by Jane Charles
If only she was as strong as her brother and had the nerve to talk to whoever she wished and whenever she wished.
Felding and her brother exchanged pleasantries on the upcoming racing season and issues in Parliament while Jillian struggled to find something to say. She was never good at small talk. She preferred to listen and not participate, but the longer she stood there, the more uncomfortable it became. “How are your sisters, Lady Felding?”
Rosalind smiled at her. “Bianca is over the moon.”
Of course she was. She’d married Roxburg but a few hours ago. As soon as Roxburg inherited the title, Jillian had been ordered to land him as her husband, if and when he returned from Barbados. That hadn’t worked out as planned. Not that Jillian minded. Roxburg belonged with Bianca. They loved one another, and Jillian would never again stand in the way of anyone’s happiness. Just because she was destined to be married to a gentleman she might not even like, didn’t mean she didn’t want others to find happiness.
Yes, much had changed in two years, and Jillian hoped she was no longer the cold, calculating heiress who had set out to blackmail Felding into marrying her because it was what her father wanted.
“Isabella has found a position with Kirkland Home, and enjoys her work there.”
“Kirkland Home?” Jillian hadn’t heard of the place.
“It’s a home for soldiers who were wounded in the Peninsula War. She spends most of her time assisting those who fought in Quatre Bras and Waterloo, who can no longer work and need a place to live.”
In that moment Jillian envied Isabella the most. Not only was she confident, but she was doing something worthwhile and probably fulfilling, unlike Jillian who had one thing that was expected of her – to marry the right lord and then turn out an heir and a spare. “I’ve heard she’d followed the drum and assisted your brother, Orlando, on the Continent. He is a doctor, correct?”
“Yes,” Lady Felding clarified. “She was glad to return home, but has missed helping the soldiers who need assistance.”
Jillian nodded. “And Perdita?” The youngest of the four sisters.
“She found a position with the Foundling Hospital. She’s always enjoyed being with children and has a particular soft spot for orphans.”
As all the Valentines were orphans, Jillian could understand where one would be drawn to help other orphans.
“Forgive me, but your interest in my family is rather surprising.”
Jillian’s face heated. She’d never apologized, but one was owed. “I was wrong to do what I did. And, I’m no longer the same person or think like my father would like. I sincerely hope that one day you can find it in your heart to forgive me.” Tears stung her eyes and she quickly blinked them away. She’d been such a horrid person. Filled with hate and jealousy, as well as panic that she wasn’t going to achieve the one thing her father insisted upon. Land Felding as a husband.
Lady Felding’s smile softened. “Of course.” She reached out and took Jillian’s hand. “Perhaps one day we might even be friends.”
“I would like that.” Jillian meant it with her full heart, but knew it would never be. Her father would never allow such an association.
“Felding, Lady Felding.” She turned to find Mr. Thorn approaching with a beautiful blond on his arm. Jillian had heard rumors that Thorn had married but had not yet met his wife. She glanced behind them and her breath nearly left her chest. Mr. Samuel Storm was in their group. It was bad enough to be stuck in an awkward conversation with Lady Felding, but nerves practically closed her throat as he approached. One would think that after nearly four years in Society she wouldn’t be so uncomfortable in any social setting.
Mr. Thorn made the introductions, and their circle widened to accommodate them all. Mr. Storm was directly across from her, looking at her with interest.
Her face heated and she glanced down.
“Storm was telling me that you remind him of someone, Lady Jillian,” Thorn said.
She blinked up. Was that the reason he watched her?
“A painting actually,” Storm explained.
Her heart stopped and Lady Felding stiffened beside her.
“It graces my home. The model has a remarkable resemblance to you.”
She could feel the blood drain from her face. Her eyes shot to Felding. Had his family betrayed her after all?
But, they looked as stunned as she.
She pushed down her panic and smiled sweetly at Storm. “The only portrait that’s been done of me hangs in my father’s home.” It was a huge lie, but it was impossible that he’d have one of the earlier portraits, the scandalous ones that had been painted when she was so naïve and young. Not that sixteen was all that young.
“It is a shame, for I am quite taken with it, and was from the moment I saw it.”
“Where did you purchase it?” she asked out of curiosity.
“A gallery in New Orleans.”
Then it couldn’t possibly be one of hers. Why would the artist take it so far away when her father would have paid the blackmail money to get it back and destroyed? Of course, one of those paintings had also made it into the hands of Felding’s youngest sister, but she promised never to sell it.
But, what if she had and it somehow made it to New Orleans? It was possible Felding didn’t know everything his younger sister did, or they might have decided to get revenge on her after all.
The chords of a waltz struck. “Is this dance taken, Lady Jillian?” Mr. Storm asked.
She blinked at him. “No.”
“Might I have the honor?”
Blast! She should have said yes since she’d already lied to him once.
“She’d loved to,” her brother insisted.
Her father was going to kill her if she waltzed with Mr. Storm. He wasn’t one of the chosen as her brother very well knew.
Storm held out his elbow and she had little choice but to take his arm and be led to the dance floor.
He bowed and she curtseyed, and then he took her hand in his. Hopefully he didn’t notice how her hand trembled. Her entire body was shaking.
The portrait could not be of her. It just couldn’t be.
Mr. Storm settled his hand at the small of her back. The warmth seeped into her gown, heating her skin, though it did little to help the trembling.
Just as they stepped, Jillian glanced up and caught her father’s eye. He glowered at her, and she knew she was done for. Hopefully her brother would come to her defense, or it was going to be a very long carriage ride home.
She blinked back at Mr. Storm as defiance struck. Let her father be angry, she was going to enjoy herself with a mister. “Tell me of New Orleans, Mr. Storm.”
He smiled down at her, warmth in his green eyes. “A lively city, but I’ve only visited a few times.”
“I understand you live in Barbados.”
“Yes.”
“And will you be returning there after the Season?” She wasn’t sure she wished to know the answer. She didn’t know him, but she wanted to, for reasons she couldn’t explain to herself, other than it might give her father an apoplexy.
“I’ve vowed to be back on my plantation before the first snowflakes fall in England.”
This made her laugh. “I don’t know much about the Caribbean, but I do understand it’s warm and always pleasant.”
“It is the most beautiful place on Earth.” Then he looked into her eyes. His darkening. “Next to you.”
Her breath hitched, and all words left her. Gentlemen had told her she was beautiful before, but she hadn’t truly believed them. Gentlemen would say anything to win her over to gain the favor of her father. The same words were different coming from Mr. Storm, and the sincerity in those depths warmed her. Jillian wasn’t used to receiving genuine compliments, and it robbed her of speech all together.
CHAPTER 3
L ady Jillian was the lady in the painting. Of that Samuel was now certain. First, she’d lost all color when he first mentioned it, but
recovered rather quickly. When he grasped her hand for the waltz, she shook as if cold. The final proof was the birthmark on her right breast. It couldn’t be seen while they spoke, but now that they stood closer and he glanced down, it was there, just beneath where her bodice gaped. He should not have looked, but he needed to be certain.
There was always the possibility that both the model and Lady Jillian possessed the same, crescent-shaped mark, but highly doubtful. And though she lied to him, Sam well understood why she had. If Society became aware, she’d be ruined, and it would be far worse than simply being caught kissing in the gardens, which is why he didn’t question her further. At least he wouldn’t in a ballroom full of people, but eventually he would learn the why and how that portrait had come to be.
For now, the woman he had fantasized about was in his arms, and they were waltzing, and he didn’t give a damn whether His Grace approved or not.
She’d also gone quiet the moment he complimented her, as if she were shocked. Surely that couldn’t be the case. Gentlemen had probably been throwing such compliments toward since her first Season. Well, unless all the gentlemen in London were fools, which was quite possible. She was old enough to have married, and she was the daughter of a duke, so why did she remain unattached? Not that he had any complaints, as it left her free for him to come to know better. But for now, he’d simply be content holding her as they waltzed from one end of the ballroom to the other.
Not only beautiful, but graceful as well. He didn’t have to adjust his steps because they matched perfectly. Nor did he truly need to lead. It was if they were one, moving together, neither leading nor following. Would it be the same if he had her in bed?
He shut that thought down immediately. Yes, he had fantasized about bedding the woman in the portrait, but now that he knew she was real, he’d need to go about this properly, which would be damned difficult when His Grace was her disapproving father.
The waltz ended and though Samuel was reluctant to let her go, he took a step back. “Shall I return you to your father or brother?”
Lady Jillian cast a quick glance to where father stood. His face, a sea of anger. “My brother, please.”
He offered his elbow and then led her back to his group.
“Thank you for the waltz, Mr. Storm.”
“It was my pleasure, Lady Jillian, and I do hope to have the honor again.”
She glanced down as pink spots blossomed on her cheeks. Why was she not used to compliments? What the hell was wrong with the gentlemen in Town?
He relinquished her over to her brother, and the two bid them goodbye. Samuel watched as they made their way through the room, in the opposite direction of His Grace, who watched his daughter with a frown then turned and skewered Samuel with a look that would send a lesser man running.
Bloody hell! He’d only danced with Eldridge’s daughter. One would think he tossed up her skirts in the middle of the ballroom.
Thorn and Anna had moved on, leaving him alone with Felding and his wife. As he did not know them well, he was just about to take his leave and seek out his brother when Felding said, “Call on me tomorrow.”
Was the marquess giving him an order?
“We need to discuss the matter of a certain portrait that shall not be discussed here.”
She needed fresh air and to gain control of her emotions. Panic, like she hadn’t experienced since Phillipa Johansen, Feldings’ youngest sister, showed her the painting two and a half years ago, nearly engulfed her. As it was imperative that she never show any emotion in the ballroom, Jillian pulled her brother out to the gardens as soon as they reached a door. Her father was already angry with her for dancing with Mr. Storm, of that she was certain, but if her expression changed even the slightest from the false, yet pleasant smile she’d long ago perfected, she’d never hear the end of it. She was a lady, his daughter, and did not suffer from the same hysterical weaknesses of other females.
But Samuel Storm had a painting!
“Sometimes I just want to run away. Change my name and start over,” Jillian said to her brother, as she settled on a bench at the back of the garden.
“It’s not so bad, is it?”
“That’s easy for you to say. You aren’t the only daughter of Eldridge.”
“He only wants what’s best for you.” Henry settled beside her and took her hand in his.
“No, he wants what’s best for him--connections. And each time I don’t land the gentleman he’s determined should be his son-in-law, he continually reminds me of my failings until another is chosen that I must win.” Jillian let her shoulders droop in defeat of what her life was to be. “It’s been nearly unbearable living with him since I failed to secure Roxburg. Had he married anyone else, it might not be so difficult, but the fact that Roxburg chose a Valentine over me has Father angrier than normal.”
“Is there no one you have wished for yourself?”
“I don’t allow myself to contemplate who I’d wish to have for a husband. Father will pick him, and I’ll need to make the best of it.”
Henry turned more fully toward her. “I knew father was demanding, I just didn’t realize that he’d given you no choice.”
Jillian laughed dryly. “I haven’t even been given a choice of what I’m to wear since I was sixteen.” She wasn’t surprised Henry had no idea how nearly every nuance of her life was controlled. There were seven years between them, and they’d never been close. He’d been sent off to school when she was barely out of leading strings, and his visits home were few.
“Perhaps if you had friends these gatherings would be more enjoyable.”
Tears welled in her eyes. “You don’t understand. I can’t afford to let anyone close. People will only use you if you do.”
He turned more fully toward her. “These emotions have nothing to do with Father or the gentleman he may or may not marry you to.”
She blinked at him and wiped a tear.
“Do you fear Storm has a painting?”
Humiliation washed through her. She’d been so stupid and blindly trusting then. And, she had learned a hard lesson that nobody could ever be trusted.
“It may only be a resemblance,” Henry offered.
“You don’t believe that any more than I do.”
“What do you intend to do?”
She had no answer. It wasn’t as if she could come right out and ask Mr. Storm. Then he’d know for certain that she’d posed.
“Sometimes I wish I was a Valentine.” Jillian sighed. “They don’t care who Father is. They have confidence and, despite their circumstances, have thumbed their noses at Society.”
“Then beg their forgiveness and perhaps a friendship might form.” He leaned in. “As Lady Felding already knows your most protected secret, chances are, her siblings do as well.”
The idea of anyone knowing of, or having viewed any of those paintings made her ill. “I did tonight, when I spoke with Lady Felding.” Jillian crumbled the handkerchief in her hand. “She was kind. Kinder than she should have been, but I can’t hope that any of them will ever befriend me.”
Her brother stared at her for a moment and then sighed. “Very well. Forget friends. If you could have your pick of husband, without Father’s interference, who would it be.”
“I don’t know any gentlemen well enough to know if I wish to be married to them. Though, the ones Father has suggested hold no interest for me.”
He nodded. “Then, who has caught your eye that you’d be interested in furthering an acquaintance?”
She blinked at him.
“If you could have your pick of who you’d like to court you to see if an interest, affection, or even love developed, who would it be?”
“Samuel Storm,” she said without thought, surprising even herself. She couldn’t trust him. He might have one of the paintings, and he could completely ruin her. Yet, there was something about him that intrigued her. It was more than a handsome face, but the sincerity and kindness in his emerald eyes.
“I knew Storm in school. He wasn’t sure what he intended to do with his life, being a younger son, but he’s a worthy gentleman.” Henry smiled at her. “We shall see how we can make that occur.”
“Fairy dreams, Henry. The moment he calls on me, if he were so inclined, Father will have him removed.” Jillian stood and swiped a tear from her cheek. “I cannot dream so large. Father will decide on my husband, and I will do as ordered and land the lord by whatever means I have at my disposal. It’s my lot in life, and conversations like this only make me wish for what I can’t have.”
CHAPTER 4
Samuel pulled a cheroot from his pocket as another gentleman stepped outside and joined him in the shadows. Following the fellow was Lady Jillian and her brother, though neither one of them glanced in his direction to note he was even there. Soon, their voices drifted to them, and he stilled.
The painting was of Lady Jillian. Whatever possessed her to sit for such a risqué portrait in the first place?
The question would gnaw at him until he had the answer.
He twirled the cheroot in his fingers, not ready to light it because he didn’t want them to smell the smoke and know that they were not alone.
Why did she have to beg forgiveness of the Valentines?
A smile pulled at his lips when his name was mentioned. He would like very much to court her to find out if an interest, affection, or even love developed.
At least he now had some understanding as to the emotions that flickered in her eyes, and if anyone bothered to watch, they’d see it too.
The brother and sister stood and walked back in their direction. Samuel turned his back to the walk out of respect of Lady Jillian to save her the embarrassment of knowing she’d been heard. The gentleman beside him ducked further into the shadows, and Sam assumed it was for the same reason.