In addition to the unmarried misses accompanied by their families, there was also a gentleman espousing steam locomotion as the next great advancement for civilization and a sea captain regaling the table with stories of his travels around the world. Everyone seemed leaps and bounds beyond her in experience and worldliness.
Goforth hadn’t deigned to spend the coin to present her in London, and Jessica had eschewed all social functions in Lipton. Only now did she realize how isolated she was. Whose fault was it? While she wanted to lay the blame at Goforth’s feet, she had been happy enough to hide away and nurse her grievances.
A more practical matter garnered her thoughts. The number of forks, knives, and spoons in varying sizes lying with military precision around her plate was dizzying. Would they all be required during one paltry meal? Footmen approached with tureens of soup, ready to ladle. She thanked the man after he finished filling her bowl, drawing several raised brows from around the table.
Sinking a bit lower in her seat, she waited until the woman seated across the table picked up a spoon and then mimicked her. As long as she kept her mouth shut and paid attention, she should make it out of dinner without being thoroughly humiliated.
Goforth’s loud, indelicate diatribe against the laziness of the poor drowned out the conversation around the table. Count on her dear stepfather to provide her humiliation.
Simon stared at Goforth with naked disdain. The animosity between the two men roiled below the surface but might erupt at any moment, shattering the social construct that usually kept such anger contained.
She cleared her throat and posed the same questions he’d presented to her earlier. “What are your interests, Your Grace?”
He shrugged. “Riding, fencing, shooting. Typical pursuits of a London dandy.”
She guffawed just as she was sipping from her spoon, causing her to sputter and draw curious gazes. Simon offered her a water goblet. Once she had herself under control, she murmured an apology, hoping her powder was thick enough to counteract the heat in her cheeks.
“I must know what I said that was so humorous though.” He cast a half smile in her direction. His primal appeal turned her knees to water. “Was it the fencing or the shooting?”
Was he flirting with her? That made no sense. This must be how society worked. A volley of charisma and charm. Unfortunately, witty retorts were not in her repertoire. “It was the dandy part. Based on the books I’ve read, you aren’t one.”
“Ah, so you do have interests. What sort of books do you read?” He nodded at the footman who replaced the soup course with fish.
“The Penhaven library is extensive, and I’ve used my pin money to send for the latest novels from London.” She poked at the flaky fish, unable to take more than a few bites. “I find a good story keeps me company.”
“Are you lonely in the country?” Simon asked. “Why not ask your stepfather to present you?”
She was terribly, horribly lonely, but a London debut would only make things worse for her. “I enjoy the country. Do you enjoy reading for pleasure?”
“I’m afraid all I get to read these days are bills for Parliament.”
The rest of dinner was spent discussing the state of Parliament and the plight of the poor. Simon’s intentions were to be commended, but as long as men like her stepfather were allowed even a modicum of power, the oppressed would remain that way. Goforth needed to grind as many people as possible under his bootheel to make himself bigger.
Dinner ended with the serving of an apple torte. Lady Drummond was the first to rise. The rustling of the rest of the party following suit was accompanied by an increased murmur of conversation. Simon favored Jessica with a smile and inclination of his head before moving around the table to join the gentlemen at the sideboard. She smoothed her skirts and trailed the other ladies out of the dining room.
Jessica slowed. If she was to escape, she had to make a move. Her move consisted of one step toward the stairs before Lady Drummond looped an arm through hers and smiled warmly even as her blue eyes were coolly assessing.
“You aren’t considering retiring so early, I hope? The gentlemen plan to go shooting at dawn, but the ladies aren’t expected to rise at such an ungodly hour.”
“It’s been a most stimulating day, and I feel a megrim coming on.” While not true at the moment, it would be if she were forced to spend an hour exposed in the drawing room.
“Of course we want you feeling bright on the morrow. You can choose to accompany some of the ladies into Lipton or remain here for gossip, cards, and a walk through the gardens. Sleep well.” Lady Drummond favored her with one of her assessing smiles before entering the drawing room.
Nerves planted roots in her belly. Jessica kept her pace sedate until she was sure she was out of sight, and then she scurried to her room. Abby, who had been napping in the armchair with her feet up, started awake. “Were everybody fooled, my lady?”
“I think so.” Jessica refused to dwell on Simon and his unexpected attentions. One glance in the looking glass reaffirmed her opinion that he had ulterior motives for inviting her and Goforth. A woman like her didn’t merit the sort of attention he had heaped upon her this evening.
She pulled the mobcap off, and Abby got to work unpinning her hair and washing out the color she used to make her hair look darker and dank at her hairline.
Once her hair was clean, Jessica washed her face in the basin of tepid water, scrubbing off the powder and grease. She patted her face dry and stared at her reflection, feeling a shot of relief at seeing herself. One day she feared her disguise would no longer be a deceit but reality.
Abby braided her hair and helped her out of the gray monstrosity of a gown. “Are you ready for your night rail, miss?”
“Yes.” Once she was dressed, Jessica, said, “I won’t need you until morning. Thank you, Abby.”
Abby left and closed the door softly behind her. Jessica took a deep breath and stretched her jaw. It was sore from trying to make her chin appear weak. The evening had proved more challenging than she’d anticipated. She could only hope any curiosity had been appeased and Simon would transfer his attention to one of the lovely, accomplished debutantes vying for a smidgeon of his regard.
She pushed the window open. The night air was cool and refreshing. Light spilled out from the floors below and cast a glow among the tangle of shrubbery and flowers. Laughter overlay the patter of someone playing pianoforte. It sounded… fun.
A pang reverberated in her chest. She couldn’t put her finger on what she felt. Annoyance, yes. Resentment, of course. But also something more insidious. Longing.
She had long ago accepted her situation, but that didn’t mean her anger and grief had vanished. She’d merely learned to tame and channel her emotions.
Simon had asked her what her interests were, no doubt expecting them to mirror other young ladies. What if she’d answered truthfully? She spent her days keeping herself from being beaten or bartered or worse. Her overarching interest was to ensure her brother was safe and protected. And last but not least, she spent hours imagining a painful revenge against Goforth.
What would Simon’s reaction have been? Shock? Disgust? Or would he have been outraged on her behalf like he’d been years ago at the inn? Having someone care enough about her to protect her was a dream she dared not contemplate.
Jessica was used to being alone. She wasn’t used to feeling lonely.
She closed the window and the draperies to block out the noise and lay on her bed. She turned her head and smelled the pillow, her heart kicking a quicker rhythm against her ribs. Could she detect the faint scent of peppermint? She groaned and pulled the pillow over her face. Sleep would not conquer her restlessness.
Surrendering, Jessica rose, slipped off her night rail, and retrieved a chemise and the simple dress she wore to blend in with maids, shopgirls, and farmers’ daughters in Lipton. Unlike a lady’s gown, it was simple to put on and take off herself and didn’t require stays. After
wrapping one of her mother’s shawls around her shoulders, she checked the hall. Finding it empty, she slipped out of her room toward the servants’ stairway.
Abby had described the lay of the house after they’d arrived. The parts no lord or lady would be interested in. At a house party of this size, Jessica counted on the fact no one would question a maid they didn’t recognize.
And she was right. She nodded at a harried-looking footman in the servants’ hallway, but he only nodded back and went about his duties. She was outside in a matter of moments and slipping around the back to the gardens below her window.
She had only sought fresh air and a view of the stars, but she lingered at the edge of light and darkness, half hidden by a tall evergreen and with an unobstructed view of the merrymaking in the drawing room.
When her gaze landed on Simon, she admitted her lie. This was exactly what she had planned to do when she left her room. Ladies surrounded him like a pack of hunting dogs cornering their prey. All of them were young and pretty. It was obvious Lady Drummond had planned the house party with the intention of finding her brother a wife. Who would it be?
A few minutes of self-torture followed as Jessica pictured each woman on Simon’s arm. What was she doing? It was foolish to wish for something that would never be. She forced herself away from the scene and wandered until she found a stone bench under a trellis covered in vines. She gathered her shawl closer around her shoulders. Burying her nose in the folds, she took a deep breath, but nothing of her mother remained.
A duet of male voices had her perching on the edge of the seat, debating whether to hide or flee. She froze when she recognized Simon’s voice.
“Thank you for your timely intervention.” Amusement and exasperation in equal measures colored his voice.
“You know how dangerous darkened gardens are for the innocent.” The tease in his male companion’s deep voice hinted at a long friendship.
“This was only the first night. How desperate are the young misses and their mamas going to be by the end of the week?”
“Desperate enough that you will need a chaperone more than they will.”
“Are you available to squire me around and protect me from all the lovely ladies?” Simon’s laugh was a deep-chested rumble that made Jessica’s stomach take flight.
“Lovely? They are calculating and greedy. They want your title and your money. The fact you aren’t seventy and have your hair and teeth adds to your appeal. Mark my words. You will be caught in the parson’s mousetrap before the week is out.”
“That is a revolting thought. No man would want to marry under such circumstances. There would be no trust.” Simon’s tone was one of horror.
“Marriage isn’t about trust or respect and certainly not love. It’s about procreation for your dukedom. Your wife merely needs to possess the correct lineage for breeding.”
“Good Lord, that’s cynical, Damien.” Silence fell between the two men.
Mr. Damien Northcutt. She’d overheard two ladies tittering over him in the drawing room before dinner. He was a gambler and investor and considered very bad ton, yet the ladies had been breathless with fascination and not disgust. Jessica found his dark looks handsome, yet cold and hard like obsidian and the twist of his mouth cynical and guarded. It was odd to think of him and the honorable duke as close friends, but it was obvious that’s what they were.
The scent of cheroots wafted to her. “My sister married for love, you know,” Simon said idly.
“Is that why you haven’t picked a chit and wed and bedded her yet? Are you waiting for love?” The man imbued the word with dripping derision. “Your sister and Lord Drummond are a rarity among the ton, and you know it.”
“Yes, I know.” Simon’s voice was heavy.
Jessica wanted to reassure him, but she couldn’t. Partly because revealing herself would be idiotic, but mostly because she agreed with Damien. After all, love had killed her mother.
Her mother hadn’t needed to remarry. She had been left a widow of comfortable means, but she had succumbed to Edward Goforth’s charms and wed him as soon as her mourning had been cast off. Loving a man had been her weakness and downfall.
Goforth had been handsome in a brawny, overblown sort of way. He’d had a healthy, ruddy complexion and strong features. He’d also been arrogant and never let her mother state an opinion or even ask a question. The family had quickly learned what the consequences were for defying Edward Goforth—a harsh pinch, a hard push, a swift backhand.
Blake possessed their mother’s sensitive nature, with feelings that were easily trampled. Although it had broken Jessica’s heart, the only way to keep Blake safe had been to see him sent away. She’d planted seeds and tended them carefully, finally making Goforth think it was his idea that Blake should attend the finest of schools, Eton. Although she missed her brother desperately, she was relieved he’d escaped Goforth’s brutality.
Her mother had not been so lucky. While Goforth hadn’t committed murder, Jessica blamed him for her mother’s death just the same.
“So Miss Tremaine…”
Her name coming from Damien made her heart stumble. For a moment, she thought she’d been discovered, but Simon answered before true panic set in. “What about her?”
“She commanded much of your attention this evening.” Although it was a statement, it was clear Damien expected a response.
“Yes.” The pause was charged. “To my shame, she is here by my invitation.”
“Is she a pawn in a nefarious plan you’ve hatched against Goforth?” Damien’s voice was idle, but Jessica sensed an underlying attentiveness to his manner.
“Good God, no. Nothing like that.” Another meaningful pause. “I’m not using her. At least, I didn’t intend to use her, but I suppose I am in a way.”
“You are speaking in riddles. What is your intention with the lady?”
“Put plainly, I have no intentions with regard to the lady. Her maid, on the other hand…”
Damien’s laugh was incredulous. “You are pursuing a servant?”
Simon shushed him. “No. I absolutely am not. That would be dastardly.”
“If you were to take her against her will and abandon her, yes.”
“I would never do such a thing.” Simon’s very real outrage soothed her slightly.
“I know,” Damien said with a surety that offered further comfort to her. “Will you seek this fair maid out?”
“I shouldn’t.”
“Probably not. But as you didn’t offer a definite no, my guess is you will find her before the week is out.” When Simon didn’t offer any denial, Damien asked, “How did you meet?”
“We haven’t. Not really. I saw her from a distance in the pond at the edge of the property while riding this summer.”
“Ah, so she is a siren then. Let’s hope she’s not bent on your destruction.”
“It’s madness, I know.”
“A madness instigated by your cock. It happens to the best of us, Your Grace.” Amusement bubbled from the words.
“Don’t you start calling me that too.” The testiness in Simon’s voice at the use of his title intrigued Jessica.
A heel ground on the graveled path. “If we don’t return, your sister is bound to let the hounds loose to drag you back.”
“Thank the gods we’re not staying in the house.”
“Indeed. I would have to clear your bed of young ladies who accidently found themselves in the wrong room every night.” Damien’s mocking laughter faded into nothing as they made their way back to the house.
Chaos brewed inside her. Would Simon, the Duke of Bellingham, seek out a simple maid? Would he attempt to seduce her? The thought sent a shiver through her. Not fear, but something akin to anticipation, which was madness.
Jessica considered her options. The maid in his imagination didn’t exist. If Simon looked hard enough, he would find Abby. While her maid favored Jessica in height and hair color, Abby would be scared witless to talk
to a duke. He would soon forget about the “maid” he’d spied upon and marry one of the suitable young ladies in his path. Or…
No. There was no “or” that didn’t lead to her ruination.
She rose and meandered to the edge of the gardens to stare out over the manicured lawn and the woods beyond. The nearly full moon peeked over the line of trees, sending fingers of silvery light toward her. On her left, she spied the bank of a large pond through tall grass, and in the distance stood rows of apple trees, the branches heavy with fruit yet to be harvested.
The air was redolent with autumnal scents. Fruits, leaves, and the faint hint of smoke. She was comforted, and for a moment she allowed herself to remember her life before her father died. She’d had a home full of love once, but that future felt as out of reach and impossible as a duke.
Chapter 6
Simon poured himself a second brandy. He could blame no one but himself for Goforth’s irritating presence, but by God, the ladies Minerva had invited were positively rabid. They were due a long chat about boundaries. It was time to turn the tables and lecture her for once. Minerva needed to tame them, or he would mount a protest and remain cloistered at the cottage in the woods with Damien, a pack of cards, and several bottles of brandy.
Rafe dropped into the chair behind the desk of his study. “Thank goodness for the early outing tomorrow. I wasn’t sure how much more I could stomach. And this was only the first evening. Did you know your sister wanted to extend the party to a fortnight?”
“I suppose you put your foot down and refused her.” Simon propped his shoulder against the window sill and made a teasing growly noise.
“Putting my foot down with Minerva usually results in an injury of some sort to my ego.” Rafe rolled his eyes. “If you must know, I charmed her into a change of plans.”
Charming was not the first word to spring to mind when describing Rafe Drummond. Intimidating. Courageous. Savage. As an agent of the Crown during the Napoleonic War, Rafe had acquired more than his share of scars, both physical and emotional. It made him a complicated, yet fascinating man. The best Simon had ever known, and a true match for Minerva.
A Daring Deception Page 6
