Scandal's Deception

by Pamela Gibson

  “You must be exhausted.” The woman ascended a staircase and led the way down a hall. “This will be your chamber while you’re here.”

  Jane walked through the door into a spacious room with tall windows. An enormous bed with blue velvet hangings was pushed against a wall. Various pieces of furniture surrounded the bed. A cozy fire flickered in a grate with a chair in front. “Are you hungry? I put dinner off until you arrived. I know my nephew will be starved, no matter what time he last ate.”

  Overwhelmed, Jane sank into the chair and surveyed the room, aware of blessed heat seeping into her cold bones. The woman stood next to the bed, fluffing pillows. When she finished, she inspected a water pitcher and unwrapped a cake of soap.

  “I trust you’ll be comfortable here.” She stood in front of Jane with hands folded primly in front of her gown of mauve wool with lace peeking from the long sleeves and surrounding the modest neckline. “I believe I forgot to mention I am Gilbert’s aunt.

  Confusion muddled Jane’s mind. Gilbert?

  She drew her eyebrows together. “Who’s Gilbert?”

  “Gilbert Carmichael. Lord Ralston. Your guardian.”

  Of course, he had a name, not merely a title. How foolish of her not to have asked him herself. She nodded and tried to smile, but fatigue and pain from the long carriage ride overrode her good intentions.

  “I’ll give you an hour. Mary can escort you to the dining room. I find a brief rest is often quite refreshing.”

  Remembering her manners, Jane stood and held out her hand. “Thank you for, er, housing me.”

  What in heaven’s name am I doing here?

  She was sure all would be revealed eventually and looked forward to hearing the explanations. For now she would take the woman’s advice, wash up, and try out that enormous bed. As if reading her mind, Mary moved forward and assisted her in removing her clothes down to her shift.

  “I’ll hang up your clothes while you are at dinner, my lady.”

  Jane nodded. Mary might be useful to her in ways other than as a lady’s maid. She recalled a conversation she once had with Maddie. When one had questions, servants usually knew the answers, she’d said. They were supposed to be invisible and, therefore, could hover in backgrounds and listen to conversations. Jane hadn’t used a lady’s maid at home. She had acquaintances who did. The servants gossiped among themselves, and Maddie had often shared tidbits of information with her, gleaned from other households.

  Ah, my friend, I hope you are faring well.

  As soon as she could, she’d procure writing materials and see how one posted a letter. Where exactly was Painswick? She’d need an atlas to be sure. She’d learn about her new home soon enough. Right now she could think better if lying down.

  When she awoke, candles provided light in the room. Someone sat in a chair near the fire. She blinked. Where was she? Ah yes, England. She tossed aside the covers and sat on the bed. Mary rushed over and held out her robe.

  “Do you wish to bathe, milady? I can order the tub.”

  “I suspect there isn’t time. Where did you put my clothes?”

  “In the dressing room.”

  She slid from the high bed and followed the maid to an adjoining room that resembled an oversized closet. Her wrinkled gowns occupied little space. “I’ll wear the gown I had on when I arrived.”

  “Oh no, milady. You must wear a gown suitable for dinner. I pressed one for you.”

  Jane scoffed but decided not to argue. “I’m not accustomed to changing for dinner. We lived simply on our farm outside Baltimore.”

  Mary laced Jane’s corset and slid her gown over her head. It was the one she considered her Sunday best. Did the woman who lived here attend church? Did Ralston live here as well? Mrs. Murdock had told her peers were in London when Parliament was in session and adjourned to their country estates when not.

  After washing her face and hands, Jane let Mary fuss with her hair. Parted in the middle, her hair had always been worn in one long braid or two coiled over her ears.

  She found her way to the sitting room where her hostess and guardian were engaged in conversation. Pausing at the door, she decided not to enter when her name was mentioned. Not averse to judicious eavesdropping, she stood to the side and leaned forward.

  “How long will she remain? Mind you, I’ll enjoy the distraction. Not only do I have my favorite nephew to keep me company, but a young girl as well.”

  “It depends on what I learn. So far our pithy conversation has been limited to why Mary didn’t dine with us and the origin of her worry beads.”

  Lady Amelia’s laugh was deep and hearty. Jane wanted to like her, and knowing the lady enjoyed a good joke made it easier, even if the jest was at her expense.

  “To be honest, Aunt, I don’t even know if the girl has had formal schooling, let alone training in the social arts. Her manner of speaking is fine, although her accent is grating to those not accustomed to it. I had hoped she spent time around members of the British community in America. Hearing their diction could have trained her ear.”

  “What about dancing and proper etiquette?”

  “Nothing was said when I spoke to her mother. I doubt if she knows. I gather when her late husband reached out to her with the news of his illness and asked her to accept the girl, she probably spent all her time on the legal details, rather than social ones.”

  “They were legally separated? Divorce would have been scandalous and quite impossible.”

  “Yes. I’m told it was an amicable arrangement, although a bit coldhearted. She wanted to remain in England, and Siltsbury allowed her sole use of the funds left to her by her father. He wanted to emigrate and seek his fortune. Being a kindhearted chap, untitled at that point, he went without her.”

  “Not unlike your own parents’ arrangement, eh, Gilbert? Your father traveled abroad. Your mother remained at home.”

  “The difference, Aunt, is he always returned. And we children weren’t divvied up like spoils of war.”

  Jane chose that moment to stroll into the room, her cheeks flaming.

  What did he say?

  Ralston rose, his amber eyes wide and wary. “How long have you been standing there?”

  “Not long. From what I heard, perhaps I should have come downstairs sooner.”

  Lady Amelia gestured with her hand. “My dear, come sit next to me. Would you like a glass of madeira?”

  “I prefer to stand.” She took two more steps into the room and folded her arms in front of her. Two pairs of eyes watched her. “I’d like to hear more about divvying up children. Of whom were you speaking?”

  They exchanged a glance, and a spike of ice raised the hairs on her neck. Ralston came toward her. She lifted her hand, palm out. “Don’t try to placate me. I have a right to know. I’m overwhelmed by secrets and lies. The truth, please.”

  Lady Amelia nodded. “She’s right, Gilbert. You know I have never been in favor of withholding information. I care not what Lady Siltsbury told you. She’s not the one who has been torn away from the only life she’s ever known. The girl should have been told everything from the beginning.”

  “Well?” Jane refolded her arms and tapped her foot in annoyance.

  Ralston’s gaze slid to his aunt, then back. Moving closer, he rested his hand on her shoulder. A shiver of a different kind tingled in her belly, distracting her. She peered into his handsome face as his eyes softened.

  “You have a sister.”

  Breath whooshed from her lungs, and a dizzy, light-headed feeling made her glad his hand still held her. A sister. Why wouldn’t her brain function? “How . . . how old?”

  His hand was warm, and he squeezed gently.

  “Like you, she’s nearly twenty.” He sighed.

  “She’s your twin.”

  Chap
ter 6

  Ralston spoke clearly and succinctly. Did he say she had a twin?

  Her hearing was not impaired. That was exactly what he’d said.

  She looked past his shoulder at Lady Amelia who stood now, wringing her hands, her brows furrowed as if a worrying thought pinched them into place.

  “You said I have a sister. A twin sister. But . . .”

  The floor swayed like the deck of a ship. Ralston tightened his grip and steadied her. His eyes forced her to look into them. They were as clear and golden as fading rays of sunlight glinting off Chesapeake Bay. How did a man get such beautiful eyes? She blinked, and the world righted. The words he had uttered squeezed her chest, making it hard to breathe.

  He dropped his hand. “Why don’t you sit next to Aunt Amelia, and I’ll pour you that glass of madeira? You can sip it while you formulate your questions. I’m sure you have many.”

  She gulped in air, followed him to a settee, and dropped onto the soft cushion. Taking deep breaths, she lowered her head and counted as Maddie had taught her, fighting to regain her composure. She needed her worry beads. They would calm her, but they were upstairs.

  A twin sister. Imagine.

  All these years she’d assumed she was the only child of an indulgent, overprotective father, a child whose mother had died giving birth to her. Now she not only had a mama, but a sibling. How many other surprises could her brain withstand?

  He handed her a delicate crystal goblet holding a ruby-colored liquid. She sipped and swallowed, taking the time to think about the questions she wanted to ask.

  Always approach a problem assuming there is a practical solution.

  Papa’s advice. She lived by those words.

  Rain, blown by a fierce wind, pelted the windowpanes, the only sound in the silent room. She examined the goblet resting in her hands, aware of two pairs of eyes watching her—patiently waiting for her to speak. She took one more sip and set the glass on the table beside her.

  “What is my twin’s name?” There, that was an easy question.

  “Jocelyn. Like you, she has a few other names. She answers to Lady Jocelyn, just as you will be called Lady Jane.”

  “Which of us is the elder?”

  Ralston pursed his lips. “How am I to know such a thing?”

  “Are you my mother’s lover?” Lordy, she must not speak without thinking.

  He laughed. “No, I am not. I barely know her.”

  “I don’t understand. Why did my mother choose you to be my . . . our guardian?”

  “That is an excellent question, and I’m not sure I have an answer.”

  He did know, she was sure of it by the way his gaze had slanted away as she’d asked.

  “Why is my mother not here?”

  This time he did not look away. “Why don’t we go into dinner. I don’t know about you, but I could eat an entire leg of lamb. The enticing smells wafting from the kitchens have been making my stomach snarl like a rabid dog all evening. After dinner, we’ll both sit with you over tea and try to answer all of your questions.”

  She did feel hungry, and he was right, always better to deal with your body’s needs before you feed your brain. The information she’d learned still spun like a top in her head. It was almost too much to absorb.

  Jane nodded, gulping the remains of the madeira in her glass before rising and being seated at the dining table.

  “Is your room to your liking?” Ralston asked. “I’m told you have the blue guest room. It’s the one I usually stay in when I visit Aunt Amelia. It overlooks the garden.”

  The woman leaned forward. “Did you have a garden in . . . er . . . where, exactly, was your home?”

  “The room is fine, and yes, I had a garden in Baltimore. If you want to call it a garden.” She thought of the acres of corn, green beans, and cabbage she and their farmworker, Jacob, tended, along with Maddie’s kitchen garden with carrots, onions, and herbs. A stirring of nostalgia fluttered in her body, weighting her with sadness. She missed feeding her chickens, gathering eggs, and milking their two cows. Accustomed to hard work during the day and peaceful evenings at night, she was sure her muscles wouldn’t be able to lift even a sack of flour now after months of idleness.

  Ralston frowned. “You’re not eating. Is the fish not to your liking?”

  She shook her head and brought herself back into the conversation. “On the contrary. It’s quite delicious.” She took a forkful of fish poached in some kind of sauce she was unfamiliar with. “This sauce is unique. Perhaps your cook could give me the recipe.”

  Two pairs of eyes stared at her like she’d just uttered an epithet. Her gaze flitted from one to the other. “If your cook doesn’t want to share recipes, I quite understand. Some are quite protective of their creations.”

  Lady Amelia was the first to speak. “Do you cook?”

  “I do,” Jane said. “Maddie, our housekeeper, was also the cook. She did teach me the basics, knowing I might someday wed and be in charge of my own kitchen.”

  A fork dropped from Lady Amelia’s hand.

  “What’s wrong? Did I say something?”

  Ralston sighed. “Ladies in England do not cook. They prepare menus. They plan soirees and dinner parties. A few host musicales and balls.” He tilted his head toward his aunt. “Did I leave anything out?”

  “You covered the essentials related to food.” She picked up her fork and resumed eating. “There is much to learn, my dear. I’m sure you are equal to the task. You’ll be with us for at least a month. That should be adequate time to bring you up to snuff.”

  Jane stifled the resentment bubbling inside her. What did they mean “bring her up to snuff?” Papa had personally seen to her education, hiring tutors from time to time to teach languages and mathematics—two subjects he cared little about. She’d learned to read at an early age, and as she grew older, she’d devoured the books in his library. When possible, he’d taken her to scientific lectures and even a few plays. The recent war had put a stop to most cultural activities, but certainly hadn’t dulled her brain.

  While not fond of parties, Papa had occasionally invited important clients and his political friends to dine. She’d served as hostess. People who lived on farms raised most of their own food, bartered for what they lacked, and tended to their own personal needs, unless they owned slaves, which her papa hadn’t. Papa thought slavery an abomination and held lively debates with those who disagreed. Jane was not afraid of work and prided herself on her manual skills, as well as her formal knowledge.

  For now she would swallow any irritation stirred by her guardian and his aunt and focus her annoyance on the absent woman who should have been the first one to greet her when she set foot on British soil. She finished her fish course and groaned when the lamb course was served. How much food did these people consume?

  When dessert was offered, she declined it and waited for the others to finish. She still had personal questions to ask, but fatigue was overtaking her, and it might be best to settle certain questions in the morning.

  They returned to the sitting room for tea, and Jane found herself ready to nod off. She’d politely take a sip or two and then excuse herself.

  “What do you do after dinner in America?” Lady Amelia handed her a cup.

  “I generally go over accounts in the evening, or I read.”

  Lady Amelia smiled in approval. “Very commendable. A lady must always know what is being spent on food and the needs of her household. What do you read? Novels? Or published sermons, perhaps?”

  “On the ship I brought Adam Smith’s Wealth of Nations. Quite enlightening given President Madison’s about-face on the establishment of a national bank. It took the war of 1812 to change his mind.” She stopped as two faces frowned at her once again. What had she said this time?

  Lady Amelia
spoke first. “Are you a bluestocking?”

  “A what?”

  “What she means is, are you one of those women who consider themselves intellectuals?” asked Ralston.

  “Bluestocking. What an interesting word. What is its origin?”

  Ralston glanced at his aunt, a helpless expression on his face. “I’m not sure. Do you know, Aunt Amelia?”

  “I fear I do not.”

  “Perhaps I can find it in a lexicon,” said Jane. “You do have a library here, do you not, Lady Amelia?”

  “A modest one. You are welcome to read whatever strikes your fancy. My late husband was a great reader and collected books on many subjects.”

  Ralston chuckled. “Well that answers at least one of my questions.”

  “And what is that?”

  “You can read.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  He rose and walked to the fireplace, picked up the bellows, and fanned the coals. Turning back, he sauntered over to the window and peered out the glass, as if he could see through the darkness. Turning back, he faced her.

  “I know nothing about you, Miss Stafford. I do not know your interests, your abilities, whether or not you’ve received formal education. Can you pour tea? Can you converse with wit, can you ride, can you dance? I have as many questions as you have. I’ll tell you this. London society can be brutal, even to those raised in it. You were not. Aunt Amelia and I have been charged with preparing you for your inevitable introduction into an environment that will be totally different than what you are accustomed to. Know this. We want you to succeed and will do everything in our power to make you a bright star in a dark sky. It will help immensely if you will cooperate.”

  Was he implying that she was in need of polish? And what of her mother? Where did she fit into this scheme? Because that was what it was beginning to appear to be. Was there some underlying nuance she was missing?

  Jane folded her hands primly in her lap. She was too tired to argue or to try to find hidden meanings in pronouncements. Her head was still swimming with the knowledge that somewhere out in the world she had a twin sister. For now she would do as she was told and try to absorb as much instruction as she could. If the two could be believed, it would be necessary.