Every nerve end in Jane’s body leaped up jangling with alarm and for a moment she was so paralyzed she couldn’t close her mouth, which had fallen open in shock. Then she felt her face grow warm and knew she was blushing furiously while Lady Montmorency stared with an icy indifference.
Mr. Medvers-Platt, in serene unawareness, pulled her forward and begged Lady Montmorency to allow him to present Lady Jane Payton to her. Jane managed a curtsy, though fully aware that had she not been holding Mr. Medvers-Platt’s arm she could never have accomplished it without falling on her face.
Lady Montmorency acknowledged the introduction with a stiff little nod of her head that committed her to nothing. It was not her habit to accept anyone on faith. She was a stately, intimidating woman, with traces of Lady Sarah’s beauty still discernible in her face. She was gowned in a purple-bloom satin and wore a turban of the same fabric, an astonishing concoction of gold fringe, pearls, and feathers, which added to her regal stature. She turned to present her daughter, who curtsied in her turn. Though Jane had been thoroughly grounded in social etiquette by the Dowager Lady Payton and was well aware that as a married lady of title she took precedence over Lady Sarah, it was still an astonishing sensation to have the haughty Lady Sarah dipping her knee to Jane Coombes! No, she reminded herself sharply, not to Jane Coombes, but to Lady Payton, mother of Lord Payton of Larkwoods, Seventh Baron Larkley, and as his representative she owed it to him to conduct herself befittingly. She raised her chin, said how do you do with a gracious smile and submitted without a flicker of an eyelid to Lady Sarah’s raking scrutiny, which seemed to count the very silver-embroidered acorns on Jane’s gown before it came to rest on her face. Jane, still smiling, raised one eyebrow ever so slightly, and Lady Sarah’s glance flicked away. This small triumph enabled Jane to carry on a brief conversation quite creditably until Mr. Medvers-Platt tugged her away impatiently to meet an old crony of his in an astonishing blue brocade evening suit fashionable fifty years ago, complete with white powdered wig, a tiny black patch next to his mouth, and rouge filling out the cracks in his cheeks. He made her a most profound and elaborate bow involving a complicated flourishing of his scented, lace-edged handkerchief.
Though Jane smiled sweetly upon him and replied satisfactorily to his conversation, her mind was in a ferment, for it had just occurred to her to wonder if Lord Jaspar accompanied his mother and sister this evening! That Lady Montmorency had not recognized her was to be expected, for Jane doubted if the woman had even known Jane was in her employ, so far beneath her notice was a little backstairs maid. Nor was it surprising that Lady Sarah had failed to do so, for Jane was well aware of that young woman’s preoccupation with herself to the exclusion of all else except for her effect on the male sex and whether another lady’s gown was more beautiful than her own. But Lord Jaspar was another matter altogether. They had only met once, but he had taken a very good look (she felt her cheeks redden as she remembered) and could not be counted on to have forgotten her, though their encounter had taken place more than five years ago.
She swept an anxious glance about the room but did not see him, which perversely provided her with only a fleeting moment of relief followed swiftly by an even stronger feeling of disappointment which bewildered her. There was no time, however, to examine this unusual feeling, for the guests were all being requested to take their seats in the music room for the entertainment, and she found Lady Stanier at her side firmly leading her away over Mr. Medvers-Platt’s protestations.
“I thought you wouldn’t mind being rescued, my love. Shafto is the best-hearted creature in the world but a shade overwhelming, I sometimes find. Did you meet any interesting people? I vow, Fanny has managed to assemble as dull a crowd as I’ve seen anytime these past ten years. I wonder where she dug up that funny old court card, Alben Quint? I didn’t know he even went into company anymore. Probably got wind that Fanny was entertaining a rich widow. He’s been hanging out for a fortune since he first came up to London sixty years ago!”
Jane giggled and told her that she had found Mr. Quint enchanting and agreed that he might come to pay her a morning visit. Then, still somewhat hipped at her ability to carry off the meeting with the Montmorencys, she told Lady Stanier of it in a lighthearted way.
“No! Don’t tell me they are here! Not, of course, that we need worry about their recognizing you. I doubt either of them could adequately describe her own dresser. Oh—yes, I see them now.” She and Lady Montmorency saw each other at the same moment and exchanged stiff nods and tight little smirks that did duty for smiles between two women in a social situation who detest each other. “Now what can Fanny mean by inviting her here when she knows I can’t abide the woman! A colder creature I hope it is never my misfortune to meet, and so puffed up with her own conceit she can hardly bring herself to speak to anyone whose consequence is not so great as she thinks her own to be!”
This heated diatribe was most unusual for Lady Stanier, ordinarily the most sweet natured of women, but her natural dislike of people who behaved as did Lady Montmorency combined with her knowledge of that lady’s treatment of Jane had hardened into active antipathy.
“Perhaps it was foolish—coming here, I mean. Somehow it never occurred to me that there was the possibility I might meet them.”
“Pooh, nonsense! I do not, in the ordinary way, ever come up with the Montmorencys. We frequent quite different circles, I assure you. Lady Montmorency enjoys dancing attendance on royalty and Lady Sarah the gaming tables, neither of which hold any interest for me. Not that it is of any consequence, for I should like to know why you may not go about as much as you please and simply ignore them, as I always have done when our paths happened to cross.”
Jane could not think of any effective argument to make to this suggestion that would not reveal her real fear concerning Lord Jaspar, for of course, though she had confided in Lady Stanier her responsibility in the situation that had led to her summary dismissal from the Montmorency household, she had not mentioned the part played by Lord Jaspar to anyone, not even Sebastian, she remembered suddenly.
She thought about this wonderingly. Now why had she withheld that incident from dear Sebastian who had heard and understood everything else she had told him about her life, including her envy of Lady Sarah and the impulse to disrobe and put on the negligee, and the horrible scenes with Leach that had created her fear of men, a fear Sebastian had dealt with so masterfully that she never ceased to wonder that two acts so basically similar, could be accomplished with such different results as those she had experienced with Leach and Sebastian.
Sebastian had succeeded so well in introducing her to the pleasure her own body could give her that he had wiped out all her shuddering disgust at the memory of Leach. He had also, however, left her with a body that now troubled her with its demands, sometimes forcing her to pace the floor for many sleepless hours. She knew of no remedy for her condition, and was too ashamed of it to confide her problem to anyone. If Sebastian were here she could have confided in him without shame, but then, if he were here she wouldn’t have the problem. Which brought her thoughts again to her strange reticence regarding her few moments with Lord Jaspar and she realized all at once why she had never told her husband of it: She had enjoyed it! It had been thrilling for the few moments that she had allowed it to go on, arousing the same pleasurable sensations in her body that Sebastian had so expertly induced.
The noise in the room suddenly ceased, causing her to come out of her introspection and look about. A thin, elderly man scuttled out to seat himself at the pianoforte, followed by a majestically bosomed lady with improbable red hair, who took her place squarely before the pianoforte with a condescending nod of acknowledgment for the thin spatter of applause which greeted her entrance. As she launched herself into an aria by Gluck, Jane allowed her mind to go back to that episode with Lord Jaspar that had been superseded by events so overwhelming, both good and bad, that she had not thought of it or of him for a very long time. She
found she had no difficulty in recapturing every erotic moment of it, and even now the memory succeeded in arousing that only lightly dozing creature within her body to a tingling awareness. She felt the blood rush into her cheeks and glanced about guiltily, quite expecting to find herself the object of horrified glances.
All eyes, however, were fixed upon the soprano, though there was undoubtedly horror in some of them, or at least pain, for what the soprano was doing to the aria would have caused the composer to weep and tear his hair.
Jane fanned her hot cheeks and subsided gratefully back into her chair. Well, she thought, it is clear that I am a depraved creature who must confine herself to her own drawing room in the future or risk disgrace, for what might I not do if I happened to encounter Lord Jaspar again?
She raised her eyes and had her answer, for there, standing so far forward in the room he was almost facing her, was that gentleman staring straight at her with a bemused, disbelieving expression in his eyes. She gasped audibly in shock and all the blood rushed so precipitately out of her head to the aid of her violently agitated heart that she felt quite faint.
“My dear! What is it?” Jane heard Lady Stanier’s alarmed whisper as from a distance. She bit down on her tongue sharply, determined not to call any more attention to herself by fainting away in the middle of Mrs. Medvers-Platt’s musical evening. She opened her eyes and the room steadied and she turned to smile vaguely at Lady Stanier.
“Please ignore it if you love me,” Jane whispered back. “I’ll explain later.”
Lady Stanier patted her hand anxiously but turned obediently back to the soprano. Jane sat with her eyes fixed resolutely on her white kid gloves, feeling the sword of Damocles to be not just hanging over her head but with its actual keen edge touching coldly against her neck, for she could not entertain the least hope that Lord Jaspar would wait beyond the ending of the entertainment before confronting her. After that it would be only a matter of moments before the story of Lady Payton’s antecedents spread over the room. There was no point, either, in hoping that he would be merciful, not after the painful blow she had delivered to him on their first meeting and the insulting way she had flung his money back in his face—well, figuratively speaking, she amended—on their second and last meeting. No doubt he was standing there at this moment gloating over this heaven-sent opportunity to avenge himself and preparing to expose her in the most humiliating way possible as soon as the last notes had died away.
She dared not look up for fear of meeting his eyes again, and attempted to mentally visualize the room and the quickest escape route out of it. All would depend, really, on how quickly she could move after the program was over.
She was assisted in her resolve to escape by the other guests, who, after the most perfunctory applause rose eagerly to their feet and with great relief turned to their neighbours, no doubt to prevent the soprano from being encouraged to give them an encore. Jane leaped up, pulling Lady Stanier to her feet, and made what speed she could through the jumble of chairs and the milling crowd without actually elbowing people aside in too unseemly a way, dragging the bewildered Lady Stanier behind her. She had reached Mrs. Medvers-Platt who was waiting at the door, to direct her guests downstairs to a light supper, and was just opening her mouth to beg Mrs. Medvers-Platt’s forgiveness, pleading that she felt a slight indisposition and must take her leave, when a voice cut in.
“My dear Mrs. Medvers-Platt, won’t you present me to these charming guests?”
There he stood, smiling beatifically, and making a charming bow when Mrs. Medvers-Platt happily complied with his request. Lady Stanier graciously held out her hand to him, for Montmorency or not, he was excessively handsome and very prettily behaved and Lady Stanier had a weakness for handsome young men. After an exchange of compliments he turned to Jane who could not raise her eyes from the floor and who was blushing helplessly, to her fury. She could feel all of them staring at her expectantly and with her last bit of courage managed to say “How do you do?” in a strangled whisper.
“Immeasurably better than I had hoped when I set out this evening,’ he replied promptly with a smile. “Perhaps you and Lady Stanier would do me the honour of allowing me to take you down to supper?” Lady Stanier waited for Jane to reply and when she didn’t, was in something of a quandary as to whether or not the invitation should be accepted. She hadn’t understood Jane’s headlong rush to the door and, of course, was not aware of the previous encounter between Jane and Lord Jaspar. At that moment she saw Lady Montmorency surging forward, doubtless to claim her son as her own escort, and turned with an impish smile to put her arm into Jaspar’s.
“How delightful of you to ask, sir. We should be happy to have your company, should we not, Jane?”
He held his other arm out to Jane and after an instant she put her hand on it and was led mutely down the staircase she had climbed so unsuspectingly not two hours earlier, experiencing now all the joyful anticipation of Marie Antoinette in the tumbrel.
15
Jane eyed the lobster patty before her with distaste, then pushed it away slightly and took a sip of her iced champagne, which, though not a particularly favourite wine with her, served to relieve her parched throat. Refreshments had been gallantly procured for her and for Lady Stanier by Lord Jaspar, who had seated them at a tiny table for two in the supper room. When he returned with the refreshments he pulled up another chair between them, making the small table even more intimate.
Though made uncomfortable by this nearness, Jane felt it the lesser of two evils: at least they were spared any other company to be party to whatever revelations Lord Jaspar might have in mind. She had even more reason to be grateful when she saw Lady Montmorency and Lady Sarah enter with Mr. Quint. Lady Sarah looked eagerly in Jane’s direction and seemed inclined to join them, but was led firmly away to the other side of the room by her mother and Mr. Quint.
Jane sighed with relief and turned back to her plate. Food, however, was the last thing she had any desire for at the moment, so agitated were her spirits—especially lobster patties. Why on earth hadn’t the man the sensitivity to bring her something more soothing? A cream or jelly perhaps? She glanced up from the offending patty in irritation to find Lord Jaspar just pushing a quivering pink jelly before her.
“I fear the lobster has displeased you, Lady Payton. Won’t you try this jelly instead?” he said with a smile.
She found this even more irritating, since she was convinced the man was only playing a cat-and-mouse game with her and when he thought he had soothed her fears he would pounce. It was distinctly unpleasant for her to be forced to sit here practically knee to knee with him, and affect an air of calm and indifference while he toyed with her. Her every instinct was to attack first. Jane Coombes would not have hesitated. But that girl had been brought up to behave so and would have been protecting only herself.
Lady Jane Payton, however, had the Payton position to protect, and more especially, her son’s name. Therefore it behooved her to remain cool and wait to see what he would do. She gave him a brief smile, thanked him courteously, and taking up a spoon began to eat her jelly, wondering if the condemned, eating their last meal, had this same difficulty in swallowing. She concentrated on disguising the effort it cost her and thought darkly about evil young men who took pleasure in torturing their victims, an addiction from a boyhood spent, no doubt, in pulling wings from butterflies. She became aware of an expectant silence, the sort that always follows an inquiry, and looked up startled. What had he said? Had he—?
“I—I—b-beg your pardon, sir?” she stammered, her eyes caught and held for a long moment by his own. She saw again an amusement lurking there and threw up her chin defiantly. Let him say what he would! She would simply stare at him haughtily and deny everything he might say. Let him prove anything!
“I merely asked if you were from Kent, Lady Payton, as your late husband was?”
“Yes,” she said firmly, but without enlarging upon the statement in any way
.
“Very lovely part of England. I’m sure you must miss it.”
“Yes.”
“Will you go down again after the Season?”
“Yes.”
Lord Jaspar was apparently not the least discouraged by these monosyllabic replies, for he struggled gamely on through the weather, the Season, the various balls and parties, and possible mutual acquaintances. He received an unamplified “yes” or “no” whatever he said, or a small shrug of indifference when she could not make either of these answers, as though the subject were too boring for her to bother to discuss.
Lady Stanier had listened in some amusement to the beginning of this discourse before turning away to talk with an old friend seated behind her. She turned back in time to hear Lord Jaspar receive some reward for all his conversational efforts. He had just requested the honour of paying her a morning call.
Her cold indifference shattered, her eyes met his, wide with fear. “Why?” she gasped.
He studied her in puzzlement for a moment before answering. “Why, for my own pleasure, Lady Payton. But, of course, if you are not receiving visitors, I—” he paused with an inquiring smile for her answer.
“Of course she is receiving,” Lady Stanier responded after an embarrassingly long silence, when it seemed Jane was not going to do so. Really, thought Lady Stanier with exasperation, what is the matter with the child? Here was this perfectly unexceptionable young man requesting that he might call, and no matter how unpleasant the females of the family might be, there was a definite cachet attached to social acceptance by the Montmorencys, aside from the fact that those women apparently presented no threat to Jane at all.
“Then I will do myself that honour,” Lord Jaspar replied with a smile, turning politely to give Lady Stanier some of his attention. Jane scolded herself for behaving in such a cow-handed way and fanned her flushed cheeks briskly, grateful to Lady Stanier for drawing him off and giving her time to make a recovery. She wished desperately that she had withstood Lady Stanier’s urgings to come here, for it was clear Jane Coombes was not ready for the ton yet! How many times had dear Mother Payton said to her that a lady never reveals her feelings in company? Yet here she was blushing and stammering and nearly fainting her first time out. Surely if Lord Jaspar had not recognized her at sight, his suspicions would by now be thoroughly aroused by her eccentric behaviour. She forced herself to fan more slowly and take deep breaths.
Lady Jane Page 15