Chapter 22
“She is starving to death,” Dr. Lyons said, his pale blue eyes grim behind his spectacles. “She’s too thin for any woman, but dangerously so for a woman in her delicate condition.”
“She’s been eating more since I arrived, but that was only a couple of days ago.” Jess’s stomach twisted with concern and fear. Where in hell was Regmont? She had yet to see him. Either he kept odd hours, or he’d yet to come home . . . for nearly three days.
“Not nearly long enough.” He set his hands on his lean hips. For all the doctor’s concern over Hester’s weight, he appeared unusually slender, too. “She should begin her lying-in immediately with bed rest for the duration and many small meals throughout the day, every day. And no excitement in her delicate condition—her heart is weakened by her emaciation.”
“I don’t understand. What ails her? She has grown progressively more ill for many months now.”
“I’ve rarely been afforded the opportunity to examine Lady Regmont thoroughly. She is very reticent; I’m inclined to say excessively so. Regardless, I can say that she seems prone to melancholia. Mood affects the body more than we fully understand.”
Jess’s lower lip quivered, but she stemmed the rush of tears that threatened and nodded.
Life. Too fragile. Too precious. Far too short.
The doctor collected his fee, then made his egress.
Moving into her sister’s bedroom, Jess sat on the edge of her sister’s bed and took in the sickly pallor of Hester’s once luminous skin.
Hester smiled weakly. “You look so serious. It isn’t that dire. I am just weary and my morning sickness was severe, but it’s over now.”
“Listen to me.” Jess’s voice was low and angry. “I have had my fill of bedside death vigils.”
“You have had one,” Hester retorted dryly.
“One too many. If you think I will do it again, you are sorely mistaken.” Jess caught her sister’s hand to soften the sting of her words. “My nephew or niece is making a valiant effort to grow within you, and you are going to help, damn you.”
“Jess . . .” Hester’s eyes watered. “I am not as strong as you are.”
“Strong? I’m not strong. I drink too much, because it’s a way to hide. I sent the man I love away because I am terrified that if I don’t he will eventually send me away, and I couldn’t bear it. There was a man on Alistair’s ship abusing a child, and when I confronted him, I thought I might faint or vomit or soil myself. I am weak and flawed and absolutely incapable of watching you waste away. So I will not be listening to any further excuses. You will eat what I bring you to eat and drink what I bring you to drink, and in a few short swift months you will reward us both with a healthy child to love and spoil.”
There was a flare of irritation in Hester’s green eyes. “As you command,” she said crossly.
Jess took the show of temper as a good sign. She also took the lesson of the day to heart: life and happiness are both too dear to throw away. She would give Alistair the time he needed to regain his bearings, but she wouldn’t allow him to slip away from her without a fight. If she had to lock him, his mother, and Masterson in a room to clear the air between them, so be it.
She pressed a kiss to Hester’s forehead and went to speak to the cook.
Michael entered Alistair’s study and found his friend poring over architectural renderings of a prospective new irrigation system. He took a moment to absorb the sight of his friend, taking in the changes the time away from home had wrought in the young man with whom he’d spent so much of his youth.
“You look horrendous,” Michael said, noting the day’s worth of stubble shadowing Alistair’s jawline and the crumpled state of his shirtsleeves. “And why are you here instead of at Masterson Place?”
Alistair looked up. “Nothing on earth could entice me into residing under the same roof as Masterson.”
“I knew that’s how you would answer.”
“So why ask?”
“To aggravate you.”
With a low groan that sounded suspiciously like a growl, Alistair straightened and ran a hand through his hair. Michael knew all too well how overwhelming the first few months would be for his friend. A year and a half after Benedict’s death, and he was only just beginning to feel as if he wore his own skin. “I have enough aggravation without your assistance.”
“What are friends for?” Michael held up a hand before a retort could be made. “You will have bigger troubles once you come out of hiding and appear in public. The scandal sheets say you have replaced me as the bachelor most hunted, for which I will be eternally grateful.”
Alistair sank into the leather chair behind the desk. A nautical feel embellished the space, not overt, but present nevertheless. It was there in the color palette of blue and white, the shape and fluidity of the designs carved into the walnut furnishings, and the touches of brass spread all around the room. The study suited the gentleman who used it, a man best known as an adventurer and wanderer, which made Alistair’s next statement seem even more out of place.
“I am not a bachelor.”
“You’re unmarried,” Michael pointed out dryly. “That makes you a bachelor.”
“Not to my mind.”
“You are still determined to have Jessica?”
“She’s mine already.” Alistair lifted one shoulder in an insolent shrug. “Everything else is merely a formality.”
“I pray you aren’t implying that you’ve taken liberties.” It was a thought that didn’t sit well. Jessica was his brother’s widow. She was a member of his family and a friend. She’d loved his brother and brought him great happiness, and when Benedict had fallen ill with consumption, she had stayed by his side to the very end. She had shunned Society and social events in favor of tending to Benedict and entertaining him on the days he felt up to it. For her care and consideration, Michael would protect her safety and interests for the rest of her days.
Drumming his fingers on the armrests, Alistair studied him with a narrow-eyed stare. “My relationship with Jess is none of your concern.”
“If your intentions are honorable, why not announce your engagement?”
“If the decision were mine alone, we’d be wed and under one roof now. Jessica is the source of the delay, for reasons I don’t fully comprehend. She acts as if there might be something capable of diminishing my affection for her.”
“Such as?”
“Such as Masterson’s need for an heir combined with a young debutante capable of producing one. Or my mother’s unhappiness over my choice. Or some future urge to procreate that might strike me.”
“All reasonable arguments.”
“I have been unreasonably in love with her as long as I can remember. That has trumped everything so far, and I don’t foresee it changing.”
“Everything except more women than I can count,” Michael said dryly.
“You should hire a tutor for yourself, then, to help you with basic math.”
“I didn’t have to see them. There was rarely an evening when you didn’t smell of sex and a woman’s perfume.”
To Michael’s surprise, his libertine friend’s cheekbones were flagged with a dull red flush.
“And the ones you did see,” Alistair said gruffly. “What do you remember about them?”
“Sorry, chap. Your ladybirds didn’t interest me as much as they interested you. And I rarely saw one more than once, as I recall.”
“Hmm . . . It wasn’t notable that all were blondes? Pale-skinned and light-eyed, too. I never found one with gray irises, like a brewing storm, but that was just as well. I have never been one who is satisfied by replicas of priceless things. There is nothing quite like the genuine article,” Alistair murmured, his thoughts clearly elsewhere. “And once a man is fortunate enough to acquire a treasure, it is to his pleasure to protect her and coddle her and make her the most prominent feature of his life and home.”
Michael frowned, thinking back. He exhaled in a rush, understanding how deep and far reaching Alistair’s captivation with Jessica went. Perhaps as deep and far reaching as his affection for Hester. “Damnation.”
A knock came at the door.
Alistair’s head turned, and one brow rose in silent query.
The butler’s voice drifted over Alistair’s shoulder. “Forgive me, my lords,” the servant said. “Her Grace, the Duchess of Masterson, has come to call.”
With a long-suffering sigh, Alistair nodded. “Show her in.”
Gripping the arms of his chair, Michael moved to stand.
“Stay,” Alistair said.
“Beg your pardon?” Both of Michael’s brows rose.
“Please.”
Michael settled back into his seat, only to rise a moment later when Alistair’s mother entered. He smiled, pleased as all men were by the sight of a beautiful woman. Unlike his brothers, Alistair took after his mother to a marked degree. Both had inky black hair and piercing blue eyes. Both were elegant and innately sensual in build and carriage, with a rapier wit that charmed and sliced with equal measure.
“My Lord Tarley,” she greeted in a breathless, lilting voice. She held out her hand to him. “You look well and far too handsome for a woman’s well-being.”
He kissed the back of her ungloved hand. “Your Grace, always the most sublime of pleasures.”
“Will you be attending the Treadmore’s masquerade?”
“I wouldn’t miss it.”
“Excellent. Would you be so kind as to assist my son in finding his way there?”
Michael glanced aside at his friend, smiling when he found Alistair scowling with both palms flat on his littered desk.
“I do not have room in my schedule for such nonsense,” Alistair said.
“Make room,” she retorted smoothly. “People are beginning to talk.”
“Let them talk.”
“You have been absent for years. People want to see you.”
“Well, then,” he drawled, “a masquerade is the last place I should go.”
“Alistair Lucius Caulfield—”
“Dear God. When is this damned event?”
“Wednesday, which gives you five days to clear your schedule for one evening.”
“The first of many,” he muttered, “if you have your way.”
“I am proud of you. Is it a crime to want to show you off?”
Michael crossed his arms, grinning. It was a rare pleasure to see Alistair bending his will for another.
“I will go ”—Alistair held up one hand when she smiled triumphantly—“only if my betrothed attends. She will make it bearable.”
“Your betrothed . . .” The duchess sank slowly into the chair beside Michael’s. A look of wonder spread over her lovely features. “Oh, Alistair. Who is she?”
“Jessica Sinclair, Lady Tarley.”
“Tarley,” she repeated, glancing at Michael.
Michael’s hands curled around the end of his armrests. Anger began to simmer. “My sister-in-law.”
“Yes, of course.” She cleared her throat. “Isn’t she . . . older than you?”
“By the barest degree. Two years is hardly worth mentioning.”
“She was wed to Tarley for some time, was she not?”
“Several years. A pleasant union by all accounts.”
She nodded, but appeared dazed. And Michael’s fury grew. The duchess could not care less how pleasant or not the marriage had been, and Alistair damn well knew it.
“She’s a lovely girl.”
“The most beautiful woman in the world,” Alistair said, watching his mother with the predatory sharpness of a hawk. “I am eager for you two to become better acquainted, but Jessica holds back. She fears you will judge her on criteria having nothing to do with how happy she makes me. I assured her that was a misplaced concern.”
The duchess swallowed hard. “Of course.”
“Perhaps you could send a reassuring note to her? I am certain that would ease her mind considerably.”
Nodding, she stood. “I will endeavor to find something appropriate to say.”
Michael and Alistair stood. Michael helped himself to a glass of brandy as Alistair showed Her Grace out. That Michael was goaded to drink this early in the day aggravated him further. Alistair had always been dragging him into one crazed adventure after another in their youth, and it appeared his influence was still questionable.
When his friend returned, Michael rounded on him. “By God, you’re a heel, Baybury. A complete and total ass.”
“You must be spitting mad. You’re wielding my title like the weapon it is.” Alistair’s stride was leisurely and arrogant. “If you are surprised by the way I handled the situation, you’ve been blind to my faults for too many years.”
“There was no good reason to ask me to stay for that! It was awkward in the extreme, for both me and Her Grace.”
“There was a damned good reason.” Alistair went to the console and poured his own drink. “Your presence forced her to restrain any emotional reaction she might have had. Now, she will have the opportunity to think over the information before she says something we’ll both regret. One can pray that once she absorbs it all, she will indeed put my happiness before other considerations.”
“You have always been reckless, but this . . . this affects other people.”
Alistair tossed back his drink and leaned his hip against the console. “Are you telling me there is something you would not do to have Lady Regmont for your own?”
Michael froze, his hand clenching around his glass. Considering the murderous rage he felt toward Regmont, he couldn’t answer that question.
Mouth curving, Alistair set his glass down. “Right. I have some errands to see to. Would you like to join me?”
“Why not?” Michael groused, finishing his drink. “We could end the day in Bedlam or clapped in irons. There is never a dull moment with you, Baybury.”
“Ah . . . the title again. You must be ferociously angry.”
“And you had best become accustomed to that title you so despise. At the masquerade alone you’ll hear it a hundred times.”
Alistair tossed an arm over Michael’s shoulders and prodded him toward the door. “When I hear it paired with Jessica’s name, I shall love it. Until then, I will simply have to keep you in good humor.”
“God, I need another drink.”
“That shade of red is astonishing,” Hester said from where she sat up in her bed. Surrounded by mountains of pillows she looked small and very youthful, although the décor of her rooms was undeniably adult. In fact, Jess found her sister’s private space far more shocking than the bolt of material Hester was considering. Unlike the relentless cheeriness that distinguished the rest of the house, Hester’s bedroom and boudoir were decorated in shades of grayish blue, charcoal, and off white. The overall effect was dramatic, but also quite somber. Not what Jess would have expected at all.
“Quite daring,” Lady Pennington agreed over the lip of her teacup.
Jess returned her attention to the blood-red silk, helplessly drawn to what it would signify to Alistair—that he had changed her, made her bolder, helped her find an inner peace she’d never dreamed was possible. “I have no notion of when I would have an occasion to wear a dress made of this material.”
“Wear it in private,” Hester suggested.
Glancing at Elspeth, Jess bit her lower lip and wondered how this conversation was impacting the woman who’d been like a mother to her for the past several years. Would she resent Jess’s efforts to move forward with her life?
“My dear girl,” Elspeth said, meeting her gaze. “Don’t fret on my account. Benedict loved you. He would have wanted you to be as happy as possible. I want that for you, as well.”
Jess’s eyes stung and she looked away quickly. “Thank you.”
“It is I who must thank you,” the countess said. “As short as Benedict’s life was, you filled his last years with tremendous joy. I will forever be indebted to you for that.”
Movement from the bed caught Jess’s eye. Hester had leaned forward to run her hands over the luxurious material. The modiste extolled its virtues in a hushed but rapturous tone, which perfectly suited the thoughts that would accompany the sight of a woman draped in such decadence.
“Perhaps you can use it just on the bodice?” Hester suggested. “Paired with a cream satin or even a heavier damask? Or just on the sleeves? Or as trim?”
“No,” Jess murmured, crossing her arms. “The whole gown must be made of it, with a draped bodice and a low back.”
“C’est magnifique!” the modiste exclaimed, beaming and snapping her fingers at her two assistants to begin taking measurements.
A white-capped maid entered and curtsied. “Lady Tarley. Something has arrived for you. Would you like me to bring it to you here?”
Jess frowned. “Is there a reason I must see it now? Can you put it in my room?”
“It came with instructions to deliver it to you immediately.”
“Intriguing. Yes, bring it here.”
“Whatever could it be?” Hester asked. “Have you any clue, Jess?”
“None at all.” Although she prayed it would be from Alistair, whatever it was. Their separation of only a few days was fraying her equanimity. If not for Hester’s precarious health and need of near-constant prodding to eat, Jess would have gone to him by now.
A few moments later, the maid reappeared carrying a handled basket. She set it down on the floor, and it rocked to and fro. A soft whine from the interior lured Jess closer.
“What is that?” Lady Pennington asked, setting her cup and saucer aside.
Jess bent down and lifted the basket’s lid, gasping at the sight of the tiny pug puppy stumbling around the lined interior.
“Look at you,” she breathed, instantly in love. She reached in carefully to pick up the tiny creature and laughed in delight at the feel of its soft, warm, and wriggling body.
“Dear God,” Hester cried. “It’s a dog.”
That only made Jess laugh harder. Sitting back on her heels, she set the energetic pug in her lap and looked at the metal tag hanging from its red leather collar.
Acheron, it said on one side, causing a pang in her chest. The other side said simply, All my love, ALC.
“Who sent that creature?” the countess asked.
“Baybury, I would guess,” Hester said, sounding wistful.
Jess retrieved the sealed missive that hung from the basket’s handle by a black ribbon. The crest in the wax was a sharp reminder of who Alistair was now, but she pushed it aside and clung to her determination to fight for him.
My dearest, obstinate Jess,
May the enclosed little friend bring you joy. I pray he endlessly reminds you of the one who gifts him to you. I have tasked him with watching over you and protecting you, for I know he will love you to distraction as I do.
Her Grace requests that I attend the Treadmore masquerade five days hence. I told her I would go only if my betrothed did. I would brave any and all such hells to see you.
Please give my best regards to your sister for her speedy return to health. I can well understand her decline in your absence. I, too, am suffering the ill effects of it.
Yours always,
Alistair
There was a drawing with the missive, a rendering of her lying on the dais in the gazebo he’d built on the island. Her eyes were unfocused, dreamy and wistful, her lips plumped by fierce kisses and her hair in tumbling disarray around her bare shoulders. Her head was propped in one hand, her torso draped in the nearly translucent lawn of her chemise. Alistair hadn’t brought his supplies with him that day, which meant this intimate image of her in an unguarded moment had been stored in his mind and savored later.
“Don’t cry, Jess!” Hester said, alarmed when tears fell from Jess’s lashes.
“Is everything all right, dear?” the countess asked, rising gracefully to her feet and approaching. “Are you mourning your Temperance?”
Jess hugged Acheron and the letter that accompanied him to her heart. “No. Although thinking of her reminds me again of how quicksilver life is. Benedict was the healthiest and hardiest man I knew. Alistair has lost three siblings. Hester and I lost our mother. We cannot afford to throw away happiness. We have to fight for it and claim it.”
Elspeth crouched beside Jess and held out her hands for Acheron. “How adorable you are,” she cooed when Jess passed him over.
Jess stood and eyed the red silk again. “I now have an occasion to wear the red.”
“God help the man,” Hester said, but with a sparkle in her green eyes.
“It is too late for that now.” Jess lifted her arms to be measured. “He is well and truly caught.”