by Tarah Scott
“Just long enough for us to receive payment,” Valan said.
“Everyone will be glad to hear you took charge and saved us.”
“Let us not say anything just yet,” Valan said.
Brendan regarded him. “Johnston may not be too pleased.”
“Nor Anthony.”
Brendan nodded. “I will leave everything to you.”
“Very sensible. Now, do you—”
Voices sounded outside the door and a quick knock followed, then the door opened and Jeanine and Miss Stone entered.
Jeanine clutched a flat box. When her gaze met Valan’s, her face brightened. “I told you he was here.” She hurried toward him. Miss Stone followed at a sedate pace.
“My God,” Brendan murmured.
The ladies reached them and Valan and Brendan rose. Jeanine curtsied and looked up at Brendan. “Hello, sir.”
“Brendan, this is my ward, Miss Matheson,” Valan said. “Jeanine, may I present Baron Rosemund.”
Brendan bowed over her hand. “A pleasure, Miss Matheson.”
“How do you do, sir?” Jeanine replied, and before Valan could introduce Miss Stone, Jeanine said, “This is my friend, Miss Stone.”
Brendan bowed over her hand. “Ma’am. Please, have my seat,” he told Jeanine. I will fetch a chair for Miss Stone and myself.”
“How very kind of you,” Jeanine said. “Miss Stone, you sit. I have sat enough for today.” Miss Stone took the offered chair and Jeanine then turned to Valan. “Did you see the table? Is it not beautiful? We found it today when we were shopping for this.” She extended the box.
He took it. “What is this?”
She smiled. “Open it and find out, silly.”
Brendan didn’t successfully stifle his laughter. Valan removed the top and started at sight of two exquisite cravats lying side by side: one ivory, the other a dark blue.
He looked at Jeanine. “What are these for?”
“They’re cravats. They’re to wear,” she said.
More low laughter from Brendan, who had placed another chair beside Miss Stone’s chair.
“So, I see,” Valan said. “To what do I owe the honor of this gift?”
“My mother says a man can never have too many cravats. I intended only to purchase the ivory, but Miss Stone said the blue would complement your eyes.” Jeanine lifted the blue cravat and held it against his temple. She smiled. “She was right—not that I doubted her.” Jeanine laid the cravat back in the box. “Do you not like them? Was my mother wrong, do you have too many cravats?”
“Never,” he said. “The blue is particularly nice, and I don’t believe I have one that color. Thank you.”
“Shall we sit?” He pointed to his chair.
She shook her head. “We only came to give you the cravats and to see if you like the table. Do you like the table? You didn’t say so. Oh dear, did we miscalculate? I was so sure you would like it.”
“If you will permit me to explain,” he said, “it is exquisite.”
She beamed. “I knew you would like it. Well, we must go. Lady Guilford was very specific in saying that we must begin preparation for the party no later than six.” Jeanine leaned close to him and said in a conspiratorial whisper, “She is a little frightening.”
He laughed. “Indeed, she is.”
“I plan to cheat just a little and go to the kitchen first and beg some chocolate and pastries from Mrs. McPhee,” Jeanine said. “But we must be certain there is no chocolate left on our mouths when Lady Guilford arrives.”
“Heaven forbid,” he agreed with all seriousness.
“If you are ready, Miss Stone,” Jeanine said.
Miss Stone stood. She nodded to Valan and Brendan, and murmured, “My lords,” then started toward the door alongside Jeanine.
Jeanine halted and looked over her shoulder at Valan. “You will be at the ball?”
“Of course.”
She nodded, and they left.
Valan reclaimed his seat beside Brendan.
“I don’t believe it,” Brendan said.
“Believe what, my dear?”
“She is not at all what I expected.”
Valan looked at him. “What did you expect?”
“Well…a femme fatale, I suppose.”
“Goodness, why would you expect that?”
Branden lifted a brow and grinned. “Because, my friend, that is the only kind of woman I’ve ever seen you with.”
“Ah, I see your error.” Valan finished off his sherry. “I am not ‘with’ Miss Matheson.”
Brendan laughed. “Does she know that?”
Chapter Nine
Jeanine scanned the crowded ballroom. “I don’t see Grey anywhere. Do you, Miss Stone? Your superior height gives you an advantage.”
“I am afraid I don’t. It would seem everyone who received an invitation is here. I have never seen such a crowded ballroom.”
“Oh, I see him,” Jeanine said. “Is that him in the far left corner talking to that redheaded woman?”
“I believe you’re right,” Miss Stone said.
“We better hurry before we lose him,” Jeanine said, and started forward.
Miss Stone kept up with her, oftentimes parting the way when people didn’t see Jeanine.
“You’re so fortunate to be tall,” Jeanine said.
“If you say so, Miss Matheson.”
They skirted a large crowd of women and Jeanine spotted the marquess with the woman.
“She’s standing too close to him. Don’t you agree, Miss Stone?” Jeanine said in a whisper.
“The ladies today are too fast,” Miss Stone said in a prim voice.
The woman leaned even closer to him and laughed at something he said. Jeanine and Miss Stone neared him and he looked past the woman at Jeanine. She came to a stop in front of him with Miss Stone beside her.
His lordship smiled. “Good evening, Miss Matheson.”
“Good evening, sir,” she said.
Amusement tugged at his mouth. “Lady Claire, may I introduce my ward, Miss Matheson. Jeanine, this is Lady Claire.”
Jeanine curtsied. “My lady.”
Lady Claire gave a slight nod.
“And this is her companion, Miss Stone,” the marquess said. “Miss Stone, I present Lady Claire.”
Miss Stone curtsied. “My lady.”
Lady Claire angled her head in a graceful nod.
“Are you enjoying the party?” he asked Jeanine.
She nodded. “It’s very exciting. Miss Stone has already danced with two gentlemen.”
The marquess smiled politely. “How very fortunate for the gentlemen.”
“Lady Guilford made introductions,” Miss Stone said. “The gentlemen could do no less than ask me to dance.”
“That is not so.” Jeanine looked at the marquess. “I am correct, am I not?”
“Quite correct,” he agreed. “Rest assured, Miss Stone, my cousin simply knows how to pair up good dancers.”
Miss Stone angled her head in acquiescence. “As you say, my lord.”
Jeanine caught sight of a tall, wiry man standing just beyond the dance floor, scanning the large ballroom. “How grand. Look, Miss Stone, it is Mr. Craig.” She nodded in his direction.
“Mr. Craig?” the marquess asked.
“I must fetch him,” Jeanine said.
“Allow me,” Miss Stone said, and started away.
“May I ask, who is Mr. Craig?” his lordship asked.
“Of course. You will not be surprised,” Jeanine said.
“I pray not, but I am curious to know how you made the acquaintance of a gentleman I am unaware of.”
Jeanine laughed. “You’re not unaware of him—not really. He is the gentleman who owns the shop where I purchased the game table.”
“Game table?’ Lady Claire repeated.
“Aye,” Jeanine said. “I had to replace it because—”
“I think we can forego the telling of that tedious story,” Gr
ey interrupted.
Jeanine’s heart fell. “Aye.”
Miss Stone arrived with Mr. Craig. She made introductions and Mr. Craig bowed stiffly. “My lord, I hope I am not intruding. Miss Matheson was quite adamant that I attend. If this is an intrusion, I understand.”
“Not in the least,” the marquess said. “Miss Matheson may invite anyone she likes. You are welcome at Finley Hall.”
Jeanine caught the look of surprise that Lady Claire couldn’t quite hide.
The marquess introduced Mr. Craig to Lady Claire. The man bowed low again and Jeanine wondered if he might break in half.
The orchestra struck up a waltz. “A waltz,” she cried. “How enlightened of you to have the orchestra play a waltz, sir. This is perfect. You promised me a dance.”
His lordship lifted a brow. “I don’t remember that promise.”
“Oh yes, you did—and you cannot say you have forgotten because you are old, because you are not.”
“But if I have forgotten, then it must be from age.”
She grinned. “Then you admit you promised.”
“Very clever, my dear, but I admit nothing of the kind.”
She shrugged. “I suppose if you cannot remember, I will have to settle for dancing with Lord Pomeroy.”
“Lord Pomeroy is not the sort of man you should dance with, particularly the waltz.”
“But I promised. I cannot break my promise.”
His eyes narrowed slightly, then he addressed Lady Claire. “You’ll have to excuse me, Lady Claire.”
She gave him a pretty pout, and Jeanine repressed a roll of her eyes when the pout leaked into her voice, “But you promised me a walk, my lord.” She looked at him through her lashes. “I feel certain you have not forgotten that promise.”
He caught her hand and brushed his lips across her fingers. “I have not forgotten. But that will have to wait.” He released her hand, and turned. “Sir,” he said to Mr. Craig, and then to Miss Stone, “Miss Stone.”
Jeanine glimpsed the startlement on Lady Claire’s face before the woman’s eyes narrowed. Then his lordship cupped Jeanine’s elbow and turned her toward the dance floor.
At the edge of the dance floor, he swung her into his arms, his right hand pressed lightly against her back, his left clasping her right hand. He stepped back to arm’s length, then pulled her into the music with flawless rhythm. He steered them around a couple who nearly collided with them, then turned her in a tight circle that took her breath. Jeanine laughed, and when she looked up at him, he was smiling down at her. She smiled back and slid right as the press of his hand on her back cued her.
“You are an excellent dancer,” she said. “Not at all too old.”
“I never said I couldn’t dance.” His express turned serious. “I would prefer you didn’t dance with Lord Pomeroy.”
“Is he a rake?” she asked.
“He is.”
“You are afraid my reputation will be tarnished.”
“Something like that,” he said.
She shrugged. “I don’t really like him.”
“But you would have danced with him, despite my request that you not.”
“I will not dance with him, if you prefer I don’t.”
“That’s very generous of you, considering you coerced me into dancing with you.”
She gave him a bright smile.
An answering smile tugged at the corners of his mouth before he said in mock sternness, “Perhaps it isn’t you I need worry about, but the gentlemen you bewitch.”
She laughed again and said no more.
Three dances later, Mr. Westland escorted Jeanine from the dance floor and she had to admit she was fatigued.
“You look as though you could use some refreshment,” he said.
They approached a large alcove, but Jeanine stopped when it seemed he might continue inside. Lady Guilford had been very specific in her instructions that Jeanine was, under no condition, to enter an alcove alone with any gentleman.
She looked up at Mr. Westland. “I am thirsty.”
He smiled. “Let me fetch you some punch.”
She gave him a grateful smile before he left. Jeanine looked for a place to sit, but there was no place, save the alcove. She considered. After all, she wasn’t with a gentleman, so she wouldn’t be disobeying Lady Guilford. Jeanine sighed. Mr. Westland would return and then she would be alone with him in the alcove. The open balcony doors, thirty feet to her right, beckoned. She could cool off outside for a moment or two, then return before Mr. Westland made it back.
She wound her way through the crowd and out onto the balcony, which she was surprised to find deserted save for a couple who occupied a bench in the shadows of the far corner. At her appearance, they rose and hurried down the half dozen steps onto the lawn. She sat on the bench in the shadows to the left of the door, near the railing, and watched until the couple were silhouettes beyond the ballroom lights, and then disappeared amongst the darker shadows of trees and bushes.
Lady Claire had said that Grey promised her a walk in the gardens. Jeanine hadn’t seen him since their dance. Had he taken Lady Claire for that walk? Maybe they still lingered in the gardens. She breathed deep of the fresh air. The night was warm, but cooler than the stuffy ballroom. Maybe Grey would take her for a walk.
So far, she hadn’t met a single gentleman who suited her purposes. How long could she remain Grey’s ward if she didn’t find a proper husband soon? He said he would help her. That had to mean he would send her home until he found her a suitable husband, as he’d promised. Had he an elderly gentleman in mind? When she thought about it, it wasn’t surprising that an elderly gentleman wasn’t at the ball. How could a gentleman that old attend a ball? Well, perhaps he could, if he remained seated. But that would be no fun at all.
Tomorrow, she would ask Grey about his plans. Jeanine thought about Miss Stone. What would happen to her once she married? Jeanine would have to bring her to her new household. She couldn’t allow her to leave without a good position, because too many employers mistreated companions.
A man and woman emerged from the ballroom. Jeanine’s gaze lingered on the lady’s dark blue satin dress. She planned to ask Mrs. Morgan if she could make a dress of that color for Miss Stone.
The couple slowed, and the woman said, “Did you see them on the dance floor—and after the way he was carrying on with Lady Claire?”
Jeanine’s mind snapped to attention.
“The Morning Star is a master of deceit,” she said. “That girl cannot be an innocent.”
Jeanine jumped to her feet. “How dare you say such a thing.”
The man and woman whirled.
Jeanine stalked to where they stood. “His lordship was perfectly proper with me.”
The woman’s eyes widened and she glanced at the man, who said, “You misunderstand, my dear.”
“I didn’t misunderstand anything. G-Grey has been very proper, he even held me at arm’s length on the dance floor—which you would have noticed if you weren’t so spiteful.”
The woman gasped. “How dare you?”
“How can you tell such horrid lies?” Jeanine demanded.
“They aren’t lies,” the woman spat. “Everyone knows the Morning Star is the worst sort of man.”
“D-don’t call him that, you mean woman.”
The woman’s eyes shifted past Jeanine and a male voice drawled, “How very pleasant it is to find you here on the balcony, Lord Fletcher.” The marquess halted beside Jeanine. “You’re looking lovely, Lady Fletcher. I have been hoping for the opportunity to thank you both for attending tonight’s little party.”
“It is an honor,” Lord Fletcher said. “Thank you for the invitation. However, I believe it is getting late. I must get Margaret home.”
The marquess gave a bland smile. “I quite agree.”
Lord Fletcher cupped his wife’s elbow. “Good night, my lord.” He bowed. “Miss Matheson.”
They started away. Jeani
ne turned and watched them reenter the ballroom. “She is a mean and s-spiteful woman,” Jeanine said.
“There is no need to excite yourself, my dear,” the marquess said.
“But she said awful things about you.”
“If I got upset every time someone said awful things about me, I would be upset all the time. “
“Sometimes I d-despise people,” she said.
“You are a better person than me,” he said. “I despise them all the time. Come, let us sit.” He urged her back to the bench where she’d been sitting and lowered himself onto the seat as she sat.
“Why are people so cruel?” she asked.
“The reasons are far too numerous to name and not worth our time,” he replied. “Lady Fletcher has a love of gossip and isn’t above creating a juicy story if no real tale exists.”
“I know,” Jeanine said. “She lied outright about you.”
“It isn’t the first time someone lied about me, and will not be the last. In fairness, Lady Fletcher is not wholly to blame. I invite gossip by living as I please without regard for Society.”
“That only means you are courageous,” she said.
His brows shot up. “How, may I ask, came you to this conclusion?”
She waved a dismissive hand toward the open doors. “They are sheep who follow what Society dictates because they do not have the courage—or intelligence—to think for themselves. They are jealous that you do as you please, so they lie to salve their egos.”
He stared at her, a strange light in his eyes. “Just the other day, I was told you aren’t a grown woman.”
“Who said that?” she demanded.
He laughed. “My dear, you are contrary.”
Lady Guilford emerged from the ballroom and glanced around the balcony. When her gaze landed on them, she hurried to the bench. “There you are, Jeanine. You are to dance with Mr. Ross soon.”
Jeanine shook her head. “I don’t want to dance anymore tonight.”
“You promised him a dance.”
His lordship stood. “If you promised Mr. Ross a dance, then you must dance with him.”
“I don’t feel like dancing.”
His gaze locked with hers. “A lady does not break her promise without good reason.”
