The Last Rogue

“I suppose there’s nothing else for it but to come up to scratch,” he declared. Then, turning to Jane, he bowed his aching head. “I say, Miss Trowbridge, would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

Having at last forced out the question he had never entertained in connection with Plain Jane, Raleigh had a glimpse of shocked eyes behind rounded glass before he proceeded to cast up his accounts all over Wycliffe’s prized parquet floor.

Jane was aghast, her normally placid disposition so highly agitated that she paced back and forth across the thick Aubusson carpet in the yellow bedroom while trying to reason with her sister. “You cannot truly expect me to marry him!” she exclaimed once again, but the look of compassion on Charlotte’s face made her turn aside.

It was all her own fault. Rain or no, she should have gone home to her hard, narrow cot at the vicarage. Usually, Jane disdained her sister’s luxuries, but last night she had weakened, giving in to the temptation of the huge, soft, sweetly scented feather bed. And now she was paying the price of her lack of character!

She had slept like a rock, cradled in the cushioned warmth, the wind and rain only a faint sound against the tall windows. There had been no arguments from James and Thomas in the next room to be shushed, no night cries from Jenny to be soothed or worries over what Kit might be up to—only an odd sort of comfort that she had never expected to find in such a lavish setting.

She had not even marked the presence of someone else until all the shrieking started this morning. Goodness knows the bed was large enough for half a dozen people to rest without disturbance. “It was all a mistake. Nothing…happened,” she muttered.

“I know, dear, but I’m afraid that doesn’t have much to do with it,” Charlotte said. “Believe me, in society, it is all outward appearances. A married woman can carry on all sorts of dalliances if she is discreet about it, while a miss must not even be touched by a hint of impropriety!”

“But Charlotte, this isn’t London—only a tiny corner of Sussex! It was an honest mistake, no harm done, and who will be the wiser?”

Charlotte shook her head, her lovely face full of sympathy, but Jane also recognized the set of her chin. As sweet as she was, Charlotte could also be determined. Witness her marriage to an earl far above her station, Jane thought glumly. And now she looked frightfully resolute.

“You were seen, Jane. The servants are already spreading the tale, presumably, and you know how gossip flies through Upper. It will be all over the countryside in a trice, and if you don’t marry him, you will be ruined, Jane. Ruined!”

Jane turned away, her thoughts bleak. “Does it really matter?” she asked softly.

“Of course, it matters!” Charlotte took her by the shoulders and turned her around. “Why would you say such a thing?” she asked, genuinely bewildered.

Jane could not meet her eyes. “I am well aware that I am not the beauty of the family,” she said, swallowing hard against the truth she had always known.

“Neither are you a gorgon!” Charlotte protested. “And believe me, beauty does not guarantee happiness. It is more of a burden than anything else.”

Jane shook her head, unconvinced. “You were always surrounded by suitors, while I have had nary a one.”

“You have no suitors because you have discouraged every boy within miles, Jane, and well you know it! I thought you were being extremely particular, as I was, so I said nothing even after you refused a season in London! Never would I have suspected that you do not recognize your own worth. You are a lovely girl, and any man would be proud to take you as a wife.”

When Charlotte released her, Jane shook her head once more. Everyone knew that of the vicar’s daughters, Charlotte was the beauty, with young Carrie and Jenny well on their way to matching her. Sarah and Jane were the plain ones, and though Sarah was devoted to her great oaf of a husband, Alf, Jane had always been determined never to marry, to neither be disappointed nor disappoint. She had her garden and her books and her duties at the vicarage.

“Perhaps this incident is all for the best, for now I will have an excuse for my lack of prospects. Being ruined, I can live quietly, helping Papa,” Jane said softly. Although such an existence seemed quite reasonable and was what she had always planned, Jane was surprised to feel a tightening in her chest at the finality of it.

“A pariah at age eighteen?” Charlotte asked in horrified tones. “Jane, you are too young to make such a decision, to throw away your future irrevocably. And what of Papa and the little ones? How can the villagers be expected to listen to his sermons when his own daughter goes astray? How will you do your errands when most of the good people will cross the street rather than greet you? Will you make the children suffer because of you, a latter-day Lizzy Beaton?”

“Lizzy Beaton’s reputation is well earned!” Jane said of the poor pox-ridden woman who lived nearby. Although the vicar made sure the woman had food, the villagers avoided her, even those male citizens who had once frequented her hovel.

“And how will you prove that you were not compromised when you were seen in bed with a naked man?” Charlotte asked.

Was he naked? Jane nearly started at that news. She had not been wearing her glasses, naturally, and by the time she got them on, her companion had been modestly covered by a drawn-up blanket. She shook her head at the irony of it all. Only she was so plain as to be ignored by an undressed, drunken male!

“You can hardly compare me to Lizzy Beaton,” Jane argued, though not as forcefully as she would have liked. She knew she was blameless, and she could, no doubt, convince her kindhearted father of her innocence, but Charlotte was right. Most people were not as forgiving as dear Papa. Jane had a hollow feeling in her heart as she realized that although he would gladly shelter her, she could not hide away at the vicarage, if it would cause him—or her siblings—harm.

She blinked, determined not to weep at this horrible turn of events. She was going to have to marry him! “Oh, if it were anyone but Raleigh!” she said aloud, sinking into one of the cabriolet armchairs that were scattered about the room. Raleigh was too handsome, too frivolous, too dandified, too titled, too everything. “Why could it not have been Mr. Cambridge?” she asked, her voice cracking. “He is so distinguished.”

“Indeed, he’s old enough to have sired your father,” Charlotte said dryly. “Raleigh is a much better match. Why, he is still in his twenties, a viscount and someday to be an earl!”

“Don’t remind me,” Jane said glumly. She had no wish for material gain, or a life in London where people were wicked and full of excess, where married women had dalliances and men drank so much they did not know where they were sleeping—or with whom.

“Jane.” Charlotte knelt before her and took her hands. “I know that for some reason you don’t think much of him, but Raleigh is one of the finest men I know. He is good and kind and honorable, and I am proud to call him friend.” Jane inhaled slowly. “I would be even prouder to call him my brother,” Charlotte said, her full lips curving upward at the corners.

Jane let out her breath in a great sigh. What chance did she have against a determined Charlotte and her husband? She was surrounded by concerned family, and yet she had never felt so alone. What choice was there for her?

“Very well,” she said, her heart sinking down to her toes. “I will marry him, if Papa will do it.”

John Trowbridge looked rather bewildered when called to the Great House and presented with the special license for one of his own daughters. Leaving out the sordid details, Charlotte told him that Jane and Raleigh had been compromised, but as they had shared a fondness for each other for some time, all were in agreement to wed.

Perhaps, if her father had been as adamant as the others, demanding that she marry immediately, Jane might have had the courage to defy them all. But, instead, Papa pulled her aside and told her very gently that she did not have to go through with anything unless she truly loved Raleigh. Ignoring the ludicrous notion of her harboring any affection for the glib-tongued viscount, Jane put her arms around her father and hugged him tight, fighting back the tears. Yes, I have to do this, she thought to herself. Not for myself, but for you, and the boys, and Carrie and Jenny. And Charlotte and Wycliffe.

Jane was a dutiful girl, and she did her duty. She stood throughout the brief ceremony, with Raleigh stiff and unhappy beside her, and suffered the congratulations of everyone there, all of them far more pleased than either bride or groom. She pretended to eat an elaborate celebratory repast off Wycliffe’s elegant china and let the younger children fill themselves with cake.

It was only when a servant arrived with a trunk of her meager belongings that the enormity of her action, and its consequences, struck home. Between all the chatter and preparations that led up to the wedding, Jane had not had time to really think about her future. Rather, she had vaguely assumed that things would go on much as before, with her being married in name only, while Raleigh returned to London.

Now, abruptly, she was informed that she must make haste to leave for the viscount’s family seat. At the pronouncement, Jane stared so numbly at her husband that Charlotte whisked her off again to the yellow bedroom, which she was quickly growing to despise, ostensibly to assist her final packing.

In reality, Charlotte had chafed her cold hands, while sending a maid to fetch some clothes to add to Jane’s poor supply. “When I think of all the times I asked you to let me have some fine gowns made for you! Well, there’s nothing for it now, but to take what you have. Raleigh will have to spring for a new wardrobe!” she said, smiling.

Jane said nothing when the maid returned with an armful of nightrails. From experience, she knew that Charlotte’s clothing would be voluminous on her. However, this time it was not the size but the flimsy nature of the gowns that caught her attention. They were so worn as to be nearly transparent!

“I cannot wear those,” Jane whispered as the maid left.

“Of course you can,” Charlotte said with a forced heartiness that made Jane immediately suspicious of her motives.

“Why are you giving them to me?” she asked.

Charlotte blushed, making Jane even more leery. “In absence of our mother, I thought I would take it upon myself to give you some advice for your wedding night,” she said cheerfully.

Although Jane had a vague idea of reproduction, gleaned from the animals that populated the farms and hillsides, she was appalled to learn that human procreation worked in generally the same manner. Hastily dismissing the subject, Jane turned away, but Charlotte seemed intent upon embellishing the bald facts with rather disgusting details. Refusing to listen, Jane was grateful when a knock at the door and the sound of a baby crying drew Charlotte away.

“Jane, all I can say is that it is wonderful with someone you love, wonderful beyond imagining,” Charlotte said before taking one of the twins from a maid.

Nodding just to be rid of her, Jane turned back to her packing, without making the obvious comment. But I don’t love him. And I never will. Swallowing against a sudden thickness in her throat, Jane resolutely packed the scandalous garments, though she knew she would never wear them.

Nor would she permit the kind of liberties that her sister had discussed so candidly. Charlotte and Wycliffe and Raleigh himself might have gotten her to take his name, but the rest of her would remain her own.

Chapter Two (#ulink_ec6b57fe-6c8a-56fb-944f-cd8174a098f1)

Charlotte stood beside her husband as they watched the coach travel into the distance. It was one of their own since Raleigh had arrived in a hired conveyance, but easily spared. Her dear papa often said that Wycliffe had more horseflesh than the entire village. He did seem to possess an excess of both steeds and vehicles, but now Charlotte was glad that she could provide a little something toward her sister’s comfort.

Charlotte had felt a nagging disquiet ever since she had risen, but had put it down to worry about the twins. When she heard the maid scream, she had raced upstairs, filled with terror, only to know a certain relief that no one was dead or injured.

Only compromised.

Charlotte sighed. Although she had seen no other possible course, she had definite misgivings about the match. Raleigh was rather frivolous, while Jane was so serious. Charlotte had never known the viscount to rusticate for long, yet Jane, disdaining London, knew little else. “Do you think we did the right thing?” she asked her husband softly.

“We had no choice,” Max said, and Charlotte took some comfort from his words. Yet she knew there were always options, and if Jane had been adamant or Raleigh unsuitable, she would not have pushed for the marriage.