They were in the dining room, and she’d risen much too early. With the bad weather ending the party so abruptly, she’d tossed and turned, worrying that the soiree had been a failure—and that Jacob would blame her.
“Why are you eating in the manor?” she asked Kit. “You have your own house and your own servants. I’m positive they can scramble an egg and put it on a plate. Why must we feed you?”
“I’ve always eaten breakfast here. Esther and I began our day together.”
“She was an obnoxious shrew, so I’m not surprised to learn you were chums.”
“I flattered and cajoled her, so she adored me.”
“In your deluded mind maybe. She didn’t like anybody.”
She dug into her food, and he stood and meandered over to the sideboard to dish up another helping for himself.
“Oh, look,” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm, “there’s Jacob coming home. Where could he have been?”
Kit was adept at needling her, and she should have ignored him, but she couldn’t stop herself from inquiring, “What are you talking about?”
“He just rode into the yard.”
Kit was staring out the window, but whether Jacob was out there or not, it was hard to predict. Kit loved to torment her.
“It’s not even eight o’clock,” she said, “and the roads will be muddy from the rain. Why would he be out and about already?”
“It appears to me that he’s wearing the same clothes he had on last night.”
“You’re a man,” she scoffed. “As if you’d have noticed what he was wearing. As if you’d remember it later on.”
“If I had to guess, I’d swear he hasn’t been to bed yet. At least he hasn’t been to the one up in his bedchamber. He must have slept somewhere else.”
There was a footman hovering in the corner, and she said to Kit, “Would you shut up?”
“Aren’t you curious as to where he’s been? I certainly am. If I asked him, I wonder if he’d whisper the name of the lucky girl.”
Roxanne peeked at the footman, and his eyes were wide as saucers. She waved him out, then she rose and walked over to stand beside Kit. And . . . ?
There was Jacob, skulking across the garden toward a rear entrance, and Kit was correct: He was wearing the clothes he’d had on the night before.
The bastard!
There was a mongrel dog with him, and as he neared the verandah, he petted the animal, then he pointed to the woods. The dog barked, then raced off, and Jacob continued on into the house.
Kit smirked. “Aren’t you his dearest betrothed? I would hate to imagine he’s cheating on you so soon, but then, he is Miles’s son.”
Concealing her fury, she sauntered back to the table and resumed eating, but she casually said, “Whose dog is that?”
“I believe it belongs to the little witch who’s treating Margaret—and I use the term witch literally.”
Roxanne tamped down a blanch. “I doubt she’s a witch. I begged her to read my palms once, but she insisted she had no ability for that sort of endeavor.”
“That’s not what the stable boys tell me. They claim she can make a man’s private parts stop working. If she can make them stop working, she can probably make them start working, wouldn’t you suppose?”
“For pity’s sake. Be silent.”
“Should we fear that she’s cast a spell on Jacob? How can we explain his being so enthralled? Perhaps she wants him for herself, and she’s luring him away from you.”
“Gad, you are so aggravating. Have mercy and let me finish my meal in peace.”
“If it’s not magic, how can an amour have flared so quickly?”
She threw down her napkin, leapt to her feet, and marched for the door.
“What’s wrong?” He was innocent as a choirboy. “Have my remarks upset you? Don’t mind me; I’m just babbling aloud.”
“I can’t wait for the day I skewer you with a sharp sword and spread your innards on the barn floor for the dogs to devour.”
“You have such a picturesque way with words. Is Jacob aware of your violent tendencies?”
She halted and said, “Miss James has a young girl living with her who she pretends is her niece. Do you know anything about her?”
“No, I haven’t a clue.”
“She’s nine or so. White-blond hair, very black eyes. Her name is Clara.”
“Why would that news interest me?”
“Figure it out, Kit. I’m betting you can.”
Their gazes locked, her message resonating, rattling him, then she whipped away and left.
She was desperate to escape his vile presence, and the best place to mope and fume was in her bedchamber, but she didn’t dare climb the stairs. If she met Jacob in the hall, it would be blatantly obvious that he was sneaking in from a tryst, and it had to have been with Miss James, didn’t it?
Roxanne’s blood boiled. Clearly, her suspicions about the pretty tart were valid. Did Jacob imagine Roxanne wouldn’t care about a dalliance?
It wasn’t the dalliance so much as his pursuing it right under her very nose. A rural estate was such an incestuous spot. Everyone knew everyone else’s business. Did he think he could keep an affair a secret? Did he think Roxanne would never find out? Wasn’t he concerned about her finding out? If that was his attitude, what kind of marriage would they have?
She’d thought he was an honorable fellow and that he’d at least attempt to practice monogamy—but no man could. Just look at his dastardly father! In her view, she’d expected he’d be mostly faithful, but when he trifled with a paramour, he’d go to great lengths to hide it. She wasn’t even his wife yet, and he was already indifferent to her feelings. How was she to deal with such disregard?
And what about Miss James? Roxanne was about to be Jacob’s bride. How could Miss James assume she would be allowed to
