Мэри Бэлоу - Someone to Romance

The door opened suddenly—she had not heard footsteps on the stairs—and Avery ushered Gabriel inside before stepping in after him. Jessica’s stomach performed an uncomfortable flip-flop. The events of last night—all of them—seemed somehow unreal this morning. The fact that he was standing here now proved that they were not, however. But she had never been kissed as she had been last night. She was not even sure he had initiated it. She was the one who had stepped up close to him and set her hands over his chest—because the need to touch him had been overwhelming. It had felt . . . breathtaking. She had admitted to wanting him, and he had admitted to wanting her. Wanting —such an inoffensive word. But he had mentioned bed, and all sorts of shocking images had filled her mind, and far more than just her mind. And then he had kissed her . . .

Now here he was, looking elegant and behaving very properly for a morning visit. He was bowing to her mother and to Anna.

“Your Grace,” he said as a sort of collective greeting to both.

He merely smiled at Jessica.

“Mr. Thorne has informed me,” Avery said, “that he and Jessica are betrothed and intend to marry by special license within the week.”

Anna set her knitting aside and got to her feet. Jessica’s mother froze, the hand holding her embroidery needle suspended above the cloth.

“I have given my blessing,” Avery added.

Anna hurried across the room, her right hand extended, a warm smile lighting her face. “I am very happy for you, Mr. Thorne,” she said. “I am sure I shall love having you as a brother-in-law.” She shook his hand and turned to Jessica. She leaned over the love seat upon which she sat and hugged her. “I am so happy for you, Jessica.”

Jessica’s mother was methodically threading her needle through the cloth stretched over her embroidery frame. She looked up, first at Jessica and then at Gabriel. Both of them were looking back at her. So was Anna. Probably Avery too, though Jessica did not look to see.

“I must trust my stepson’s judgment, Mr. Thorne,” she said at last. “However, I must also have your assurance before I give my blessing that you do not intend to take my daughter back to America to live. Frankly I would find that intolerable. And unforgivable.”

“I have no such intention, ma’am,” he told her. “Circumstances necessitate my living here in England.”

“I am relieved to hear it,” she said. “And why, Mr. Thorne, are you insisting upon a hurried, almost clandestine wedding within the week? My daughter is the only daughter of the late Duke of Netherby. She is the sister of the current duke. It would be more appropriate for her to have a far grander wedding. The ton will expect it of her. Her family will expect it.”

“I do not want a grand wedding, Mama,” Jessica said. “I told Gabriel so last evening at Vauxhall. I have always loved the account of the very private wedding Avery and Anna had, with only Cousin Elizabeth and Mr. Goddard as witnesses. And that of Abby and Gil’s wedding in the village church at Hinsford two years ago, with only Harry in attendance apart from the vicar and his wife.”

“Mr. Thorne,” Anna said, her gaze still upon Jessica’s mother, “will you allow at least my mother-in-law and Avery and me to attend your wedding? And perhaps Sir Trevor and Lady Vickers? It would mean a great deal to us.”

“Jessica?” Gabriel was looking at her with raised eyebrows.

“And . . . perhaps Grandmama?” she said.

“Aunt Edith will want to come too, then,” her mother said. “She lives with your grandmother, after all, and will be hurt if she is excluded. And my sisters—Viscountess Dirkson and Lady Molenor,” she explained for Gabriel’s benefit. “And their husbands, of course. I will be hurt if they are not invited. And Viola, who was my very dear sister-in-law for twenty-three years—the Marchioness of Dorchester, Mr. Thorne. And her husband the marquess. All three husbands, in fact.”

Gabriel had on his face the amused look that Jessica was beginning to recognize even when he was not outright smiling. “And I believe, ma’am,” he said, “Lady Estelle Lamarr and Viscount Watley, her twin, are the marquess’s children. And the Earl of Riverdale is head of the Westcott family. The lady who arranged a party to welcome him and the countess back to London and was kind enough to invite me is his sister. Their mother was present at the party too.”

Jessica could see that her mother’s cheeks had turned rather pink.

Anna laughed. “Is your head spinning on your shoulders yet, Mr. Thorne?” she asked. “Do come and sit down next to Jessica while I ring for a pot of coffee. What you should have done if you wanted a swift, quiet wedding, you know, was what Avery did with me once upon a time. He came to Westcott House on South Audley Street, where I was living at the time, told me to fetch my bonnet, and whisked me away to marry. It was the most romantic wedding in the world.”

“I have never quite forgiven either of you,” Jessica’s mother said bitterly. “We were all planning the grandest of grand weddings for you. You were the long-lost heiress, Anna, and Avery was a duke . My stepson.”

“That is precisely why we did it, Mother,” Avery said, sounding slightly bored. “I would do the same again if I were ever called upon to marry Anna a second time. Have a seat, Thorne, while my stepmother tells you about your own wedding.”

“Avery!” she scolded.

Gabriel did not move from where he stood. He looked hard at Jessica and then transferred his gaze to her mother.

“There is something you need to know about me, ma’am,” he said. “And something Her Grace the duchess ought to know too, though I am still hopeful it will not become general knowledge just yet, as there are matters I need to settle first. I was born with the name Gabriel Rochford, though Thorne is now my legal name.”

“Rochford?” Jessica’s mother said, frowning. “You are related somehow to Mr. Anthony Rochford, then?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, but Anna was already making the connection.

“Gabriel Rochford!” she said. “That was the name of the cousin who—”

She had not been part of the group that had heard the story Mr. Rochford told at Elizabeth and Colin’s party. But clearly that story had been passed on.

“Yes, ma’am,” Gabriel said. “My father was the younger brother—the only brother—of Julius Rochford, the Earl of Lyndale, who died with his wife and only son almost seven years ago. I had gone to America six years before then and settled into a happy, prosperous life in Boston with a cousin of my mother’s. Thorne was her maiden name. Before I left England at the age of nineteen I was involved in an innocent flirtation with a neighbor’s daughter. Her brother had been my close friend for many years. When it became known to her father that she was with child, she allowed the assumption to be made that I was the father. She was afraid to admit that she had been the victim of violence. When her brother came after me, presumably to demand that I do the decent thing, he ended up dead, shot in the back. I was elsewhere at the time and knew nothing of either catastrophe until I returned home. All the evidence pointed to my being guilty of both crimes. My uncle, his son, and another cousin urged me to run in order to avoid arrest and an almost certain hanging. I took fright and ran.”

Jessica’s mother had both hands against her cheeks. “You are the Earl of Lyndale,” she said, her voice almost a whisper. “You are not dead after all.”

“No, ma’am,” he said.

Anna had resumed her seat. Her hands were clasped, white knuckled, in her lap. Avery had moved up behind her and set a hand on her shoulder. “But why,” she asked, “did you not return seven years ago, Mr. Thorne? Or as soon as you heard that your uncle and cousin had died?”