"I'm just a dash of excitement in their otherwise dull existences?"

"That's about the size of it, I'd say. I don't think Lady Margaret is especially liked, either. Everyone probably just wants to get a good look at the woman who gave her her comeuppance."

Jane took the stack and rifled through a few of the offerings near the top. "I'd rather poke my eyes out with a sharp stick than spend one of my afternoons doing any of these things."

"My feelings exactly." Graves chuckled. "So what would you like to do?"

"I have a plan."

"Am I going to like it?"

"I doubt it." Jane stood and headed for her large wardrobe. Since only a handful of items for her trousseau had been finished, it contained few things. "I'm leaving, and I'm going to need your help to get going."

"What if your husband will not allow you to go?"

"Then, I'll go anyway. I don't see how he can stop me."

Phillip sat in the large chair in the corner. The door had only been knocked upon once in all the hours he'd been secluded inside, when one of the servants had worked up the courage to ask if he wanted dinner. His curt no had sent the woman scurrying away. Everyone else had had the good sense to leave him alone. On the opposite side of the room, the spot where the pistol shot had hit the wallpaper, was a dreadful hole with a sooty black rim around it.

Better the wall than his heart, he supposed, although he wasn't sure.

No matter how much he tried to convince himself that there were no similarities between the current situation and the one he'd encountered with his first wife, Anne, he had to admit that they were exactly the same. The only difference being that he had actually shot his wife's lover, crippling him for life. Even now, as he closed his eyes, he could picture the two of them, could feel the rage and the pistol in his hand, could see the look on Richard's face as he accepted his fate that he would be shot and killed by his lifelong best friend.

If only he could reverse his life somehow, go back in time, to that fateful day. How different, he'd always wondered, would his life be now, if his best friend and wife had not betrayed him so despicably? Would he be a better man? A kinder man? A more trusting man? Would a change in the past make any difference at all, or would he simply be what he'd grown to be since that day: a distrustful, lonely fellow, who cared about nothing and no one?

Jane's angry words seemed still to reverberate in the room. You brought this woman, this whore, into my home and invited her to stay as a guest during our wedding celebration? How could you do such a thing to me? He was truly ashamed of what she'd witnessed and how he'd behaved. Over the past years, he'd done so many horrible things that he was surprised he could feel shame about anything, but he did.

When he'd invited Margaret to attend the wedding, it had seemed only natural. The marriage seemed so inconsequential, the vows so meaningless. As far as Phillip was concerned, it was simply the celebration of the end of his poverty. He wanted all of his friends and acquaintances to be there. Margaret was one of them and had been for a long time.

As for their assignation, he hadn't planned on it in the least, but after leaving Jane's room, he'd spent hours in the quiet darkness of his own, fixated on his memories of her lovely breasts, her beautiful face. His shaft had been rock hard, the soft sacs below aching with unreleased agony. To escape his self-imposed prison, he'd gone downstairs. Margaret had arrived only moments later, almost as if she'd been waiting for just such an encounter. He'd put nothing past her. By the time she'd offered herself up, he'd have accepted a tumble with a street whore to ease some of his suffering, so he wasn't about to refuse her.

But then his wife had walked into the room, and nothing would ever be the same again.

Well, he had to go speak with her. Certainly, enough hours had passed for a calm and rational discussion about their future. He rose and went into the hall, almost expecting a gaggle of servants to be hovering outside. No one was around, and he made his way undisturbed to the door of his wife's chamber. Upon opening it, he found her alone and, much to his surprise, packing her bags.

"Oh, John, I'm going to need a .. ."

She turned, obviously thinking he was Graves. In midstride and midsentence, she stopped when she saw him. To his surprise again, she gave a low curtsy. Hovering there until Phillip wondered if she'd ever rise, he scowled. "For pity's sake, Jane, get up."

Jane hated showing any sign of meekness, but she could be in grave danger if he was still angry. She wanted to leave, and she didnat want to find out what would happen if he refused to let her go. "What is it you wish, milord?"

He looked about at her trunks. "What are you doing?"

"I believe it's obvious, Lord Wessington."

"God's teeth, Jane, will you call me Phillip?"

Jane refused to accept his invitation as a courtesy. "I'm packing to leave."

"I am your husband. When were you going to tell me? Or was it going to be a surprise?"

"I was just about to come downstairs."

"How kind of you to think of me."

She couldn't help but notice the biting tone in his voice. Wessington was a man used to giving orders and having them obeyed without question. Graves had warned her it would be difficult to convince him to accept her plan. Walking to the writing table, she lifted the stack of invitations, handing them over.

"What are these?"

"Invitations for me. They've been arriving all day. It seems that I am suddenly the talk of the town, and I've no wish to be. I am not one of the women to whom you are accustomed. I am highly embarrassed"a"she paused, red color flushing her cheeksa""and deeply ashamed. I do not wish to show my face 'round any of these people. I simply could not bear to have them tittering and gossiping behind my back. You know that's what will happen if I remain."

Phillip thought about arguing, but he knew all too well that she was right. "Where are you planning to go? I thought your father had refused you permission to return home for another six months." "I was thinking I would go to Rosewood." "I've no desire to leave London just now." "Actually, sir"a"she looked down at the floora""I hadn't planned on you accompanying me." "Well, good. I've no desire to." "I could meet our daughter, anda"" Phillip cut her off. "I have no daughter." "Oh, how silly of me." She'd wanted to have a polite discussion without further incurring his wrath, but at his dismissal of parentage, she was unable to keep the sarcasm out of her voice. "I'd forgotten. Emily is simply another one of those people you don't care about. That seems to be the pitiful story of your life, doesn't it?" Needing something to do with her hands, and somewhere to look besides at her husband, she walked to the bed and began folding one of her dresses. "So tell me, sir, is there anything that matters to you? Anything at all?"

"Not really." He shrugged off a world full of possible friendships. "I warned you before we wed, Jane, that I've no redeeming qualities. If you thought I was joking, I'm sorry. I was very serious."

Jane looked at him over her shoulder. Although he was trying to remain aloof and unemotional, all she could see was a lonely, solitary man. "It must be terrible to be so alone. I'm sorry for you. I hope you will find something in your life that makes you happy." In a small part of her heart, she almost wished she'd be there to help him. Almost. She closed the lid to the last trunk and turned to face him.

"If I allow you to go"a"Phillip tried to act as if he were still pondering whether to let her, but he could see that she'd go no matter what; one part of him was hurt that she'd leave him so soon, another glad that she was going so he could go about his life undeterreda" "what are you planning to do there?"

"A great many things. I've devised a plan for my father's business, to expand it into imports and exports. I need to finalize the details, and that should occupy a great deal of my time."

Phillip wondered if it was the bartering chip she would use with her father to gain his permission to return home. "This is a plan you've thought up yourself?"

"Don't look so surprised, milord." Jane snorted. "Believe it or not, I actually possess a great deal of intelligence."

"I didnat mean to offend you."

"Well, you did This is something I've been working on for the past two years. I'll enjoy the quiet time to finish it. And Graves and Thumberton tell me there's a great deal of work to be done at Rosewood. Many things need attention. I could begin to see to them."

For the longest time, a precious moment hung in the air between them. It hovered, tempting one or the other to grab hold. A chance at peace. A chance for a truce. A chance for much more. Neither quite knew how to wrap their fingers around it.

Phillip said, "I'm sorry about this morning."

"Sorry for what? Doing it or getting caught?" Phillip looked as though she'd just struck him, so she turned away, tidying up the last of her things. "If you want to be sorry for something, perhaps it should be for the previous night. For rdining something I'd been wondering about and waiting for all my life."

"I thought I was doing the right thing."

"It doesn't matter. At least I know it's not an experience I shall ever want to repeat." With her back to him, she couldn't be sure, but she thought he took a step toward her. The idea of his touching her now, after everything he'd done, was too revolting. She straightened her back and heard him stop. Speaking toward the wall, she said, "I don't have any money for the mail coach, but if you could lend me a few pounds to pay the fare, I'll repay you as soon as I'm able."

"The mail coach? No, you'll take my carriage."

"I've no wish to impose."

"You're my wife. It's not an imposition. You'll take it."

"I'd like Meg to accompany me, so I have a friend when I arrive."

"Yes."

"And John Graves. There will be much to accomplish around the estate. I'll need a trustworthy assistant."

"No, I can't spare him."

Graves had said the Earl wouldn't let him go. How could she take Meg away from John? Oh, well, they'd have to work it out. "And if you could replenish one of the Rosewood accounts, so I'll have a bit to rehire staff and purchase necessities ..."

"Certainly."

"I'll try to be frugal."

"Jane, it's all right. I trust you with the household accounts."

"Well, then ..."

"Well . . ."

Jane couldn't believe the tears that had welled to her eyes. Leaving was what she wanted, wasn't it? She never wanted to see her husband again. Never wanted to look at him or hear him speak or converse with him. Then why did she feel so forlorn? Perhaps it was just the stress of all that had happened in the past two months. The weight of it seemed to be crashing down finally. Struggling for composure, she swallowed hard against the lump in her throat, pressed a thumb and finger to the bridge of her nose, urging the tears back from wherever they'd sprung.

She turned to face her husband one last time. "I hope things work out for you, sir. Truly, I do."

"I'll stop by Rosewood this summer. During my visiting."

"All right. Please let us know when you're coming, so we'll be expecting you."

"I will." Phillip couldn't believe the overwhelming urge he suddenly felt to get down on his knees and beg her not to go. If she left there would be no chance for any sort of reconciliation. He'd never have her for a friend or a lover. They'd never share confidences, tell stories, laugh and play together.

But he didnat want that, did he? Hell, no. He didnat want a wife. He didnat want Jane. He had her money, every penny of it, so tightly wrapped in his fist that she didnat even possess the few pounds it would take to pay her fare to the country. That was all he needed. Her money. His whole, rich life, filled with beautiful women, with drinking and gambling and debauchery, beckoned to him like a bright beacon. He couldn't wait to relish the days and months ahead.

If all those things were true, why di he feel so wretched?

"If you need anything, contact me."

"I won't ever need anything from you." And if I did, I wouldn 't ask, she added silently.

"All right, then." Phillip was embarrassed that she thought him such a poor excuse for a man she'd never turn to him for help. Too late. This was the relationship he'd wished for; now he had it.

"Good-bye, sir."

"Call me Phillip."

Jane shook her head and walked out of the room.

Chapter Fourteen.

Emily Wessington, dressed in a split skirt that looked very much like trousers, bounded out the front door of her family home. Mrs. Smythe, the head housekeeper who had lived and worked at Rosewood all of her life, saw her go just as she slipped past the bottom of the stairs. Knowing that the older woman would try to force her back inside in the midst of one of the first nice spring days, Emily increased her speed. The idea of spending the afternoon cooped up in the schoolroom was unthinkable.

Mrs. Smythe despaired over Emily's lack of supervision, but even though she worried about Emily constantly, there were only so many hours in the day. Trying to ensure that the household ran, that there was coal to heat a few rooms in the winter and food on the table for those who'd chosen to remain about the place took up all of her time.

Emily danced outside into the sunshine, smiling broadly as she realized how easily the housekeeper had given up the chase. Removing the boy's cap she'd carefully hidden in her pocket, she tugged it onto her head and started shoving her hair under the brim. The previous autumn, she'd seen a troupe of performers at the fair and had been fascinated by the possibility of doing tricks with animals, but it was so hard to do any good moves with her curls always falling in the way.

Just as she finished with the last strand, Richard came around the corner. With one real and one peg leg, he limped carefully as he headed her way with her horse. In her small world, he was one of the few adults who seemed to have aged over the slow passing of the years. He looked older, with sad lines around his eyes and his dark hair gone nearly white, but he was still handsome.

Her horse was one of the few left on the estate, though once upon a time her grandfather had boasted of owning one of the finest stables in all of England.

"Well, well, missy, aren't you a sight today. How did you get past Mrs. Smythe in that outfit?"

"I ran out before she could say anything."

He laughed, glad the housekeeper hadn't had the opportunity to cause her any distress. Emily had had too much of it in her life, and he'd vowed from the day of her birth, when Phillip had taken one look at her and promptly left for London, to be the best friend she could have. A best friend in a world where no one wanted her.

She was so pretty, standing there with her unruly ebony curls tucked under her hat. By hiding her hair, she'd only accented her perfect, heart-shaped face. Her blue eyes, as blue as the summer sky, stared out at him over rosy cheeks and ruby lips. What a man-killer she would grow to be in a few years. And, with her kindhearted nature and pleasant manner, the gentlemen would be falling over themselves to win her hand.

How Phillip could go through life without recognizing the gem he'd sired was a complete mystery to Richard. The idiot's stupid pride kept him from admitting that she was his daughter. Only a blind man would fail to see their resemblance. In every way, she was the spitting image of Phillip Wessington. The only hint that she'd had a mother was in her astonishing blue eyes.

"So what will it be today, Mistress Emily? Running leaps? Daring handstands?"

"You know I can't do any of those things."

"Oh ... all right." He smiled. "How about standing on his bare back?"

She managed to mount the horse by herself, but Richard steadied her while she rose to her feet. He dropped out the lead line, and the horse, seeming to know the value of his cargo, took tiny, slow steps in a measured circle. Both man and girl were so engrossed in their practice session that neither of them noticed the carriage coming up the drive. Emily concluded her ride by dismounting with a somersault which landed her on shaky feet next to Richard.

A woman's laughter and clapping of hands brought them up short. They di not have many visitors anymore. A neighbor might stop. Morris came occasionally, wanting to check on Emily for her father, or so he said. But rarely anyone else.

Emily stepped forward. The carriage looked new and bore her family's crest on the side, which immediately caused her heart to pound. Had her father decided to arrive unannounced?

His visits were a double-edged sword which left her happy and desolatea"happy because she loved him so; desolate, because with each visit, she hoped in her tender heart that he would show her some attention, some kindness. But he never did.

She didnat know why he didnat care for her. If someone would only tell her the reason, she'd fix herself. Everyone said he liked her just fine, but she knew it was a lie. Her father hated her, and she had no idea of the cause. More than once, she'd wondered if he was disappointed she'd been born a girl.

The carriage door opened, and a woman stepped out onto the ground without waiting for any help from the footman. She had reddish brown hair, pulled back and braided about her head, and was wearing a simple gray dress with white collar and cuffs. Emily's first reaction was one of dread. Had her father finally gotten around to sending a new governess?

"What a wonderful trick," the woman gushed enthusiastically. "I've never seen anything like it."

"May I help you?" Emily asked.

"I hope so. I'm here to meet Emily Wessington and the head housekeeper, Mrs. Smythe."

"I'm Emily Wessington." She raised her chin as though to dare the woman to say something about her manner of dress. She was almost disappointed when the stranger didnat seem to notice what she was wearing.

"Well, now that you say your name, I can see that you are. The resemblance to your father is uncanny."

"Are you my new governess?"