Law of Attraction Page 3

  Sharla pressed her hands together. “That hardly seems fair. Everyone has secrets.”

  “Burscough, for some reason, has chosen to make this public by suing for divorce,” Ben said.

  “I don’t understand why, though,” Dane said. “There are far more discreet ways to handle such things.”

  “I am sure his solicitor advised him of the severity of divorce,” Ben said. He shook his head. “We may never know the reasons why he is insisting upon this. I can only deal with the facts that are presented. Burscough is going through with it. That is one fact. Another fact, a significant one, is that Stephen Spearing is his barrister and solicitor.”

  “I’ve heard you mention his name before, Ben,” Sharla murmured.

  “I, too,” Dane said.

  “That is because the man is quite brilliant,” Ben said. “Now my father has retired, Stephen Crispin Spearing, Esquire, is considered to be the best barrister in London.”

  Sharla bit her lip, worry marring her forehead. “You are just as good,” she told Ben, her voice wavering.

  Dane leaned forward. “Are you?”

  “I suppose that is to be determined.” Ben hesitated. “I’ve lost every case he’s argued against me.” He gave Jenny a small smile. “So far.”

  Jenny clutched her hands together. Despite the fire jumping in the fireplace, she felt cold.

  Ben shook his head again. “It is one fact,” he added. “One to add to the collection for consideration. Another fact is that Burscough has your diary, Jenny.”

  Jenny made herself breathe evenly. Her heart hurt at the reminder.

  “Anything in your diary could be used in court as evidence to support the divorce,” Ben said, his tone still gentle. “That is why we must have this conversation now. You need to tell me what is in the diary, so we can prepare a response to anything that might be raised in court.”

  Jenny realized she was wringing her hands. Her heart was working far too hard for sedately sitting upon a chair.

  Ben leaned even closer. “I know how difficult this will be for you,” he said. “However, I implore you to withhold nothing. If you fail to tell me everything, I cannot prepare. If I am surprised in court and cannot adequately defend any accusations against you, the judge will be forced to favor Burscough. It would go badly for you. Do you understand?”

  Jenny shivered again. “Everything?” she whispered.

  “Everything,” Ben said. “We’re all family, Jenny. We’ve all…” He glanced at Dane and Sharla. “Well, we all have secrets, as Sharla said.”

  Dane got to his feet. “You might find it easier if I, the stranger, were not here,” he said. “Ben, you said you wanted to know more about Burscough. I happen to be rather good at sniffing out a man’s true nature. I’ll see what I can find about him.”

  Sharla stood, too. “I should see to the twins…”

  “No, please stay, Sharla,” Jenny pleaded, holding out her hand.

  Sharla squeezed her hand, her smile radiant. “I will stay.” She kissed Dane’s cheek and sat down once more.

  Dane left, shutting the door.

  Ben gave Jenny an encouraging smile. “When did you begin keeping the volume that Burscough possesses?”

  “Just after my wedding,” Jenny admitted. “Mama gave it to me. She said I should start with a new, clean slate…” She pressed her lips together. “Only, I didn’t, really. It just seemed like I did, even to me. I thought…well…” She sighed and looked at Ben. “There is a reason I keep a journal instead of writing letters to friends. Telling others about myself…this is…”

  “Difficult,” Ben finished. “You were always the one on the edge of the croquet court.”

  “Which is exactly where I liked it,” Jenny admitted.

  Ben sat back. “If the story in the diary didn’t start there, when did it start?”

  “You don’t know?” Jenny asked, surprised. “You were there.”

  Ben cleared his throat. “I could guess,” he admitted. “However, that is not why we must speak of these things. I need you to tell me what the court will hear.”

  “The divorce papers name Jack,” Sharla pointed out. “Is it Jack of whom you’re reluctant to speak?”

  Jenny sighed. “Of course it is Jack,” she whispered. “It has only ever been Jack.” Her eyes burned as tears gathered. “It started at the Christmas party in Kirkaldy…oh, it seems like years and years ago, now. The year that everyone stayed at Kirkaldy, do you remember? It was the Christmas before Sharla and I came out.”

  Ben frowned. “Eighteen sixty-one. Yes, I remember. It was as cold as blazes and there was a foot of snow.”

  “It was beautiful,” Sharla murmured. “And so many people! I didn’t think Scotland itself had that many people, but there they were, all crammed into the ballroom and I don’t think a single person wasn’t dancing.”

  “Scots have lots of energy,” Ben admitted, smiling.

  “I wasn’t dancing,” Jenny said. “Neither was Jack.”

  “What were you doing?”

  “I was watching the dancing,” Jenny said. “I got bored and explored the house and found Jack, who was…he was…” She swallowed. Could she really speak aloud all the intimacies and confessions that were inside her journal?

  This was merely the beginning, she reminded herself. There would be much more unbridled discussion about her private life in the coming days.

  Jenny girded herself and finished the sentence. “I found Jack kissing another woman.”

  Chapter Three

  Six Years Ago: Kirkaldy Estate, Inverness, Scotland, 1861

  Jenny came upon the pair in the dark back entrance. Someone—probably one of the staff—had strung mistletoe from the candelabra. Two darker shadows were standing right beneath it and close together. Their mouths were together.

  Shocked, Jenny came to a halt. She watched the two shadows shift against each other as they kissed, her heart doing a little dance faster than the beat in the ballroom at the other end of the house.

  It didn’t occur to her to creep away and leave them to their privacy. She had never seen anyone kissing before and the novelty of it kept her pinned to the spot.

  The woman made a soft sound and tore herself away from the man. “Ye might have announced yerself,” she said, brushing her satin ballgown back into place. She moved toward the door behind Jenny and Jenny finally got to see her face. It was the red-headed daughter of the local magistrate, Eileen McLeod.

  “I suppose you’ll tell Mama now, hmm?” Jack moved out of the shadows, too. He gazed after Miss McLeod as she flounced down the hallway. He didn’t seem to regret her departure a great deal.

  Jenny gripped a fold of her skirt. “I am not inclined to tattle, for the sake of it. Is there a reason why I should tell Mama?”

  Jack leaned back against the wall and crossed his arms. He seemed relaxed and unconcerned that Jenny had caught him in such a compromising position.

  For the first time she consciously noted how tall Jack was and how broad his shoulders were beneath the broadcloth jacket. His cravat was snowy white and perfectly arranged. He wasn’t wearing gloves…which was just like Jack. He removed his gloves at the first opportunity. It was a marvel his cravat was still in place.

  Only Miss McLeod, the magistrate’s daughter, would have found the lack of a cravat too crude to tolerate, most likely. Jack was good at measuring the temperament of people. At least, he normally was.

  Jenny brushed down her skirt. It was a lovely flounced dress, made of Kirkaldy tartan. Mama wouldn’t let her wear satin until she came out next summer. “If you must kiss a lady, Jack, then you should avoid kissing Miss McLeod.”

  Jack’s brow lifted, even as he laughed. “Is that so? Why, pray tell, should I not kiss Miss McLeod? She is pretty and plump and smells sweet.”

  “You would grow to despise her, that is why.”

  Jack’s humor faded. “What makes you think I would linger in her company long enough to allow such hard feeling
s to grow?”

  “That is where you have failed to measure the focus of your…affections,” Jenny told him. “Have you forgotten the way Miss McLeod fawned after William for almost two weeks, when we first arrived here?”

  Jack’s expression was sober as he considered her. “I had,” he admitted.

  “Miss McLeod is the type of woman to interpret a kiss as a signal of far greater significance.”

  “Most women are,” Jack pointed out. “That is why one must pick one’s…”

  “Victims?” Jenny supplied sweetly.

  “The focus of one’s attentions,” Jack amended. “It isn’t wise to kiss just any girl,” he added.

  “Why kiss a girl at all?” Jenny demanded. “You cannot marry them all. Most especially, you cannot marry Miss McLeod.”

  Jack’s eyes danced. “That, little Jenny, is not a question I intend to answer. I am surprised you must ask at all.”

  “Oh, I like kissing, too. Only—”

  “You do?” Jack asked, startled. “Who kissed you?” he demanded, his tone growing harsher. Abruptly, he was big brother Jack, the elder brother who had always been there to sooth bruises and scrapes and tease her about liking reading too much. Jack, who always asked her to hold his croquet mallet between strokes, because she always stood on the side of the court to watch his matches.

  Jenny laughed at Jack’s fierce protective expression. “As if I would tell you such a thing!” She recalled the dry, hesitant touch of…what had his name been? He had been the son of one of the Truro families and had been working in the stables during one of the Great Gathers. She couldn’t remember his name or even his face, now, although at the time, she had trembled at the idea that a boy liked her.

  His kiss had been dry and innocent, yet the sensations it had generated had not been. Jenny had recalled the kiss many times, remembering the heat of his body so close to her own. The rush of his breath, fanning her face. The softness of his lips. The smell of him, which had been unexpectedly pleasant.

  Jenny had decided that she would like to experience another kiss, only from a different source. She looked up at Jack now and smiled. “I understand why you might like kissing ladies. I only ask why you bother trying when so many complications follow a kiss.”

  Jack relaxed. “Perhaps I seek to improve my methods.”

  That was a novel idea. Jenny considered it, pursing her lips. “Then Miss McLeod is twice as unsuitable.”

  Jack laughed. He lifted his chin to point down the corridor behind her. “I’ll walk you back to the ballroom.”

  “I’m tired of the dancing.”

  “That is not why I will escort you back there,” Jack told her. He took her elbow and turned her. “I am curious to know which ladies are suitable for kissing and which ladies are best to avoid.”

  Jenny walked beside him. “Why?” she demanded. “If I say Lady Elspeth meets the standards necessary for kissing, will you then kiss her?”

  Jack grimaced. “With her lack of chin and horse teeth? Perhaps a degree of prettiness should be one of the standards.”

  “Discretion, prettiness and a sensible attitude,” Jenny murmured.

  “Not too old, nor too young,” Jack added.

  “Not married or engaged,” Jenny added.

  “Certainly not married,” Jack replied. “That is a complication beyond my tolerance, and husbands have a habit of shooting first. Engaged young ladies, however…”

  “Jack, how despicable of you! Hunting a lady who is already promised!”

  “Why not?” Jack asked. “Most fiancées are anxious to understand what awaits them on their wedding night. They are most grateful to learn a part of the truth and as they are already promised, one can disentangle themselves without complication.”

  Jenny shook her head. “That is callous.”

  “Oh, I agree it is calculating,” Jack said. “How can it be callous, though, if both parties benefit from the arrangement?”

  Jenny struggled to find an answer. The ballroom was growing closer. “Very well, then. Engaged young ladies can also be considered,” she said, although she felt as though she was stepping upon morally ambivalent ground.

  Jack pressed his hand against her back, guiding her around a group of dancers as they spilled out into the corridor in search of refreshment. “One important consideration,” he began.

  “She must read books?” Jenny guessed.

  Jack smiled at her as he settled her at the edge of the ballroom. “Precisely.” He waved toward the mass of couples upon the dance floor. “Now, Miss Jenny, whom among the eligible ladies you see are suitable for me to kiss?”

  * * * * *

  Present day: The Wakefield Residence, St. James Square, London. February 1867.

  “It started as one of those silly moments…I’m sure you know what I mean, Sharla,” Jenny said. “All the nonsense things we did as children. Talking each other into being scared of the dust monster in the wardrobe. Conversations in made-up languages that no one understands, yet sound wonderfully foreign all the same.”

  “Like the time Will dared me to jump down as many stairs as possible, and I rolled to the bottom?” Sharla asked.

  “Yes, exactly,” Jenny replied. “That’s what it felt like, at the ball in Kirkaldy that year, with Jack. Just another nonsense thing, soon forgotten.” She looked down at her hands. “Only, the moment wasn’t forgotten. We spent all summer at it.”

  “At…kissing people?” Ben said.

  Jenny looked up, for his tone was odd. Ben looked as though he was trying to contain a smile. She relaxed. “Jack did the kissing.” This time, her cheeks did not burn. It was becoming easier and easier to speak of such things, for neither Sharla nor Ben showed any shock or dismay. “He would come to me with a new candidate for him to…to practice upon. I would assess the lady for the criteria we had agreed to. If she met the standards, then Jack would contrive to kiss her.”

  Sharla sighed. “Oh, that is so like Jack!”

  Ben lifted a brow. “He is not entirely unique.”

  Sharla laughed. “I am quite sure you kissed more than your share of ladies, Ben.”

  “I did not turn the practice into an engineering report as Jack did,” Ben said. “However, it was a very pleasant pastime.” He looked at Jenny. “This is not in the diary, is it? You said you started the diary just after you married.”

  Jenny shook her head. “No, it isn’t in the journal. Only, if you must be properly prepared, Ben, you should understand all of it.”

  He inclined his head. “Very well. You spent a summer assessing ladies for Jack to kiss. Then what happened?”

  “After he kissed the ladies, Jack would…” Jenny bowed her head. “He would report back to me and we would decide if the lady and her kisses were worthy of repetition or not.”

  The silence made her lift her head again.

  Sharla looked startled, although Ben was smiling.

  “You must understand,” Jenny told Sharla. “We weren’t being mean. It was purely…it was…” She gripped her hands together. “Oh, how could you understand? Either of you? You were always the center of attention, Sharla. You are beautiful and colorful and elegant. You can talk to anyone and never wish you could slide out of the room to recover and draw breath. And you, Ben—everyone adores you. Everyone watches you. Both of you. You don’t mind people watching you. Will and Cian…they were the anointed heirs, adored by their parents….”

  “Jack is heir to his father’s title,” Ben said slowly, sounding puzzled.

  “His father left him in England. Alone! Jack grew up being Sharla’s protector and he always looked out for me, too. Jack had to become a man when he was still young.” Jenny gripped her hands tighter. “Harmless comparisons of kisses were just a distraction for us. They were entertainment. That was all.”

  “Because you and Jack always stand at the side of the room…” Sharla said.

  “Yes!” Jenny said.

  “Jack has always preferred to be outside,�
� Ben added.

  “Especially after the first snowfall of the year,” Sharla added.

  “Because of the silence,” Jenny told them.

  Ben and Sharla looked at her, puzzled.

  “The silence,” Jenny repeated. “The quiet. The way everything becomes muffled and still…surely you know what I mean?”

  Sharla pressed her lips together. “I like kicking snow about, when it is fresh and light.”

  “Especially at someone else,” Ben added.

  Sharla laughed.

  Ben turned back to Jenny. “Let us accept that the assessments were harmless entertainment. You would not be telling us about them, though, if they had remained harmless.”

  Jenny sighed. “It happened at the end of our first season. It was the first time I realized how seriously Jack was taking it all…”

  * * * * *

  Six Years Ago: The Wardell house, Grosvenor Square, London. 1861.

  Jack found Jenny in the drawing room. It was still only mid-morning, yet Jenny did not like to linger in the morning room with the other women of the household. She had also declined the invitation to morning tea with Lady Devonport, that both she and Sharla had received. Sharla seemed to have an infinite capacity for attending one function after another, even if there was more than one of them crammed into the day. She would hurry home to change, a flurry of bows and ruffles and lace, turning the house upside down with the speed of her toilet, then dash gracefully from the house once more, while everyone else recovered.

  Jenny, on the other hand, found more than two consecutive days with a single event in each exhausted her and made her long for a chair by the hearth with the company of a kitten and a crackling fire.

  Jack didn’t seem to be surprised to find her sitting upon the hassock by the fireplace. He merely dropped into the chair next to her and ruffled his hair, with a deep sigh.

  “How did your dinner engagement fare, last night?” Jenny asked. “Did you speak to Lady Sarah?”

  “I did.”

  “Did the conversation take place in a suitably dark and private corner?”

  “Behind a potted palm and velvet swags, yes.”