Chills

by Heather Boyd

  “What other choice do I have?”

  “There is one you haven’t considered, Pixie,” Jack whispered.

  She peered up at him. No one had voiced an alternative to marriage. If he had a suggestion, she wanted to hear it. “Tell me?”

  Darkness hid Jack’s face, and he was silent so long she wondered if he would answer. “There is always life on the high seas.”

  Constance used her free hand to thump his chest. He swayed forward as she rubbed her hand over him, aiming to soothe where she had struck.

  Jack chuckled, rubbing his fingers into the muscles of her shoulder. “By the way, my appointment book is in my study, on the third bookshelf from the bottom, at the end closest to the fireplace. Just in case you need to find me someday, of course.”

  Constance nodded but stifled a yawn, finally tired and ready to sleep. Unfortunately, she didn’t want to leave Jack yet. She thought they might be friends again, since he had used her nickname—and she even had permission to look at his appointment book. Take that, Miss Scaling.

  She dropped her head against his upper arm and breathed deep, letting his cinnamon scent lull her. He must have little packets tucked into his pockets—he always smelled so good. Another yawn broke free and this time Jack noticed.

  “Come on, off to bed with you now, Pixie.” He nudged her, but she kept her head burrowed against his arm. He chuckled. “Am I going to have to carry you there again, little one?”

  “I am not little.” She hated when anyone called her that and glared at him in the dark.

  “Yes, you are,” he said, tapping her nose with a long finger. “You are exactly the height a little Pixie should be. Now, run off to bed. If you wake up the household, I will not be held responsible.”

  He was lying. If they woke up the house, there would be hell to pay. Jack had already spent a scandalous amount of time alone with her and she was standing here in only her nightgown, unwilling to leave. Constance tugged on his sleeve.

  In the dark, she couldn’t make out his expression, even when he lowered his face to her level. Grateful for his support during such a difficult time, she pressed her lips to his cheek in thanks, and then darted to her room as if he would do the unthinkable and chase her.

  ~ * ~

  Jack weaved through the crowded ballroom, keeping an eye on Pixie as he juggled two glasses of champagne. Even from this distance, strain had dimmed her smile. As her dance concluded with Mr. Abernathy, he followed her progress to Virginia and Lord Hallam anxiously.

  He had not one reasonable word of objection against Abernathy, except he had the irrational urge to shove him away from Pixie. Abernathy was still wet behind the ears. Pixie needed more than a boy. She needed a man. Abernathy touched her arm as he spoke, and the flash of a charming smile irritated him.

  Miss Scaling joined the pair and Jack cursed. How the devil did the scheming chit discover where they were going each evening? Considering tonight was a very late decision, he could only conclude she had an arrangement with a member of his household. The thought left a sour taste in his mouth.

  When he reached the edge of their group, Miss Scaling turned toward him. “Ah, there you are, my lord, we were wondering what could have kept you.”

  Thinking to ignore the girl, he attempted to step around her to deliver the champagne, but she stumbled, falling against his chest. Her unfettered hands made a swift examination of his person as she slowly pushed back. Around them, voices rose in shock at their intimate contact, but with his hands full, he was powerless to push her away.

  Salvation came from an unlikely source. A quick hiss of metal sounded to his right, then a shriek, and all eyes turned in that direction.

  “Oh, goodness gracious,” Constance stuttered. “I am so sorry, so terribly sorry. I had no idea Ettington’s cane contained a sword. I've managed to slice your pretty dress. Here take it, my lord.”

  Pixie thrust the cane at him, blade still extended, and reached for one of his champagne glasses. Miss Scaling backed away in horror.

  “What the hell are you doing with that,” Jack growled, glaring at Hallam who should have still held it.

  “What was I doing? What about you? What kind of man runs around with a weapon at a ball?”

  Pixie looked around at the sea of male faces, but each one of them grinned. Attending balls was a dangerous activity. Every gentleman needed to be prepared or face the consequences.

  “I asked someone to hold it, not try to skewer society.”

  Pixie’s hand shook, spilling champagne to the floor. “I didn’t know it contained a sword. I was admiring the silver work when the blade appeared. I should have known you wouldn’t believe me.”

  Pixie pushed her glass toward Lord Hallam and rushed off through the crowd. Jack felt like the worst lout in history. He hadn’t meant to sound so aggravated that she would flee from him. Pushing the other glass into Hallam’s hand, Jack retracted the sword then turned his gaze to his sister. She would know what to do.

  Virginia scowled, muttered, “You owe me again,” so only he could hear, and hurried after Pixie.

  Lord Hallam and Mr. Abernathy remained.

  “You really shouldn’t flash it about, Ettington.” Lord Hallam laughed.

  Abernathy chuckled. “Oh, I don’t know. I thought that went very well.” The young lord looked around him. “At least Miss Grange got the lady’s hands off you. Very quick thinking on her part, I must say.”

  “She did not do it on purpose,” Jack protested. But she must have read his mind. He had been wishing for the cane the moment Miss Scaling turned toward him.

  “Either way, a very resourceful woman,” Abernathy enthused. Jack wanted to groan. Abernathy couldn’t be smitten after just one meeting. It took years to appreciate Pixie. And he was only now coming to realize that.

  ~ * ~

  Constance sat down at the dressing table and pressed her hands to her flaming cheeks. At least she felt more tired than she looked. Just now, she could contemplate curling up on that sofa by the wall and hiding from society.

  Mr. Abernathy had stepped on her toes at least twice during their dance. Her feet ached from the encounter. She reached down and slipped off her shoes to rub her toes. Although her anxiety grew every day, she couldn’t stop dancing. She simply had to spend time with these men.

  She didn’t want to think about the fool she had just made of herself with Jack’s cane. And of course, she had done it in front of Mr. Abernathy. Constance had never seen a bladed cane before. She’d almost sliced Miss Scaling in half with it. And Jack, well, he’d yelled at her in front of half the ton. That would not help her reputation at all.

  As she slipped on her shoes again, the door opened and Miss Scaling swept inside, resplendent in her pale pink frothy gown, albeit a little sliced. The material was so light that her nipples were visible. Ghastly dress. Miss Scaling scowled at Constance, but kept to her side of the room. She had a maid stitch the rip Constance had made, then shooed the girl away as soon as it was done.

  “Are you going to finish me off now that we are alone?” Miss Scaling asked.

  “Of course not,” Constance assured her. “It was a complete accident. How should I have known the marquess’ cane contained a sword?”

  “How indeed? Strangely, I believe you. The marquess would never confide in someone like you. I am sure he sees you as a servant available to carry things for him. You should remember that your services will not always be required, and that things have a habit of changing.”

  Miss Scaling reached into her reticule, drew out a small perfume bottle, and dabbed the liquid to her wrists. Constance watched her, fascinated. She had no idea what was going on in the girl’s mind, but it clearly did not represent Constance’s reality. What was the woman suggesting?

  Constance wrenched her gaze away and lifted her hands to her hair. Some pins were working loose and if she did not fix them now, the entire lot would fall down her back. While she worked, she kept her head down, working by feel a
lone to secure the mass.

  “Here let me help you. You missed a lock.”

  Miss Scaling tugged on her hair, but then the cold of liquid sliding down her back and beneath her gown made her gasp.

  “Oh, I am so sorry. I must have forgotten to cap the bottle.”

  Constance turned, the noxious scent of lilac assailing her. Satisfaction had lightened Miss Scaling’s features. She gagged. It was sickly, and her dress stuck to her upper back. Constance suppressed a shudder. She had the perfect excuse to leave now, with or without Virginia. She could not possibly stay smelling as she did.

  Standing unsteadily, her whole body shaking in anger, Constance faced Miss. Scaling, but the door opened and Virginia waltzed in.

  “There you are, my dear. Whatever has been keeping you?”

  “A clumsy accident with perfume, Virginia. It is nothing of importance,” Miss Scaling answered for Constance, looking contrite and apologetic, then slipped out the door without a backward glance.

  Once she was gone, Constance spoke. “Virginia, I am afraid I will have to leave early. I am drenched in perfume and I think it is going to require a bath to remove the stench.”

  “It does smell very strongly. How did this happen? You don’t normally wear that scent.”

  “It isn’t mine,” Constance said through clenched teeth. “I believe Miss Scaling poured the whole contents of her bottle down the back of my dress in retaliation for my mistake.”

  Constance gathered her things and faced her friend.

  “You believe?” Virginia asked with one eyebrow raised.

  “Under the ruse of helping me with my hair.”

  Virginia covered her nose. “I came to tell you Jack wants to leave early. Oh, that smells terrible. I much prefer your own scent.”

  “So do I. It reminds me of springtime.”

  “I don’t know where you acquired it, but it is far superior,” Virginia said, walking toward the door.

  That was odd. The perfume had arrived for her sixteenth birthday and a replacement bottle had been hand-delivered at Christmas, and again on her birthday, every year since—always with a note penned in Virginia’s hand. Why couldn’t Virginia remember sending them? Was her memory affected too?

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  “I HATE THIS, I absolutely hate this,” Virginia muttered, twitching her dress this way and that.

  Virginia should not be upset that her brother had organized a private dinner with his closest friends, yet she had fretted all day. If Constance hadn’t snuck down to peek at the dining room, she would be far more uneasy. None of the invited guests included Constance’s three potential husbands, so she could relax and be herself tonight.

  Since Constance knew who was seated where, she guessed Virginia knew, too. Hallam was directly across the table from her friend. He would be impossible to ignore. After Constance’s blunt suggestion yesterday, Virginia had been attempting to avoid Hallam. Constance sympathized with him. Virginia had turned as cold as ice toward him, and his eyes showed puzzlement. Like Constance, Hallam must have thought he had a chance to woo her, but Virginia’s manner now proved otherwise. Constance should not have said a word, and if she could apologize for meddling without embarrassing Hallam, she would.

  Tonight Virginia would have little choice but to look in his direction for the whole of the meal. Since Hallam’s gaze devoured Virginia when they were together, his behavior in a small gathering of acquaintances would be noticed.

  If her dress was any indication, Virginia was well aware of his interest. The hideous orange silk Virginia had chosen would repulse most men.

  “You are being ridiculous,” Constance said bluntly.

  Virginia stopped in her tracks to stare at her. “I am not ridiculous.”

  “In that dress you are. What were you thinking? Do you want to embarrass Jack in front of his friends?”

  “They are my friends too,” Virginia muttered, yet continued pacing.

  Constance looked over at the pile of crushed gowns littering the floor. “Exactly. And as a friend, I want you to look your best. That dress just isn’t it. The neckline is higher than mine. You’re a widow—not a debutant,” Constance reminded her. “Do you think he will be put off by an ugly dress?”

  “I don’t know what you are talking about, but I suggest you stop,” Virginia warned.

  Enough was enough. She’d already made a mess. “Hallam watches over your every move. You cannot tell me you do not know this.”

  “Please stop before you make a fool of yourself.”

  Constance let out an exasperated huff. “He likes you, Virginia. You should at least think about it. You’re a widow—you don’t have the same rules anymore.”

  Constance strode over to her wardrobe, ignoring Virginia’s huff as she looked over the remaining selections. “My word, what a beautiful color. When did this arrive?”

  “Last week.”

  “Oh, it’s gorgeous.”

  “If you like it so well, perhaps you should have it,” Virginia snapped.

  Constance pushed the dress back in place and turned to face her friend. Virginia stood stiffly, looking away from Constance and the wardrobe brimming with beautiful clothes.

  Given Virginia’s posture, she was likely wearing a corset under the hideous dress too. Constance decided to find out. Virginia attempted to bat her hands away and drew herself up proud—an easy thing to do when squeezed between whalebone.

  “I do not appreciate your interference, Miss Grange.”

  “That is just too bad, Lady Orkney.” Constance smiled sweetly, using Virginia’s hated married title to distract her. She had promised never to speak it, but sometimes exceptions had to be made.

  While Virginia’s mouth hung open inelegantly from shock, Constance attacked her gown. In two flicks, she managed to untie the sash. She grabbed two handfuls of dress high at the back, and tugged hard.

  As she suspected, it was an old dress. The stitching was no match for her determination. She pushed the shredded gown from her shoulders before turning her attention to the corset. “While the gentlemen may appreciate your enhanced bosom, I think you are too beautiful to have need of this torture device.”

  Ignoring Virginia’s strangled “no”, she pulled on the ties that bound her. Virginia dragged in a full breath as she tossed it away. Satisfied, Constance left her there and went back to the wardrobe. Instead of the pink silk she pulled out a blue, and redressed her swiftly.

  Virginia was still in too much of a state of shock at Constance’s treatment to react. Perhaps not even the strictest of governesses had handled her this way before. It would do her good.

  When Constance was done, she turned her friend to face the mirror.

  “I cannot believe you just did that,” Virginia said, glancing at herself in the mirror. Her eyes were wide.

  “You’re welcome.”

  “I was not thanking you,” Virginia informed her.

  “I know you wanted to, but the words escaped you,” Constance said brightly, pleased that her friend did indeed look better now. “Shall we join Jack and his guests? We are very late.”

  “Yes, but …”

  Constance was anxious to greet everyone and there was a Miss Birkenstock alone downstairs with a roomful of men. Given her reported shyness, Constance doubted the girl would be enjoying herself. Of course, Miss Birkenstock would have her grandfather’s protection, but she might be making eyes at the marquess as the other debutantes did. The idea rankled.

  Constance reached for Virginia’s arm to hurry her from the room by force. Could Miss Birkenstock be Jack’s elusive future bride? “Come on, dearest, I am very hungry.”

  ~ * ~

  To Constance’s way of thinking, Jack’s dinner party proved to be a high scandalous affair. He did not appear to follow current etiquette in any way, and if word of this dinner got out, his reputation for disdain would crumble.

  Constance met the timid Miss Birkenstock and could not find any indication of preference f
rom either Jack or the girl. He was polite but distant—a perfect host, anxious for his guests to relax. He appeared friendlier with the grandfather than the girl. After an anxious few minutes, Constance dismissed Miss Birkenstock and decided to let Virginia worry over Jack’s wife. After all, Constance was nothing but a charity case to the marquess. It wasn’t right to spy on him in his home.

  A great deal of bantering flowed over the dining table, and Constance sat in stunned amazement for the first few minutes. Why had Virginia been so nervous? This was fun. When Jack’s leg bumped hers, she caught his wink and almost laughed aloud in delight.

  Alcohol had loosened his tongue, and the gathering was noisy and absolutely fascinating to listen to. Jack sat at the head of the table, to Constance’s left. He didn’t remotely resemble the man she thought she’d be sitting beside.

  He was foxed. He laughed loudly, talked frequently, and smiled a great deal. It was the most fun she had seen him have in years. Jack leaned her way often, describing what she did not fully comprehend, and frequently touched her leg beneath the table with his knee.

  “I see our servants have picked up where they left off.” Jack nodded to where his valet and her maid stood in the background making eyes at each other.

  “I don’t think she ever stopped,” Constance confided, turning her head toward Jack and almost bumping noses.

  “So glad to make the servants happy,” Jack whispered. “How was your dessert?”

  Constance giggled as his breath tickled her skin. “Delicious, thank you. Cook has done you proud tonight.”

  “It is all in the details—she has my mother’s diaries to work from.” Jack stopped, a drink poised before his lips. “You know I am not capable of this level of mastery.”

  “Well, I thought I had misjudged you,” Constance confessed, touching his leg beneath the table.

  “You know everything about me. I would be very happy to hand such matters over,” he whispered in her ear. A blush heated her cheeks.