Jessica by Sandra Heath

accept Francis’ suit.”
    “The prospect of such a marriage must have been a great temptation, and he is so gentle and kind.” Rosamund lowered her eyes shyly.
    For a moment Jessica saw Francis as he had been in the study at Varangian. What if Nicholas’ suspicions were correct? She did not look at Rosamund. “Your way to him is clear, Rosamund, for I offer no threat. I do assure you that he does not love me. He may have once, but certainly not now. Does that reassure you a little?”
    Rosamund’s eyes filled with sudden tears and Jessica stared at the expression of guilt on her face. Guilt? With a quick breath Rosamund seemed about to say something more when a new sound was heard outside the bedroom door.
    A stick tap-tapped on the polished wooden floor and Rosamund went pale. “Lady Amelia!” she whispered, getting nervously to her feet.
    The door opened and the old lady came in. She was dressed from head to toe in the deepest mourning, her black mobcap adorned with long weepers. Beads of jet flashed on her thin chest, and her heavy crepe skirts rustled as she crossed the room to stand by the bed. She glanced coldly at Rosamund. “You may go now, miss.”
    “Yes, Lady Amelia.”
    The sharp bright eyes moved over the sprigged muslin. “You will wear black, madam. I insist upon it.”
    Rosamund said nothing, but her chin came up defiantly as she went to the door, closing it quietly behind her.
    “Why are you here, Miss Durleigh?”
    “Force of circumstances, Lady Amelia, and most certainly not choice.”
    “There is no need to be flippant, missy. I have given orders for the gig to be made ready. You may leave the moment you are dressed.”
    “Very well.”
    The old lady walked to the window to look out over the ornamental gardens with their high, decorative hedges and pools. “My son should not have brought you here. I am angered that he saw fit to do so. What is it about you, Miss Durleigh? Nicholas associates with you for one evening and comes home with the coachman wounded by his pistol. Do you begin to set your sights at my elder son now?”
    Jessica smiled dryly. “If this is the direction of your conversation, Lady Amelia, then you have chosen it and not I. I set my sights at Francis Varangian, not at Philip. Your sons are perfectly capable of seeking out for themselves that which they want. I know that to be so of Philip, and I should imagine that Sir Nicholas is the same. You play them false by suggesting they are susceptible to the wiles of a mere woman.”
    “A whore, Miss Durleigh, a whore.”
    “You may insult me if you choose, for I am most certainly a prisoner in this bed until you leave.”
    Lady Amelia turned quickly to look at her. “I despise you, missy, as I have never despised another human being in my life. Until he became so besotted with you, Philip was everything any mother could desire in a son. But you changed him. He became secretive and scheming, treating all and sundry with contempt, viciousness even, and spending far more money than he could ever have come by legally. To keep you, no doubt. You have a lot to answer for, Miss Durleigh. Now get you from this house and never return again. Do I make myself clear?”
    “Perfectly.” Jessica stared at the Jacobean lowers embroidered on the coverlet, her face a lull red, and she felt cold and sick at the old woman’s hatred.
    The stick tapped around the edge of the carpet, and at the door Lady Amelia paused. “Where did he get his money?” she asked slowly, watching Jessica carefully.
    “I do not know. I trusted him in every way and felt no need to inquire of such things.”
    The thin lips tightened angrily at the barb, but Jessica sensed the old woman had somehow relaxed, that her answer to the question had in some way settled an anxiety.
    When the door closed at last, Jessica slipped from the bed and picked up the diamond necklace from its hiding place beneath the pillow. The stones winked and glittered in the sunbeams from