Chapter 6
Spencer observed that Barnett did not seem too morose that Lady Jane had thrown him over. He watched Barnett fling himself into the hunt, crowing over the things he’d found for his group, all the while glancing raptly at the daughter of guests from Kent. His behavior was not so much of a man bereaved as one reprieved.
Spencer knew that if Jane had given him the push, he’d be miserable, tearing at his hair and beating his breast like the best operatic hero.
He feared Jane had dismissal in mind when she gazed down from the upper gallery and caught his eye. She gave him a long look before she skimmed down the stairs and disappeared into the library.
Spencer, who’d found none of the items on his list, his heart not in the game, handed his paper to Thomas and told the lad to carry on.
“Jane?” Spencer whispered as he entered the library. It was dark, a few candles burning for the sake of the gamers, the fire half-hearted against the cold. The chill was why no one lingered here—the room was quite empty.
Spencer shut the door. “Jane?”
She turned from the shadows beside the fireplace. Spencer approached her, one reluctant pace at a time.
When he was a few strides away, Jane smiled at him. That smile blazed like sunshine, lighting the room to its darkest corners.
“Captain Ingram,” Lady Jane said. “Will you marry me?”
Spencer ceased breathing. He knew his heart continued to beat, because it pounded blood through him in hot washes. But he felt nothing, as though he’d been wound in bandages, like the time a French saber had pierced his shoulder and the surgeon had swaddled his upper body like a babe’s.
That shoulder throbbed, the old pain resurfacing, and Spencer’s breath rushed back into his lungs.
“Jane …”
“I am sincere, I assure you,” Jane said, as though she supposed he’d argue with her. “I know I am doing this topsy-turvy, but—”
Spencer laid shaking hands on her shoulders, the blue silk of her gown warmed by her body. “Which is the right way ’round for you, my beautiful, beautiful fae.”
“Grandfather would faint if he heard you say so,” Jane said with merriment. “I believe he’s rather afraid of the fae. Even if he married one.”
Spencer tightened his clasp on her. He never remembered how Jane ended up in his arms, but in the next instant he was kissing her, deeply, possessively, and she responded with the mad passion he’d seen in her eyes.
That kiss ended, but they scarcely had time to draw a breath before the next kiss began. And the next.
They ended up in the wing chair that reposed before the fire, placed so a reader might keep his or her feet warm. Spencer’s large frame took up most of it, but there was room for Jane on his lap.
They kissed again, Spencer cradling her.
How much time sped by, Spencer had no idea, but at last he drew Jane to rest on his shoulder.
“Shall we adjourn to Gretna Green?” he asked in a low voice.
Jane raised her head, her blue eyes bright in the darkened room. “No, indeed. I wish my family and friends to be present. But soon.”
“How fortunate that my leave is for a month. Time enough to have the banns read in your parish church. And then what? Follow me and the drum? It can be a hard life.”
Jane brushed his cheek. “I do want to go with you. I am willing to face the challenge, to forsake the safer path.” She spoke the words forcefully, as though waiting for Spencer to dissuade her.
He had no intention of it. With Jane by his side, camp life would cease to be bleak. “I plan to sell my commission a few years from now, in any case. I do not see myself as a career army man, though I am fond of travel.”
“I long to travel.”
The words were adamant. With Jane’s restlessness and fire, Spencer believed her. “After that, I will have a house waiting for me,” he said. “One of my father’s minor estates.”
Her smile beamed. “Excellent.”
“Not really—it needs much work. Again, I am not promising you softness.”
“I do not want it.” Jane kissed his chin. “I am resilient. And resourceful. I like to be doing things, and I do not mean embroidery. Come to think of it, my grandmother never did embroidery in her life.”
“I know.” Spencer nuzzled her hair. “Your grandfather spoke much about her when I met him in London.”
Jane stilled. Very slowly, she lifted her head. “You met my grandfather in London?”
Spencer nodded. “Last spring. I was on another leave-taking, much shorter, to visit my family. I spent a night in London, and at the tavern near my lodgings, I met an amusing old Scotsman who was pleased to sit up with me telling stories. I mentioned my friendship with Barnett, and your grandfather was delighted.”
“He was, was he?” Jane’s tone turned ominous.
“Indeed. But when I arrived last night, he asked me not to speak of our previous meeting to anyone. I have no idea why, but I saw no reason not to indulge him.”
He leaned to kiss her again, to enjoy the taste of her fire, but Jane put her hand on his chest.
“Will you excuse me for one moment, Spencer?”
Spencer skimmed his fingertips across her cheek. “When you speak my name, I cannot refuse you, love.”
Her eyes softened, but she scrambled from his lap. Spencer rose with her, a steadying hand on her waist. “I won’t be long,” she promised.
Jane strode from the room, her head high. Spencer watched her go, then chuckled to himself and followed her.
“Grandfather.”
She found he’d moved to a smaller, warmer sitting room, only this time he’d truly nodded off. The old man jumped awake and then to his feet, the whisky flask he’d been holding clanging to the floor.
“What the devil? Janie, what is it?”
Jane pointed an accusing finger at his face. “You met Captain Ingram in London this past spring.”
“Did I?” Grandfather frowned, then stroked his jaw in contemplation. “Now that you call it to my mind, I believe I did. My memory ain’t what it used to be.”
“I cry foul.” Jane planted her hands on her hips. “You knew he was John’s friend. You put the idea into John’s head to bring Captain Ingram here for Hogmanay, didn’t you? Do not prevaricate with me, please.”
“Hmm. I might have mentioned our meeting in a letter to young Barnett.”
“And you told John to send Captain Ingram into the house first.”
“Well, he is dark-haired. And tall. And what ladies believe is handsome.” Grandfather spread his hands. “My prediction came true, you see? You will marry this year’s First-Footer. I see by your blush that he has accepted your proposal.”
Jane’s cheeks indeed were hot. “Prediction, my eye. You planned this from the beginning, you old fraud.”
Grandfather drew himself up. “And if I did? And if I met Ingram’s family and determined that they were worthy of you? Captain Ingram is a far better match for you than Barnett. My lady ancestors were witches, yes, but they always had contingencies to make certain the spell worked.”
Deep, rumbling laughter made Jane spin around. Spencer leaned on the doorframe, gray eyes sparkling in mirth.
“Bless you that you did,” he said. He came to Jane and put a strong hand on her arm. “You and your ancestors will always have my gratitude, sir. Jane and I will be married by the end of the month.”
Grandfather gave Jane a hopeful look. “All’s well, that end’s well?”
Jane dashed forward in a burst of love and caught her grandfather in an exuberant embrace. “Yes, Grandfather. Thank you. Thank you. I love you so much.”
“Go on with you now.” Grandfather struggled away, but the tears in his eyes touched her heart. “The pair of ye, be off. Ye have much more kissing to do. It’s Hogmanay still.”
Spencer twined his hand through Jane’s. “An excellent suggestion.”
“And don’t either of you worry about Barnett. I’ve already caught him kissing Miss Pembroke.”
Jane blinked. Miss Pembroke was the daughter of her parents’ friends from Kent. “He is quick off the mark. The wretch.”
“Then he can toast us at our wedding,” Spencer said. He pulled Jane firmly to the door. “I believe I’d like to adjourn to the library again, to continue our … planning.”
Jane melted to him, her anger and exasperation dissolving. She needed this man, who’d come to her so unexpectedly to lift her out of her dreary life. “A fine idea.”
In the cool of the hall, Spencer bent to Jane and whispered in her ear. “You are beauty and light. I love you, Janie. This I already know.”
“I already know I love you too.”
They sealed their declaration with a kiss that burned with a wildness Jane had been longing for, the fierce freedom of her youth released once more.
Left alone in the sitting room, Hamish MacDonald raised his flask to the painting of a beautiful woman whose flowing hair spilled from under a wide-brimmed hat. She smiled at him over a basket of flowers, her bodice sliding to bare one seductive shoulder. Her eyes were deep blue, her hair black as night.
“I did it, Maggie,” he said, his voice scratchy. “I’ve seen to it that our girl will be happy. Bless you, love.”
He toasted the portrait, done by the great Ramsay, and drank deeply of malt whisky.
He swore that Maggie, his beloved wife, heart of his heart, forever in his thoughts, winked at him.
The End