Free The Golden Leopard by Lynn Kerstan Page A

it had been all to rack and ruin. Her mother, after insisting it be expanded from a small orangery, had quickly lost interest in the project. Jessica remembered broken panes of glass, dead stumps where miniature trees had bloomed, and flourishing weeds crawling with insects. The open garden at the far end had become a pool of mud.
    Now, looking ahead of her, she saw a gray-stone wall set with a wide door. It stood open, and she went through to an enclosed garden with a square marble pool at its center. Fish, golden and brindled and dove-white, glided among the lily pads. There was an open-worked pergola threaded with vines, and roses climbed the white trellises behind a pair of wrought-iron benches.
    She sat on the lip of the fountain, which was no more than a foot high, and dipped her hand into the cool water. The fish, side fins and tails whisking frantically, fled to the other side of the pool and huddled together in the shadows. Something new and strange had come into their world, bringing chaos. They didn’t want her there.
    No one wanted her, not really, and she didn’t care. Not any longer. She had grown up a wild child in a rigid family that still considered her an embarrassment, and since taking residence in London, there had been no opportunity to develop friendships. Only with her capable secretary, Helena, and the sweet-natured Duke of Devonshire could she let down her guard. Perhaps that would change now that her business had staggered onto firmer ground.
    In all likelihood, though, she would remain isolated. The ladies of her class viewed her with suspicion and the gentlemen, wedded or otherwise, regarded her as an opportunity waiting to be seized. Her every word and action was marked down, parsed, and pronounced upon by a bored and pitiless society. She felt, sometimes, as if she were closed up in an hourglass, her life sifting slowly away under the critical regard of strangers.
    On occasion, and quite seriously, she had given thought to marrying for freedom. By the simple expedient of becoming a wife, she would acquire the gloss of respectability only a husband could provide, along with a degree of liberty that no single woman was permitted to enjoy. But in exchange for those privileges—
    And that was where the imagined bargain always collapsed. She had only herself to barter, and could never decide which bits and pieces of Jessica Carville to put on offer.
    Only a thin slice of her intelligence, to be sure. Nearly every man she’d ever met was off-put by indications of a working mind inside her pretty little head.
    Not a jot of her temper. They would flee like startled grouse.
    They wouldn’t like her humor, either, but these days it generally kept itself well concealed, even from herself. Duran used to—
    She slapped her palm against the water, sending a spray over her skirts.
    What had she been thinking of before he intruded? Oh, yes. Wedding a man willing to provide what she needed while demanding nothing in return. A man who would be satisfied to look upon her without touching. Perhaps a cit with social aspirations. Being the daughter of an earl ought to be of some use, should it not? And she required a man who would permit her to carry on her business and keep the money she earned for herself.
    Really, she did not require a husband. Not for very long. She would do much better as a widow.
    She stared into the pool, looking beyond her reflection to the fishes cowering among the ornamental grasses. Any one of them had more love in its little heart than she did. Six years ago, she had thrown all of hers into the wind.
    Well, that was nothing to the point, was it? Her troubles were hers alone. And now, Mariah’s troubles were hers as well. Some way must be found to separate the poor goose from her husband. Tonight, immediately after dinner, she would recruit her father’s help. He’d always had a soft spot for Mariah, the obedient daughter who never ruffled the household waters.
    Unlike his