The Pleasure Garden: Sacred Vows\Perfumed Pleasures\Rites of Passions (33 page)

But Jack remained standing, watching as Emmaline hurried out. Moments later, he heard the front door open.

“Hullo,” said a crisp, feminine voice—far too familiar. “I’m looking for Jack Wainscott. They told me at the hotel that I might find him here. Are you Mrs. Gage?”

“I am,” Emmaline answered. “I’ve been tending him since he took ill. You must be his sister, Aisling.”

No.
Oh, no.

“I’m his fiancée,” she replied sharply. “Claire Lennox.”

Without wasting another second, Jack strode toward the front hall, hoping to salvage the situation as best as possible.

“What are you doing here?” he called out, stepping up beside Emmaline, who stood goggling at Claire. Why the hell had she called herself his fiancée?

“What do you mean, what am I doing here?” Claire asked, looking from Jack to Emmaline, and back to Jack again. “Your mother said you were only to be gone a few days. It’s been more than a fortnight, and no one’s heard a word from you. Everyone was worried.”

“I fell ill with influenza,” he explained, slightly flummoxed. It wasn’t like his mother to keep track of his whereabouts. “I was nearly unconscious for five days straight.”

“And there isn’t a hospital here you could be taken to? If you were so very ill, that is?” Claire’s eyes were cold as she regarded him with unconcealed suspicion.

“It was a potentially lethal strain, Miss Lennox,” Emmaline offered. “The doctor hoped to keep him under quarantine. Since I’m a trained nurse, it seemed best to leave him here.”

“I see.” Claire bit out the words. “Still, it seems as if you could have telephoned. Unless, of course, you’ve been otherwise occupied.” Her look was accusing, and Jack’s annoyance rose a notch. What right did she have, barging in like this and making Emmaline uncomfortable? It wasn’t any of Claire’s business where he’d been, or what he’d been doing.

He took a protective step toward Emmaline, his arm brushing against her shoulder. “I think you should go—”

“Won’t you come in?” Emmaline said at precisely the same
time. “We were just finishing breakfast. I can offer you some coffee and toast, if you’re hungry.”

Claire swept inside, looking as regal and haughty as ever. “I breakfasted already, at the hotel. But thank you, I will come in.”

For a moment, the three of them simply stood there awkwardly.

“Might I have a word with you in private, Jack?” Claire said at last. “If you don’t mind, that is, Mrs. Gage.” Claire offered Emmaline a tight smile, one that did not reach her eyes.

“Of course not.” Emmaline’s forehead was creased with a frown. “Here, use the front parlor. I’ll go out to the garden for a bit and give you some privacy.”

“Emmaline,” Jack said, reaching for her elbow. “I’ll only be a few minutes.”

She wouldn’t meet his eyes. “No,” she murmured, looking at her shoes, the doorway—anywhere but at him. “Take all the time you need. If you’ll both excuse me.”

“Well, isn’t this cozy,” Claire said, as soon as Emmaline left them. “I suppose
this
is the real reason you broke off our engagement?”

“Whatever are you talking about, Claire? I only just met Emma—Mrs. Gage,” he corrected.

She raised one perfectly arched blond brow. “And where, pray tell, is Mr. Gage?”

“Dead,” he answered simply. “A casualty of the war.”

Her mouth curved into an ugly smile. “Well, then. Aren’t you two a match made in heaven?”

“Look, Claire,” he said, clenching his hands into fists by his sides. “I have no idea what you’re doing here, what game you’re playing at. But I made it quite clear before I left Bed
lington that we were done. You’ve no right to come here and start making accusations—”

“Are you denying that you’re playing house with her, then? Your little war widow?”

“It’s none of your damn business.”

“I suppose that’s my answer, then,” she said with a sneer. “What’s happened to you, Jack?” She shook her head. “Running off and abandoning Wainscott House in favor of your latest piece of ass is your father’s style, not yours.”

“Get out,” he said, barely able to control his rage. If she didn’t leave immediately, he would be sorely tempted to do or say something that he’d no doubt regret later on.

And then her face crumpled, tears filling her eyes. “I’m sorry, Jack. I shouldn’t have said that. But you must understand, your mother was frantic. Something…something happened at Wainscott House—a burst pipe of some sort, I can’t say exactly. Some rooms were flooded, the carpet ruined. Your father’s in London, of course, and you were nowhere to be found. You know how your mother is, and so I said I’d come find you. And then when I heard that you were here, alone with some woman…” The tears ran freely down her cheeks now, and she wiped them away with the back of one hand. “Did I mean so very little to you, Jack? I gave you five years of my life—five years! And this is what I get for it?”

He raked a hand through his hair, his stomach lurching uncomfortably. “I’m sorry, Claire. Honestly. I don’t what else to say.”

“I waited for you, all those years,” she continued.

He shook his head. “I never asked you to wait. I was glad that you did, but I never expected that you would.”

“And I didn’t even care that you couldn’t…well, you know, when you came home from the war. If you’d only given it time, perhaps tried a bit harder—”

“Tried harder?” God, talk about emasculating. He
had
tried. Perhaps he just hadn’t wanted it enough, hadn’t wanted
her
enough. But he’d never say that, not to her. It would be far too cruel.

“Have you been able to…you know…with
her?
” she asked, so well bred that she couldn’t bear to say the words aloud.

He would not lie to her. “Yes” was all he said in reply.

Claire nodded. He saw her swallow hard as she straightened her spine, digesting the truth. And then she laid a hand on his sleeve. “Come home, Jack,” she said, earnest now. “To Dorset. You’ve got responsibilities there, a life there.” She glanced around, as if seeing her surroundings for the first time, and shuddered. “This…this isn’t you. It near enough broke your mother’s heart when Aisling married Will Cooper. How do you think she’ll take it if you throw everything away for…well, for this woman, whoever she is? She’s not like you, Jack. Like
us.
”

He held up one hand in warning. “Don’t say another word.”

“Don’t run out on your responsibilities like your father does,” she pushed, going for broke. “You’re far better than that—I know you are.”

Perhaps I’m not, after all.
He shook his head, trying to clear it. “I don’t owe anyone anything. My responsibility is to Wainscott House alone, and I will see to those responsibilities. You may tell my mother that I’ll be home by the end of the week. Beyond that, where I go or what I do is no one’s business but my own. I’m sorry that I’ve hurt you. Truly, I am. But we’re done, Claire.
Done.
And now I’ll ask that you leave.”

She raised her chin in the air, as proud as ever. “I’m staying at the hotel in town till the day after tomorrow. When you come to your senses, you can find me there.”

“Goodbye, Claire,” he said, hoping she understood the finality of his words.

“Goodbye, Jack,” she answered, and then she was gone.

Jack slumped to the sofa with a groan. Devil take it, but he suddenly felt like the villain that Claire had made him out to be. How was he going to explain it all to Emmaline now? Claire was staying in Haverham, for fuck’s sake. She was no longer the faceless ex-fiancée who Jack claimed to be done with, but the very real woman who was just up the road, waiting for him. Things had just gone from bad to worse, and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it.

At once bone tired and weary, he rose and strode out, headed to the garden to learn his fate.

10

EMMALINE HEARD THE CAR DRIVE AWAY, KNEW that Jack would come looking for her any minute now. She continued turning the soil in the bed, digging into the rich, loamy earth with her spade. She knew what she had to do, and what she would tell him. It had become crystal clear, the moment she’d opened the door and seen Claire Lennox standing there.

The woman was even more beautiful than she’d imagined, like a perfect little china doll. She exuded wealth and breeding and fashionable taste—everything that Emmaline so sorely lacked. Emmaline was a poor country girl from Pennsylvania, after all, one who’d spent the majority of her adult years on hospital wards. If there had ever been a youthful bloom to her cheeks, it was long gone now, taken from her by the war, by widowhood.

Jack belonged with a woman like Claire; she had been raised to marry a gentleman like him, to run his household and raise his children. She would entertain his guests with practiced ease, delighting everyone with her wit and charm. She would be intimately acquainted with his family and friends, an integral part of his social circle.

Emmaline could do none of these things, could
be
none of those things. She would always be an outsider, awkward and unsure of herself when away from the wards. After all, the hospital was the one place where she felt competent and self-assured. She was a good nurse. An
excellent
nurse, she corrected.

Besides, working with a village doctor in his Cotswold office would be a far cry from the army hospitals in which she’d toiled. Children with sniffles, women in childbirth, broken bones to be set—these were the concerns of a country nurse. There would be no wards, no nurses’ dormitories, nothing to remind her of the life she’d left behind. She would take a room in the boardinghouse beside the grocery, perhaps even begin to attend services at the little stone church over which Mr. Talbot presided. Yes, Mrs. Talbot would like that, she thought with a smile.

A bead of perspiration ran down her forehead, and she swiped at it with the back of her forearm, hoping she hadn’t trailed soil across her skin in the process. It was warm for May, the sun bright and strong in the clear blue sky.

The hinge on the gate creaked, and Emmaline let out her breath in a rush. It was time—time to send Jack home, back where he belonged.

“There you are,” he called out, striding over to where she knelt. He looked drawn, tired. But he was well, far more so than she’d been willing to admit. It might take him some time to regain his strength, but there was no real danger in sending him home with Claire.

Setting down her spade, she peeled off her gloves and tossed them to the cobbles. Standing, she reached for Jack’s hand. “Come, let’s sit.”

Silently, he nodded, following her to the stone bench and taking a seat beside her.

“I
do
love you, Jack,” she began tentatively. “I want you to know that, first and foremost. Perhaps it’s rash, perhaps we’ve both lost our wits, perhaps this garden really is enchanted,” she said, attempting to smile. “Who knows? But whatever the case, I love you.”

Jack raked a hand through his hair, mussing it. There was a look of defeat, of resignation in his hazel eyes that made Emmaline’s heart hurt. “Then, Christ, Emma, why does it sound as if you’re about to break my heart?”

She took a deep breath before answering. “Because I have to set things right. This time we’ve spent together—it’s been wonderful, magical even. A healing time for us both. But don’t you see? We’ve been shuttered away, removed from the rest of the world, living a dream. It can’t go on like this forever.”

“And you’ve decided this in the space of time that I was inside, talking to Claire? And I’ve no say in the matter?”

“Oh, Jack, you were so very ill. I’m not certain you realize how grave it was when you first collapsed. These were extraordinary circumstances. Had we met some other, more ordinary way, there’s no telling what might have happened. But this…this isn’t real.”

“I know what I felt when I first saw you there across the bonfire—the instant attraction, the desire to know you. Are you saying that wasn’t real, either?”

“That hardly counts. We hadn’t met, hadn’t spoken a single word to each other.”

“But I knew, even then—”

“Oh, Jack,” she interrupted with a sigh. “That’s easy for you to say now, but if your business hadn’t brought you here to Orchard House, we never would have met at all.”

“But my business
did
bring me here. To you,” he added, squeezing her hand. “I see that as fate intervening.”

She shook her head. “You may not realize it now, but you need to be with someone who doesn’t hear mortar explosions in every crack of thunder, who doesn’t share your memories of the stink of mustard gas, of flesh wounds left too long untreated. You need someone to bring light into your life, not sustain the dark memories of war. Someone like Claire, Jack. You used to love her—you said so yourself. You were going to marry her, and if not her, then someone like her. You were thrown off your path, that’s all. I’m just putting you back on that path. Someday you’ll thank me for it.”

A muscle in his jaw twitched. “If you think that’s true, then you don’t know me at all.”

“And there you have it, Jack. I
don’t
know you. It’s only been a fortnight, and none of it spent in the real world. This was a lovely interlude, but that’s all it can ever be—a wonderful memory that I will treasure forever.”

“And there’s no changing your mind?” he asked. “Nothing I can say or do to convince you otherwise?”

She shook her head, her eyes damp now. He nearly groaned aloud—not one but
two
crying women in a single day. Lovely.

“You should go to her, Jack. Find her, before she leaves town, and allow her to see you home safely. You can come back later for your car—it’ll be safe enough here. I’ll have my things out of Orchard House by the end of the week. I’ve decided to rent a room in town, and accept Dr. Hayward’s offer of employment.”

“You’re not leaving Orchard House,” he said, his voice flat. “This is your home now. I’ll speak to my father and explain the situation—he won’t turn you out. I damn well won’t let him.”

She was startled by his outburst. “It’s rightfully his, Jack. You were quite clear on that when you arrived here. I have
no legal claim besides Maria’s word, and I’m sure she had no knowledge of the situation besides what it said in her aunt Mathilde’s will.”