid to admit to softer emotions—to notions of love and tenderness."

"And are you?"

"You know it, Miss Grantley," he said seriously, his gray eyes searching her face.

Jane’s smile faltered. "In the past you have had an odd way of displaying your feelings," she reminded him.

"Damn it, I know it," he said angrily, turning away from her to stare blindly down the long hall. "Miss Grantley, the day I came upon you in Berkeley Square, I was on my way to your home to bid you good-bye. I thought it fortunate to have met you as you set out on your afternoon visits. Contrary to the words you whipped me soundly with that day, I had not been lying in wait for you. And while it is true that I requested you join me in my carriage, it was to allow us private conversation rather than standing about on some street corner like any common person."

"Oh, come now, Sir Helmsdon. I am not such a gudgeon as that. The carriage you guided me to was a rented traveling coach piled high with baggage. If I had deigned to step up into that carriage I doubt I would have stepped out again until my reputation was in tatters, leaving me no alternative but to marry you. Or you would have avoided that sullied middle part and led me directly to the anvil!"

Sir Helmsdon smiled. "A delightful thought. I would that it had occurred to me, be I later termed a knave or worse. Seriously, Miss Grantley," he drew her small hand into his and covered it with his other. "I do most sincerely love you and wish to make you my wife. There, I have said it without roundaboutation. "

Jane laughed. "Almost, Sir Helmsdon, do I believe you. There still are several plaguing questions. I know I should ask what was your reason for the loaded traveling coach, but we shall leave that aside for the time. Instead let me ask what brings you in my Aunt Serena’s company? And what of your pursuit of Millicent? According to my aunt, you have been a most assiduous suitor."

He shrugged. "She was a means to an ends. When I returned to London you’d already gone and no one could, or would, tell me where. I happened to remember your relationship to Mrs. Hedgeworth and presumed upon our friendship in order to ascertain your location. It was merely fortuitous Mrs. Hedgeworth and Lady Tipton were planning a trip down here. I quite shamelessly invited myself along."

Jane eyed him askance. "Knowing my dear relations, I would say there is a host you are not saying. Well, we shall leave that for now. I must tell you, sir, and quite firmly, that I do not wish to marry. You or anyone."

"But why, Miss Grantley? As modem as our times are, it is still difficult for an unmarried woman to make her way alone in this world. At least with marriage to me your security and safety would be assured."

"In exchange for my bank account," she said dryly. "No, do not protest. Let me say this in my defense. I, too, would not wish to marry where there is not love on my part."

"And you do not love me."

"No, sir, I most definitely do not."

"And I am thereby hoisted upon my own petard?"

Jane smiled. "So it would seem, sir. Now please, do not make me have to request you leave Penwick. It would be quite awkward. If I hear no more talk of love or marriage, I may begin to believe your story. You would be better to offer your hand to Millicent, you know."

Sir Helmsdon grimaced. "No, thank you. Besides, it appears she has the Devil’s Disciple in her sights."

"I wish her joy. He is not a man I would choose to wed!" Remembering his voice’s impact upon her sense, she shuddered delicately. "But come," she said, rising from his side. "It is time we rejoined the company or I shall stand in danger of ruining my reputation!"

He stood beside her, again offering his arm. "I shall make what promises you desire, if you in turn will grant me the honor of the next dance."

She laid her hand on his. "That is a bargain I should be happy to deal, sir," she said, walking with him back to the ballroom.

She felt a great weight lifted from her soul. Sir Helmsdon would not be the problem she dreaded. She still wasn’t sure whether she believed his story or not, but she trusted that he would make it be the truth if she allowed herself to believe that way. Sir Helmsdon had displayed a side of his personality that evening that she never saw before. Gone was the cynical man about town. In its dust was left a strangely sensitive and humorous gentleman. This was not in keeping with the persona society talked about. Was his reputation another example of society’s imaginative gossipmongers?

She frowned slightly as they entered the ballroom, unaware she was observed. She shook off the miasma of confusion that curled around her like morning fog. Her cloak was once again whole. She accompanied Sir Helmsdon to the dance floor to join a set forming for a spirited contredanse.

The Earl of Royce leaned against a pillar in the ballroom, his arms across his chest. He watched Sir Helmsdon lead Miss Grantley onto the dance floor. Royce raised a hand to lightly stroke his chin. He’d observed Miss Grantley leaving with Helmsdon some fifteen minutes earlier. Unfortunately his position in the dancing set precluded him following her as he’d wished to do. He did not trust Sir Helmsdon. Miss Grantley’s manner when she left the room had been prickly at best. Now, after being gone alone with that gentleman for an unconscionable time, she had returned in better—though unsettled— spirits. But she did not seem to hold the aversion to Helmsdon that he’d earlier observed. Curious. It also appeared she’d managed to rebuild her barriers. Perhaps under the current circumstances that was for the best.

He straightened, his arms falling to his side. What business of his was it who she smiled upon and who she did not? It was none. He was a mere observer, and that was the way he wished to keep it. Her antics and those of her guests would relieve his ennui. The country was not a place for a man of his parts. The sooner he could return to the Continent, the better for all concerned, he decided. Yet there remained a tiny irritating grain, a wisp of a thought without form, in his mind. It nestled deeply in his consciousness. If the country was so boring, why was he content?