The Heiress Effect
Page 46
“There you have it,” Sebastian said. “One of my supporters. Now tell me, Oliver, why shouldn’t I be happy?”
Chapter Twelve
It was an unseasonably bright, warm day, a few days after Jane had so brazenly informed Mr. Marshall that she was battling with Bradenton over him. In those intervening days, she’d wondered what she had been thinking. How she’d dared to say anything so audacious.
But when she saw Mr. Marshall again, she didn’t wonder.
It was high noon. She’d been walking on Jesus Green with the Johnson sisters, pretending to watch a cricket game that was being lost very, very badly, enjoying the warmth of real friendship. She saw him first, walking slowly along the other side of the green, gesturing as he talked. He was talking to a boy in a black gown.
She had never seen Marshall walk before. Oh, she’d watched him amble about a room. But out on a lawn, he had a long stride and an easy grace to him. The wind caught a hint of his hair under his hat, ruffling his fringe.
And Jane knew why she’d said what she had to him. Because she wasn’t ceding this man, this man who’d told her to keep talking, who’d told her she was brave, to anyone.
It was a shockingly fierce, possessive thought. It came anyway.
Mine.
He’d touched her, and she’d liked it.
Mine.
“Jane?”
She whirled around, startled, to see Genevieve and Geraldine smiling at her.
“Tell me,” Geraldine said, “what were you thinking of just there?”
Jane shook her head. “Nothing.”
“Even Geraldine isn’t that bad,” Genevieve sang out, “and that’s her fiancé over there. Does nothing have auburn hair and spectacles?”
Jane flushed. She hadn’t even realized it was Hapford with Mr. Marshall.
Geraldine leaned in. “Is nothing walking next to Hapford?”
“No,” Genevieve put in. “I think that nothing is approaching. Come on, Jane. Wave at him.”
Jane held up one gloved hand. Even separated by fifty yards of close-clipped lawn, with half a cricket-match between them, she felt a hot flush.
He raised his hand as well. And then he walked toward her.
I am ablaze, she thought, but she was truly on fire, burning hotter with every step he took in her direction.
“Mr. Marshall,” she said, as soon as he was near enough. “My lord.”
“Miss Fairfield. Miss Johnson. Miss Genevieve.” His words were proper enough, but his gaze lingered on Jane alone.
Beside her, Hapford made a similar greeting. Geraldine came forward to take his arm, and Genevieve went with her. That left Jane with Mr. Marshall. They weren’t alone, but they had a little privacy.
“Do you like my walking gown?”
His gaze swept up to her bosom, then down to her toes, as palpable as a caress.
“Tell the truth,” she said, gesturing ahead of her. “They can’t hear.” Indeed, the Johnsons had obligingly taken Hapford five or six paces ahead.
“It’s an improvement on screeching horror,” he told her. “It ranks almost as high as sick fascination.” He gave a mock shiver. “But really. Are those vermilion bananas printed on the fabric?”
“Yes. I love it. Look.” Jane held out her pendant, a green enameled monkey with fierce topaz eyes. “See? Isn’t that wonderful?”
He stepped forward and looked obligingly.
Maybe not so obligingly. She was close enough to see his eyes behind his spectacles, dropping not to her pendant but…
Technically, her gown climbed halfway up to her neck. Also technically, the upper fabric of her bodice was dark lace. And lace had holes.
Nothing showed that wouldn’t have shown in a ball gown, but it still showed. If someone stood close, pretending to look at a necklace…
He lifted his gaze to her face and gave her an unapologetic smile.
“You’re right. That quite makes the outfit.” He crooked his finger. “Let me see it again.”
Jane flushed, and in front of her, Geraldine coughed.
“Oh, Geraldine,” Genevieve said loudly, “I hope you’re not coming down with something.”
“Nonsense,” said Hapford. “That didn’t—”
But Geraldine interrupted him. “I’m afraid I might be. We’d better go. Hapford, you’ll walk me?”
“But…”
She linked her arm with her fiancé’s. “Come along,” she said.
“But… Oh.”
“Unless,” Geraldine said, “you wish us to stay, Miss Fairfield?”
“Um.” Jane flushed hotter. “No. That would be unnecessary.”
Genevieve waved at her, and the three of them walked away. Jane watched them go, the entire time feeling Mr. Marshall’s eyes on her…necklace. She turned back to him and he raised his eyes to her face.
“You have a smudge on your spectacles.”
“I do?”
“Yes.” She lifted her hand and placed it deliberately against the glass. “A fingerprint right there.”
He gave her a look of mock annoyance and took off his glasses to clean them with a handkerchief.
“That’s what you get for ogling my monkey. Now imagine what I’ll do if you take Bradenton up on his offer.”
That smile that had curled the corners of his lips faltered. His breath sucked in. “Jane.”
“What vote is it?” she asked. “The one that’s so important.”
But he didn’t answer right away. Instead, he held out his elbow to her. “Walk with me.” They passed by the cricket game.
“You know,” he finally said, “that I’m a duke’s byblow.”
“Yes.”
“Legally, I am not any kind of bastard. My mother was married when I was born and I was acknowledged by her husband. Up until a few years ago, I wasn’t even publicly recognized as the duke’s progeny. Some people knew, of course, but it was at best whispered about, never spoken aloud.”
Legally, Jane wasn’t a bastard, either. But she still was treated like one.
“Sometimes,” he said, “I forget that people think I’m Clermont’s son. They don’t believe that Hugo Marshall is my father. It’s odd, because he’s never been anything else to me. Just…father. He never acted as if my sisters who were his flesh and blood were more important than I was. I didn’t realize how extraordinary this was for most of my childhood. It just was.”
Chapter Twelve
It was an unseasonably bright, warm day, a few days after Jane had so brazenly informed Mr. Marshall that she was battling with Bradenton over him. In those intervening days, she’d wondered what she had been thinking. How she’d dared to say anything so audacious.
But when she saw Mr. Marshall again, she didn’t wonder.
It was high noon. She’d been walking on Jesus Green with the Johnson sisters, pretending to watch a cricket game that was being lost very, very badly, enjoying the warmth of real friendship. She saw him first, walking slowly along the other side of the green, gesturing as he talked. He was talking to a boy in a black gown.
She had never seen Marshall walk before. Oh, she’d watched him amble about a room. But out on a lawn, he had a long stride and an easy grace to him. The wind caught a hint of his hair under his hat, ruffling his fringe.
And Jane knew why she’d said what she had to him. Because she wasn’t ceding this man, this man who’d told her to keep talking, who’d told her she was brave, to anyone.
It was a shockingly fierce, possessive thought. It came anyway.
Mine.
He’d touched her, and she’d liked it.
Mine.
“Jane?”
She whirled around, startled, to see Genevieve and Geraldine smiling at her.
“Tell me,” Geraldine said, “what were you thinking of just there?”
Jane shook her head. “Nothing.”
“Even Geraldine isn’t that bad,” Genevieve sang out, “and that’s her fiancé over there. Does nothing have auburn hair and spectacles?”
Jane flushed. She hadn’t even realized it was Hapford with Mr. Marshall.
Geraldine leaned in. “Is nothing walking next to Hapford?”
“No,” Genevieve put in. “I think that nothing is approaching. Come on, Jane. Wave at him.”
Jane held up one gloved hand. Even separated by fifty yards of close-clipped lawn, with half a cricket-match between them, she felt a hot flush.
He raised his hand as well. And then he walked toward her.
I am ablaze, she thought, but she was truly on fire, burning hotter with every step he took in her direction.
“Mr. Marshall,” she said, as soon as he was near enough. “My lord.”
“Miss Fairfield. Miss Johnson. Miss Genevieve.” His words were proper enough, but his gaze lingered on Jane alone.
Beside her, Hapford made a similar greeting. Geraldine came forward to take his arm, and Genevieve went with her. That left Jane with Mr. Marshall. They weren’t alone, but they had a little privacy.
“Do you like my walking gown?”
His gaze swept up to her bosom, then down to her toes, as palpable as a caress.
“Tell the truth,” she said, gesturing ahead of her. “They can’t hear.” Indeed, the Johnsons had obligingly taken Hapford five or six paces ahead.
“It’s an improvement on screeching horror,” he told her. “It ranks almost as high as sick fascination.” He gave a mock shiver. “But really. Are those vermilion bananas printed on the fabric?”
“Yes. I love it. Look.” Jane held out her pendant, a green enameled monkey with fierce topaz eyes. “See? Isn’t that wonderful?”
He stepped forward and looked obligingly.
Maybe not so obligingly. She was close enough to see his eyes behind his spectacles, dropping not to her pendant but…
Technically, her gown climbed halfway up to her neck. Also technically, the upper fabric of her bodice was dark lace. And lace had holes.
Nothing showed that wouldn’t have shown in a ball gown, but it still showed. If someone stood close, pretending to look at a necklace…
He lifted his gaze to her face and gave her an unapologetic smile.
“You’re right. That quite makes the outfit.” He crooked his finger. “Let me see it again.”
Jane flushed, and in front of her, Geraldine coughed.
“Oh, Geraldine,” Genevieve said loudly, “I hope you’re not coming down with something.”
“Nonsense,” said Hapford. “That didn’t—”
But Geraldine interrupted him. “I’m afraid I might be. We’d better go. Hapford, you’ll walk me?”
“But…”
She linked her arm with her fiancé’s. “Come along,” she said.
“But… Oh.”
“Unless,” Geraldine said, “you wish us to stay, Miss Fairfield?”
“Um.” Jane flushed hotter. “No. That would be unnecessary.”
Genevieve waved at her, and the three of them walked away. Jane watched them go, the entire time feeling Mr. Marshall’s eyes on her…necklace. She turned back to him and he raised his eyes to her face.
“You have a smudge on your spectacles.”
“I do?”
“Yes.” She lifted her hand and placed it deliberately against the glass. “A fingerprint right there.”
He gave her a look of mock annoyance and took off his glasses to clean them with a handkerchief.
“That’s what you get for ogling my monkey. Now imagine what I’ll do if you take Bradenton up on his offer.”
That smile that had curled the corners of his lips faltered. His breath sucked in. “Jane.”
“What vote is it?” she asked. “The one that’s so important.”
But he didn’t answer right away. Instead, he held out his elbow to her. “Walk with me.” They passed by the cricket game.
“You know,” he finally said, “that I’m a duke’s byblow.”
“Yes.”
“Legally, I am not any kind of bastard. My mother was married when I was born and I was acknowledged by her husband. Up until a few years ago, I wasn’t even publicly recognized as the duke’s progeny. Some people knew, of course, but it was at best whispered about, never spoken aloud.”
Legally, Jane wasn’t a bastard, either. But she still was treated like one.
“Sometimes,” he said, “I forget that people think I’m Clermont’s son. They don’t believe that Hugo Marshall is my father. It’s odd, because he’s never been anything else to me. Just…father. He never acted as if my sisters who were his flesh and blood were more important than I was. I didn’t realize how extraordinary this was for most of my childhood. It just was.”
