Freedom at the cost of David’s life. She shook her head, reminding herself that he would die anyway. At least this way, Lady Jocelyn would have five hundred pounds a year less to waste on frivolity.
Taking comfort in the thought, she dug into her shapeless brocade bag for her knitting. After mending all of David’s clothing, she’d gone on to knit four pairs of gloves, three pairs of socks, and two scarves during the hours she sat in the hospital. Though she wasn’t fond of knitting, she’d found it impossible to concentrate on reading when David labored for breath beside her. At least the needles kept her hands busy.
Glumly she contemplated the current sock. Three stitches had been dropped, and it would take her half an hour just to repair the damage. Well, she had the rest of the day, and David would sleep most of it. She glanced at the bone-thin figure, then turned away with a shudder. Had it only been two weeks since he had been brought back to London? It seemed that she had been coming to this grim hospital forever, and every day he seemed more frail, until it was hard to understand how he still lived.
Sometimes, God help her, she wished it was over, so she could surrender to pure, primitive grief. Other times she wondered how she would learn of his death. Would she be with him? Would Richard send her a message? Or would she arrive and find her brother’s bed empty, and know the worst?
Sally realized that the yarn had broken in her hands. Fingers shaking, she knotted the strand together again. You must be calm. David doesn’t need to deal with your grief on top of his pain.
She looked around at the dark, ugly room, hearing the distant sounds of suffering men, smelling the countless wretched odors of a hospital. It was a poor spot to die, but she supposed any place was.
That afternoon Jocelyn joined her aunt for tea in the sunny parlor that was Laura Kirkpatrick’s special retreat. After they had been served and were private, she announced, “You’ll be pleased to hear that my marriage problem has been solved. Aunt Elvira can resign herself to struggling along on Willoughby’s present income.”
Laura set down her cup, her face lighting up. “You’ve accepted one of your suitors? Which one? There’s just enough time for the reading of the banns, but it will have to be a small ceremony, I fear.”
“Better than that.” Jocelyn handed her aunt a sheet of paper. “The deed is done. Behold, my marriage lines.”
“What on earth?” Laura looked at the paper and became very still. When she glanced up, her face showed the beginning of anger. “What is the meaning of this?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” Jocelyn had to pause a moment, remembering her last sight of David, before she could continue. “I found a dying man, and in return for a substantial consideration, he did me the honor of making me his wife.”
“But you’ve never even met David Lancaster!”
“I got the idea when I was visiting Richard Dalton, and he mentioned Major Lancaster’s condition,” she explained. “It’s perfectly reasonable. Major Lancaster’s sister will be provided for, and I have fulfilled the conditions of Father’s will. Richard wasn’t shocked when I suggested it, and neither was Major … my husband.”
Lady Laura’s eyes flashed with fury. “They are men who have lived on the edge of death for years. Of course they will see things differently than society will!”
Jocelyn’s mouth tightened. “Is that why you’re concerned—because of what others will say? I had thought you were above such things. Besides, most of the fashionable world will be amused if the story becomes known. They’ll laugh and think me very clever.”
Spots of color stood out on Laura’s cheeks, but her voice was level again. “I can’t deny that what people say is of concern to me. The Kendal family has already had more than its share of scandal.”
As Jocelyn paled at that reminder of the past, her aunt continued implacably, “But what truly bothers me is that you are using a fine man’s death for your own selfish ends. Why didn’t you discuss this with me first?”
Jocelyn tried to maintain calm, but the fear that her aunt would despise her was overwhelming. “You didn’t want to know what I was going to do!” she cried, her voice breaking. “Please, Aunt Laura, don’t be angry with me. I wouldn’t have married him if I’d known how it would upset you. It was an idea of impulse. Major Lancaster welcomed my proposal, and then it was too late to withdraw. I thought we would both benefit, with no harm done. Please … please try to understand.”
Lady Laura sighed, her anger fading into disappointment. “Perhaps I wouldn’t be so upset if your impulse had fallen on a stranger rather than a man I know and respect. David deserves better than to be used so … so carelessly.”
“Perhaps you’re right,” Jocelyn whispered, aching at her aunt’s disapproval. “But the deed is done and cannot be undone.”
Lady Laura rose to her feet. “Tomorrow morning I shall go down to Kennington. It’s time to open the house and prepare for Andrew’s return from the Continent.” A trace of acid appeared in her normally soft voice. “Now that you’re a married woman, you no longer need me as a chaperon.”
“I suppose not.” Jocelyn gazed at a cake that she’d mangled into crumbs.
Her aunt paused in the door. “I’ll be back in a fortnight or two, and no doubt I’ll be over my anger by then.” After offering that olive branch, she left.
Shaking, Jocelyn sank into her chair. As if the last day hadn’t been difficult enough, now she’d alienated her dearest friend, the woman who was the closest thing she had to a mother. She saw her deed through her aunt’s eyes, and felt bitterly ashamed. Once again, as so often in her life, she’d got everything wrong.
Well, there was no help for it. She must lie in the bed she had made, even if it wasn’t a conventional marriage bed.
As she searched for something to cheer herself, she recalled that the Parkingtons were holding an informal ball this evening. Not too large and with most guests well-known to Jocelyn, it was exactly the sort of event she liked best.
It would be good not to spend the evening wondering how soon she would become a widow.
The gathering at the Parkingtons’ house was small, since most of fashionable society had already left London for their country estates. Yet despite Jocelyn’s anticipation, she found herself restless, bored by conversations that seemed frivolous compared to the stark realities of the military hospital.
Then a latecomer arrived, and she inhaled sharply, her pulse accelerating when she saw that it was Rafael Whitbourne, the Duke of Candover. Just looking at him made her feel better. It wasn’t only that he was very good-looking, although he was. What she found irresistibly attractive was the knowledge of how very well they would suit each other.
As she chatted with other guests, Jocelyn monitored Candover’s progress as he worked his way around the ballroom. She knew better than to put herself in his path. As a handsome bachelor duke who was rich beyond the dreams of avarice, he’d been pursued by countless females, which had made him justifiably cynical. However, she had a title and fortune of her own and didn’t need his. They were perfect for each other. If Jocelyn was to win him, it would have to be because of genuine attraction and a mutual recognition of compatibility.
Her patience was rewarded when Candover sought her out after the small orchestra started playing dance music. “Lady Jocelyn,” he said with obvious pleasure. “I’m glad to see that you’re still in town. Will you honor me with this waltz?”
“Only if you promise not to step on my toes again,” she said teasingly.
“That last time wasn’t my fault,” he protested, his gray eyes laughing. “When that drunken boor barreled into me, the wonder is that we both didn’t end up on the floor in a most undignified tangle.”
“I found