by Carola Dunn
“Please, I’ll explain later!” Jane had hissed.
Lavinia had glanced around the crowded foyer and replied, her eyes sparkling with curiosity, “We shall call tomorrow, without fail, shall we not, Fitz?”
Fitz had nodded speechlessly, and Lavinia dragged him off in her mother’s wake. Jane had exchanged a few words with each later in the evening, but they had both obligingly refrained from interrogating her.
Now she looked at the pretty porcelain clock on the mantel and gasped. Noon already! They might call at any time and if she was still abed the butler would deny her. She absolutely must speak to them today.
She rang the bell by her bed, then pulled the covers around her against the chilly March air. A few minutes later, Ella came in with a tray of hot chocolate.
“Awake already, my lady!” she said, her round face beaming as she set the tray on the dressing table and poured a cup. “I hear as you danced till daybreak. I could’ve got up to put you to bed.”
“Gracie and I helped each other. Oh, it was such fun, Ella, even though Lord Fitzgerald and Miss Chatterton were there.”
“Mercy me!”
“They did not give me away, but they are coming today for an explanation. I must get up at once.”
“Nonsense, my lady. Here, you just sit quiet and drink your chocolate in peace, for Miss Chatterton won’t be up and about so early after the ball.”
“True.” Jane relaxed against her pillows and sipped the warming drink. “In that case, I should like some toast and a coddled egg, and a slice of ham, as well.”
“Makes you hungry, dancing, eh?” said Ella, and went out grinning.
While Jane was breaking her fast, Miss Gracechurch came to see her. She was fully dressed, in a morning gown of dove-grey merino.
‘You are up very early, Gracie.”
“Her ladyship sent for me,” she said with a troubled look.
“What is wrong? She has not decided that you cannot be my chaperon, has she? I conducted myself with the greatest propriety last night, and I am sure you did, too. I will not let her dismiss you!”
To her relief, Gracie smiled. “No, nothing like that. In fact she congratulated me on my modest, ladylike bearing and confirmed that I am to be your companion. No, Jane, she wished to instruct me in which of your suitors are to be encouraged.’’
“Suitors? After one dance apiece I cannot claim any gentleman as a suitor.”
“The marchioness is of the opinion that several of your partners may be easily persuaded to seek your hand.”
“Because of my fortune and because Papa is a marquis. I wish I were really plain Miss Brooke!”
“Come, my dear, in that case you would now be seeking a position instead of lying in bed drinking chocolate after your come-out ball,” Miss Gracechurch pointed out tartly. “Believe me, you would not care for the experience. And believe me that you rate your own attractions too low. You are a very pretty girl, and charming when you remember not to be too outspoken.”
“Pretty?” Jane shoved her tray aside, bounced out of bed, and sped to examine her face in the looking glass as if it might have changed overnight. “Am I really pretty? You have never said so before.”
“I did not want you to grow up to be like your...to be a vain, shallow creature to whom her appearance was the most important thing in life.”
“Thank you, Gracie. I should hate to be like...that.” She shivered and hurried back to warmth of her bed. “Tell me what the marchioness said about my so-called suitors. Upon whom am I to exercise my powers of attraction?”
“Upon Lord Ryburgh and Lord Charles Newbury. An earl and the younger son of a duke, respectively, I understand.”
Jane frowned in thought. “Lord Ryburgh and Lord Charles. Oh, yes, I recall them. Why those two in particular, I wonder? Lord Charles is not much older than I am, and he talked of nothing but hunting. Lord Ryburgh is not much younger than Papa and he waxed eloquent over his crops.”
“Oh dear. Did you find them disagreeable?”
“No, they were as agreeable as any of my partners. One uttered only flowery compliments and another babbled of his winnings at cards. It is difficult to carry on an intelligent conversation when one must constantly guard one’s tongue.”
And that was why she missed Lord Wintringham’s bracing company, she realized with a pang of regret She had had nothing to lose by speaking to him freely because from the first he had disapproved of her and considered her beneath his notice.
All the same, she did not want him to discover her deceit. “Time to dress,” she announced, once more swinging her legs out of bed. “We must be ready to face Lavinia and Fitz.”
Miss Chatterton and Lord Fitzgerald arrived shortly after Jane and Miss Gracechurch settled in the Chinese salon set aside for their use. Unfortunately, Lord Charles Newbury had reached the front door at the same moment. A solid young man, he eyed with alarm the spindly false-bamboo furniture upholstered in delicate-looking ivory brocade. He might be the son of a duke, but his fresh complexion and his buckskins and riding boots suggested that he was more at home on the hunting field than in a ladies’ drawing-room.
Before he took his leave after a proper quarter hour, they were joined by two more of Jane’s dancing partners, followed by a matron with a debutante daughter to whose ball Jane had been invited. For nearly two hours a tide of visitors and polite chatter ebbed and flowed between the red silk-hung walls.
Throughout, Lavinia stayed stuck to her seat as if glued. Fitz, tiring of constantly rising to his feet to greet ladies, wandered about the room, pausing to exchange a word with an acquaintance or examine a black-lacquered cabinet adorned with gilt dragons.
At last Lady Bridges, Miss Bridges, and Miss Josephine Bridges took their leave. Fitz plumped down beside his sister-in-law, looked expectantly at Jane, and said, “Well?”
“Tea!” said Jane. “I vow I cannot speak another word without a cup of tea.”
Fitz obligingly jumped up again and rang the bell. While servants came and went, Jane and Lavinia compared notes on which entertainments they expected to attend in the coming week. Lavinia promised that as soon as she reached home she would make quite sure that Jane was on her mother’s guest list for her own ball, in a fortnight’s time.
“I trust Lady Chatterton is not unwell?” said Miss Gracechurch, just as the butler shut the door behind him.
“Perfectly well, thank you, ma’am,” said Lavinia. “She stayed at home to keep Daphne company.”
“And the devil—beg pardon, the deuce of a time we had persuading her not to come with us!” Fitz exclaimed impatiently. “Now, Lady Jane, are you going to tell us what hocus-pocus you were up to at Wintringham Abbey?”
Pouring the tea into fragile Limoges cups, Jane explained about the carriage wreck, the decision to travel on the Mail, and the mischievous impulse that had led to her masquerade. Lavinia seemed a trifle shocked, but Fitz laughed so hard he had to put down his cup of tea.
“You had us all fooled.” He wiped his eyes. “That’d make a dashed good story, but I daresay you won’t want it noised abroad. I shan’t tell anyone but Ned.”
“Oh no!” Lavinia protested, wide-eyed. “Jane, it would be dreadful if he found out.”
“Oh no!” Jane echoed with more force. “Not Lord Wintringham, of all people.”
“No? Well, perhaps you’re right. Ned’s changed a lot since the old days.”
Before Jane could enquire about “the old days,” Miss Gracechurch asked, “Do you expect the earl to come up to London?”
“Yes, he’ll be here next month. But he don’t go to ton parties, and Wintringham House is in Grosvenor Square, about as far from St. James’s as you can go and still be in the fashionable part of Town. You’re not likely to bump into him by accident, never fear. We had best be off now, Lavinia, before my dear mama-in-law sends out a search party.”
They took their leave, with promises to meet at Lady Bridges’ ball.
“What did he mean
by ‘the old days’?” Jane wondered aloud.
“I cannot guess. Pray do not ask him, Jane; it is a personal matter and none of your affair.’’
“No, ma’am. But I wish I knew.” She yearned to understand Lord Wintringham, to understand what had turned Fitz’s friend of long ago into the unapproachable Lord Winter. Yet as long as be was in London she would go in dread of coming face to face with him by chance.
The butler interrupted her melancholy reflections with the delivery of a basket of grapes. Jane popped one into her mouth and read the accompanying card.
“From Lord Ryburgh’s succession houses, with apologies for being prevented by a previous engagement from paying a courtesy call after the ball,” she reported. “Oh Gracie, he is already wooing me with his crops! Try one, they are very sweet.” Laughing, she held out the basket.
* * * *
Tooling his curricle across Henley bridge, Edmund recalled how Jane Brooke had looked forward to seeing the pleasant little town with the Thames meandering through the wooded valley. And later, when Windsor Castle came into view, he thought of her again. Not that he needed reminding.
He had fought to put the impossible, impertinent minx out of his mind, without the least degree of success. That final, stolen kiss haunted him. How sweetly tender her lips had been, her skin like rose-petals—he groaned, a flickering flame stirring in his loins at the very memory of holding her close. For a moment she had yielded, clinging to him, a moment of rapture before she pulled away, sparks of righteous indignation flashing in her eyes.
She had threatened to swoon or scream or slap his face. Not for an instant had he doubted that the third would be her choice, but instead she had slain him with wit. In truth, he had behaved no better than young Reid.
Worse, for he was no ingenuous youth. He must see her to apologize.
That was the only conceivable reason for wanting to meet her. She had cut up his peace, insinuated herself within the walls that held the world at bay. She had forced him to see those walls as a defence, not the symbol of superiority he had thought them. Alfred had been inside the walls when Edmund built them; Fitz, absent during the building, had breached them by failing to notice them; but in twenty years Jane was the only other person to touch the man within. Miss Jane Brooke had observed the walls, and blithely ignored them.
He dared not let her come close again, yet he owed it to his honour to apologize. Until that was done he’d not be able to forget her. For just that purpose he was on his way to Town weeks earlier than he had planned, hoping that she had not already found a position and departed for some distant corner of the kingdom.
Not that he had much hope of finding her in the vast metropolis, he thought, driving through the Tyburn Turnpike then swinging right into Park Lane. His only chance was that the lawyer, Selwyn, might know where Miss Gracechurch was lodging. Fortunately, the fellow’s first edition of Bacon made a reasonable excuse for calling on him.
Left into Upper Brook Street, and a moment later he pulled up in front of the classical symmetry of Wintringham House, facing south across Grosvenor Square. His groom jumped down and took the reins.
The front door opened as Edmund strode up the steps. His London butler, Mason, bowed and reported, “Mr. Alfred arrived with your lordship’s luggage half an hour since, my lord.”
“Very good.” Edmund brightened, recalling that Alfred had intended to ask Miss Gracechurch’s abigail for her direction. As he handed over his hat and gloves and permitted the waiting footman to relieve him of his driving coat, another possible way to track down Miss Brooke dawned on him: Lavinia Chatterton. She and Jane had been thick as thieves. He’d be damned if he’d go anywhere near Lavinia, but Fitz could find out whether the girls were corresponding. Fitz, though no hardened gamester, was often to be found at the tables at White’s in the early evening. “I shall dine at my club,” he informed Mason.
“Yes, my lord.” If the butler spared a thought for the roast turning on the spit, the pie crust browning in the oven, no reflection of it appeared on his wooden face. His master was to try him more highly.
“And I shall want a note carried to Bloomsbury in a few minutes.”
“Bloomsbury, my lord?” Mason faltered. The Earl of Wintringham’s frosty stare pierced to his bones. “Certainly, my lord; one of the underfootmen shall await your lordship’s convenience.”
Edmund found Alfred in his dressing-room, unpacking his clothes. “I shall dine at White’s,” he announced.
“Right, my lord. The fawn marcella waistcoat?” The valet grinned. “They’ll be fit to be tied in the kitchen.”
“In the kitchen? What the devil do you mean?”
“Well, it stands to reason. You don’t come to Town that often, my lord, and they’ll be wanting to impress you with extra-special grub your first night.”
“They may impress me tomorrow night,” said Edmund impatiently, “and I’ll have something to say if the quality of the ‘grub’ deteriorates thereafter. You can have the evening off. I daresay you are eager to call on your sweetheart.”
“My sweetheart?” said Alfred, startled.
“I distinctly recall your telling me that you were enamoured of Miss Gracechurch’s abigail. Have you so soon forgot our stranded travellers?”
“No, my lord, but Miss Ella wouldn’t give me her direction.”
Edmund smiled at his disgruntled tone, though it meant he had lost one chance of finding Jane Brooke.
He walked to St. James’s Street through the gas-lit streets of Mayfair, quiet at this hour between Society’s afternoon and evening engagements. The dandies who sat all day in the bow window of White’s, quizzing passers-by, had gone home to primp, but the card rooms were never unoccupied. As he passed through, in search of Fitz, a number of acquaintances greeted him. None asked him to join them.
He found Fitz at the faro table, a game involving a minimum of skill and a maximum of chance. A good deal of noise and laughter arose from the players, idle, sociable young men more interested at present in fellowship than the turn of the cards. Serious gambling for high stakes would become more general later, and continue until dawn.
“I’m off, fellows.” Fitz pocketed a couple of guineas with an air of satisfaction. Standing up, he caught sight of Edmund and smiled a welcome. “Why, hullo, Ned.”
Several of his companions looked up. Their boisterous jollity faded at the sight of the earl. Some nodded; others murmured politely, “Servant, my lord,” or, “How do, Wintringham.” Edmund nodded in response as Fitz came round the table to join him.
“You here already?” enquired Fitz superfluously. A sudden thought seemed to strike him and he went on in an apprehensive voice, “You ain’t going to do the Season this year, are you? Her ladyship come with you?”
“My aunt is gone down to Kent, where my cousin Wrexham is involved in some sort of domestic crisis. Were she here, she would probably attempt to force Lavinia or some other noble chit upon me, but in her absence I have no intention of doing the pretty to a swarm of bread-and-butter misses. I dine here tonight. Will you join me?”
“Sorry, old chap, I’m a family man now, remember. Daphne is expecting me. I’ll take a glass with you before I go.”
“How does Lady Fitzgerald go on?” Edmund asked as they made their way to the common-room.
“Blooming, though she won’t be dashing about Town for a few weeks yet. I say, why don’t you come and take pot luck?”
“Thank you, but are not the fair Lavinia and Lady Chatterton residing with you? Pray convey my respects to all three ladies.” They sat down and he ordered a bottle of claret from the waiter who rushed up to them.
“You need not fear that Lavinia will resume the pursuit,” said Fitz as the waiter departed. “Jane Brooke persuaded her she wouldn’t like to be married to you.”
“Has she been corresponding with Miss Brooke?” He tried to hide his eagerness.
“Corresponding?” Fitz gave a nervous start. Edmund realized his mama-in-law
would doubtless disapprove of a friendship between her daughter and a penniless nobody. “No, that was at the Abbey, remember. They were thick as thieves.”
Edmund swallowed his disappointment. “But as soon as Miss Brooke left the Abbey, Lavinia was in full cry again,” he pointed out.
“Only because she’s afraid of Lady Wintringham. She ain’t afraid of her mama.”
“I believe I shall keep my distance nonetheless.”
Fitz refused to stay for more than one glass of wine, confessing with a happy laugh that he was a henpecked husband. After a delicious but solitary dinner, Edmund walked home, past houses blazing with light, carriages queuing before their doors and music wafting from within. He retired to his library—not so extensive as the Abbey’s, but a good size for a town house—and took up a favourite book.
The printed words blurred before his eyes. One chance left. What would he do if Mr. Selwyn was unable to help him find Jane?
CHAPTER TWELVE
Thursday was Lady Hornby’s At Home day, and Jane and Miss Gracechurch were expected to remove themselves from St. James’s Place between the hours of eleven and three. Therefore, although the ladies had not yet left the house, the butler denied them when Lord Fitzgerald and Miss Chatterton rang the doorbell at ten minutes before the hour.
If he expected them to leave calling cards, in the normal way, he was sadly disillusioned.
“We must see Lady Jane!” insisted Miss Chatterton. ‘‘If she is really not at home, where did she go?”
Thus caught between a rock and a hard place, Arbuckle breathed a silent sigh of relief when Lady Jane’s voice came from behind him, “Why, Lavinia, and Lord Fitzgerald. Miss Gracechurch will be down shortly and we are just going out, but do come in for a moment.”
Jane, dressed in a modish pelisse of blue-and-green striped gros de Naples, led the way into the Chinese salon. Fitz shut the door firmly behind them.
“He is come!” said Lavinia dramatically, sinking onto a chair.
“Who is come?” Jane asked, though she had a disquieting feeling that she could guess.