by Olivia Drake
“Her? Who?”
“The baby, of course.”
Eleanor frowned. “Why, what else would I know?”
“Quite a lot, perhaps. Beginning with the fact that you bore Marianne in secret and then left her on Miss Mayhew’s doorstep.”
“Left her? I? You think I am her mother?” The bewildered expression changed into a sorrowful look that tugged down the corners of her generous mouth. Patting her lap, Eleanor invited the poodle to sit with her. She slipped her arms around the animal, and both mistress and beast regarded Ethan with liquid brown eyes. “Oh, Chase,” she said in a subdued voice unlike her earlier exuberance. “How I wish it were true.”
“Can you prove that it isn’t?”
“Unfortunately, yes.” She cuddled the dog, pressing her cheek to his curly white coat. “I really shouldn’t tell you, though,” she said softly. “It’s something no one but my dear Harry knew, God rest his soul.”
“You can depend on me to keep quiet. And Jane. She would never betray a confidence.” He realized that was true; despite all her spinsterish foibles, Jane was one of the few people he trusted.
“You have my word of honor, Lady Esler,” Jane said earnestly.
Eleanor’s white teeth sank into her lower lip. Slowly, as if it pained her, she said, “I’d give anything to have had a little baby to love. And I almost did.” She sniffled once, then went on. “You see, shortly after my marriage twelve years ago, I gave the marquess the happiest of news, that he would be a father before the year was out. Oh, how pleased we both were! The doctor warned me to take care and rest, but…”
When Eleanor paused, Jane gently prodded, “My lady, what is it? What happened?”
“I was too rash and impetuous to lie abed all day. And I refused to give up my riding. One morning, my horse shied and I suffered a terrible fall. I … lost my baby.”
Reaching over to pat her hand, Jane clucked in sympathy. Ethan felt inadequate to comfort Eleanor. Perhaps if he hadn’t dismissed her as a shallow coquette, he might have prolonged their brief affair and learned her deepest secret. “I’m very sorry,” he said.
“That wasn’t the whole of it.” Tears seeped down Eleanor’s freckled cheeks, and she bent her coppery head, her pale hand stroking the poodle. Her voice lowered to a mournful whisper. “The doctor said … he said I would never bear another child.”
* * *
Clutching the note in her lap, Jane sat on the window seat in her bedchamber. It had grown almost too dark to read the disturbing message again, and she watched as two footmen lit the torches that lined the curved front drive. The flickering yellow flames against the deep purple dusk made the entry resemble the gateway to a fairyland. Tonight was the betrothal ball, and she felt wrenched with indecision.
From the start, she had been determined not to attend. She did not belong at the fancy gathering, no matter what Lady Rosalind said to the contrary. She wouldn’t know how to act or what to say to these sophisticated Londoners. Yet Jane couldn’t deny that a part of her longed wistfully for what could never be, and so she had let herself be carried along by the rush of preparations.
Over the past week Lady Rosalind had behaved like a general preparing her troops for battle. A regiment of housemaids had buffed and dusted and swept. An army of manservants had polished and lifted and carried. Outdoors, a battalion of gardeners had weeded and snipped and trimmed.
Jane had spent each morning closeted with a rather gloomy dancing master, who despaired of her two left feet. She had gone along with the lessons arranged by Lady Rosalind and hadn’t told the countess that she meant to stay above stairs. Jane hoped that in the crush of guests, no one would notice her absence.
Then, only half an hour ago, a footman had delivered the note that lay clutched in her hand. A flowery fragrance clung to the paper.
Though the light was nearly gone, she unfolded the sheet and read it again:
My situation grows desperate, and I must speak to Chasebourne immediately. But he refuses to receive me into his house. Thusly, during her ladyship’s ball, I shall endeavor to slip into the rear garden. At midnight, you must lure Chasebourne outside so that I may entreat him.
Please, I beg of you, do not fail me. You are my baby’s sole hope for the future, my one, my only true friend.
Portia
Jane knew she couldn’t ignore the note. She had only to think of Portia, her belly gently swollen with child, and know that she would do all in her power to help. The problem was, Ethan despised his former wife and might well refuse to lend her aid. Somehow, Jane must convince him to find charity in his heart.
Now she fervently wished she had ordered the fancy ball-gown that Lady Rosalind had selected. Then she could join the guests and not feel ashamed of her drab clothing. Instead, she would be forced to steal downstairs just before midnight. Jane assured herself it wouldn’t matter what she wore. Her task would take only a few minutes, to call Ethan outside on a pretext. Then she would have done all she could.
For now, she would go upstairs and sit with Marianne. The baby would be settling down to sleep, but Jane could sit beside the cradle and read by the light of a candle. Then she would not feel so forlorn.
Like poor Lady Esler.
Jane’s mind flashed to the widowed marchioness. For all her wealth and beauty, Lady Esler lacked a child to love. It was no wonder she doted on her pets. Was that how Jane would end up, alone, with no one who needed her?
No. Somehow, she must find a way to keep Marianne. She must convince Ethan not to give the infant back to the mother who didn’t want her.
Jane hadn’t expected to feel anything but disgust for Ethan’s discarded lovers. But now she realized these women were not all heartless hedonists; they had suffered great tragedies, too. Lady Esler, miscarrying her unborn baby. Miss Aurora Darling, separated from her beloved daughter. Lady Portia, whose future had been ruined by a single indiscretion.
The only one who had disgusted Jane was Miss Diana Russell, whom Jane and Ethan had visited a few days earlier. A celebrated actress at a theatre in Haymarket, Miss Russell was a dainty woman with an overdeveloped bosom and an underdeveloped sense of propriety. Making dramatic gestures, she convinced them that it was ludicrous to think she could have grown large with child while acting onstage nightly, ridiculous to imagine she could have given birth without missing a performance, absurd to believe she wouldn’t have gone to Ethan with her troubles. And then, despite Jane’s presence, Miss Russell had seated herself on his lap and kissed him.
Kissed him on his mouth.
Jane had wanted to sink into the floorboards. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the scandalous way Miss Russell squirmed against him, her hands sliding inside his coat, as if she couldn’t get close enough to him. The kiss had lasted less than a minute, before Ethan had set her aside with a teasing reprimand, but by then Jane had felt flushed with mortification—
“Why are you sitting there?” Lady Rosalind said.
Jane spun around on the window seat. By the light of the candle on the bedside table, she saw the countess marching into the bedroom, trailed by several maids. Surreptitiously, Jane shoved the folded note under the cushion. “My lady! I didn’t hear you knock.”
“You must have been wool-gathering. It’s no wonder, with you sitting here in the dark.” Lady Rosalind swung toward the cortege of servants and clapped her hands. “Betty, light the candles. Alice, start a fire. It should have been done an hour ago.”
Two mobcapped girls scrambled to do her bidding.
“It isn’t their fault,” Jane said. “When the maid came round earlier, I sent her away. I see no need to waste so many candles on one person.”
“Pish-posh. I must see to do my work.”
“Work?”
Smiling serenely, Lady Rosalind waved the line of servants toward the dressing room.
For the first time, Jane noticed they were carrying all manner of boxes, large and small. “What are they doing?”
“
Yes, I should like to know that, too,” Aunt Wilhelmina said from the doorway. Holding her purple dressing gown closed with one hand and her silver flask in the other, she minced into the bedroom. “I was resting before the ball, but the tramping of feet disturbed me.”
“Excellent, for it is time to rise and ready yourself,” Lady Rosalind said cheerfully. “We have but two hours before my guests arrive. And by lovely happenstance, here are Jane’s new purchases from the modiste.”
“New purchases—” Aunt Willy sputtered. “All this?”
“There must be some mistake,” Jane said, though she felt a sinking suspicion. “I ordered but one gown.”
“Shall we see what we have? Oh, I do adore opening packages.” Lady Rosalind took Jane by the arm and guided her into the dressing room, where one maid was lighting the tapers of a candalabrum and the others were unpacking gowns and shoes and hats and undergarments, in quantities that left Jane reeling.
She sank down on the stool before the dressing table. “I told you,” she said faintly, “I can ill afford so much.”
“Do not dare speak of payment,” Lady Rosalind said, bending down in a waft of violet perfume to give Jane a quick hug. “You mustn’t spoil my pleasure in giving a gift to my dear godchild. I neglected you for too many years, and now I beg you to indulge me.”
“But how can I?” Jane glanced at the bustling maids and lowered her voice. “How can I allow Ethan to pay for all this?”
“Ethan?” Aunt Willy screeched. She hobbled to a post beside the dressing-table mirror and took a sip from her flask. “No unmarried lady would accept such intimate articles from a man. And a scoundrel at that.”
“Mind, you are speaking of my son,” Lady Rosalind snapped.
Wilhelmina compressed her lips and lowered her gaze.
“And he has paid nothing,” the countess continued. “I have funds of my own, an inheritance from my father.” Her expression softened as she looked at Jane. “So do tell me you’ll accept my gift. Please.”
Jane glanced at the shimmering garments being deposited in the highboy and clothes press, and knew a flash of longing so fierce it stung her insides. Shameful or not, she harbored a secret wish for pretty, impractical garments. Besides, Lady Rosalind looked so woebegone that Jane lacked the heart to refuse. “You swear you didn’t put it on Ethan’s account?”
“Not a pence.”
“Then I thank you, my lady.” She grasped the countess’s small, soft hands. “You are very kind.”
Lady Rosalind smiled. “Kind, bah. You are Susan’s daughter, and she would wish me to introduce you to society.” She flitted behind Jane and began to unbutton her black dress. “And we should have just enough time in which to prepare you.”
Jane sprang up from the stool. “I didn’t intend to go to the ball.”
“Not go? My dear, you must go. Tell me one good reason why you cannot.”
“I don’t belong there.”
“Nonsense. You are as blue-blooded as any in the ton.”
“I haven’t mastered the dances.”
“That is just as well,” Aunt Willy said, “for you must keep me company. We shall find chairs in a quiet corner. My nerves cannot bear the loudness of music and the press of people.”
“Jane has stronger nerves, I’m sure.” The countess resumed her unbuttoning. “Besides, dancing is quite simple. Let your partner guide you.”
“I have no skill for chitchat, either,” Jane said.
“So much the better. Men love a mysterious woman.”
Was it true? Jane wondered. Certainly not. There was nothing mysterious about Ethan’s women; if anything, they were only too obvious in their assets.
“Jane is right to feel reluctant,” Aunt Willy said. “People will gossip if a woman of her advanced age flirts with young gentlemen.”
“Pish-posh,” Lady Rosalind said. “People will gossip more if a lady of her youth and charm hides in a corner with the old maids.”
“Well, I never—” Aunt Willy huffed.
“Thank you for agreeing. I know that you would never hear a harsh word said against our dear Jane.” Lady Rosalind shooed Aunt Willy toward the door. “Run along now, Wilhelmina. It has been a delight to hear your advice, but I dare keep you no longer from your own preparations.”
Once Aunt Willy had waddled out, the countess rolled her eyes heavenward. “Oh, save us from middle-aged spinsters,” she murmured. “If ever I become so annoying, you must promise to slap the sense back into me.”
Jane repressed a bubble of hysterical laughter. “Perhaps she’s right. Perhaps I shouldn’t try to be someone I’m not.”
“What balderdash. A ballroom is a woman’s battlefield. It is where she uses her wit and wisdom to win a man’s heart. And now you must don your weapons of war.”
Clapping her hands, she directed the maids to carry away the last of the empty boxes and told one of them to fetch Gianetta immediately. With a brisk command, Lady Rosalind bade Jane to step out of her old clothes.
The dowdy black gown fell into a heap, and Lady Rosalind tossed it into the corner. When Jane would have retained her coarse linen underthings, the countess sent her behind a painted screen and handed her a cambric chemise. Jane stripped down to nothing, shivering from the cool air and a rush of excitement, and pulled the chemise over her head. The soft material felt heavenly against her skin, like wearing a cloud.
“My lady, I’m ready for my gown.”
“Not quite,” the countess said, laughing. “Come out here first.”
Embarrassed, Jane crept out from behind the screen. She had never employed a personal maid and wasn’t accustomed to anyone seeing her unclothed. As she caught sight of herself in the mirror over the dressing table, she gasped. The low-cut chemise barely covered her breasts and ended just above her knees. The garment was so sheer she could see the dusky points of her bosom and lower, a dark shadow where a lady oughtn’t look at herself. She crossed her arms, but that only made the fabric pull tighter.
Her manner matter-of-fact, Lady Rosalind moved the stool and bade Jane sit, her back to the mirror. She produced a blue glass jar and a brush which she used to polish Jane’s neck and shoulders with fragrant powder. Gianetta scurried in, her dark head crowned by a white cap, her pretty features soft with the beatific contentment Jane had observed while the maid was nursing the baby.
“Is Marianne asleep?” Jane asked.
Gianetta made a rocking motion with her arms. “Sleep, si, like angela mio.”
“I must go to check on her,” Jane said, rising from the stool. “Sometimes she’s fretful and awakens during the evening—”
“A nursemaid will watch over Marianne for the night,” Lady Rosalind said, pushing Jane back down. “Which leaves you free to attend the ball and Gianetta time to practice her other skills.”
The two set to work. While the countess blended coralline salve over Jane’s lips and cheeks, Gianetta pulled out the pins holding Jane’s tight bun and, with a heated wand, curled her long, straight locks. There was more brushing and pinning and primping; then they laced her into a long buckram corset until Jane felt breathless, as if her innards were being squeezed out the top. She tried to protest, but they were tying on petticoats and then instructing her to step into a fine gown, the very one she had seen sketched in La Belle Assemblée. She marveled at the delicacy of it, the luxurious richness. At last, Gianetta brought forth a pair of lace gloves while Lady Rosalind took one last critical look. Her brow furrowed, she touched the gold locket at Jane’s throat.
“Why does this look familiar?” the countess asked.
“It was my mother’s. The portraits of my parents are inside.”
“May I see?” At Jane’s nod, Lady Rosalind carefully opened the clasp. For a long moment she stared at the miniatures, the dark-haired lady and smiling gentleman. When she closed the locket and looked up, her eyes swam with unshed tears. “My dear Susan. How I do miss her. She would be so proud of you tonight.”
Jan
e’s throat felt thick as the countess enveloped her in a brief hug, and then turned her toward the mirror. “Voilà,” she murmured. “A beauty is born.”
The branch of candles on the dressing table cast a golden glow on the figure in the looking glass. Jane blinked, then blinked again, forgetting all about the locket. Was that really her? A tumble of copper-tinged curls softened her strong features. Tall and slender, she had a swanlike neck and pretty white shoulders in contrast to the dark green gown with its underskirt of pale sea-foam silk. The close-fitting bodice, cut low enough to make her blush, displayed decidedly feminine curves.
Jane forgot she could scarcely breathe. She forgot that she despised cosmetics and artificial enhancements. She felt imbued with amazement, filled with a glow of energy and excitement. Was she dreaming? If she was, then she wanted the dream to go on and on.
“I always admired your height,” Lady Rosalind said, tapping her forefinger against her chin. “It is far easier to dance gracefully when your legs are long.”
The countess was envying Jane? The world indeed had gone topsy-turvy. “Oh, but I’m not graceful,” Jane protested. “I’ll step on my partner’s toes.”
“You shan’t do much damage in these.” The countess motioned Gianetta forward, and the maid knelt to place a pair of embroidered green slippers onto Jane’s feet. “But remember, no waltzing until I secure you a voucher to Almack’s. A young lady is expected to waltz there first, only when approved by that tedious Lady Jersey.”
“I’ll remember.”
“And keep in mind that elegance is all in how you regard yourself. If you wish to be graceful, then believe that you are.” The countess stood on tiptoe to straighten the green ribbon woven into Jane’s hair. “Besides, you have wit and wisdom, which is more than I can say for most young ladies.”
“I’ll do my best.” Jane trembled to imagine the evening, which now sparkled with fairy-tale possibilities. On impulse, she kissed her benefactress on the cheek. “Thank you ever so much.”
She had always felt secure in her intelligence, competent in her quiet life back in Wessex, able to accomplish any task set before her. Yet here in London, she had entered a whole new world. Ethan’s world.