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
