“Oh, pish. None of them bother with me anymore. I’ve already rejected the suits of nearly half the beau monde.” She brushed a stray lock behind her ear. “The rest are either too afraid to approach me, or too ignorant to realize I’m the best thing that could ever happen to them. Or the worst. Whichever the case may be.”
Charlotte snorted inelegantly. “I think most would fall into that first category.”
Jane couldn’t imagine having turned away so many suitors. In her entire life, she’d only had one, and he’d been an overbearing imbecile on the best of days.
“Why did you reject so many?” she asked.
“I doubt I can recall my reasons for each of them, Jane. This has been going on for a good number of years, you know.”
“Don’t try to paint yourself in a better light, now,” said Charlotte. She looked at Jane with a serious expression, nodding for emphasis. “They simply didn’t measure up.”
“Measure up to what?”
Charlotte and Sophie looked at each other, raising eyebrows in turn. “Well?” Char finally prodded.
Still, Sophie remained silent. She even bit her tongue—literally.
Char sighed. “They didn’t measure up to her idea of the perfect man. She refuses to marry anyone who is less than what she wants.”
“I’d say that is sound reasoning,” Jane said. Why justify settling? Especially if, like Sophie, one had an ample fortune at her beck and call. Jane honestly couldn’t fathom why more women of means didn’t remain unmarried and happy.
“See?” replied Sophie, frowning across at her sister. “She agrees with me.”
Char returned the frown. “And she is also well on her way to becoming a spinster.”
Sophie laughed. “That’s true. But that wouldn’t be the worst thing that could happen to me. Far from it. It’s a choice.”
“It would be my choice, too,” Jane said with a longing sigh. Her eyes widened when the ladies across from her each lifted a brow.
Oh, drat. She oughtn’t to have said anything. Now they’d have questions and want to know why she desired no beaux. If she wasn’t careful, she’d tell them absolutely everything without meaning to tell them anything at all.
Change the subject. She needed to change the subject. Now, before they asked her questions. “Sophie,” she said, “do you think Miss Bentley would like me to make some gowns for her? I couldn’t help but notice she wasn’t fitted at Miss Jenkins’s shop…” There. That was surely a safe topic. The urge to breathe a sigh of relief struck her, but she refrained through sheer determination.
“Of course,” Sophie said with smiling eyes, clapping her hands together. “Mama told us you’re quite the seamstress.” She looked to Charlotte. “If Jane can sew Esther some gowns, she could possibly afford some nicer fabrics. I think that is a brilliant plan.”
“Brilliant…stupendous…perfect!” Char said.
Jane grinned. “I even have a bit of fabric we could use to start with. They’re just over...er...that is, they’re behind the bureau over there.”
Double drat. Why had she mentioned the fabrics at all? And even worse, why had she admitted to them being behind the bureau? This was not good. Not good at all.
Sophie moved across to the bureau, eyeing Jane all the while, and then peeked behind it. “Good Lord. This is not just ‘a bit of fabric.’ You have silks, muslins, lawn. This is quite the supply.” She bent over and came up with the lot of it in her hands. “What were you planning to use all of this for?”
“Just a bit of practice,” Jane replied, a touch too fast. “But it would be best to practice on something someone will actually use. So I thought...I thought I could sew some gowns for Miss Bentley with these fabrics. If she wants.” She shrugged when Char and Sophie both gawked over at her.
Sophie narrowed her eyes. “Mm hmm.”
“I’m sure she would be thrilled for your assistance,” Charlotte murmured, mimicking her sister’s narrowed eyes.
“Lovely.” This whole secrecy plan didn’t seem to be working as well as she had hoped.
“Lovely, indeed,” said Sophie. She left it alone there, but didn’t appear at all happy about it.
Jane would most definitely need to be more aware of what she revealed to both Charlotte and Sophie. She doubted either one of them would keep a secret from the other.
For that matter, she was beginning to doubt whether she could keep a secret from them.
~ * ~
Good gracious, the duke seemed to be taking drastic measures to avoid Jane’s company since her arrival.
Of course he claimed to have some dreadful business that kept him occupied and unable to spend a reasonable amount of time with his family. But Jane knew, without a doubt, that it was all a lie.
Why, she had caught him one day in the nursery, playing with his children when she went to check on Mr. Cuddlesworth, who had quite irrevocably attached himself to little Sarah since their arrival. On that visit, she had found His Grace on the floor, forming blocks into something that rather resembled a fortress, with his two children serving as assistants. She peeked further into the room to discover Mr. Cuddlesworth napping in his basket (which was carefully situated directly in a stream of sunlight pouring in through the windows, she noted) while Mrs. Pratt caught a bit of shut eye in an old chair in the corner.
Based on the elaborate design of the fortress, Jane would be surprised if the duke hadn’t been with the children for hours at that point. And all the while, he claimed to be locked away in his library, poring over his ledgers. Balderdash!
Granted, he didn’t realize she’d caught him in the act. Jane pulled the door closed as quietly as she had opened it—and the children were making a good deal of noise, as happy children tend to do. Her intrusion had gone entirely unnoticed by the lot of them, not the least of which being her cat.
Another time, a few days after that first incident, Jane had made her way through the halls of Hardwicke House to join Cousin Henrietta and her daughters for tea. As had become his custom, at least since Jane’s arrival, the duke had declined and claimed he must meet with his secretary to go over these supposed “business” concerns. But how could that be the case when she’d seen Mr. Forrester, the duke’s secretary, donning his beaver hat and coat in the front hallway and taking his leave just as the ladies had convened in the parlor for tea?
Jane thought it less than prudent to point out to his family the lengths to which the man had gone in order to avoid her company—because what else could be the cause of his sudden avoidance of all of them, if not her own attendance at those very functions?—so she just tucked those tidbits away for future use, should she need them.
While she had seen very little of the head of the Hardwicke family during her fortnight’s stay in London, however, she had spent a great deal of time with the two sisters, Esther, and Cousin Henrietta. Even Lord Neil, the youngest of the brothers, joined them on occasion. On the day of their first meeting, he had strolled in to the breakfast room, still dressed from the previous evening, with longish, heavily tousled auburn hair and bleary eyes that struggled to remain open.
Lord Neil passed her a rakish grin and winked at her.
She liked him immediately.
He didn’t, however, spend time with the females of the family on any sort of regular basis.
Actually, Lord Neil Hardwicke seemed to keep rather odd hours, coming when most people were going and vice versa. “Don’t mind my comings and goings overmuch, Miss Matthews,” he had told her upon one occasion, again giving her that devilish smile...the very one she had since discovered proved he was up to no good. “No one else does, to be sure.”
Indeed, he seemed to be correct in that assumption. Much more import was placed on the frequent absence of His Grace than the far less frequent, though admittedly sporadic, absences of Lord Neil.
The duke’s absences would now be forced to come to a close, however, as the dowager assured Jane and the Hardwicke sisters that her son would be acc
ompanying them to all of their numerous and infinitely important social engagements.
Well, almost all. His Grace wasn’t present for Jane’s presentation to the Queen. Truth be told, she was rather grateful for that fact.
It had been nerve-wracking enough to be forced to wear such a dated and ostentatious design, however lovely the stitchery may be. And then to have to make her curtsy (without falling all over herself, she might add) to the queen, and back out of Her Blasted Majesty’s presence (still without tripping).
To have that odious man present might have been enough to do Jane in.
As things stood, she made it through the ordeal without making a cake of herself in front of the queen, instead doing so before all of the other ladies waiting in the hall for their turn to curtsy to Her Majesty after Jane’s turn had passed. The blasted gown boasted simply too many flounces, ruffles, and petticoats. They got all tangled with her legs, and she took quite the spill.
She would have been mortified if the duke had been present to see such a fiasco. It was bad enough doing it in front of Charlotte, who was also being presented to the queen, and Cousin Henrietta. In fact, Jane shivered even now thinking back upon it.
But her presentation to the queen had passed, and now she must prepare for her presentation to the ton at the ball given by Lord and Lady Bodham-Smythe at Turnsley Hall.
And he would escort them.
The idea of being surrounded by hordes of lords and ladies too high in the instep to take notice of her since she was merely a miss was bad enough, but when she must be escorted to such an affair by a man who clearly detested spending time in her presence—well, it was perhaps the most lowering situation she could imagine.
Jane hoped Lord Neil would choose to attend at least some of the events she would be forced to attend. Unlike his elder brother, he at least bothered to smile and speak to her when he saw her, usually.
She doubted that any of the other gentlemen at this ball, or any of them through the entire Season for that matter, would condescend enough to dance or converse with her. But Lord Neil would. Jane was certain of it. Perhaps even without being goaded into it by his mother, unlike his eldest brother.
Then she wouldn’t have to feel like such an abysmal failure.
Not that she wanted to succeed on the marriage mart. Far from it. But being shunned simply due to her father’s lack of title was not exactly her idea of a pleasant way to spend her evenings for months on end.
Jane supposed this evening could surprise her. The entire affair might not be as bad as she made it out in her head. She should go to Turnsley Hall with an open mind, with no ideas in her head about what to expect.
But that would simply leave her open for huge disappointment when everything turned out just as she expected.
Still—better to expect a pickle than to think one was biting into a peach.
Chapter Five
Sitting crouched behind a prickly bush in front of Bodham-Smythe’s mansion was not exactly the manner in which Warwick Turnpenny, Viscount Utley had imagined spending his night. However, in order to discover exactly what he needed to know, he had few alternatives. Graciously, the cover of night and a smattering of clouds in the sky allowed him to remain hidden there far better than he could have done during the day.
After what felt like hours, he finally saw what he’d been waiting over an hour for: the Duke of Somerton’s crested carriage rolled into the drive and came to a stop.
Utley had heard rumors that Somerton was rejoining the marriage mart this Season. Indeed, Phinny had even mentioned the possibility. He needed to see it with his own eyes, though. Rumor was not nearly enough.
The outrider came around and set down the steps, and then plain as day, Somerton stepped down. He turned and handed down the dowager and both his sisters.
But he didn’t stop there. Somerton reached his bloody cursed hand back into the carriage, and down stepped a woman Utley hadn’t seen before—a blonde with a few too many curves for his taste. Somerton placed her hand in the crook of his arm, patting it and keeping it snug, then held out his other for the dowager. He led the party up the steps into the grand townhouse.
His heart raced in his chest at the sight of her. Not that she was pretty or fair enough to cause such a reaction in him. Far from it, actually. But because of what she represented.
Vengeance. And maybe, just maybe, a solution to his financial woes. Phinny could only do so much, after all.
Once the damned Hardwickes were inside the doors and the carriage had pulled off down the road, Utley took another surreptitious look around to be sure no one was watching him. Then he straightened, stepped out from the bushes, brushed the debris from his evening attire, and darted around back to the servants’ entrance.
~ * ~
“You will of course reserve the first set for me, won’t you?” The Duke of Somerton’s rather awkward attempt at a request, at least to Jane’s mind, came across more like a command. He wore an almost sheepish and quizzical look upon his face.
He wanted to dance with her? Cousin Henrietta must have orchestrated this. Jane couldn’t imagine he would actually want to dance with her.
“Er...yes, Your...er, Peter, that is. I mean Your Grace. Oh, bugger it, what am I supposed to call you?” She ignored the looks of sheer curiosity and open incredulity upon the faces of some nearby onlookers—surely gossips desperate to spread news of her blunders to all and sundry at the first opportunity. Let them have at it. This would be the least of her mistakes this evening, she was certain.
The fact remained that if he were any other duke—anyone other than a cousin of some sort—she wouldn’t be so confused. But the familiarity she held with the remainder of his family left her befuddled as to the proper form of address for Lord High-in-the-Instep.
“Your Grace is perfectly acceptable.” Of course it was. She should have known he’d expect more formality than his siblings.
He glanced around, his eyes darting from one side of the grand ballroom to another. Finally, they settled in one general area before he turned to his party. “You’ll excuse me, please. Miss Matthews, I’ll return to collect you before the first set begins.” Then he executed a perfect, if rather hasty, bow and walked away from them.
“Why gracious heavens,” said Charlotte, “One would think it was his debut and not ours, Jane, if one didn’t know better. I can’t say when the last time I saw Peter so anxious might be. If ever!”
“What do you think that have been about, Mama?” asked Sophie. “He was all out of sorts. I’ve never seen the like of it.” She narrowed her eyes in thought, then lowered her voice so no one could overhear. “He’s always so...so...calm. This is highly irregular.”
Cousin Henrietta followed her eldest son’s path with shrewd eyes before turning them on Jane. “I haven’t the first inkling what’s going on in his head this evening.” The dowager’s denial was less than convincing, but Jane kept such thoughts to herself. “Now, Sophia. You will do your best this evening to secure a match, won’t you? Excellent.”
Sophie and Charlotte waited until the dowager was scanning the crowd before they simultaneously rolled their eyes to the heavens.
Unaware of their reactions, or at least unaffected by their less-than-enthusiastic responses, Cousin Henrietta continued. “I’ll be quite busy this evening with introducing Jane and Charlotte about and being certain they’re well received. Sophia, you’ll have to see to your own affairs for the most part, of course. I have, of course, asked Peter to help me keep an eye on you both as well. It’s quite an undertaking, I’m sure you understand, to have two debutantes to introduce at the first ball of the Season.” With a rather pointed look at her eldest daughter, she finished with, “I should much prefer to have only had these two charges to look after, you know.”
Before she could continue with her lecture, a handsome dark-haired gentleman joined their group. He bowed to them each in turn and smiled broadly. “Your Grace, Lady Sophia, Lady Charlotte. Might I beg
an introduction to the lovely young lady in your care?”
“Why, of course, Lord Sinclaire. Meet my distant cousin, Miss Matthews. Jane, this is the Earl of Sinclaire. This rascal has ever been in and out of my home, since my sons were all just boys.” Cousin Henrietta positively beamed as she spoke. “Miss Matthews has joined us for the Season, my lord.”
His dark, almost black eyes smiled at Jane from beneath heavy lids. “Might I be lucky enough to beg your hand for the first dance?” He winked up at her before rising again.
What a Lothario. She had expected to secure only a very few dance partners for the night, instead primarily gracing the walls, but things were not turning out according to her plans. Jane nearly laughed out loud and was certain she hadn’t concealed the amusement from her face. She’d never been able to, drat it all.
“Lord Sinclaire, I fear I’ve already promised the first set, but I would gladly dance the second set with you.”
“Somerton?” he asked, furrowing his brow in a keen impersonation of displeasure. When Jane nodded, he continued. “The duke is a lucky man, indeed, to have secured the first to dance with the loveliest debutante in the room. I suppose I’ll have to settle for the second set then.”
Then he turned to Sophie, who was grinning from ear to ear at Jane with a wicked gleam in her eyes. “Lady Sophia, might I console myself in your arms for the first set, since your brother had the advantage over me?”
She nodded slyly as a swarm of other gentlemen moved in to request introductions and ask the young ladies to dance. Lord Sinclaire secured Charlotte’s hand for the third set.
It was all becoming rather overwhelming.
Candelabras and chandeliers sprinkled a shimmer across the revelers throughout the ballroom, though it was not quite as grand as that at Hardwicke House. The scent of lilies and roses in full bloom assailed Jane’s nostrils, from where they filled marble pots and dotted the floor everywhere the eye might rest. Fine silk and lace draped tables, filled with even more flowers and candles, flowing over until they almost showered down to the floor. And everywhere Jane turned, elegant ladies and handsome gentlemen strolled about, dressed in their finest and bedecked with more jewels than Croesus had a right to own.
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