The Mysterious Lord Marlowe (10 page)

‘Well, we shall not pull caps over it,’ Jane said with an affectionate smile. ‘If a man with good humour, a reasonable fortune and a pleasant face offers for me, I will engage to at least think about my answer for all of one hour.’

‘You are a minx, miss,’ Lady Mary said and laughed at the jest. ‘If the gentlemen knew you as I do, they would fall over themselves to offer for you, Jane. I think you would make any man a good and generous wife. You have an even temper and get on with things without making a fuss. I do not know why you have not married before this, my dear. However, I have not given up hope of seeing you happy.’

‘I am perfectly content.’ Jane knew she was lying as she spoke. She had been content with
her life, but that was before she had been abducted and rescued by a gentleman she could not dismiss from her thoughts.

* * *

‘I think the gown you have chosen delightful,’ Lady Mary said as their carriage drove back to Russell Square after a successful afternoon shopping in the very best emporiums. ‘You were lucky to find those evening slippers, dearest. The colour is exactly the right shade.’

‘Yes, I believe they will go very well.’ Jane’s attention wandered as she glanced through the carriage window and saw a man walking down the street. She stared very hard as they passed him. It was difficult to be sure, but her heart was hammering against her ribs because she believed it was the man she knew as George. What was he doing in London? He looked very different from when she had last seen him, his clothes fashionable and expensive. Weston’s establishment must have made his coat, and he looked a man of fashion and stature. Could he possibly be the same man that had helped her escape from her abductors?

‘What is wrong, Jane? You look shocked—as if you had seen a ghost.’

‘No, not at all,’ Jane replied. ‘I thought I saw
someone I knew, but I may have been mistaken.’

George—if it was he—had been escorting a very beautiful lady with blonde curls peeping from beneath her chip-straw bonnet. Who was she—and what was she to him?

Jane was aware of an unworthy feeling of jealousy. The lady was unknown to her, but she was certainly very lovely—and she had been smiling up at her companion in a confident and intimate manner.

She was being so foolish! Jane could not even be sure the man she had glimpsed was George—and even if it had been, he was at liberty to escort whomever he chose about town.

This was ridiculous! She had come to London in the hopes of forgetting her unhappy thoughts and the unpleasant incident that had started all this self-doubt. She had been mistaken and the man had been someone quite different. Why would George be in town? He had told her he intended to continue his search for Blake. Why then was he escorting a beautiful lady through the heart of Bond Street?

She made up her mind to put George and all the events of the past few weeks from her mind. It would be best for Jane to forget the
man she had begun to like rather too well and concentrate on enjoying her stay in town.

* * *

‘You look quite lovely, my dear,’ Lady Mary said as they were preparing to attend a dinner given by the prince at Carlton House the next evening. ‘You were a little insipid as a girl, if you do not mind me saying so—too quiet and easily pleased. Maturity suits you, Jane. Your character has developed and it shows. Besides, you are wearing rich colours, which suit you much better than the pastels you wore as a girl.’

‘Thank you,’ Jane said and laughed, amused that her godmother had thought her insipid as a girl. ‘I was guided by a friend of my mother, who thought I ought to wear pastels. I was quiet because I had been told gentlemen did not like intelligent girls who had opinions of their own.’

‘Absolute nonsense,’ Lady Mary said stoutly. ‘You must just be yourself, dearest. It is the only way. Any sensible gentleman will see what a treasure you are if he has eyes to see at all.’

‘My dearest godmother, you make me feel so much better,’ Jane said. ‘I assure you I am looking forward to this evening, and I shall be myself for I cannot be anything else.’

* * *

Jane glanced around at the richly furnished room, with its ornate furnishings and magnificent chandeliers. It was the first time she had been invited to such a prestigious affair and the spacious rooms were overflowing with guests. Their dinner had been quite delicious and now everyone was looking forward to the entertainment, which consisted of a performance by both a tenor and a soprano of considerable fame. Some of the gentlemen were heading for the card room, where tables had been set up. There was no dancing that evening and Jane was preparing to take a seat to listen to the music when she caught sight of the gentleman she had glimpsed in Bond Street the previous day.

He was wearing evening clothes of a dark hue, with a pristine white shirt, and looked very distinguished. She had not been certain when she saw him briefly in the street, but studying him more closely now she was sure he was indeed George.

For a moment her heart raced. She had missed him more than she would admit to herself and her first inclination was to go to him at once—but of course she could not. It would
be most improper of her. She must wait to be introduced or for George to come to her—but it was so very hard to see him and not be able to approach him.

What was he doing at an affair like this? As she watched, she saw that he had been engaged in conversation by Prince George himself. Jane frowned, because she could not understand how a man who was clearly welcome at important society affairs could have become embroiled in an abduction. What had he been thinking of to agree in the first place? He must have known how much he could lose.

‘Who are you looking at, Jane?’ Lady Mary glanced across the room and then smiled. ‘He is rather distinguished, is he not? Lord George Marlowe—a very pleasant and good-mannered gentleman, Jane. I know his grandfather very well. His father died a year or so back in a fall from his horse, but the earl is still alive. He had three sons and Lord George is not in line for the title, though he will inherit a share of the earl’s fortune—but he is wealthy enough in his own right. His mother was well connected and an heiress. If you could gain his regard, you would be fortunate indeed, my dear.’

Jane’s cheeks felt warm. She had obviously shown her feelings too plainly.

‘Please, Lady Mary, do not hint at such things. It is quite impossible.’

‘Impossible? I do not see why. He is of an age to be looking for a wife, his wild days in the army behind him. I know him to be intelligent and a considerate brother. I dare say he would suit you very well.’

‘Please, you must not.’

Jane’s heart was racing. George—or Lord George Marlowe, as her godmother had named him—was looking her way. For a moment the colour left his face and she knew he was shocked to see her. He was probably wondering if she would denounce him to his friends. She made a little negative movement of her head and sat down beside her aunt to listen to the music.

She was aware that he watched her throughout the next hour or so of music, her attention wandering from the beautiful tones of the soprano to thoughts of him.

* * *

When the interval was called and supper announced, Jane rose with her godmother and walked towards the splendid supper set out in
the next reception room. She did not know how anyone could wish to eat after the lavish dinner they had been given earlier and moved towards the balcony, wishing only for a little fresh air. The prince was well known for keeping his rooms too warm.

‘Miss Lanchester.’ The voice made her turn swiftly but she was not surprised that he had come to her at the first opportunity. ‘We must talk urgently.’

‘Yes, my lord,’ she replied. ‘But not here—not this evening. Do not be alarmed. Lady Mary has no idea of who you are—at least, she does not know anything about what happened, other than that I was upset about something that happened at home. I have said nothing of you, nor shall I. Apparently, Lady Mary knows both you and your grandfather quite well.’

‘Yes, that is perfectly true.’ George met her challenging look. ‘I should have told you the whole. Perhaps you would allow me to call on you tomorrow to explain?’

‘I certainly think an explanation due, sir. My brother is searching for you in the hope of learning where he may find Blake.’

‘Lady Fanshawe—is she well?’

‘She has recovered in a physical sense, but
her distress is inward and may trouble her much longer. She did not tell us much of what happened to her, though I understand she was not harmed other than by the foul drugs they gave her to keep her quiet.’

‘Yes, I fear she was not well treated. I wish the thing had never happened, but regret is useless.’

‘You will call tomorrow at eleven?’

‘Yes, of course. Forgive me.’

‘Tomorrow I shall decide whether you deserve to be forgiven,’ Jane said, giving him a direct look. ‘I should return to my godmother. She will worry if I am absent too long. I shall expect you in the morning, sir.’

‘I shall not let you down, Miss Lanchester.’

He gave her a formal nod and moved on. Jane was swamped by disappointment. Though they’d been compelled to be formal with each other, was it just her imagination that George seemed most concerned that she would give him away? She had not felt that connection with him this time and felt its loss keenly.

Jane made her way to the dining parlour. She saw George enter a little later. He went to stand by the side of the beautiful young woman she had seen him accompanying in Bond Street,
but did not glance her way. Was he deliberately avoiding making eye contact? She felt rejected, hurt. Perhaps she had misunderstood that day—or perhaps he’d regretted that parting kiss.

A little niggle of doubt stirred in her mind. What explanation could George give her—and would he tell her the truth?

* * *

Jane had slept fitfully that night, tossing and turning, caught in a nightmare. She woke suddenly, shivering and cold. In her dream she had been abducted, but this time there was no George to save her and she had been very frightened. Since this was the first time she had suffered from bad dreams over the abduction, she wondered what had brought things back so sharply.

It was impossible to sleep again so she rose and sat by the window, watching the dawn light strengthen. She was still there when the maid brought her breakfast tray.

‘Have you been awake long, miss?’

‘Yes, for a while,’ Jane said and smiled at her. ‘At home I should get dressed and go walking or riding alone, but in town I did not think it advisable.’

‘No, miss, I should think not. Is there anything
more I can do for you? Would you like me to bring water for a bath?’

‘No, just my usual water for washing,’ Jane said. ‘Please do not worry, Tilda. I am perfectly well. I had something on my mind.’

The maid nodded, set down her tray and left Jane to eat her breakfast. Jane poured the strong dark chocolate into a little bowl and sipped it, then buttered a warm roll and spread a little honey on it. At home she would have eaten her breakfast downstairs, but since her godmother never rose before eleven at the earliest it made too much work for the servants. A simple breakfast in bed was much easier for them than setting out the chafing dishes on the sideboard in the dining parlour.

When Tilda brought her water, Jane washed and dressed in a morning gown. She arranged her hair back in a simple knot at her nape, teasing out a tendril or two about her face. Satisfied with her appearance, she left her room and went downstairs to the parlour, attempting to read a book until the appointed hour.

* * *

‘Lord George Marlowe,’ Lady Mary’s housekeeper announced, entering the parlour. ‘He
asked for Lady Mary, but said he would speak to you, miss. Do you wish me to remain in the room?’

‘No, thank you. Lord George is a friend and quite respectable,’ Jane said, a faint flush in her cheeks. ‘I am two and twenty, Mrs Scott. I assure you there is no need to chaperon me with this gentleman.’

‘Very well, miss. I shall show him in.’

The housekeeper gave her a dubious look as she turned to leave, which left Jane in little doubt that she had fallen in the good woman’s opinion. However, it could not be helped, for it was imperative that they talk in private.

When George came in she was at the bow window that overlooked the street, gazing down at the garden in the square. She did not turn immediately when he entered and he coughed, before saying, ‘This is rather awkward, Miss Lanchester. I dare not think what your godmother’s housekeeper is thinking.’

‘Perhaps that I am no better than I should be.’ Jane turned to look at him. ‘Fortunately, as I have no marriage prospects, a loss of reputation will not harm me too much, particularly as I prefer life in the country.’

‘Have you suffered a loss of reputation?’
George looked at her intently. ‘I thought your brother and friends had kept things as quiet as possible?’

‘Yes, they have,’ Jane agreed. She raised her head, very much on the defensive. ‘It was merely levity, sir. I have no wish to marry. Please, sit if you wish.’ She returned to her former seat, which gave him the opportunity to sit if he chose. He remained standing, looking apprehensive and uncomfortable.

‘I hardly know where to begin.’

‘Please do sit down.’ Jane indicated the large wing chair opposite hers. ‘Now that the immediate danger is past, perhaps you might trust me with the truth about what hold Blake has over you?’

‘He has some incriminating letters and other things.’ George sat opposite her. ‘Blake was once in my own regiment. At one time I invited him to shoot with me at my family home in the country—that was when my sister, Verity, met him. So I blame myself in part.’

‘I do not quite follow.’

‘The letters were written by Verity,’ he explained. ‘I was not at liberty to tell you before, but she has given her permission, though reluctantly. As I understand it, she had a brief affair
with Blake after a quarrel with her husband. She did not know Blake’s reputation—he had been due for court-martial, but found a way to wiggle out of it, even though he was dismissed from the army. When Verity realised that he was not the man she thought him, she broke off the affair—but Blake threatened to send the letters and an article of jewellery to her husband. If he does so, Markham will demand a divorce and Verity will be ruined.’