And Mr. Thorne.
Oh dear.
Whoever had thought of inviting him? Elizabeth? He was still being talked about wherever one went, of course, though Jessica was not quite sure why. Yes, he was a kinsman of Lady Vickers and also her godson and Sir Trevor’s. But did anyone know for sure that he really had acquired wealth during his years in America and was not in reality a lying adventurer? From whom exactly had he recently inherited property and fortune here in England? Andwherein England? In retrospect, Jessica realized he had been very vague in his answers to her questions. Or perhaps she had not asked the right questions or enough of them. Nevertheless, thetonappeared to be accepting him at his word even though everyone was also still intrigued by the mystery surrounding his sudden appearance in London. They were enchanted by him.
And he washere.At Elizabeth and Colin’s supposedly select party. He caught her eye across the room and inclined his head in greeting.
Her evening was ruined.
But if you want a chance with me, then you will . . .romanceme.
If her cheeks turned any hotter, they would surely burst into flames.
Fortunately Cousin Althea, Elizabeth and Alexander’s mother, moved into her line of vision and cut out Mr. Thorne. She was smiling as she kissed Jessica’s cheek. “You do look lovely in that particular shade of green, Jessica,” she said. And it was only at that moment that Jessica noticed she had a young gentleman with her. “You know Mr. Rochford, I believe?”
Oh. Oh, oh, and oh again. An evening doubly ruined—which was a strange thought to be having under the circumstances.
“I do.” She smiled. “How do you do, Mr. Rochford?”
“Considerably better than I did a minute ago,” he said, making her his usual elegant bow and favoring her with the full force of his dazzling smile. “And Mrs. Westcott took the words out of my mouth. You should always wear green.”
“Thank you,” she said. She would gain fame as a walking tree.
“I see that Matilda and Charles have arrived,” Cousin Althea said. “Do please excuse me.”
And Jessica was left alone with Mr. Rochford. Again.
“I was exceedingly gratified when Lady Hodges invited me to her party,” he said. “The invitation card described it as aselectgathering to welcome the return to town of the Earl and Countess of Riverdale. You would not have received a formal invitation, of course, Lady Jessica. You are a Westcott through the Dowager Duchess of Netherby, your mother, I understand. I believe most of the guests here this evening are either Westcotts or have a direct familial connection to them. I am deeply honored to have been included among those who are neither. I wonder to whom I am indebted.” He gave her an arch look that was clearly meant to be significant.
Jessica could hazard a guess. He was a young and handsome man. He was about to be very well connected indeed. Before the summer was out his father would almost certainly be the Earl of Lyndale, all the formality of declaring the incumbent earl officially deceased over with. He had been determinedly singling her out for attention. The Westcotts, many of whom she knew were concerned about her continued single state, could always be depended upon to intervene whenever it occurred to them that one of their number might need a helping hand. She would almost wager upon it that they had decided to do some active matchmaking. She could just picture the usual committee—Grandmama, Aunt Matilda, Aunt Mildred, her mother, Cousin Althea, possibly Aunt Viola and Great-aunt Edith—convening over tea somewhere and putting their heads together to decide what could be done to prod dear Jessica into marriage with this extremely eligible and personable young future earl who would surely turn his attentions elsewhere if she did not snatch him up before it could happen.
“I would imagine,” Jessica said in answer to his implied inquiry, “it is my cousin Elizabeth herself—Lady Hodges, that is—whom you have to thank.”
“I have already expressed my gratitude to her,” he said. “I cannot imagine anywhere I would rather be this evening than just precisely where I am.”
His tone made it clear thatjust precisely where he wasmeant not Elizabeth and Colin’s house in general or even the drawing room in particular, but this precise spot in the drawing room, alone with Jessica, space all about them even though there were enough family and guests to more than half fill the rest of the room. Even Grandmama and Great-aunt Edith, surrounded by people who had come to greet them, seemed to be some distance away, though Jessica could not recall moving away from them. But this was not going to happen again, she decided, not as it had at the soiree a few evenings ago. She had no wish to spend the whole evening virtually alone with Mr. Rochford in plain sight of a couple of dozen or so interested family members and others tactfully keeping their distance. If she was going to allow the courtship of Mr. Rochford, it was going to be on her own terms. She was not going to let her family and the wholetonstart to see them as an established couple and then find that she had been backed into a corner from which there was no easy escape.
She reached for a glass of wine from the tray held by a passing servant, though she did not really want it, and at the same time took a few steps to her right, bringing herself into the orbit of a group that included Alexander and Elizabeth and Cousin Peter and . . . oh, and Estelle and Mr. Thorne. Mr. Rochford moved with her.
So much for her relaxed evening with family and close friends, she thought rather crossly before seeing the funny side of the situation. It was as though some malicious fate had learned of her decision to choose a husband this year and had sent her two candidates, both of whom had shown interest in her without any effort to attract on her part and both of whom made her want to run for the hills or some deep, dark cave or her bedchamber with an extra bolt added to the door.
It seemed she was not ready for marriage after all—and perhaps never would be.
She caught Mr. Thorne’s eye over the rim of her glass, and he raised his eyebrows. Why was it she had the feeling he had detected her inner amusement—albeit aruefulamusement? There was no hint of a smile on his face.
“I cannot tell you,” Mr. Rochford was saying, addressing Elizabeth, “how honored I am to have been included in your guest list in what I can see is essentially a family gathering. I suppose I must grow accustomed to being treated with such deference. It still seems much like a dream that soon my father will be Earl of Lyndale in name as well as in fact. And that I will be his heir.”
“We are delighted you were able to come,” Elizabeth said, smiling warmly at him.
“Infact?” Mr. Thorne asked. “Your father will be earl in nameas well as in fact?”
“Ah, yes,” Mr. Rochford said. “Brierley Hall was falling into chaos and disrepair in the absence of a firm-handed master. Servants, neighbors, hangers-on—they were all taking advantage of the fact. Much as my father wanted to cling to hope, even after all hope was realistically gone, that my cousin would be found alive and would return to take responsibility for his inheritance, he was eventually forced to acknowledge that it was not going to happen. Much against the grain, and knowing he might be accused of doing what he was not yet legally entitled to do, he took up residence at Brierley a while ago and began the difficult task of putting the estate to rights. It has all been very distressing for him—for all of us. Yet hestillholds out hope that at the last moment Gabriel will reappear to lift the burden from his shoulders.”
“Ah,” Mr. Thorne said. “Gabriel, was he? That is my name too. I have never encountered another, though I am not encountering one in person now, alas, am I? Unlike your father, you are sure he is dead?”
“There can be little doubt,” Mr. Rochford said, shaking his head sadly. “Though I hope I am wrong. I am afraid my cousin was ironically named, however. He was very far from being an angel.”
“Oh, he was a rogue, then, was he?” Peter asked, grinning, his interest noticeably piqued.
