Jessica tried not to smile at his assessment. He had been thoroughly fooled by the deception she had cultivated the past several years. Goforth had treated Jessica as a burden until her mother died. Then she had gone from useless girl to a pawn to be sacrificed for his advancement.
With help from Abby and Mrs. Hamish, she had used the cloak of her grief to gradually transform from a young woman who attracted appreciative glances from local lads to a woman gentlemen crossed the street to avoid. Her disguise was her only protection against Goforth and his machinations until her brother came of age. Five years seemed an impossible amount of time.
The rest of their dinner was an excruciating liturgy of Goforth’s accomplishments and plans to cultivate alliances with the peers attending the house party. Jessica nodded and moved food around on her plate. The torture of the dinner finally ended, and Jessica made her escape.
She bypassed her room and stood at the base of the stone staircase that led to a small room at the top of the turret. At one time, it had been her favorite place. Exposed wooden beams overhead gave it a rustic feel, reminding her of their cozy house in America. She’d spent countless hours reading, daydreaming, and hiding from Goforth in the room. It had been her refuge.
Until her mother died.
Five years had passed since she’d climbed the steps and found her mother hanging from the rafters. She shuffled forward, but her feet grew leaden and wouldn’t move another step. The shadows reached down the stairs toward her with the same black malevolence of a nightmare she couldn’t escape.
Her vision narrowed, and her breathing quickened. She turned away and scuttled toward the opposite end of the corridor. A ladder led to a trapdoor in the ceiling. With clammy panic squeezing her lungs, she fumbled the latch open and cast the hinged door upward. Night air washed over her.
A platform with a rotting wooden railing awaited her. She could imagine some long-dead Penhaven earl using it to scout approaching armies. She held her skirts knee-high and clamored up the ladder to the platform. On her haunches, she took one deep breath after another until the panic receded.
The dew-wet stone was scented with all the years gone by and still stood. There was nothing she could do to change the past. The gentle breeze offered solace, and the starry night sky spread above her and made her problems feel insignificant.
She closed the trapdoor and lay on top of it to stare up at the pinpricks of light. Her father had enjoyed stargazing. His nattering about constellations had put her sleep many nights. If she closed her eyes, she could almost hear his deep voice tinged with an English accent.
The only constellation she recalled with clarity was the Plough. She traced the formation of stars with her finger, taking comfort in the fact her father had found the same stars when he was a child not so very far away from where she lay. And hundreds of years distant, someone would look up and trace the same shape.
Her mind calmed, and she was able to concentrate on her present predicament. The entire point of her charade was to deflect Goforth’s plan of using her to his advantage, but her disguise would make her stand out as a curiosity among the fashionable ladies who would be in attendance. She needed to avoid attention as much as possible—good and bad.
And then there was Simon. He was a duke, and as out of reach as the stars above her. The moon inched toward its zenith, and Jessica shivered. A droplet of dew settled on her eyelash like a tear from the expanse. She wiped it away with the back of her fingers.
Her life stretched out before her, hopeless and lonely. Was it selfish to yearn for a sliver of good fortune? She wasn’t naive enough to believe happiness could last forever, but what-ifs scrolled through her head. What if she came face-to-face with Simon, not as the pitiable Miss Tremaine, but as the maid with no brother or stepfather or complications? Someone who was bold. Someone she wanted to be.
She rubbed her face and got to her knees to open the trapdoor and descend back into the darkness of the manor, leaving her hopes and dreams for the universe to ponder.
* * *
The next weeks passed quickly, and the heat of August faded into a cool September. The weather had been fine, and the carriage rattled through dry ruts on the approach to Wintermarsh. The seat of the Earls of Winder was not as sprawling or ancient as Penhaven Manor, but they teemed with life and welcome. Was it her imagination, or did joy seep from the mortar between the gray stones?
Footmen dressed in blue and gold livery unloaded a carriage that had arrived before them. Children ran around a manicured side lawn, playing a game of catch me if you can, their squeals of laughter adding to the merry atmosphere. Lord Drummond, in buckskin breeches, polished black boots, and a dark green frock coat, stood at the front, conversing with a tall man with black hair and an air of insouciance.
Simon—His Grace, she silently berated herself—was not present. Her relief was marked by bitter-tasting disappointment she had no right to. According to the gossip columns, the duke was a catch, and hostesses all over London vied to draw him to their functions. Speculation on when and whom he would wed to secure the ducal line had become more heated every season.
Most likely, he had forgotten all about the maid he’d spotted at a distance weeks earlier. And he probably had no recollection of the young girl he’d saved at the inn so many years ago. She was delusional to expect him to concern himself with her arrival in any way.
Their carriage rocked to a stop. Jessica smoothed a nervous hand down the skirts of her new dress. A tiny little smile tipped her lips before she battened down any spark of personality or humor.
Goforth had ordered her to commission new frocks for the house party. The fact he was willing to outlay the coin was proof enough of the party’s importance in his mind. She and Mrs. Hamish had debated whether to pick drab fabrics that would not cause offense or draw attention, or the most heinous colors in order to incite disgust. After much thought, Jessica had picked two hideous fabrics and one plain gray more suitable for a governess or companion.
Out of weakness or hope, she wasn’t sure which, she’d also packed the brown dress she wore when roaming the estate out of her disguise. Appropriate in cut and style for a servant, the dress was simple to put on and take off without any assistance.
The dress she’d chosen to arrive in was a shade of yellow that veered toward green and made her appear ready to cast up her accounts at any moment. If the color didn’t scare everyone off, the severe cut, high neck, and absence of any decoration might. It looked like something a color-blind vicar had picked out for his daughter.
To complement her dress, she wore the most god-awful bonnet she could find in a clashing shade of blood red. She could see nothing that wasn’t directly in her field of vision, but the excessive brim of the bonnet allowed her to avoid any curious gazes. Her outfit would set the tone for the week. If Goforth’s plan was to barter her hand away to gain political clout, he could think again. She was prepared to embarrass them both.
As the footman offered a helpful hand out of the carriage, Jessica lifted her gaze to meet Rafe Drummond’s startled eyes. The poor man was speechless, his mouth opening then snapping shut. She stifled a nervous, inappropriate giggle.
Finally, he turned his head and bellowed, “Minerva! Come greet your guests.”
Jessica didn’t miss the slight inflection in his voice. Had Lord Drummond not wanted them invited? Did Lady Drummond really want to better their acquaintance? The lady of Wintermarsh sashayed gracefully out the door, faltering slightly when she spotted Jessica. To her credit, her flash of dismay was brief. A smile warmed her classically beautiful features and made her welcome appear genuine.
Goforth’s blustery laugh was loud, as if he too was nervous at being received by the Drummonds. “Fine place you have here. Not so big as Penhaven Manor though, is it? I stocked our lake recently. Do you have a stocked lake here? You should ride over, and I’ll guide you fishing.”
Jessica wanted to duck her head in a different kind of shame. Lady Drummond
came to her rescue, neatly cutting herself into the conversation and looping an arm through Jessica’s. “My dear Miss Tremaine. I’ll have our housekeeper, Mrs. Devlin, show you to your room. I’m afraid the way things worked out you’re not on the same floor as your father.”
“Stepfather.” The correction came out more harshly than intended. In a modulated monotone, she added, “That will be fine, Lady Drummond.”
Although she had learned to mimic the aristocratic accent of an English lady, she preferred the familiarity of her American vowels and found even the gentry around Lipton more apt to dismiss and ignore her when she spoke with her native accent.
Lady Drummond stopped in the large entryway. The expanse of marble was warmed by a side table with autumnal flowers and an arrangement of books. Before she could step closer to examine the spines, Goforth and Lord Drummond entered. Lord Drummond cast a long-suffering look in his wife’s direction. Lady Drummond motioned toward the study with a quick jerk of her chin.
The unspoken communication continued until Lord Drummond threw his hands up in surrender and offered Goforth a brandy in his study. He closed the door behind them and then popped his head back out like a jack-in-the-box, startling them both. “Send your bloody brother in here, Minerva.”
The door shut with more force than was polite, and Lady Drummond shook her head. “That man. I apologize for his language. He’s proved impossible to tame.” The fond amusement made what might have been a complaint from another woman come out sounding rather lovely from Lady Drummond.
Jessica fidgeted with her reticule, not having to fake discomfort or shyness. She’d never attended a house party. In fact, she had never been invited to one. Abby, her maid, who was trailing discreetly behind her, appeared just as overwhelmed.
Servants bustled by and other guests meandered through the entry, tossing them curious looks. Lady Drummond looked around and hummed. “Our housekeeper must be occupied elsewhere, so allow me to show you to your room. However, if you should need anything during your stay with us, Mrs. Devlin will be happy to help you. William will bring your trunk and your maid can unpack.”
Jessica followed Lady Drummond up the stairs. The blue silk dress she wore was expertly cut and sewn and complimented her figure and complexion. Her blond hair had been swept up in a loose chignon, and even though Jessica knew the Drummonds had a son, her figure was enviable.
A pang of longing brought a lump to Jessica’s throat. She wanted to look beautiful and stylish, but even more, she wanted to laugh and tease and have someone look at her the way Lord Drummond looked at his wife. When her brother came into his own, she hoped to be able to drop her horrible guise. But that was still years away, and by then, she would be well and truly on the shelf.
Lady Drummond led her into a room decorated in shades of buttery yellow and rich gold. Her yellow-green dress was even more of an abomination against the sunny backdrop of the room. Before she could stop herself, she smiled at Lady Drummond. “It’s lovely.”
Lady Drummond cocked her head, her gaze turning speculative. Jessica silently cursed herself and compressed her lips back into a thin, frowning line. She must do a better job at maintaining her disguise. One slip in front of Goforth could prove disastrous.
“Yes, it is quite lovely. Normally, my brother stays here.”
“Oh. Is he not planning to attend the party for the duration?” Perhaps business in London or at one of his many estates had called him away. She felt strangely bereft. Even if she planned to tuck herself in convenient corners, she hadn’t been this close to him since their one pivotal interaction. She didn’t count her subterfuge in Mrs. Hamish’s kitchen.
“Never fear, I’ve given him no quarter. He will stay and entertain us for the week,” Lady Drummond said casually, but her piercing eyes searched for answers to unasked questions. “However, given we have a full house, he is staying elsewhere on the estate.”
“I hope he hasn’t been put to any trouble on my account.” Simon had given up his room for her. Her stomach swooped before she clipped its wings. She doubted the duke had even known who would be staying in his usual room. “I’ll be certain to thank him for his kindness.”
“I have the feeling he will extend his gratitude to you first,” Minerva said dryly. “You have offered him a means of escape.”
Knowing her bonnet was an effective defense, Jessica turned her head before she was tempted to query Lady Drummond more about Simon. It would be unseemly and reveal too much interest.
The footman clattered into the room and deposited her trunk on the rug in front of the wardrobe. Abby followed and stood quietly to the side of the door.
“I look forward to getting to know you better, Miss Tremaine. I’ll leave you to get settled and rest. Join us in the drawing room at six for drinks and to meet the other guests before dinner.” With that, Lady Drummond swept out of the room with the footman trailing her.
Abby closed the door behind them, and Jessica’s shoulders slumped. Even though she’d been kind, warm even, Lady Drummond was too clever and observant for Jessica’s peace of mind. With luck, the house party would keep Lady Drummond too busy to focus on one insignificant guest, but it was clear Jessica would need to tread very carefully.
Chapter 4
Simon dodged the bustling staff in the kitchen, grabbed a tart from the tray Mrs. Potts had left out to cool, and retreated down the hallway leading to the dining area. His mistake was focusing on the treat in his hand and not what was around the corner. Someone grabbed the sleeve of his jacket and yanked him into the butler’s pantry.
“Where in the devil have you been?” Rafe’s whisper came from between clenched teeth. “Minerva made me entertain Goforth. It was a good half hour before I could escape the mushroom.”
Instead of offering apologies, Simon took a bite of the apple tart and chewed, rather enjoying watching Rafe’s ire rise even higher. “That’s not very egalitarian of you. Don’t you admire his grasping, climbing charisma? I find it rather charming myself.” A lie, of course.
“I had not planned on enjoying this blasted house party anyway, but with that bounder here, I’m likely to go queer in the attic. You are the one who insisted we invite them, so you can be the one to entertain him from this moment forward.”
“Did his stepdaughter arrive with him?”
“She did.” Rafe’s gaze dropped to examine the stone floor underfoot with an unwarranted intensity.
“And her maid? Did you see her?”
“I didn’t pay any attention to what servants they brought along. Don’t most women bring someone to do their hair and such?” Rafe gave Simon a funny look.
Simon could think of no plausible reason to explain his interest, so instead he asked, “What is Miss Tremaine like?”
“Very… yellow.”
Simon blinked a few times. He’d never heard a woman described as a color. “Yellow happens to be my favorite color.”
Rafe hummed and gave an exaggerated shudder. “Not this yellow. It was ghastly.”
“What was she like aside from the ghastly dress?”
“I have no idea. Her bonnet reminded me of horse blinders, if they were a devilish red with ruffles. If she spoke, I couldn’t hear her over Goforth’s blustering. By the time I recovered my senses, Minerva had taken her in hand and shown her to her room.”
Regret at his impetuous invitation rose. Not only had he subjected Rafe to Goforth, but Miss Tremaine would be subjected to possible humiliation from the other guests. “Perhaps the chit simply lacks feminine influence. Minerva is the very picture of elegance. She could offer advice on colors and patterns and such.”
“Feel free to take that up with your sister. I’ll not be the go-between.” Smiling rather maliciously, Rafe added, “Speaking of, I’ve made sure Bertie placed you across from Goforth and next to the daughter at dinner tonight.”
Distaste at the thought of entertaining Goforth soured the tart in his stomach. He wasn’t usually one to make hay over his tit
le, but desperate times and all that. “I’m a duke. I should be sitting at your right.”
“‘Should be’ is the crucial phrase. Anyway, I want to discuss something with Damien, so he’s sitting next to me. I see you all the time.” Rafe had never been one to follow the dictates of society.
Arguing would prove useless, so Simon merely inclined his head. “As you wish.”
Rafe gave him a narrow-eyed, suspicious glance before stalking from the pantry and out the side entrance. The man was beating a hasty retreat, which considering his reputation for bravery, spoke volumes.
Simon wished he’d seen Goforth and Miss Tremaine and their entourage arrive. No matter how many times he told himself to forget the maid, he couldn’t erase the indelible image of her in the pond. He’d gone into Lipton several times, loitering at the inn, trying to catch sight of her again, sure he would recognize the woman from any distance, but he hadn’t spotted her.
Already dressed for the evening’s entertainments, he wandered into the drawing room to find Damien Northcutt sprawled in the corner of a settee, his head lolled back, dozing. Simon kicked at his friend’s boots on his way to the sideboard. Damien snorted himself awake and blinked up at Simon.
“Long night?” Simon raised an eyebrow.
“Long week.” Damien stretched before resuming his lounge like a big cat.
“Has it to do with a woman or with work?”
Damien’s smile was wolfish. “Both, actually.”
“Who’s your latest conquest?”
“Parsom’s widow. She’s quite an attractive piece of goods. Although it was less a conquest and more an out-and-out surrender on my part. She pursued me all season. I finally got bored enough to accept her offer.” Not even a hint of true affection colored his voice.
A Daring Deception Page 4
