Jolene stood in the entranceway of the Chambers’ ballroom. Dressed in her finest evening gown with layers of satin cascading to the tips of her shoes, she sparkled like the golden sun. To contrast her attire, she chose a black fan and long white gloves that covered her slender arms just above her elbows.
Rather than wearing a complete upsweep of her dark brown hair, she had Maria pull back the front and sides and fasten her locks at the crown of her head with a diamond-studded hairpin. The remainder cascaded down her back in long curly tendrils meeting the line of satin-covered buttons that held the tight bodice in place. A diamond necklace and teardrop earrings given to her by her stepfather adorned her bare neck and lobes.
As soon as her name had been announced, every head in the assembly turned in her direction. A sea of eyes scrutinized her from top to bottom, but she steadfastly maintained her composure refusing to be intimidated. Grace and her parents received their announcement and stood next to her ready to make introductions.
A tall gentleman escorting a beautiful woman approached. The man, impeccably dressed, had a slight round belly, thinning hair, and mustache. The lady, who looked to be in her early forties, wore a blue ball gown with a large sapphire necklace and teardrop earrings. Her blonde hair was upswept in the usual style of the day, adorned by a white ostrich feather and jeweled comb. As Jolene presumed, they were the hosts of the grand affair.
Lady Whitefield enthusiastically made the introductions. “Lord and Lady Chambers, may I introduce to you the komtesse. As you have heard, she is our honored guest from Vienna.”
Lord Chambers responded, giving a quick bow at the waist. “Welcome to England,” he said in a deep, raspy voice.
He acted humble, but something about his demeanor made her feel uncomfortable. Perhaps Lord Whitefield’s statement about his family line of business had tainted her perception more than she realized.
“I understand this is your first visit to our country. Are you enjoying your stay in London?” he asked.
“It is my first upon English soil,” Jolene responded. “However, it is a pleasure to have the opportunity to travel abroad and visit the impressive city of London.” Oddly enough, he looked unimpressed by her response. Apparently, they had both quickly judged one another.
“May I have the pleasure of introducing my wife, Lady Chambers?”
Jolene shifted her gaze to the elegant woman who studied her closely. After a quick assessment of Lady Chamber’s demeanor, she decided the couple shared the same aristocratic airs of importance.
“Lady von Lamberg, welcome to our home,” she said in a haughty manner. “I do hope you will allow me to introduce you to some of our guests. I’m sure they are eager to meet your acquaintance and forge new friendships.”
Jolene’s cheeks burned hot. She flipped open her fan and gave herself a breeze of cool air. Hopefully, her actions did not come across as rude to her ladyship, but every eye in the assembly continued to watch her interactions with the hosts.
Finally, she lowered her fan in time to see the Whitefields take leave and mingle in the crowd. Grace had left her side, as well. A feeling of utter vulnerability swept over her until she reminded herself of her heritage. You are a komtesse of Austria and a von Lamberg—act like one. A second later, she straightened her backbone and accepted the invitation with bravery.
“Yes, of course, I would be pleased to make new acquaintances.”
It did not take long for Lady Chambers to lead her from couple to couple. After a half an hour of introductions to earls, barons, sirs, and elegant ladies, Jolene had become weary of it all. At last, she escorted her to a couple that stood together seemingly removed from the remainder of the crowd. A cloud of aloofness from the other guests appeared to hang over their heads.
“And last but not least,” Lady Chambers spoke, “I would like to introduce you to my brother, His Grace, the Duke of Surrey, and his lovely wife.”
Nothing could have prepared Jolene for the moment. She had been told that the Hollands would attend, but had not considered her reaction should she meet them. She had no idea why. Perhaps she did not want to think about it.
Slowly, her eyes shifted to the duchess standing a few feet away. A stunningly gorgeous, middle-aged woman with auburn hair and expressive eyes stood before her. The tone of her complexion, lighter than Jolene’s, looked perfect. She possessed a comely, curvaceous figure that fit perfectly into her russet-colored gown, which picked up the tones in her hair.
Jolene looked intently at every aspect of her appearance, trying to find some similarity between them, but no obvious physical characteristics existed. Her thoughts were interrupted when the duchess finally spoke a word of greeting.
“It is a pleasure to meet you. Welcome to London.”
Her French accent caught her off guard. Another confirmation of the contents of the letter had occurred. Already, she had memorized every line. “His Lordship had a Parisian mistress before they wed and kept her afterward as well. His mistress was your mother, Suzette Rousseau.”
“Welcome to England,” the duke added. His attentive expression and welcoming voice held nothing in reserve. On the contrary, the duchess appeared far more restrained and cautious in her presence.
“Are you here for the remainder of the season, or will you be returning to Austria before July?”
The duke gained her attention from his wife. Jolene clutched her closed fan in an attempt to channel every rampant emotion that had overtaken her heart beating feverishly against her rib cage. She forced a smile in response to his interest in her travels.
“I’m not quite sure, Your Grace, what my plans are at the moment. However long I do decide to stay, I will not return directly to my homeland. I plan to visit Paris for a month or two as well.” Jolene shifted her gaze back to the duchess and spoke softly in French. “Your accent betrays your origin. May I inquire if you have lived in England for long?”
The question brought a blush to the duchess’ cheeks. Obviously taken back by the question asked in her native tongue, she witnessed her manner relax somewhat. To her surprise, however, the duchess did not reply as she expected. Instead, she answered in English, no doubt for the benefit of her husband and sister-in-law intensely watching the exchange of conversation.
“I was born in Paris but have lived in England for nearly eighteen years now.”
“Has it been that long?” Lady Chambers interjected.
“I’m afraid so,” the duke replied. “Nevertheless, let us not dwell on the passage of time. It reminds me of my age.”
Everyone chuckled quietly at his comment, but Jolene felt inclined to keep the conversation focused on France. “Do you miss Paris?”
“Oh, dear,” she sighed with her brow raised. “You cannot expect me to confess my longing for Paris in a room full of Englishmen.” Her voice sounded charming and lighthearted.
“I see your point.” Jolene smiled in return, looking about the ballroom. “Then I shall not press the matter further. We would not wish to start another conflict between nations,” she teased in a low voice.
“She does miss Paris,” the duke responded after a few moments of silence. “In fact, I think it is time that I take her to Paris for a long visit.”
He reached over, grasped his wife’s hand, and held it. His outward show of affection in a social setting surprised Jolene. Apparently, the couple did not care what others thought of their slight display in public. It seemed a logical explanation to the supercilious reception they received from guests in attendance.
Suddenly, Grace arrived at her side. Jolene sighed desperately needing a moment to clear her jumbled thoughts. “Please excuse me,” she said, looking at the duke and duchess. “It seems Miss Whitefield is anxious to give me advice.”
“No doubt about the available gentlemen,” Lady Chambers replied. “I’m sure Geoffrey, my son, will be most pleased to meet you.”
Her eyes shifted to the left upon a young man standing across the room. The tone of her h
ost’s voice sounded far too eager, as if she already contemplated a possible match before an introduction. Thinking it was a bit presumptuous on her part, Jolene’s attitude toward Lady Chambers declined in favor.
After one last gaze at the duchess, Jolene realized that she had no sense of connection other than curiosity. Not even an inward tug suggested that they might be related. The estranged moment added doubt to the validity of the letter and left a void feeling in the pit of her stomach. Perhaps her expectations had been set too high. On the other hand, perhaps her emotions were numb. Unable to tell which one, she felt relieved to take her leave from the couple.
“Perhaps we shall meet again,” she smiled. Jolene turned away and followed Grace close by her side.
Lady Chambers walked toward a small group of musicians and spoke her instructions. Immediately, music began to fill the room. It wasn’t long before couples filled the center and began to waltz.
“I hope you don’t mind me interrupting,” Grace said apologetically. “But the expression on your face looked as if you needed to be rescued.”
Jolene brought her hand to her cheek. “How dreadful. I do hope that I have not offended the duke and duchess.”
“Oh, I doubt that,” she said, leading her over to the other end of the ballroom. “Now, who would you like to meet first, the nobleman, the rascal, or the rogue?”
“Oh, dear, now who among these fine men do you tag with those descriptions?” She flipped her fan open feeling terribly flirtatious as she cooled the blush that warmed her cheeks.
Grace stopped near the refreshment table and leaned into Jolene, intending to tell her about society’s eligible bachelors. “Over there by the mirrored wall, see those young gentlemen with champagne glasses in their hands?”
Jolene discreetly shifted her gaze in the direction and observed three young men huddled together periodically glancing her way.
“I’m sure they’ve already begun making bets who wins your heart,” Grace announced, sounding slightly disenchanted. “I told you that you would be the center of attention.”
“Well, they may obtain a dance, but my heart, I’m afraid, is mine to keep this evening.” Unable to pull her attention away from the assemblage of males, she began questioning their characters. “Who is the rascal, as you call him?” Jolene asked, wondering why such an inference had been given.
“Definitely, Robert Holland, though he does have slight roguish tendencies.”
She spoke about him with a tiny note of adoration in her voice. Jolene wondered if Grace had been attracted to him. “Pray tell, why do you call him a rascal?” Jolene angled her head with interest.
“Well, he’s twenty-three and shows no sign of responsibility whatsoever. Rumor has it that His Grace is extremely disappointed in his lack of ambition. Robert prefers carousing with the ladies. He comes across as quite the catch, but he never stays with one woman for long, because he plays with their feelings and moves to the next.” Grace lowered her voice. “He has a bit of a temper I’ve heard, too, but I think he is merely afraid to commit to anything that clips his wings.”
“That is surprising,” she responded in disappointment. “Has he attended university?”
“Of course, he has. He attended boarding school, like all aristocratic heirs, tutored by the best and educated at Oxford. Nevertheless, he flounders like a fish unable to settle into any career or steady relationship. I call him the rascal because he reminds me of an immature little boy.”
“So harsh of a judgment,” Jolene said, shaking her head. Surely, there had to be more than the lack of character Grace portrayed. If her assessment were true, she already held disappointment in her supposed half brother’s character.
“Now the rogue,” Grace said in a rather disgusted tone.
Instantly, Jolene knew she spoke of Mr. Chambers, as her brother Alastair certainly did not come across as such during dinner the evening before.
“Geoffrey Chambers?” Jolene clarified, daring to use his first name aloud.
“He’s a heart breaker. I’ve never met a man so despicable in character when it comes to women.”
“Is he actually that dreadful?” Jolene examined his tall stature, dark hair, and handsome features. Grace’s assessment of his personality left much to be desired. Such be the case, she would have to form her own opinion.
Grace answered her question about his character with another comment that made her gasp. “Well, all I can say is that out of the three, he will try his hardest to woo you into his bed.”
“Clearly, you do not like Mr. Chambers to speak of such dark motives,” she replied. “Did he break your heart?” Jolene could think of no other reason why she would smear the man’s reputation in her presence.
She pulled her mouth to one side as she gazed at him with narrowed eyes. “I had a crush on him when I was sixteen and foolish, but he spurned me. Now that I know more about him, I probably should be thankful that he did.”
“I’m sorry, Grace,” Jolene replied, reaching out and touching her forearm in sympathy. “Now, tell me about the nobleman, Mr. Whitefield, your brother.”
“It’s a wonder his character hasn’t been tarnished by the likes of Lord Holland and Mr. Chambers, as often as he keeps in their company.” Grace paused and looked at her brother with a slight hint of pride in her eyes. “Deep down, Alastair is a man of character. I often hope his good nature will rub off on his friends.”
“It is true that a person’s character can be influenced for good or bad depending on the company one keeps,” she replied.
Jolene glanced back at the threesome and realized that Lord Holland had disappeared. Her eyes darted about the room and caught him walking toward the two of them. Instantly, she noted that Grace perked up like a wilted flower that had been watered. Jolene concluded that her newfound friend liked Lord Holland. By the look of longing in her eyes, she obviously did.
Jolene’s nerves tingled through her body as he drew closer. His appearance closely resembled his father—blond hair, piercing blue eyes, and light complexion. Lord Holland carried himself with a self-confident stride. Jolene had an overwhelming urge to burst forth in a huge smile, but she kept her lips tightly shut.
“Lady Grace,” he said with a polite voice.
“Lord Holland,” she demurely greeted.
He turned toward Jolene. “We have not had the pleasure of being introduced this evening.”
Jolene lifted her hand and watched in amusement as he kissed her gloved fingers.
Grace made the introductions. “Lady von Lamberg, may I introduce you to Lord Holland.”
“It is a pleasure to meet your acquaintance.” He examined her with curiosity, but did so respectfully as a gentleman. “Welcome to London.”
“Thank you,” Jolene replied feeling slightly tongue-tied. Jolene instantly sensed a kinship draw to Robert, unlike the emptiness over having met the duke and duchess.
Now that he stood near, she took her time to examine him more closely. She estimated his height to be about five feet, ten inches tall, compared to her short height. Unfortunately, she saw no resemblance between each other. Her olive-colored complexion and dark hair were a stark contrast to his light features. Apparently she had gawked far too long as a slight nudge from Grace’s elbow brought her around.
“Are you all right?” he suddenly asked. His faced expressed concern.
“Oh, yes, please excuse me. Your appearance reminded me of an old friend, and it caught me off guard.” She flipped open her fan and whisked a quick breeze across her face.
“I do hope it is not an old beau,” Robert jested.
“Not quite,” Jolene smiled broadly. “I am afraid the count, my stepfather, had been extremely protective of my life. There have been no beaus, as you put it that have courted me.”
“Such a shame,” Robert said, acting as if he were ready and able to take that position should she allow him to do so.
His blue eyes wielded his male charm of interest and then lazily e
xamined her dress from bodice to hem and up again. The courteous manner he had first presented appeared to be weakening. Jolene felt like slapping him but restrained the urge. The thought of such desirability from a man, who might be her half brother, bordered on an unseemly sinful attraction. Then, of course, she reminded herself that he had no idea who stood in front of him, so she forgave his impertinence.
“Lord Holland.” Grace spoke his name to gain his attention as if she sensed Jolene’s discomfort in the moment.
He looked at Grace apparently understanding her words. Robert precipitously turned into a gentleman, pulling his shoulders back and looking handsome. In his aristocrat inflection, he asked her the question she had expected.
“Might I have the honor of this waltz, Lady von Lamberg?” He held out his hand toward her with a subdued look upon his face.
A spin around the dance floor would allow her a private conversation away from Grace. Her acceptance was immediate and graceful. “I’d be honored, Lord Holland.”
She demurely smiled at him as she placed her hand into his white-gloved palm. As they stepped upon the parquet wood floor, she looked into his blue expressive eyes and placed her hand upon his shoulder. Very lightly, he touched her waist and began leading her in a Viennese waltz.
While they spun around on the dance floor, Jolene realized that Lord Holland had attempted to impress her with his dancing abilities. Frankly, she thought him reasonably skilled in the art of waltzing.
As they glided and twirled around in circles, synchronizing with the music, Jolene’s stomach churned nervously inside of her. It felt strange touching him as if they possessed a mysterious connection. She pushed the thought aside, not wanting to speculate when the deathbed confession still needed to be verified.
“You waltz divinely,” he said in a respectful voice.
“And so do you.” She paused a moment and continued with a sly grin. “Except I would not use the word divinely to express a man’s skill upon the dance floor.”
“True, divinely does not describe me very well,” he jested. “What word would you use, Lady von Lamberg, to assess my dancing skills?”
The Price of Love Page 7