A Lord Rotheby's Holiday Bundle

by Catherine Gayle

  When he arrived at the front hall, the lot of females were blocking the door and making an utter scene in front of his home. Good God, they were already drawing attention. A group of passersby out for a morning stroll stopped and stared from across Grosvenor Square. He would have to step in and do something about it, before his family became the laughingstock of the ton.

  Of course, such an inevitability could make it easier to avoid the parson’s mousetrap his mother was so intent upon forcing him into. What respectable father would wish his daughter married to a man who was a social pariah?

  He pushed the thought aside and stepped inside the throng of feminine gasps and chatter to diffuse the problem—not knowing, of course, just what, precisely, the problem may be. Devil take it.

  Some days he wished he could be a female and not have to think with clarity about a problem, but could just carry on, dithering about until someone else discovered a solution. Alas, he remained a man, and a duke, and the head of his family.

  He brushed Char aside, as she was blabbering about something rather incoherent and quite likely unimportant. She was clearly not the cause of their delay. Mama and Sophie knew how to handle Charlotte and her silly banter. He would leave her to them. When he drew closer to the center of the group, the crux of the matter became suddenly clearer.

  Smack in the center of their small circle, Miss Matthews stood as rigid as Peter had ever seen a body stand, with only the faint sign of tremors coursing over her frame. Her face shone as pale as powder and her eyes had turned almost completely black and were filled to the brim with fear. He was still unable to decipher their true color, even with her blonde hair neatly pulled away from her face and secured in a haphazard knot. At least, he noted with only a tinge of sarcasm in the thought, her attire today was not nearly as ill-used as what she had worn when she arrived. Though, admittedly, the sad shade of yellow did not suit her complexion in the slightest.

  Her coloring in that gown looked more akin to the trunk of a birch tree than to a lady on her way out into society.

  Sophie fished through her reticule for smelling salts, though Miss Matthews had obviously not yet fainted. Still, even Peter had to admit it was entirely too possible that it might come to pass, based upon her current appearance. Charlotte was fanning Jane’s face with her hands for lack of a proper fan, and Mama held their cousin in her arms and was attempting to convince her to sit.

  He didn’t have the time to sit here and wait for Miss Matthews to faint, by Jove. “What, pray tell, is the matter here?” They were in Mayfair, for Christ’s sake. It was not as though they had just been accosted by a salacious footpad in the slums of London.

  Char gripped his elbow. “Oh, Peter, Jane has had quite the fright this morning on our way to visit Miss Jenkins. I daresay she’ll recover quite soon, but the horses did startle her a good deal. Mama says not to worry, though, because nothing irregular is afoot.”

  His youngest sister pulled him away from the rest of the females, so he watched his mother direct Miss Matthews to a seat and brush away the assistance of Sophie’s smelling salts, all from afar.

  Charlotte’s chatter never ceased. Which, of course, he expected. “Why, plenty of perfectly normal people are afraid of much smaller things, like spiders, you know. I’d think it not at all surprising to learn that far more people are afraid of horses than will admit to as much.”

  “Horses?” He swiped a stray hand across his chin. She’d caused this entire uproar over animals? She had a cat, for God’s sake. Why should a horse be any more fear-inducing than an animal that would bite and claw if cornered?

  She passed him a look of pure disdain. “Well yes, the horses. Do try to keep up, Peter. So we’ll only be slightly delayed in getting a start to our morning. But as you can see, Mama has virtually revived Jane already! How delightful. And we didn’t even require you to play the gallant gentleman.”

  Thank God for small favors.

  Peter frowned. “I see.” At precisely that moment, his barouche rolled around the corner. “I’ll have to leave you all. Miss Matthews, I trust you’re in good hands with my mother and sisters.” Mama should be able to, but one ought not put too much faith in a woman who’d insisted on all of this. “Might you need my assistance for anything else?” Lord help him if she did.

  Thankfully, she managed a brief shake of her head and Mama waved him on his way.

  After he gained his seat, he took the reins from his groom and gave the horses a bit of head. One reared back and whinnied, and Miss Matthews’s head whipped around to stare with wide eyes. Remarkable. How could the woman be so enamored of her cat, and yet so frightened of another animal at the same time?

  He drove off toward his man of business’s office, all the while trying to forget the look of fear on his houseguest’s face.

  Chapter Four

  Miss Jenkins poked and prodded at Jane as she took more measurements. How dreadfully annoying. But, try as she might, Jane had been unable to convince Cousin Henrietta to allow her to create her own wardrobe for the Season.

  This Miss Jenkins had better do an excellent job of it.

  Of course, if Jane were being honest with herself (and, dear Lord, she wished she would be more often, because lying to herself truly created more problems than it solved), she would have to admit that the work Miss Jenkins performed was rather exceptional—at least the work she had shown them. And she had created all of the attire that the Hardwicke women currently wore, all of which was terribly fashionable and immaculate and impressive.

  If she could perform work of the same quality on even one garment for herself, it would certainly be the most fabulous piece she had ever worn.

  “Ow!” Drat. The pin that had just lodged itself in her side might convince her to change her mind about Miss Jenkins’s abilities, however.

  “Oh dear, miss, I’m so sorry about that. We’re almost finished now, and I promise it will be most worth the pain.” The petite modiste pulled smooth peach silk tighter across Jane’s bosom and placed a few more pins into position.

  “Really, Jane, you shouldn’t complain so much,” said Charlotte from across the room, where one of Miss Jenkins’s assistants was performing the same form of torture on her. “I daresay I’ve received ten times more sticks than you today, but have you heard me shouting about it?” The gorgeous redhead softened her rebuke with a cheeky grin.

  “I suppose I’m just far more accustomed to giving the pricks than receiving them.” And she would prefer to keep things in just that manner, thank you very much.

  At least one good thing had come from their shopping excursion: the Hardwicke women had taken Jane to the finest millinery shops and haberdashery shops, where she was able to perform research for her future business. Looking through the ready-to-wear items and fashion plates at Miss Jenkins’s shop had also proved helpful, having allowed her to learn some of the trends in fashions that her future clientele would wish to purchase.

  Jane itched to try her hand at some of the new stitches she’d seen.

  She had covertly purchased some fabrics for her own work while they shopped, without allowing the dowager to see what she was doing. A few lengths each of lawn, silk, and muslin would allow her to practice some of the more intricate stitches she had discovered. She’d stowed her secret purchases in her bags alongside the known purchases, until she could work on them at Hardwicke House without discovery.

  If she were to do work that could attract the most elegant clientele, she would need to perform with a certain level of expertise on the most current, fashionable trends. Practice would be vital.

  With the calendar Cousin Henrietta was beginning to fill for her, however, she wondered where she would find the time. Perhaps she would need to sleep a bit less than normal. Though, it was true, stitching by candlelight could prove disastrous.

  While they were being fitted at Miss Jenkins’s shop, Lady Warburton had come in, along with someone both Sophie and Charlotte had squealed in delight to see. Esther Be
ntley, apparently, had been their governess until Charlotte left the schoolroom, and was now Lady Warburton’s paid companion. While they all giggled and tittered, Jane’s eye followed Miss Bentley. The companion was a lovely woman, if a bit drab in dress, when compared to the finer ladies next to her.

  While the modiste and her assistants fitted Jane and the Hardwicke women for the designs selected for their gowns, Miss Bentley sat by herself and looked through some of the older fashion plates and fingering the fabrics she’d apparently purchased at the milliner’s—cottons in unpopular colors and prints, and a single length of a rich, mahogany silk velvet.

  This, Jane decided, was a travesty.

  As a paid companion, Miss Bentley was forced to accompany Lady Warburton to events where everyone else in attendance would be dressed at the height of fashion. She likely couldn’t afford to pay for the seamstresses to sew her gowns—gowns which would already stand out for their lack of the nicest fabrics and newest designs. She would stick out like a swan among ducklings. Or perhaps more like a duck among swanlings.

  Something would certainly have to be done about that.

  Sophie reentered the main room of the shop and gasped, startling Jane out of her thoughts and plans. Apparently, it startled Miss Jenkins as well. Another pin found its new home in Jane’s flesh. This one stung and bled just a bit.

  Double drat.

  “Oh, Jane, you look ravishing in that shade,” Sophie said. “It enhances your complexion in such a unique manner. I daresay when that gown is finished, you will be utterly stunning.”

  Such effusive flattery was balderdash, to be sure, but a flush heated Jane’s cheeks with pride, nonetheless. “Do you truly believe so? I haven’t ever been so brave as to wear such a color. It tends to make so many ladies look quite sickly, you know.” Much as she must have done earlier, when the horses set her heart to palpitating.

  “True,” cut in Charlotte, narrowing her eyes on Jane. “But you seem rather the exception than the rule, especially in comparison to us. Why, if a Hardwicke were to wear that hue, it would be absolutely ghastly. Gracious, Sophie, can you imagine it next to your hair?” She shuddered violently. “Putrid would be too kind a description.”

  “Which is why we would never dare to wear such a color,” said Sophie. “But on you, Jane...well, I’ve never seen the like. Mama, are you certain she shouldn’t use this fabric for her presentation to the Queen?”

  Cousin Henrietta glanced up from her fashion plates. “It would be lovely, but we’ve already settled on an almost-as-lovely pink. Miss Jenkins already measured, pinned, and set that one aside.” She narrowed her eyes in thought. “No, I believe we should leave that one be, and use the peach for a ball gown.”

  “Thank you, Your Grace,” came the muffled reply of Miss Jenkins from her new position beneath Jane’s skirts.

  “You’re quite welcome.” The dowager returned to her fashion plates for a moment before: “Oh, and Miss Jenkins? Will you be able to have this one ready at the same time as her presentation gown? I believe this would be perfect for the first ball of the Season...the first time the ton lays its collective eye upon our Jane.”

  A chorus of delighted squeals and “Oh, yes, Mama!” responses came from the sisters. Jane flushed from all of the attention.

  Miss Jenkins placed one final pin and removed herself from beneath the makeshift skirts of Jane’s soon-to-be ball gown. “Of course. I’ll have them all ready by then, Your Grace.”

  “Splendid.” Cousin Henrietta packed away her fashion plates and the girls began to collect all of their day’s purchases to return home to Hardwicke House. Their shopping trip was finally complete.

  Jane now owned several ready-made morning and afternoon dresses, and even a handful of ready-made evening gowns. The purchases were delightful. An additional expense—one she had insisted on making for herself—came in the form of a handful of fashion plates to study (and, of course, the fabrics and notions she’d already stealthily secreted away beneath her other purchases).

  Many more dresses, gowns, pelisses, and the like would soon arrive. Her exuberance to begin studying the newest techniques in fashion threatened to burst free, which wouldn’t do—then she’d reveal her secret to all and sundry. She simply must contain herself.

  The day had turned out to be quite industrious, if a bit on the extravagant side of things. If only it hadn’t started in such a poor manner, with the horse incident.

  Drat, drat, drat, why could she not control her reactions to the huge beasts?

  The part that made it all worse was that the duke had seen the entire fiasco and, clearly, thought her a fool.

  But perhaps his business matters would continue to prevent him from spending time with the rest of the family. Such an arrangement would be lovely, indeed. Jane could hope.

  ~ * ~

  Meg, the devoted girl, would just not stop doing things.

  Even as Jane watched with a full-blown glower, the lady’s maid retrieved another of Jane’s new gowns and placed it inside the armoire before returning to the small collection. “These are truly lovely, miss.”

  “Thank you,” Jane said through clenched teeth. No matter how preposterous the idea of having a servant all to herself may be, Cousin Henrietta still refused to budge. The dowager insisted that if Jane was to be treated as one of her daughters in some respects, she would be treated as one of her daughters in all respects.

  Meg couldn’t be blamed for the conundrum, so Jane was desperately trying not to hold it against the poor girl, and to graciously and gracefully accept her assistance.

  Which, at the moment, was growing increasingly difficult. Jane’s fingers tapped at her side, searching for something to occupy them. They clearly saw no reason they shouldn’t be allowed to fold her gowns and put them away. Her fingers were accustomed to far more difficult work than this. Yet, because she’d been forced to find some task to assign to Meg, her fingers must remain idle. Watching someone else perform the simple task was almost more than Jane could bear. She felt lazy—a feeling she was entirely unaccustomed to.

  It most decidedly did not suit her well. It was uncomfortable on her.

  “This one is exquisite,” Meg said, pulling the final gown off the stack: a lavender and silk afternoon dress with a cream lace overlay.

  When this dress was removed, it revealed the lengths of fabrics Jane had purchased to work with on her own. Drat. She nearly cursed aloud, but managed to stop herself. Such behavior would have unequivocally alerted the lady’s maid to something being amiss.

  Thankfully, Meg was so enthralled with examining the gown that she didn’t notice the fabrics left lying. When she turned to place the gown in the armoire, Jane snatched the material from atop the bureau and let it fall behind a chest of drawers.

  A knock sounded at the door and Meg rushed off to answer it before noticing anything out of the ordinary, returning with Sophie and Charlotte following behind her.

  “I hope you don’t mind our intrusion,” Sophie said and slipped into a chintz arm chair. “Char and I hoped to have some time alone with you, to get to know you.” She looked at Meg and waited until the servant ducked out of the dressing room.

  At least, if they were visiting, Jane wouldn’t have to worry about what Meg was doing. The girl could go off and do whatever it was a lady’s maid did while they waited for their next task. “Not at all. Come in.”

  “Sophie tends to do as she likes,” said Charlotte, “despite whether anyone minds or not.” Pulling a chaise closer to where Sophie and Jane sat, she smiled. “She intended to disturb you, without a care as to your thoughts on the matter. It’s only one of the many less-than-desirable habits our governess was unable to break her of, much to Peter’s chagrin.”

  Jane laughed. “I do much the same, myself. My mother is none too pleased about it.” In fact, it might very well be part of the reason Mother had sent her here. Perhaps Mother thought the duke and Cousin Henrietta could set Jane straight.

  If that w
ere the case, she couldn’t be further from right. A prim and proper lady, one who belonged in a genteel setting with servants waiting on her hand and foot, was something Jane would never be.

  “We got that impression already. About you, that is,” Sophie said. “I daresay I haven’t laughed as hard as I did when you told Peter you had cat sick caked beneath your bosom. He looked like his head might lob off and roll across the floor at the slightest breeze.”

  “Oh, dear.” She oughtn’t to have said that. Actually, she didn’t even remember saying it, but she must have done. Good Lord, would she never learn to think before she spoke? How mortifying!

  “Don’t be upset, Jane,” Charlotte said. “We all rather enjoyed ourselves.”

  “At my expense,” she countered. “But I’m not upset with you, only with myself. Your mother has taken on a task I’m afraid she can’t master with me, Sophie. I’m a hopeless cause.”

  “Hopelessly perfect,” Char said.

  Perfect, indeed. A perfect pickle, more like. “Gentlemen will be swimming for the continent, once I descend upon the ton.”

  Sophie laughed. “You, my dear, give yourself far too little credit.”

  Char hummed in agreement. “They’ll be beating down Peter’s door to offer for you. We’ll have to beat them off with clubs.”

  “Hardly,” Jane replied. “I can’t fathom any gentleman looking twice at me, if you’re in the room.”

  Sophie Hardwicke had to be the most beautiful creature on the face of the planet, with her perfect ivory skin dotted with a light smattering of freckles, her intensely deep blue eyes, and the most striking rich red curls Jane had ever encountered. It was a wonder she had not already been swept off the marriage mart. And Charlotte could have been her twin, were she closer in age, save for her eyes being a more green shade.