by Holly Newman
Lady Elsbeth wished it were always spring and summer for Jane. That would be her campaign.
"Speaking of dinner, I had best turn myself over to Mrs. O'Rourke, or she will be prophesying a late appearance on my account!"
Lady Elsbeth looked down at the ornate gold worked watch pinned to her bodice. "Oh dear me, yes. I hadn’t realized time had grown so short! I had better move smartly if I wish to be ready before our guests." Grabbing her skirts, she lifted them slightly to hurry down the long hall.
Her hand on the latch to her own room, Jane watched her aunt, a loving smile softening her features. Too often Lady Elsbeth adopted matronly airs. It was good to see she could at times give way to youthful impetuousness.
Millicent Hedgeworth had never been given to early, or even timely appearances. She was a woman who loved making grand, late entrances in order to garner attention. It was with surprise then, that Jane found her dressed and seated (or rather, ornamentally draped) upon a settee in the parlor. The twilight sun streaming in the floor-to-ceiling window caught red-gold highlights in her brunette hair, creating a halo around her head. Her face was in soft, flattering shadow. She was dressed in a rose silk gown trimmed with pearls, lace, and knots of pale pink and moss-green ribbons. The low décolletage revealed more than it covered of her creamy white breasts. A patterned silk shawl of black, green, and rose was draped negligently on one shoulder, but fell in a pool of shimmering color across her other arm. It was a pose to send a painter into raptures. Not being a painter, Jane was more amused than moved.
It occurred to her that in some ways she and her cousin were really alike, for she also dressed for effect. After nodding to Millicent, Jane took a seat near the fireplace in a straight-backed Elizabethan chair of massive, regal proportions. It was a chair to match her regal, aloof manner. Her gown was similarly chosen. It was of deep forest-green with only the glint of silver embroidery relieving its austere design. In her more shadowed portion of the room, Jane appeared remote and inviolate.
The silence stretched between the women. Jane sat relaxed, a wax statue of a queen on her throne. Millicent’s pose grew cramped, and she began to fidget.
"So, cousin, how many are we to expect to your country entertainments?" Millicent asked, running the fringe of her shawl through her fingers.
"The table was set for eighteen. Besides your party and Lady Elsbeth and myself, we expect the Culpeppers, the Ponsbys, Reverend Chitterdean—Mrs. Chitterdean is laid low with a cold she caught from their maid—and I believe Lord Royce and his guest. At least they have not written their regrets, and I doubt Lord Royce to be a man to overlook his manners in that way."
Millicent chuckled deep in her throat. "La, cousin, but you are naive. The Earl of Royce is not a man to worry about social niceties!"
Jane smiled faintly. "Perhaps."
Millicent frowned at Jane’s complacency but was forestalled in questioning her further by the arrival of Lady Elsbeth and Lady Serena on the arms of a broadly smiling Mr. Raymond Burry.
Mr. Burry stopped on the threshold, his smile turning smug. "I see I am a fortunate man to be the only gentleman available to entertain four lovelies." He inhaled deeply, his waistcoat straining at its buttons, then exhaled. "That heaven should contain such bliss."
Jane and Elsbeth exchanged glances. What made Mr. Burry even more amusing was that Serena’s and Millicent’s demeanor made it obvious they took such fulsome compliments as their due!
Lady Elsbeth allowed herself to be led to a chair opposite Jane while Mr. Burry steered Lady Serena to another settee long enough to seat them both comfortably.
"I’ve requested Cook to set back dinner a half hour so Lord and Lady Willoughby and Sir Helmsdon do not feel too rushed," Lady Elsbeth told Jane.
"That was probably wise regardless. What with Mrs. Chitterdean now ill, I doubt Reverend Chitterdean will be prompt. She keeps him organized and on time, I dare say he’d even be late for Sunday service if it weren’t for her good offices." Jane turned toward Lady Serena. "Will you be staying through the weekend? Reverend Chitterdean does deliver a fine sermon."
"Our plans are as yet indefinite."
"Oh, but I thought you were only stopping here on your way through to Brighton. That you had some other commitments there."
"Well, yes—"
"Brighton?" boomed out Mr. Burry.
"Burry," interrupted Lady Serena.
He laughed jovially, ignoring Lady Serena. "Oh, no Miss Grantley. You must have misunderstood. Penwick Park’s not on the road to Brighton."
"Burry!" hissed Lady Serena, tugging at his arm.
"What? Oh, ah, I see the right of it now, you sly puss. You were too embarrassed to admit to family feeling." He patted her arm. "I know it's unfashionable these days to care for one’s relations, but I never held with these newfangled notions," he assured her, thrusting out his lower lip and shaking his head. "Modern manners aren’t what they used to be. Fashions neither. Damme if I don’t miss my old peruke."
Millicent threw him a look of abject dislike. She looked toward her mother and shook her head. Jane and Lady Elsbeth exchanged knowing glances.
Then Jeremy was at the door announcing the arrival of the Ponsbys and the Culpeppers.
Jane wondered if Mr. Culpepper would display any signs of embarrassment for the scene he enacted six days before. Wryly she acknowledged she should have known better. Mr. Culpepper strode into the room as if they were always on the best of terms. The first words out of his mouth implied that Jane and Lady Elsbeth often turned to him for advice and help. He was not allowed to hold the company’s attention for long. Maria Culpepper elbowed her father aside. She unfurled her fan and held it in her left hand at an angle that made sure anyone who looked at her could not fail to note the fine diamond and ruby engagement ring she wore.
Dutifully Jane and Lady Elsbeth complimented her on her ring, then Lady Elsbeth turned her attention to shy Sarah Ponsby and her aunt, Mrs. Sawbridge, while Jane gently contrived to turn young David Ponsby’s obvious and effusive attention away from her. Sir Latimer Ponsby, a widower with some fifty years in his dish, turned his attention toward Lady Serena Tipton, much to the evident dismay of Mr. Burry. Mr. and Mrs. Culpepper stood in a corner quietly arguing. Quite surprisingly, no one paid the least attention to Millicent. The dark-haired beauty pretended an interest in the room’s paintings while she fumed silently, her lips pursed in rigid anger. Thus was her attitude moments later when the parlor doors opened again to admit the Earl of Royce.
Jane, straining against the impulse to snap at young Mr. Ponsby for his refusal to be hinted away, felt a sudden relief at the sight of the tall, dark figure. Impulsively she held out her hand to him.
"Lord Royce!"
Instantly the earl was at her side bowing over her hand and placing a light kiss on her fingertips. "Your servant, Miss Grantley. "
In awestruck confusion, Mr. Ponsby stepped away. Jane rose to her feet, her hand resting lightly on the earl’s arm. "Allow me to introduce you around. This is my aunt, Lady Tipton; Mr. Burry; and my cousin, Mrs. Hedgeworth."
Royce acknowledged the introductions gravely but did not immediately desert Jane’s side, a circumstance to further sour Millicent’s expression. Instead, he drew her aside.
"My friend and Reverend Chitterdean will be in shortly. To my great surprise they have discovered mutual acquaintances and are involved with comparing names and notes." He shook his head. "I swear you’ll never meet a more unlikely pair to share friends."
Jane laughed at the consternation in his expression. It made the Devil’s Disciple appear almost human. Little did she realize what her own laughter did for her.
Lord Royce enjoyed the way her soft green eyes sparkled when she laughed, and how the roses in her cheeks bloomed. Seeing her warm and happy, he wondered how she ever came to be the Ice Witch, for it obviously wasn’t her natural manner. He liked to see her relax and shed that false mien.
"By the way, Miss Grantley, I’m afraid I�
��ve done something you may cut up stiff over," he said slowly, scratching the side of his chin with one long, well-manicured finger. His expression was part apologetic, part amused.
"I fear, my lord, you’ve been too much in my nephews’ company. You’re adopting their weaseling manners," she said with a laugh, for his was just the expression Bertram was likely to give her when he’d cut a lark. She sobered, giving him her best aunt expression. "Well, out with it. As I tell them, it is best to come clean before it catches up with them and they take a cropper over it later."
"Shall I have your promise for the same leniency you showed Bertram after his set to with young Culpepper?"
"That depends, my lord," she said carefully, her lips working to prevent a smile. She pursed them tight, waiting.
"When I arrived this evening I brought with me a horse. "
"A horse?"
"Yes. For Bertram. He’s really quite outgrown his pony, you know. From what he’d said to me, I’m confident his father will procure one for him when he returns home; in the meantime I’m taking the liberty of lending him one of mine. A most even-tempered beast, I assure you."
"That is quite a liberty, my lord," Jane returned uncertainly.
"I assure you, Miss Grantley, my intentions are for the best. The animal wants exercising."
"Ah, I knew there must be a reason other than a magnanimous nature," Jane teased. "After all, as you’ve told me, you lack the sensibility for that."
He slapped the flat of his hand against his chest. "Touché, Miss Grantley," he said with an easy grin.
Then Lord and Lady Willoughby entered, followed by Sir Helmsdon, and all too quickly she had to sober and properly excuse herself to see to her other guests. Instantly Millicent and Miss Culpepper converged on the earl.
Twenty minutes later Jane realized Reverend Chitterdean and the earl’s mysterious friend had still not arrived. As she expected dinner to be announced momentarily, she was in a quandary as to what to do. Should she order dinner set back again? Cook would be furious, and Mary would not thank her if she were the cause of Cook giving notice! Perhaps Lord Royce ...." She bit her lip lightly at the thought of approaching him, then shrugged her hesitations aside.
It appeared the battle between Millicent and Miss Culpepper for the earl’s attention had been won by Millicent. Though it could not have been much of a battle. While Miss Culpepper coveted an earl’s title, she was too shrewd a young woman to step beyond what is proper for an engaged young woman. She was not going to trade a future viscount for an earl unless she was certain of obtaining said earl. Gracefully she retired from the lists, in favor of a laughing flirtation with Mr. Burry.
"Excuse me, my lord," Jane said softly, interrupting his conversation with Millicent.
Her cousin’s eyebrows rose haughtily, but Jane ignored her.
"Dinner is about to be announced, but your friend and Reverend Chitterdean have yet to make an appearance."
"What?" The earl looked about the room, then laughed shortly. "I see you are correct. Would you have me fetch our errant guests?"
She nodded thankfully and conceded that she would indeed. He laughed again and strode off through the double parlor doors.
"Really Jane, how dare you?" demanded Millicent.
"I beg your pardon?"
"How dare you treat the Earl of Royce like a common servant! You should have sent your footman in search of these other guests of yours."
"Cousin, I do not even know the name of his guest. And he is his guest. "
"You don’t even know his name? How very odd of you, to be sure."
Jane laughed. "What do you think? That the Earl of Royce’s friend will be unworthy of our company or that we will be unworthy?"
"Certainly not! I swear Jane, you have the oddest temper."
"No doubt you are right. Ah, here they come now. Gracious, who would have thought. It’s—"
"Black Jack!" cried out Lady Elsbeth Ainstree. She struggled to rise from her chair. Then her knees buckled as she fainted.
In shocked silence the company watched Lady Elsbeth crumble to the floor. No one moved. Stunned, they looked from Lady Elsbeth to the recent arrival and back to Lady Elsbeth. No one moved until he moved. He ran to her side and carefully lifted her. She groaned softly, her eyelids fluttering.
Like hungry fish, the other guests clustered about him, the women offering advice or wringing hands, the men demanding he hand his precious burden to one of them. Scowling, he shouldered them aside and carried Lady Elsbeth to one of the now vacant settees. He laid her down, carefully smoothing the length of her gown, demurely covering her. He bent over her a moment longer, staring at her, his time-ravaged visage an immobile mask. He stood up and turned to glare at the Earl of Royce.
"Damn your eyes, Royce," he said softly, his pale blue eyes starkly shining in his tanned face.
Lady Elsbeth whimpered softly and stirred. The man she called Black Jack looked down at her, then abruptly stepped away, his place taken by other guests in a closed circle about her.
Jane grabbed Lord Royce’s arm. "What do you mean by bringing him here?" she demanded, her voice a strident whisper. "Look what you’ve done to Elsbeth! Even though you may lack sensibilities, other people have them. How could you bring a man with his reputation here?"
Royce looked at her coldly. "You are too much a creature of gossip."
A bright red swept up Jane’s neck. "I beg your pardon!" she gasped.
"Try being a woman of facts rather than fairy tales," he drawled, his lip curling derisively. He shook her hand from his arm and turned, walking away.
"John?" murmured Lady Elsbeth. She struggled to sit up, batting away the many helpful hands that demanded she lie still. She swung her feet to the floor. Jane, forgetting her argument with Lord Royce, rushed to her aunt’s side.
"Elsbeth, please, lie still. Let me ring for a sal volatile."
Lady Elsbeth frowned and shook her head. She tried to look about the room. "Where is he? Was I dreaming?"
"No dear, I’m sorry to say you weren’t. But I’ll ask him to please leave." Jane straightened, turning away from her aunt.
"No!" Lady Elsbeth grabbed Jane’s arm, pulling herself to her feet. "I must see him. I must apologize."
"Apologize?"
But Lady Elsbeth did not answer. Her eyes sought and found him standing apart in a shadowed corner of the room. "My Lord Conisbrough? John?" she said hesitantly, walking slowly toward him.
The man watched her approach with suspicion, like a wild animal watches the approach of another.
A tumultuous smile formed on her lips, then grew more confident as did her posture and demeanor. Behind her a murmur rose among the guests like the buzzing of bees on the blackberry hedges.
"My Lord Conisbrough," she repeated, this time more confidently. "I owe you an apology."
"You are wrong, Madame," his deep voice rasped. "You owe me nothing. I should never have allowed myself to be talked into coming here uninvited. Allow me the opportunity to make my apologies and remove my sorry person from your presence."
"I am not a Madame and have never been one. In my callow youth I foolishly allowed that opportunity to pass me by."
Lord Conisbrough raised one eyebrow and lifted his chin slightly, but did not respond.
"And I am not implying I wish to apologize for fainting in that deplorable manner. Though perhaps I should to the rest of our guests. Very bad ton, you know."
Lord Conisbrough’s lips twitched.
"No," she continued conversationally, "my apology is one that is fifteen years overdue."
A look of pain twisted his features. Like a striking snake, his hand clamped about her wrist. "No, not now, Lady Elsbeth. Not here," he whispered. He shook his head as if to clear it of unwanted memories. "Maybe never," he said, dropping her wrist. He turned his head away.
Unruffled, though a sad smile lurked in her eyes, Elsbeth nodded. "I understand," she said softly. Her voice became cheerier. "I am a complete feath
erbrain! Where are my manners this evening? There are many here you don’t know. Let me introduce you." She slid her arm under his and turned, leading him back to the astonished and wildly speculating company.
Lady Elsbeth introduced the Marquis of Conisbrough to everyone as if he was an old friend. More than one eyebrow rose at her manner, but the company was too well-bred to show curiosity. They accepted him in the manner Lady Elsbeth wished. For his part, the marquis lost that wary look, replacing it with one of sardonic amusement. Though it was noted that he often turned to stare at Lady Elsbeth with something akin to wonder and something else the company could not name. In all, however, Jane was the most astonished and put out by the unexpected turn of events. A frown hovered at the edge of her lips until dinner was announced.
The Earl of Royce adopted a smug attitude whenever Jane chanced to glance his way, which she did far too frequently for her own peace of mind. Millicent latched onto him, preening before everyone at what she saw as her personal coup. Miss Culpepper seemed petulant, and Sir Helmsdon laughed. No one harbored private fears that the house party would be a dull, insipid affair.
Dinner progressed more smoothly than Jane had expected. The company was unusually convivial—perhaps because of the events before dinner. Whatever the cause, the dining table resounded with laughter and animated conversation. The only circumstance to mar the perfection of the meal occurred as the guests found their seats in the dining room.
Owing to his position as highest ranking peer, Lord Royce had been placed at Lady Elsbeth’s right. Next to him they’d assigned Millicent Hedgeworth, and next to her Lord Royce’s guest. Lord Conisbrough, taking in the situation, calmly exchanged his place card with Royce’s. Other than raising an eyebrow, Royce displayed no other reaction to his friend’s actions, for in truth, Conisbrough’s rank was the higher. Bowing to Lady Elsbeth, Lord Conisbrough took his seat and proceeded to make himself amenable to both Lady Elsbeth and Millicent. His conversation never strayed beyond practiced social gallantries, which drew an amused smile from Elsbeth.