“You saw her only a week ago, silly,” Sophie said. “That hardly signifies as an age.”
“Has it only been a week? Oh dear, it felt like far longer than that.”
During their exchange, Jane remained seated—and Cousin Henrietta finally took note. “Are you not going with the girls, Jane?” The two Hardwicke sisters turned to her in shock (or in feigned shock, as the case may be) to discover what was going on.
Jane’s stomach churned on the lie she was about to tell. “I don’t think I ought to go, ma’am. I’m feeling a bit faint. Perhaps it would be better if I go take a lie-down for a bit. I would hate to be ill tonight and unable to attend my own ball.” She hoped her face reflected the green she was feeling at the prospect of escaping through her second-floor window.
“Oh, dear. You do look a bit off-color. Ought we to send for a doctor?” Cousin Henrietta rushed over to feel her forehead with the back of her hand. “No fever,” she muttered under her breath.
“Mama, I believe Jane is just feeling a bit nervous about the ball,” Sophie said matter-of-factly. “It’s rather overwhelming for her, you know. Why, the entire Season is so very different from what she was accustomed to in Whitstable. I think a lie-down is precisely what she needs to be in top form for the evening.”
“Yes, that’s likely all it is,” Jane agreed. “Just a bit of rest will do the trick.” Please let her accept that answer and drop the subject.
“Oh, but the Marlborough sisters will miss you dreadfully,” Charlotte said. “We will assure them there’s no reason for concern, of course.”
“Do you need help getting up to your chamber, dear?” asked the dowager.
“No,” Jane responded a bit too quickly. Breathe. It will be all right. “No, I can manage on my own, thank you. I’ll just have Meg wake me in time to prepare for the evening, if that’s all right with you.”
“Of course, dear. And just ring your bell if you need anything before then. Meg will take care of anything.”
Jane walked up the stairs as slowly as she could manage, until she was positive no one was watching her. She darted into her room and informed Meg she was not to be woken for a minimum of three hours (and prayed that would give her enough time to return to Hardwicke House without being caught), then shut herself into the room and looked at the clock.
Two-thirteen. Only moments to spare.
Before she had regained her breath and slowed her pulse from racing upstairs, a light tapping sounded at the window. When she pulled back the curtains, Neil stood before her on the tiny balcony ledge, a mischievous sparkle in his eyes.
Jane unlatched the window pane and pushed it up.
“Your chariot awaits, my lady,” he said.
“You’re rather prompt. But how did...how did you...?” Then she looked down at the ladder he had found God-only-knew where, perched against the side of the house. It ran down the length of the mansion and stopped directly next to an enclosed carriage. Or, to be more precise, next to the horses pulling the enclosed carriage. “Oh, my.” She closed her eyes for a moment and tried to remember to breathe.
Neil winked at her. “Come along, sweet Jane. We haven’t got all day, now, have we? Lucky for us, your suite is on the back side of the house, so we should be able to get away without being seen. Unless you’ve changed your mind, of course.”
“I won’t be changing my mind.”
“Not even with the horses?” he asked with a chuckle.
She merely glared and gathered her reticule.
He held the window up while she climbed out, trying not to rip her gown as she hoisted her legs through the open frame, but also trying not to reveal too much of her stocking-clad leg to him. This was all highly irregular, and far more inappropriate than anything she had ever in her life imagined.
And maybe just the tiniest bit exciting.
The balcony was so small that in order for them both to stand upon it, they were almost touching each other.
“Will you be able to climb down on your own, or should I carry you?”
Her cheeks must have flamed at the thought of him carrying her. But to climb herself, she would have to look down at the horses the entire way so as not to lose her footing.
No, she was a grown woman. She could do this. “I can climb. Go on, get going.”
Within seconds, he had leapt over the ledge and scurried to the ground. When she looked down at him again, he gestured for her to come along then held the wobbly contraption steady for her.
The banister was waist-high. Jane cringed, thinking of how high her skirts would have to be raised to get over the railing, but there was nothing to be done for it. So, she raised up her gown and held her skirts with one hand, then used the other to balance as she tossed first one, then the other leg over the side and steadied her feet on the rickety ladder.
A low whistle reached her from below, and she sent Neil her best scowl...then wished she had done nothing of the sort, since it put the horses back directly in her line of view. Blasted animals. If only they weren’t so necessary for everyday life.
Before she could change her mind, she lowered her feet one at a time, grasping onto the rungs of the ladder with the one hand for dear life and still holding her skirts with the other, so as not to tangle a foot in them. Thankfully, she was at the ground in short order.
“I daresay, my dear, that was rather the prettiest sight I’ve seen in weeks. I can hardly wait to see it again when we return.”
She had half a mind to slap the man for his impertinence before she thought better of it. They only had a few hours. She really must be on her way, and what would she do without his help? Even just getting back up to her chamber was an impossibility without his assistance.
Instead of striking him, then, she turned on her heels and stalked to the waiting carriage. Which would have been much easier to do had she remembered to let go of her skirts and loosen her grip on the ladder.
Since she did not remember to perform those rather pertinent things, the ladder came falling on top of her as she landed in a twisted heap on the ground. Drat. Not quite the haughty exit she had intended.
Even worse, Neil chose that moment to drop his roguish demeanor and play the gallant gentleman. He deftly removed the ladder from her person, placed it against the wall of Hardwicke House again, and then offered her his hand. “Might I assist you up, ma’am?” His voice held a polished, refined tone, even with a mocking twinkle in his eyes.
Why, exactly, had she ever agreed to Sophie’s hare-brained idea?
Whatever the reason, it was irrelevant. She took his hand and allowed him to assist her to her feet, then straightened her skirts about her legs and climbed aboard the carriage—careful not to accept his aid this time.
And finally, they were on their way. When they arrived at Bond Street, Neil agreed to wait for her return in the carriage and not chase after her to discover her dealings.
She met with Mr. Selwood, who took her to visit three different shops. The first two were a bit too dusty and cramped, too poorly lit, and entirely unacceptable in almost every imaginable way.
But the third was about as close to perfect as Jane ever dreamed she would find. It stood on a corner, and had windows all along the front and the side, allowing ample daylight to stream in and light her work—and allowing plenty of room to display her wares for potential clients.
An area in the back would need only minimal work to suit as a dressing area, where the ladies who came for fittings could try on their new garments and Jane could work with her pins to finalize all of the stitchery. Off to one side, a countertop was laid out where Sophie could operate, dealing with all of the bookkeeping and such, and keeping an eye on comings and goings while Jane was busy with her sewing.
So of course, she said to Mr. Selwood after being shown this third and final shop on the tour: “I’ll take it!” Her grin was so wide that the corners of her lips felt like they might crack, but she didn’t care.
She was becoming a business
owner.
They settled all of the details, but for its location and nicities, Jane believed she was coming out on top in terms of the rents she would have to pay. She had more than enough saved to pay for the first year’s rents on the building, and still plenty set aside for buying her supplies. She could open her doors sooner than she had ever allowed herself to anticipate.
Well, there was still the slight snag of convincing Cousin Henrietta (and her parents, but they could wait) that she should be allowed to go about it.
Still, after the matter of Charlotte and Jane’s come-out ball was in the past, then Jane and Sophie could work on buying their supplies and setting up the shop. She imagined they could be open for business by the middle of the Season—or the end of it at the very latest. Which would be in time to work on autumn and winter garments for her new clients.
This was all working out just splendidly.
She was still beaming when she returned to Neil in his carriage, but he kept his promise to her and asked her no questions. When they returned to Hardwicke House, she still had half an hour to spare before Meg would return to wake her from her nap.
She climbed the ladder to her chamber with a touch more decorum than she had displayed when descending. Neil spared her the humiliation of showing off her legs in their entirety again by providing her with the equally as embarrassing humiliation of scurrying up the ladder behind her and lifting her over the railing.
Jane was far too excited to be too upset with him, however, so she gave him a chaste kiss on his cheek and thanked him for his assistance.
“Any time, sweet Jane,” he said, and rushed down the ladder to clean up the evidence of their excursion and be off.
Oh, she simply couldn’t wait to tell Sophie the news.
Chapter Thirteen
“You look simply divine, miss,” Meg said as she placed the finishing touches on Jane’s hair. Somehow, as usual, Meg had tamed the mess of curls into a smooth, bouncy coiffure that Jane would have never accomplished on her own. A few tendrils were strategically left out of the knot to frame her face and trail along the nape of her neck.
Her excitement from the afternoon had yet to wear off, and her skin was glowing back at her from the mirror, contrasting nicely against a peachy-pink silk. They had chosen (or rather Cousin Henrietta and Sophie had selected) this one because of its simplicity—no extra bobs or adornments tonight.
Jane would shine in her natural glory on this night. Her night. The night of this silly come-out ball thrown in her honor, which she would just as well skip in its entirety.
Oh, all right. She was not quite as callous as that. There was just a hint of excitement coursing through her over the prospect of a fete thrown just for her.
The rush of exhilaration over securing a storefront for her modiste shop, however, threatened to extinguish any frisson of emotion still burning over the upcoming ball.
She had yet to tell Sophie any of her news. There’d been no time, with the other girls returning from the Marlborough sisters’ house and then all of them needing to dress for the evening.
Their celebration of impending independence would simply have to wait.
A knock sounded at the door and Meg hurried over to open it. Cousin Henrietta and her two daughters stood in the hall, beaming with excitement.
Three pairs of eyes looked her over, up and down, examining every detail.
“You’re ready, then,” Sophie said with a brisk nod. “Come along. Peter’s already fuming downstairs about how long it takes the females of his family to dress.”
“We must be downstairs before the first guests arrive,” Cousin Henrietta said. She spun and hurried along the hall, her long, royal blue gown breezing behind in her wake. “Let’s be going, then. It’s time to form the reception line.” The dowager didn’t wait to see if they would follow her.
Sophie took hold of Jane’s hand and led her along behind her younger sister, leaving a small buffer between them. “Are things settled?” she asked, quiet enough that no one else could hear the question.
The smile that built inside her bubbled over. Good Lord, she couldn’t be expected to keep the news quiet if she had to answer. Instead, she merely nodded her head. Anything more might alert the servants that the house was afire if not something even more disturbing.
Sophie squeezed her hand in promise that they would discuss their new business venture more fully in the wee hours of the morning.
Now was certainly not the time.
~ * ~
Even with his house full to bursting with the quality of London, Peter could scarcely take his eyes from Jane.
She almost glowed tonight. Her smile—a true smile, shining clear through to her eyes and beyond—had never left her face, not even for a moment.
He had never seen anything more beautiful. Well, perhaps, his sweet Sarah on every moment of every day.
But this? This was different, by far. Jane was no child.
Somehow, the minx even stood out from the décor of Hardwicke House. The grand ballroom was filled with flowers and candles at every turn, the floral scent even somehow banishing the usual malodorous nature of town. The chandelier overhead and the wall sconces bounced flickers of gold over everything beneath them until the whole room was awash in their radiance.
After Peter’s dance with her, Peter checked with Mama to be certain Jane would not lack for partners.
Mama looked at him without bothering to hide her disdain. “Heavens, of course her card is full.”
The minx’s dance card was plastered with names of nearly every gentleman present, and he couldn’t arrange for a second set with her. Neither could he dance more than once with either of his sisters. So, Peter instead tried to fill as many sets as possible with contentedly married ladies of the ton. He had to congratulate himself on his success. Only two sets this evening would he be free—and for those he would scour the walls to find a wallflower and make her evening by asking her to dance.
Mama couldn’t find fault with him. Not tonight.
At the moment, he was waltzing with Lady Fontaine, a newlywed fully enamored of her husband. He sincerely tried to converse with her, but realized he was doing a poor job of the task when she offered, “Your Grace, I do hope you’ll have the opportunity to dance with Miss Matthews again this evening. She seems to hold your rapt attention.” She trilled a laugh at his dropped jaw. “I daresay you are unable to fool anyone tonight about where your affections lie.”
Deuce take it.
Sinclaire was waltzing with Jane, sweeping her through the throng so that her skirts swayed about her hips and legs in a decidedly enticing manner. A manner that drew Peter’s gaze and held it firmly locked in its grasp.
“My affections?” He nearly choked on the words.
Lady Fontaine gave him a consolatory smile. “Of course. You do know how the tongues of the gossip mill tend to wag.”
“But there’s nothing for them to wag about, my lady, I can assure you.”
“You, sir, are quite mistaken.”
“Quite?”
“Quite.” Lady Fontaine nodded and sent the plume over her head bobbing as though to emphasize her point.
Blast it, they’d send him to parson’s mousetrap if they could. “Surely something must have been taken out of context, then. Or exaggerated. I can assure you, there’s no reason for the gossips to be talking about me and Miss Matthews.”
They spun around the floor and passed by Sinclaire and Jane again. He could almost smell the peach scent always present when she was in the room, even though several feet remained between them. His head involuntarily turned in her direction.
“And I can assure you that the way you look at Miss Matthews is more than enough to engage the gossip mill. Add to that how you walked with her alone for so long at Vauxhall on a recent excursion, and the rumors are compounded. And then one might also include the fact that she has been living beneath your roof for the entire Season in one’s estimation of things, and what other
conclusion must one draw? Such a thing only increases the voices speaking of the two of you tenfold.”
“Yes, she’s been living in my home—along with my mother and sisters, not to mention countless servants. Our association has been properly chaperoned at every turn.”
“Nevertheless, there are rumors. Those rumors are only fueled by your fixation with the lady in question, Your Grace.” Lady Fontaine fell silent for a moment, eyeing him with pity. “It would not truly be the worst future fate could hand you, would it? She is quite lovely, and rather refreshing. One could never meet a lady of the ton quite so unhampered by social dictates.” She drew closer and lowered her voice. “Why, just the other day I was conversing with Miss Matthews and Lord Sinclaire, and she dared to talk about how constraining her corset was. It was shocking, to say the least. But really, why must we only speak of the weather and embroidery?”
“Indeed.” No matter how engaging Jane might be, Peter didn’t need rumors floating through the beau monde about the two of them. The thought of yet again being forced into a marriage—a marriage which clearly neither of them desired—was dreadful.
Lady Fontaine smiled, leaving only slits of her eyes showing. “Really, sir, you should not fight so hard. Love will take you, whether you consent or not.”
~ * ~
Lady Plumridge, a chubby old harridan with hair as ugly and gray as her eyes, met him outside in the courtyard of Hardwicke House at the appointed time. “Well, Utley? I’ve not got all night, you know. You said you would make this worth my while.”
He pulled another drag of his cheroot and eyed her. Blasted fussy woman. But he needed her. At least for tonight. Tomorrow she could crawl into a pile of horse manure and die if it would make her happy. He certainly wouldn’t be bothered by such a turn of events.
“It will be worth your while. You’ll have the scandal of the Season so you can finally best that twit, Lady Kibblewhite. But shut your damned mouth for two more minutes while I finish my smoke, and then we’ll get on with it.”
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