Page 4 of To Swoon and to Spar
Chapter Two
Jane Spencer hated London.
It was January, so she didn’t imagine anywhere in England was particularly warm and cheerful at the moment, but she couldn’t think of a less pleasant place to spend a gray, cold afternoon than this bleak, dirty city.
Her guardian’s London house was on a quiet street in Mayfair. Although he owned the house rather than renting, there was nothing inviting or personal about the empty rooms she found herself wandering through listlessly.
“Don’t sulk,” he’d told her at breakfast that morning with an amount of good cheer that had set her on edge instantly. “You’re meeting the viscount today.”
The viscount.It seemed like an awful way to refer to one’s own nephew—no name, just a reference to his title—but what did she know? She was not in possession of any uncles, or nephews, or any family at all. That was the reason she was here, in Mr. Bourne’s keeping. He and her father had served together in the navy long ago, before Jane was born, and had evidently been close; what she had learned of Mr. Bourne’s character in the past three years had done little to endear her father’s memory to her.
And so here she was, in London, preparing to meet a man who might marry her—another man into whose possession she might be traded. This time, at least, she did not plan to meekly accept her fate.
Jane stood in the drawing room, staring down at the street below. What would the viscount be like? she wondered. Not that she’d be bothered by him for too long; she’d worked out well enough how to rid herself of her guardian and was fairly certain she could repeat the trick.
“Jane.” Mr. Bourne’s voice came from behind her, curt and impatient. “The carriage is ready—it’s time to go.” She turned to face him, and she saw surprise register on his face. “Oh. You look… quite nice, actually.”
She knew she did. She was not accustomed to dressing in the height of fashion—there was little occasion for it in the wilds of Cornwall—but Mr. Bourne had sent her to the modiste immediately upon her arrival in town a fortnight earlier, and she wore the results of that visit now, a high-necked gown of green wool, cut to hug her curves just so. Her heavy mass of dark hair was pulled back from her face in an elaborate coiffure that Hastey—a former housemaid recently elevated to the position of lady’s maid for the purpose of this visit—had seen in some fashion plate or other. Jane would never be beautiful—her features were a bit too stern and angular for that—but she knew without looking in a mirror that she looked her very best.
Because that was the point.
She had a husband to acquire.
Penvale was less surprised than he should have been when Diana and Jeremy appeared on his doorstep not ten minutes before his uncle and Miss Spencer were due to arrive.
“Of course you are here,” he said in resignation as Smithers showed them into the drawing room.
“Of course we are here,” Diana agreed, sailing into the room as though she owned the place, then settling herself in her favorite yellow brocade armchair. “You cannot possibly think that I would allow you to betroth yourself to a stranger without my guidance.”
“Did it ever occur to you, Diana,” Penvale said, leaning against the mantel, “that I might not beinterestedin your opinion?”
Diana paused for a moment to consider. “No. Don’t be absurd. Jeremy, sit,” she added, patting the chair next to hers.
Jeremy rolled his eyes. “I’m not a dog, Diana,” he said, before turning to Penvale and adding, “I did try to talk her out of this, you know.”
“I’m sure you did,” Penvale said darkly; a lifetime as Diana’s brother had taught him how well any attempt went to dissuade her from a course she was already set upon, and he usually didn’t bother with any such efforts. He wasn’t ashamed to admit that her will was much stronger than his own—the only thing he’d ever truly been single-minded in his pursuit of was Trethwick Abbey.
“However,” Jeremy added, throwing a sharp look at his wife, “we have agreed that she will not be doing any talking.Right,Diana?”
Diana offered what she seemed to think was an appropriately meek smile, which Penvale found unnerving. “Indeed.”
Jeremy appeared to be suppressing a smile. “There’s no need to lay it on quite so thick.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Diana said innocently. “Ladies are meant to be seen and not heard—the motto by which I live my life.”
Jeremy and Penvale snorted in unison, and Diana grinned.
“Mr. John Bourne and Miss Jane Spencer, my lord,” Smithersintoned gloomily from the doorway. Smithers had come with the house, a relic from Penvale’s grandfather’s days as the viscount, and while Penvale at times found the man’s rather funereal air to be a bit mood-dampening, he could not help but think it was well suited to his feelings about this meeting. No matter what he had told Diana and Jeremy the evening before, Penvale was not exactly leaping with enthusiasm at the prospect of marriage to a woman he didn’t know.
“Jane Spencer,” Diana repeated in an undertone, her vow to be seen and not heard apparently forgotten. “Can you think of a more forgettable name? I expect she’ll be mousy and plain to match.”
Penvale, while feeling a bit bad for the unfortunate Miss Spencer, could not help but privately agree. Which was why it was something of a surprise when the woman who walked into the room was utterly… striking.
“Yes, Diana,” Jeremy murmured as he rose to his feet, clearly amused. “I see precisely what you mean.”
Diana, for once, had no reply, which Penvale would have found deeply satisfying had he not been so distracted.
Miss Spencer was not beautiful; that fact was immediately obvious to Penvale. Her features were not harsh, precisely, but stern in a way that had none of the soft loveliness of so many of the ladies whom thetonconsidered great beauties. Her skin was fair, her cheekbones pronounced, her hair dark and thick. She was not tall, but what he could see of her figure hinted at appealing curves, in contrast to the sharpness of her face. It was her eyes, however, that made her so difficult to tear his gaze from. At first glance, they appeared violet, standing out vividly in her pale face, framed by sooty lashes; after a moment’s consideration, however, he concluded that they were merely the deepest, most unearthly shade of blue he’d ever seen.
