Lord of Scoundrels - Loretta Chase [84]
There was no need to remark upon the physical resemblance. The lady was simply the feminine version of the present marquess.
This was also the first portrait Jessica had seen that bore any resemblance to him.
After Jessica's solitary breakfast— Dain had eaten and vanished before she'd come down— Mrs. Ingleby had given her a partial tour of the immense house, including a leisurely stroll through the long second-floor gallery opposite their bedrooms, which housed the family portraits. Except for the first Earl of Blackmoor, whose heavy-lidded gaze had reminded her of Dain's, Jessica had detected no likenesses.
Nowhere among these worthies had she spied a female who could have been Dain's mother. Mrs. Ingleby, when questioned, had told her there wasn't such a portrait, not that she knew of. She'd been at Athcourt since the present marquess came into the title, when he'd replaced most of the previous staff.
This portrait, then, had been hidden away during his father's time. Out of grief? Jessica wondered. Had it been too painful for the late marquess to see his wife's image? If so, he must have been a very different man from the one she'd seen in his portrait: a fair, middle-aged gentleman, garbed in somber Quaker-like simplicity. But the humble dress was in stark contrast to his expression. No gentle Friend had lived behind the stern countenance with its narrowed, wintry blue eyes.
"I know nothing about her," Jessica said, "except the date she was wed and the date she died. I hadn't expected her to be so young. I had assumed the second wife was a more mature woman. This is little more than a girl."
And who, she wondered angrily, had shackled this ravishing child to the horrid, pious old block of ice?
She drew back, startled by the vehemence of her reaction. Quickly she stood up.
"Have it brought down to my sitting room," she told the housekeeper. "You may have it lightly dusted before, but no further cleaning until I've had a chance to examine it in better light."
* * *
Mrs. Ingleby had been imported from Derby-shire. She'd heard nothing about old family scandals before she'd come and, because she would not tolerate belowstairs gossip, she'd heard nothing since. Lord Dain's agent had hired her, not simply because of her sterling reputation as a housekeeper, but because of her strict principles: In her view, the care of a family was a sacred trust, which one did not abuse by whispering scandal behind one's employers' backs. Either the conditions were good or they were not. If they were not, one politely gave notice and departed.
Her strict views did not, however, prevent the rest of the staff from gossiping when her back was turned. Consequently, most of them had heard about the previous Lady Dain. One of them was one of the footmen summoned to move the portrait to the present Lady Dain's sitting room. He told Mr. Rodstock who the portrait subject was.
Mr. Rodstock was much too dignified to dash his head against the chimneypiece as he wished to. All he did was blink, once, and order his minions to alert him the instant His Lordship returned.
* * *
Lord Dain had spent most of the day in Chudleigh. At the Star and Garter, he'd met up with Lord Sherburne, who was making his meandering way south to Devonport for a wrestling match.
Sherburne, who'd been wed less than a year, had left his young wife in London. He was the last person in the world to find anything odd about a very recently married man's deserting his bride for the bar parlor of a coaching inn several miles from home. On the contrary, he invited Dain to journey with him to Devonport. Sherburne was awaiting a few other fellows, who were to arrive this evening. He suggested Dain pack, collect his valet, and join them for dinner. Then they could all leave together first thing tomorrow morning.
Dain had accepted the invitation without hesitation, ignoring the skull-splitting shriek of his conscience. Hesitation was always a sign of weakness and, in this case, Sherburne might think Beelzebub needed his wife's permission first, or that he couldn't bear to