The Last Duchess (The Lennox Series)(120)
She was content, despite an underlying sorrow that her husband would not make his betrayal right, that he wouldn’t budge from his certainty that he’d done nothing for which to apologize.
Not that she asked. She avoided the subject and retained a cool demeanor toward him. He appeared not to notice, maintaining his cheerful disposition, acting as though nothing was wrong. At least he was kind enough not to point out how very much she did not dislike him in bed. She was ashamed enough of her lack of self-control and discipline. It would pain her to be audibly reminded of it by him.
Every Sunday they went to services in the nearby village of Blixford and the third Sunday, Jane invited the vicar, Mr. Pool, and his daughter, Miss Bella, to tea. Mr. Pool was a pious man, given to sermonizing even when not in the pulpit, and it was a dreary, long afternoon before he and his painfully shy daughter finally took their leave. Jane remembered Miss Bella from her stay at Eastchase Hall during Annabel’s confinement, but it had been a long time ago and she’d tried to put it out of her mind, for it was painful and sad to remember. Mostly what she recalled of Miss Bella was how she read scripture all that long day when Annabel was laboring, and in so much pain. Something about the girl had set her teeth on edge, though she could never quite discover why. She gained no additional insight during tea, simply because Miss Bella scarcely spoke, keeping her eyes downcast almost the entire time.
The Sundays following, she didn’t extend another invitation, although Miss Bella always made a point to seek them out before they left the church, clearly angling for an invitation. Jane felt guilty, for surely the poor girl had little enough of a social life. Her father was overprotective of her and wouldn’t allow her much freedom to leave the vicarage, unless he accompanied her. At four and twenty, Miss Bella was on the shelf, and her prospects dismal. Blixford was a wee village, and her father appeared to have a stranglehold on her movements, disallowing her to venture out. Otherwise, she might have struck up a friendship with Mr. O’Brien, or Mr. Perkins, the stewards at Eastchase, or perhaps Mr. Ball, the steward at the ever absent Viscount Radcliffe’s neighboring estate. Jane thought Miss Bella would benefit from clothing not so drab and brown, perhaps a new hairstyle, and a smile upon her face. She was such a dour woman.
Six weeks into their sojourn in Devon, Miss Bella pulled her aside before services, when Blixford was engaged in conversation with the vicar, and asked, quite bluntly, “Your Grace, are you with child?”
So startled by the young woman’s rude question, Jane was too sunned to speak.
“I only ask because you’ve that look about you. The other duchesses looked just like this, and so I wondered.” She didn’t smile. “If so, if you are to bear the duke’s child, I will pray for you.”
What a strange one she was. Unsure how to respond, Jane finally said simply, “Thank you, Miss Bella.” She cast a sidelong glance at Blixford. “If you’ll excuse me, I believe we should take our seats now.” Discomfiture overrode guilt and she didn’t invite Reverend Pool and Miss Bella to tea that afternoon, as she’d planned.
She didn’t mention the incident to Blixford, primarily because she didn’t want to get his hopes up, if indeed she wasn’t pregnant. She was late, but she wanted to be certain, so she said nothing.
Later that week, on Wednesday, he seemed even more cheerful than usual at luncheon, and as soon as she’d rested her knife and fork, he came round the table and produced a wooden box from behind his back. “I’ve your wedding gift here, Jane.” He set it upon the table, just next to her plate. “Open it.”
A gift? She suspected jewels, but the case was rather large for jewels. She lifted the gold latch and opened the hinged top, gasping in surprise. Inside, nestled in a bed of soft linen, was a small pistol. The stock was inlaid with mother of pearl, and the barrel engraved in an intricate design. Jerking her gaze to his, she didn’t attempt to hide her shock. “Blixford, this is most unexpected.”
He grinned as he nodded toward the box. “I had it made especially for you, Jane, to fit your smaller hand. It was delivered just this morning. Do you like it?”
“Of course.” She was stunned. “It’s lovely, and such a thoughtful gift. Thank you.”
“Come along and we’ll try it out, shall we?” He reached inside the box for the pistol and handed it to her, his teeth white in his tanned face as he beamed at her.
She accepted it, then went to retrieve her apron, to protect her clothing from any loose gunpowder. Following him outside, they passed through the extensive, formal gardens until they reached the rolling expanse of lawn south of the house. A target had been erected some distance away. “I’ve long heard of your prowess, but have never seen it for myself. Will you demonstrate, Jane?”