Alice spread her hands to convey ignorance. “Hobbs said not to dawdle.”
Hobbs was the haughty butler, with more airs and graces than a blue-blooded debutante. Aunt Ida had hired him to lend consequence when the ton called.
Unfortunately so far, people of rank hadn’t chosen to call upon Mrs. Parnell, undistinguished widow from Croxley in Sussex. Campion’s aunt and cousin had arrived in London fortified with dreams of baronesses taking them about in carriages and wellborn young bucks inundating Fenella with bouquets. Aunt Ida had even hoped Fenella might attract the famous Earl of Ravenglass who sought a wife, so everyone said. Who better than the belle of Croxley?
Sadly Fenella, while pretty enough to grace a country assembly, didn’t sparkle in the capital’s brighter lights. The trains of admirers had never materialized. The peevish belle of Croxley and her disappointed mother planned to return home within the month. Both had taken their failure out on Campion.
She hardly dared to imagine their reactions if they discovered that the despised poor relation had caught Ravenglass’s attention. Although if her aunt knew that her niece was a fallen woman, Campion would be out on her ear with nowhere to go.
As Campion stood, she couldn’t help resting one hand over her stomach, wondering if a child grew there. It would be an irredeemable disaster if she carried Lord Ravenglass’s bastard, but some pathetic, sentimental part of her longed for his baby.
And didn’t that prove that her previously reliable brain dissolved into mush?
She had no money, no friends, no family apart from her heartless aunt. If Aunt Ida banished her, there would be endless shame and nowhere to turn. Even knowing that, Campion couldn’t hate Lachlan for his loss of control. She’d never felt closer to him than in those moments when he’d spilled inside her.
Trying to hide how her hands trembled, Campion untied her apron and tidied her faded merino dress. It should have gone into the rag basket years ago. Perhaps her aunt would grace her with a new dress tomorrow, but she doubted it. Her only Christmas gift would be the long, cold journey back to Sussex and the thankless work of preparing the house for the family’s return.
With heavy tread, Campion climbed the stairs. The grief crushing her heart left her exhausted beyond her usual weariness after being at her aunt’s beck and call.
Tonight’s summons would surely involve some trivial complaint. There was no reason her aunt should have suddenly discovered about Campion’s trysts with Lord Ravenglass. After ten years of Aunt Ida’s carping, Campion had learned that meekness was her only possible response to a scolding. But the spirit of rebellion festered, even while she knew it could do no good. She hadn’t a penny to her name. She’d only managed to pay the hackney from Soho by hoarding a few shillings from housekeeping.
When she entered the drawing room, Campion discovered not just her aunt and cousin sitting in front of the fire, but another lady in the position of honor on the chaise longue. A dark haired and extravagantly dressed lady Campion knew only by sight.
“Lady Ravenglass…” she stammered and dipped into a deep curtsey.
What on earth was Lachlan’s mother doing here? As far as Campion was aware, the countess didn’t know the Parnells existed.
Her belly knotted with sick shame as she recalled what she’d done a few hours ago with this lady’s son. Then shame surrendered to icy terror as she wondered if Lady Ravenglass intended to denounce Campion as a slut.
But Lady Ravenglass’s expression was friendly as she rose and approached to draw Campion upright. “My dear Campion, how lovely to see you again.”
Instead of spewing insults and recriminations, the countess spoke as if to a beloved friend. Yet they were strangers. Campion’s mouth sagged open and she stiffened with disbelief. She must look completely witless.
The countess was dressed in an elaborate green ballgown. She must be on her way to Lady Winterson’s.
Behind the countess’s tall, willowy form, her aunt regarded her with shock and mounting fury. Fenella looked sulky, her rosebud mouth contracted in a way that boded no good. Fenella was mean, inclined to pinch and pull her cousin’s hair.
Oh, dear, after this, Campion’s relatives would subject her to weeks of spite.
She stared into the countess’s face, trying to discern disdain or mockery. Did Lady Ravenglass know that Campion was her son’s mistress? Surely he couldn’t have told his mother that he’d debauched Campion Parnell. A man didn’t discuss his doxies with the respectable women of his family. Yet if Lachlan hadn’t mentioned her to his mother, how did the countess know who she was?
Keeping Campion’s hand, the countess turned toward Aunt Ida. “Your niece was so kind when I was searching for my lost dog this afternoon. I just had to call and thank her in person.”
Lost dog? What lost dog?
Feeling she’d been bundled into a universe that made no sense whatsoever, Campion shut her mouth with a snap and regarded the countess in complete bewilderment. She’d never seen the lady up close before. Her striking resemblance to Lachlan stirred the painful longing in Campion’s heart to agony. The same black hair and strong features. The same bright green eyes.
Green eyes that stared at her now with the message to cooperate.
“You didn’t have to go out of your way, my lady.” Campion managed a shaky smile, although her nervousness about what this meeting portended made her as taut as a violin string.
She tried and failed to pull her hand free. Years of housework had left her hands rough, suitable for a farm girl, not a lady. Under Lady Ravenglass’s searching regard, she felt like a peasant in the presence of a queen.
Her aunt also forced a smile. Campion hoped hers was more convincing. “I’m delighted that my dear niece was so helpful, your ladyship.” The gimlet glare fastened on Campion and, despite the warmth of the countess’s grip, she repressed a shiver. “And so self-effacing. You didn’t say anything about meeting Lady Ravenglass, Campion.”
Before Campion could think of a convincing answer, the countess spoke. “I’m sure she considered her help a mere trifle. But I insist upon repaying her trouble.”
“Your visit here is surely payment enough,” Aunt Ida simpered and Campion cringed at the toadying. “I hope you will call again.”
The countess’s smile remained in place. “I’m sure I shall, Mrs. Parnell. I took such a fancy to dear Campion.”
Dear Campion heard Fenella’s faint snort of disbelief.
“I was happy to help, my lady,” Campion said, battling to sound as if she knew what all this was about.
Lachlan’s mother beamed at her with a glowing approval that she didn’t deserve. Surely if she knew about Campion’s affair with Lachlan, she wouldn’t be so amiable. Still, shame was a sour taste in Campion’s mouth.
“To show my appreciation, I’d like you to accompany me to Lady Winterson’s Christmas ball. Lucy knows that I’m bringing a special guest, so I beg you not to disappoint us.”
The last few minutes had bristled with surprises. Now utter befuddlement descended upon Campion. Lady Winterson’s Christmas ball? The most prestigious event of the year? A countess begging for humble Campion Parnell’s company?
And dearest surprise of all, one last opportunity to see the man she loved.
“Your ladyship!” Aunt Ida interjected with disapproval. “My daughter and I would be—”
The countess’s tone developed a hint of steel, another reminder of her son. “I’m afraid Lady Winterson’s ball is such a crush that I can only take dear Campion.”
“But Fenella—”
“Some other time.”
The exchange offered Campion time to recognize that, despite this miracle in her aunt’s drawing room, she couldn’t accept Lady Ravenglass’s inexplicable generosity. “My lady, I’m sorry,” she said unsteadily, a long, painful rift splitting her heart. “But I can’t come.”
“So Fenella—” Aunt Ida began, but the countess ignored her with an aristocratic carelessness that made
Campion want to cheer. Aunt Ida was far too accustomed to dominating the scene.
The countess squeezed Campion’s hand. “Of course you can.”
“I appreciate your kindness, but I did nothing.” The glint in the countess’s eye indicated that they both recognized that statement’s truth. The wry humor reminded her so vividly and painfully of Lachlan that she caught her breath. Campion’s voice was husky when she continued. “And in any case, I have nothing to wear to the ball.”
Her best dress was another of her aunt’s castoffs. It wasn’t fit for Croxley’s assemblies, let alone London society. Even if she only played Fenella’s drab satellite.
“Do you think I haven’t considered that, my dear?” The countess waved one graceful hand as if preparing to conjure a gown from the air. “After your efforts on my behalf, I took the liberty of calling at my modiste. I gave her an idea of your size and my maid is waiting outside to do any alterations.”
“But that’s too much…” Yet again, Campion tried and failed to withdraw her hand. “I can’t accept such generosity.”
The countess leveled another speaking look upon her. She seemed to assume that Campion understood the rules of this game. “I must insist.”
“Fenella—” Aunt Ida bleated, stepping forward to impose her will.
Again, Lady Ravenglass ignored her. “And my son requests the first waltz.”
Did Campion imagine the emphasis the countess placed on “my son”? But that would mean she must know of Campion’s connection with Lachlan. If she did, why would she encourage further contact? Confusion made Campion giddy, even as her heart raced at the thought of dancing with Lachlan.
“Lord Ravenglass—” her aunt gulped and Fenella shot Campion a killing glare from her chair beside the hearth. Aunt Ida rallied. “I’m afraid my niece can’t attend the ball, my lady. She’s due to return to Sussex tomorrow.”
“You’re sending your niece away on Christmas Day?” The countess’s tone expressed polite incredulity.
To Campion’s surprise, her aunt flushed. Until this moment, Campion had believed that her bombastic relative didn’t understand the meaning of shame. “She has duties in the country.”
“I’m sure they can wait.” The countess’s expression remained pleasant but determined. “In fact, I hoped to keep dear Campion with me overnight so that she can spend the festival with my family.”
Campion only just saved herself from gaping open-mouthed once more at the countess. Christmas was an intimate celebration for one’s closest associates. The countess’s invitation was a mark of immeasurable favor. A privilege one might extend to a prospective daughter-in-law.
“My lady, she hardly merits such preferment,” Aunt Ida protested. “If she found your dog, well and good. But this kindness is beyond her wildest dreams.”
For once, Aunt Ida spoke nothing but the truth. Still the countess didn’t budge. “I’m sure Campion and I will be the dearest friends.”
Campion wasn’t so sure. Lady Ravenglass’s charm and drive were rather overwhelming. She now saw where Lachlan had learned his single-mindedness. But why did Lady Ravenglass go to this trouble for her?
Before Aunt Ida could respond, the countess addressed Campion with a smiling implacability that would rout an army. “If you step out into the hall, my dear, you’ll see my maid. We must hurry. You won’t want to miss a moment of the party of the year.”
Feeling as though she’d been whipped up into a whirlwind, Campion yielded. After all, this unprecedented evening delivered so many of her most cherished dreams, including that unfulfilled dream of dancing with the man she loved. Behind Lady Ravenglass, Aunt Ida’s cheeks were purple with outrage.
“Thank you, my lady,” Campion murmured, caught between wonderment and trepidation and laughter. Through ten years of her aunt’s tyranny, she’d never seen that lady routed. She’d have been inhuman not to gloat just a little.
Up in Campion’s cold attic, the countess’s maid Lise crimped, stitched and fussed. All the while, she muttered away in a French too idiomatic to follow, although her contempt for Campion’s spartan surroundings needed no translation. Campion didn’t mind the girl’s monologue. It saved her having to strain for conversation when the world reeled around her.
A thousand questions buzzed in her head. But discretion kept her silent. Discretion, and the superstitious fear that, if she inquired too deeply into this extraordinary chance, it might vanish like mist,
When Lise finally turned Campion toward her mirror, a princess gazed back. Campion’s heart gave a mighty thump of disbelief. She hardly credited that the slender woman in spangled azure could be plain, workaday, unimportant Campion Parnell. Her golden hair was swept high in a regal style. Jewels sparkled at her throat. Her skin glowed like a pearl. Shy excitement shimmered in her large sapphire eyes.
One shaking hand rose to touch her tremulous mouth, red and full in her pale face. None of this felt real. Never had she imagined that she’d wear such a spectacular gown. Never had she imagined that she could look like this if she did. She half-expected to wake from a doze and find herself crouched over the mending in the kitchen.
For once in her life, she made a suitable partner for the magnificent Earl of Ravenglass. She didn’t understand why this happened, but she meant to shine tonight, shine so bright that he never forgot her.
She’d cry later, she knew, when she returned to Sussex and life as her aunt’s drudge. But right now, she wanted to laugh and dance and smile, and flirt with the man she loved. Right now, she wanted to seize this brief happiness and wring every drop of joy from it before fate snatched it away.
As Campion descended the stairs, Lise following, Lady Ravenglass’s face lit with admiration. “How beautiful you are.”
From beside Lady Ravenglass, Aunt Ida and Fenella stared appalled at the transformed Campion. Right now, Campion didn’t care. She was going to the season’s most exclusive ball. She would dance with the handsomest man in London. She wore a gown more dazzling than the sun. Whatever punishment her relations inflicted, nothing could ever take tonight away.
Raising her chin, she met the countess’s eyes with a confidence she hadn’t felt in her shabby merino frock. Around her throat, she felt the weight of the sapphire and diamond necklace Lise had produced for her.
“Thank you so much, my lady.” The words were inadequate to express her astonished gratitude, but they were all she had.
The countess made a dismissive gesture. “It’s the least I can do, my dear.” She signaled to Lise to place a deep blue velvet cape across Campion’s shoulders. “Come. The ball awaits.”
As luxurious warmth surrounded her, anticipation stirred in Campion’s heart. Anticipation and yearning. She’d see Lachlan once more. And however the future turned out, he’d remember her as lovely and poised and elegant.
With a flourish, Hobbs opened the door. His bow to Campion conveyed a respect he’d never shown her aunt or Fenella.
Campion stepped outside. The icy air stole her breath and she snuggled into her cape. Something feathery touched her cheek. It had started to snow. She smiled up at the cloudy sky and made the one wish that until now she’d never dared to make. After all, the most impossible dreams came true at Lady Winterson’s ball.
Two carriages waited. The smaller, presumably for Lise, was familiar from those delicious, frustrating excursions before she’d ceded herself to Lachlan.
When Campion turned to the countess, she prayed that she wasn’t blushing. “I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve such kindness.”
The countess’s eyes sparkled, as if she concealed a delightful secret. “Don’t you know, my dear? Really?”
Campion stared at her, puzzled. “I didn’t save your dog.”
“Perhaps not.” The countess smiled. “But I hope that you might save my son.”
Oh, no. Humiliation twisted her stomach. Lachlan must have told her about those afternoons in Soho. Despite the cold, Campion’s face stung with heat. “I don’
t—”
“I know you feel completely at sea.” Lady Ravenglass leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek. Still smiling, she nodded toward the small carriage. “But over there, you’ll find answers to every question.”
In front of Campion’s dazed eyes, the carriage’s door swung open. Even before the lamplight struck the man who leaned forward, Campion recognized Lachlan. For a moment, she stared at him, transfixed with love. He looked breathtaking in his black evening clothes.
Then she wrenched her attention back to the countess. “How did you—”
A gentle push propelled her forward. “Go to him, Campion.”
Without her making a conscious decision to move, the delicate blue slippers that matched her dress carried Campion three steps to the carriage. She moved so quickly that she wasn’t aware of covering the distance.
All ability to speak had deserted her, but in her chest, her heart swooped with incredulous joy. Behind her, she was vaguely aware of Lady Ravenglass entering the other carriage and of Hobbs shutting the front door against her aunt and cousin’s avid curiosity.
“Lachlan?” she stammered, too bewildered to use his title. Not long ago, she’d believed she’d never see him again. However this magical night ended, this opportunity to speak with him, to touch him, even if only once more, felt like a wondrous gift.
He smiled. That wonderful smile that always set her heart somersaulting. Except that her heart already performed somersaults. And cartwheels. And pirouettes. In the last few seconds, her heart had become home to a whole troupe of acrobats.
“You look a little overcome.” He took her hand, his grip firm and warm. As always when he touched her, the bewildering whirl around her settled, even tonight when nothing else made sense. “My mother is a force of nature. I knew she’d prevail against your aunt.”
Campion laughed softly, curling her hand around his as she stepped into the carriage. “You’re a force of nature too.”
A low laugh sent sensual awareness rippling down her spine. “Glad you acknowledge that.”
A Grosvernor Square Christmas Page 9