Scandal's Deception

by Pamela Gibson

  “They’re quite lovely. The word sounds like Latin. I shall have to look it up.”

  He smiled as if her comment had pleased him. “My father planted them during one of his visits.”

  They took one of the paths that led toward the back of the house. Other plantings stretched out before them. “This is the kitchen garden. There are herbs and vegetables planted here. I daresay, we’ll be dining on some of them although cook does marketing in the village for what we do not grow. A small orangery is to the left.”

  “Orangery?”

  “Ah yes. You like words. Let me see. I believe you might call it a greenhouse.”

  They walked farther, passing a stone stable and paddock. Beyond were wooden structures housing farm animals.

  While the house sat on a hill surrounded by trees, the path leading behind the stables opened to a vista of rolling green hills dotted with sheep. “How beautiful it is here.” She stopped and gazed at the scenery before her. In the distance, she spied a tall spire. “What is that building with the spire? A church?”

  “Indeed. An old one, famous for its yew trees. Perhaps I can take you there to visit.”

  “Does Lady Amelia attend church?”

  “She does.”

  “May I?”

  He tugged at a lock of hair and shrugged. “I’m afraid you cannot. Someone might recognize you, thinking you are Jocelyn.”

  They ambled back along the walkway toward the house. Finding a bench, Jane sat. Ralston stood in front of her. “Are you tired already?”

  “No. I am overwhelmed.”

  He sat beside her and picked a flower that resembled a daisy. Twirling the stem between his palms, they sat in silence. “I know you have questions. Please feel free to ask them.”

  “Guardians hold one’s purse strings. What else do they do?”

  “They look out for their charge’s interests such as seeing to a proper education, adequate clothing, a suitable alliance. Your sister has been courted by a duke’s heir, the Marquis of Leisterbridge. When he asks for her hand, I shall study the marriage contract, making sure all is in order. I will do the same for you when someone asks for your hand.”

  “What if someone asks who is unsuitable?”

  “Then I’ll send him packing. It’s you—and your sister—I am protecting. No one else.”

  “And if I reject offers?”

  He grinned, and his fingers were warm on her cheek as he tilted her face toward him, forcing her to gaze into those gorgeous eyes. “Are you worried about being forced into marriage, Jane?”

  “Mr. Hornsby said guardians have absolute control over such things.”

  His eyes softened as they held her gaze. “You will never be forced to wed anyone you do not fancy. I give you my word.”

  “Thank you,” she sighed. “I feel immensely better.”

  “Good.” He dropped his hand. “Any other questions?”

  She got up, and he rose with her. “What exactly are you going to teach me?”

  He lifted his arm, and she remembered she was to place her hand in the crook of his elbow.

  “For one thing, Aunt and I hope to introduce you to how proper ladies behave here. You were without a mother, and it sounds like your father was a busy man. Titled ladies have rules of etiquette and behavior to follow, as I mentioned last night. After nuncheon today, Aunt will discuss a few with you. There will be many to remember.”

  She stopped to admire a bush shaped like a bell. “What if I forget a rule?”

  “Aunt Amelia will be right by your side to remind you, as will I. Once you are out in society, I assume your mother will take charge.”

  It appeared Mother dearest wanted to stamp out all elements of her American daughter’s personality. How she resented her at this moment. And yet the longing for a mother, dormant for years, persisted. Part of her couldn’t wait to finally meet the woman, despite her apparent neglect.

  They reached the house, and Lord Ralston left her at the side entrance.

  “Thank you for the tour.”

  He bowed, a smile on his lips. An odd twinge in her belly surprised her. She hoped she wasn’t sickening. It appeared she had a full schedule ahead of her.

  Chapter 9

  “Your garden is quite lovely,” said Jane.

  They had just finished a light repast, and she and Lady Amelia were seated in the library. Jane had asked for a small table and writing materials so she could make notes. A footman placed a compact writing desk in front of her.

  “My flowers are my pride. My brother selected some of the plants and the hedges that form the boxes.” She turned to a slim volume in her hand. “Now let me see. Today’s lesson will be about introductions and forms of address. Did you engage in a great deal of social activity in Baltimore?”

  “We visited neighbors, and Papa’s more important clients sometimes dined with us. We attended a few fairs and jollifications hosted by neighbors and close friends.”

  “What is a jollification?”

  “Oh dear, I forget the English language is not the same in every country. It is a celebration, like a wedding or birthday party.”

  Thinking back, it made an odd kind of sense now that Papa had confined her social outings to neighborhood gatherings or events where he was present. Perhaps he’d been afraid someone visiting from London would see her and mistakenly think she was Jocelyn. When the war had ended and trade resumed, ships brought travelers, as well as goods, from England. Two of their neighbors had cousins arrive for a lengthy visit. Aristocratic cousins. Papa had declined every invitation they’d sent.

  Lady Amelia cleared her throat. “Shall we begin? The first rule is never introduce yourself to anyone. If there is someone you wish to know, ask me or Gilbert or your mother, and we’ll discover if the person wishes to allow the introduction.”

  Jane frowned. “How odd. What if someone wishes to be introduced to me, and I don’t like them? Will I be asked?”

  “If it is a superior person, probably not. If it is an equal or inferior, most certainly.”

  How silly, but Jane was here to be instructed, whether she liked it or not. She scratched a note and then bade Lady Amelia to continue.

  “Next, do not show eagerness upon meeting someone new.”

  Jane sat back, perplexed. “If it’s someone I want to know, why wouldn’t I?”

  “You must show decorum. A nod will do in most cases. Perhaps hold out your hand to be grasped quickly or to have the air above it kissed. If it is a relative, such as your sister or your mother, you may kiss a cheek if you wish.”

  “Why would I do that if I don’t know either of them?”

  Lady Amelia raised her eyebrows in apparent frustration, shook her head, and continued. The entire exercise covered when to curtsy, when to smile, and the correct use of titles which warranted two entire pages of notepaper. When they finished with calling cards and time limits of calls, Jane’s head was spinning, and she wished heartily she was in Maddie’s kitchen helping knead bread.

  Well into the afternoon, her hostess called for tea and cakes, and yet another lesson ensued about what to eat, when to eat it, and how to sit in the chair while doing so. The whole lesson was exhausting to the point that Jane was happy to escape to her room, a sheaf of notes in her hand.

  “There you are, milady. Would you like a bath drawn?”

  “I would love it above all things, Mary.” Jane plopped on her bed, leaving clothes and shoes on, while Mary went about her business. Papers scattered on the coverlet with a gust of wind from the open window. Her maid rushed to close it. Jane stopped her. “Leave it. The fresh air feels wonderful.”

  “Very well. I’ll have the footmen bring the tub and hot water. When you’re ready, I’ll help you undress.”

  She closed the door, and Ja
ne remained on the bed until the maid’s footsteps faded. How was she to get through this nightmare? So many rules. She had a good memory for facts, but these instructions seemed totally pointless. Did people really live like this? What of ordinary people in the village? Did they have rules as well?

  The footmen arrived with a large copper tub, followed by two maids with buckets of hot water. After they departed, Mary helped her undress, and she slipped into the soothing water, sighing in pure bliss. A floral scent surrounded her—something her maid had added.

  “Shall I wash your hair, milady?”

  “I can do it.”

  “Allow me.”

  Gentle fingers massaged her scalp. Jane closed her eyes and let the soothing strokes lull her into a serenity that had been lacking. She’d been as tight as a violin string, waiting for the sound of carriage wheels announcing the arrival of her mother. Now she wasn’t sure when the big moment would take place.

  Best to make do with the situation at hand, as peculiar as it was. Would she ever get the titles and precedence straight? Dukes, marquises, earls, barons, then baronets? Where did viscounts fit in? She was sure she’d get something wrong.

  Remember you are strong and can get through whatever you must.

  Maddie’s words gave her courage. She would study and meet whatever challenges life brought to her, including the one she was beginning to dread—coming face-to-face with her mother.

  She finished bathing and stepped out into warmed toweling.

  “Here’s your dressing gown, milady. Let’s have you sit by the fire so I can brush out these tangles.” Mary guided her to a stool in front of the grate.

  “You have a gentle touch, Mary. I usually yank out bits of hair when I try to get the snarls out.”

  “No need to do that, now. Patience is its own reward, milady. Did your mum not teach you that phrase?” She faltered. “Oh, I am sorry. I forgot.”

  Jane’s brain whirred into action. Servants knew everything about the people they served. “What have you been told about my circumstances?”

  “Oh, milady, I shouldn’t have said a word.”

  “I’m not angry. Merely curious. I won’t repeat anything to Lady Amelia or Lord Ralston. I promise.”

  Mary put down the brush. “Jacob, the second footman, has a brother in his lordship’s service in London. The brother said his lordship learned he was guardian of two girls from his sister and was furious about it. He thinks you should be with your mum and is not happy that your mum has kept you away.

  “Why does he think I am here?”

  “His lordship told Lady Amelia your mum doesn’t want anything to distract from your sister’s birthday ball because your sister expects to get an important marriage proposal.”

  Jane mulled over this information. So she would be a distraction, would she? Yes, she could see that. The unmannerly American—or perhaps she would still be referred to as a colonial—would be a topic of gossip, perhaps even a scandal once the facts were known.

  “She’s ashamed of me.” That must be the reason she was to be hidden away for a month. The birthday ball was in three weeks’ time if it fell on the actual birth date.

  My birthday, too.

  “Oh no, milady, I’m sure that’s not it. Please forgive my loose tongue. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

  “It’s quite all right, Mary. I’m not distressed.” Not at her, at least. Jane narrowed her eyes as Mary resumed the untangling. She now had additional questions for Ralston, and armed with knowledge, she knew how to frame them.

  She remained in her room while her hair dried and opened a book by a woman named Jane Austen. Lady Amelia had recommended it as a way to reinforce her lessons by reading about characters going about their daily lives. When Mary arrived to help her dress for dinner, she was well into Pride and Prejudice and half in love with Mr. Darcy.

  “You’re to go to the drawing room, milady. We’re late.” Mary put the final pin into her hair and straightened her fichu. “They’ll be waiting for you.”

  Jane walked sedately down the stairs and entered the room where last night’s drama had unfolded.

  “Are you ready to dine?” asked Lady Amelia. “I’ve been telling Gilbert about your progress.”

  He came forward, dressed impeccably in a blue coat, with an intricately tied cravat. A diamond pin sparkled amongst the folds. She laid her hand on his arm, as she’d been taught, and he led her into the dining room. A footman held out her chair.

  Ralston smiled as she was seated, and the same breathless feeling she’d experienced upon her first glimpse of him in London made her pause. Gathering her wits, she beamed as he took his chair. Her guardian was, in Maddie’s words, a fine figure of a man.

  They dined on roast fowl and another array of delicacies. Jane marveled at how people could remain slim eating such enormous meals. The last course was brought out, and Jane groaned.

  Lady Amelia frowned. “What’s wrong? I thought you’d enjoy this special treat. It’s made from Virginia strawberries, something you’ve probably eaten before.”

  Looking at the plump red berries made Jane itch. “I adore them, and it was nice of you to think of me. When I eat even one, I break out in what my doctor called urticaria, an itchy rash like a nettle sting. It lasts for over a week.”

  “Oh dear, I didn’t know.” Lady Amelia appeared downcast, and Jane hated to make her feel bad. She was more than kind. “A different type has been grown here for centuries. This varietal is now available. I thought to make you feel at home.”

  “I appreciate the gesture.” She forced herself to smile, but inside she shuddered, recalling the last time she ate frissons anglaise. Raised red welts had covered her body. She’d looked like a boiled crab.

  “Shall I have cook make you something else?”

  “No, I am quite full, thank you.”

  They returned to the drawing room for tea, and Lord Ralston disappeared, only to return with a stack of periodicals.

  “This magazine is called Ackerman’s, and it contains fashion plates. I want you to look them over. A modiste will be coming here to take your measurements for a new wardrobe.”

  “But I have enough clothes.”

  He slanted a glance at Lady Amelia, who continued the conversation. “I believe you can be forgiven if you have a few gowns of lighter colors. I know you are in mourning. You may now set aside your blacks. I believe pastels would be best. Lilac would be a wonderful color for you, do you not agree, Gilbert?”

  “The clothes I have are perfectly adequate, Lady Amelia.”

  “No, my dear, they are not. They are horribly out-of-date, and please—I do not mean this unkindly—black is not appropriate for a young lady about to be introduced to society.”

  Jane sat and pursed her lips. Her clothing had always been selected for comfort and utility. She and Papa were homebodies, and while he’d promised to take her out into the world more often, the war had prevented it. Then he’d gotten sick.

  It is useless to fight.

  “I shall write to my niece, Elizabeth, and have her recommend a competent dressmaker,” said Lady Amelia.

  Ralston handed her the stack of magazines. Wasn’t a mother supposed to do these things? A tightening in her chest caught her off guard.

  She settled in and dutifully turned the pages, her thoughts elsewhere.

  Chapter 10

  The modiste and her assistant arrived within the week.

  “How much longer must I stand here in my shift?”

  Lady Amelia laughed, a sweet high twitter that made Jane think of a songbird in a cage. “Madame Lucille is almost finished. She’s conferring with her assistant and will return with the fabrics.”

  The new clothes were quite different from anything she’d worn before. According to Lady Amelia, styles chang
ed almost as quickly as the weather. Ralston assured her she could afford the best, and Aunt Amelia had gone to great pains to bring in the dressmaker recommended by her niece. Jane had been measured and poked and turned. All for the sake of looking fashionable.

  Her wardrobe would soon have morning gowns, day gowns, and traveling attire. She was already provided with corsets, shifts, and stockings in the softest fabrics, and even had a riding habit, although it had to be altered. Most of her dresses were in pale hues, suitable for a debutante, according to the dressmaker, and her ball gowns were wispy flowing concoctions with overskirts of lace and muslin. She even had soft nightwear in brushed muslin with borders of embroidered flowers no one would ever see.

  She must relinquish her mourning, said Ralston, because most people thought Lord Siltsbury dead for years. Her blacks would be put aside or given away. Her choice. But she was not to wear black in public.

  Yet another decree, most likely from dearest Mama.

  She hopped off the raised platform and rubbed one aching shoulder. She did not get enough exercise here, and her muscles were growing weak.

  Madame Lucille returned with armloads of fabrics. The first was an unusual shade of blue, a perfect match to Jane’s eyes, according to the modiste. Next was a burgundy velvet, too heavy for summer. It might do for an evening gown to be worn closer to St. Nicholas Day. The fabrics were beautiful, and for a moment, Jane was lost in the depths of jewel-like colors and soft, silky textures. By the time she’d finished and the carriage drove away with the dressmaker and her assistant, Jane was exhausted.

  After dressing, she slunk out to the drawing room and flopped into the nearest chair. “What must I do this afternoon?” She’d been here two weeks and had been given daily lessons in everything from diction to deportment.

  “I believe you are going to practice ballroom etiquette and will begin to learn the latest dances. Gilbert is going to teach you. I haven’t danced in decades, and while I know my way around a ball, I prefer he be the one to dance with you.

  “How can I learn to dance without music?”