Jane found the comte terrifying. His mocking, glinting eyes that slanted mischievously at her, the splendour of his clothes and jewels, the light, intriguing scent he wore – it all made her feel confused and threatened. She had never dreamt of such a man. The man of her dreams was solid and reliable, more like a father ought to be than a lover.
Harriet, passing in the square outside, recognized the Haggards’s footman standing by the carriage and called on her coachman to stop. She learned that ‘the ladies’ were inside Gunter’s. Followed by her maid, she entered the pastry-cook’s and stopped short at the sight of Frances and Jane being entertained by two gentlemen.
Jane cast a mute appeal for help at Harriet and Harriet sailed forward. The gentlemen rose to their feet and then there was a great deal of bowing and scraping and curtsying before Harriet said, ‘I was not aware that either Miss Haggard or Miss North was acquainted with either of you.’
‘We have a mutual friend in Sir Philip Sommerville,’ said Jamie.
‘Indeed!’ Harriet looked him up and down. ‘And just exactly on what occasion did Sir Philip introduce you?’
Jamie looked awkward. ‘We were not exactly introduced but . . .’
‘I thought so,’ said Harriet. ‘Frances, Jane, come along. Gentlemen, good day.’
They both remained standing while Harriet ushered the girls out of the pastry-cook’s. Frances hesitated, half turned and let her handkerchief drop to the ground, and then she hurried out after Harriet and Jane.
‘Don’t tell Mama,’ cried Frances breathlessly. ‘They were all that is correct, don’t you know.’
‘No, I don’t know,’ said Harriet crossly. She stopped by the Haggard carriage. ‘Jane, you are coming home with me. But first, how did this come about? You will ruin your chances at the Season if it gets about that you are in the way of being entertained by the Comte de Mornay. I have heard of that gentleman, and he is a rake.’
‘Frances felt faint in Curzon Street,’ said Jane. ‘Sir Philip was there to catch her just as the two gentlemen were passing. They must have seen us go to Gunter’s and called to ask how Frances was.’
‘Nonetheless, you must never do such a thing again.’
‘Please don’t tell Mama,’ urged Frances again.
Harriet looked at the pleading face under that odd mop of frizzy hair and smiled. ‘Not this time. Do not do such a thing again.’
‘But Duchess, the comte may have the reputation of a rake, but surely there is nothing against his friend, Mr Ferguson.’
‘Not that I know,’ said Harriet. ‘But if that gentleman wishes to make your acquaintance, then he must do it the usual way through formal channels.’
‘So do I return this handkerchief?’ asked Jamie with a grin.
‘I think the minx is interested in you,’ replied the comte. ‘I shall come with you. In that way, I may get a chance to meet the beautiful Miss North again.’
‘How do I find out where she lives?’
‘Ask Josh, the porter, at the club. He knows the direction of everyone. I would not tell her no-doubt-respectable mama that we sat down with her and I doubt if she will say anything, although that beautiful and stately duchess might. Simply say she dropped it as she was leaving.’
‘And when should I call?’
‘Leave a space of two days.’
‘I hope the duchess isn’t there.’
‘Why? She is as beautiful as my Miss North.’
‘I feel she does not approve of us one bit, my friend.’
But when they called after two days, it was to learn that Miss Frances and her mother, Mrs Haggard, were out on calls.
‘That’s that,’ said Jamie.
‘We could drive by the Duchess of Rowcester’s,’ pointed out the duke, ‘and see if the Haggard carriage is there.’
‘And what does the Haggard carriage look like? Will it have a crest?’
The comte smiled lazily. ‘I neither know nor care. My tiger can quiz the coachmen outside the duchess’s residence.’
The house in Park Lane was still protected from what had all too recently been Tyburn Way, where the condemned were taken to the gallows, followed by the mob, and so the entrance to the house was in Park Street. Both men waited while the comte’s diminutive tiger questioned the coachmen of several carriages waiting outside. He came back to say that various ladies were calling on the duchess, among them Mrs Haggard and her daughter.
‘So,’ said the comte, ‘in we go.’
Jamie hesitated. ‘We do not really have an excuse.’
‘Of course we do, mon ami. That handkerchief which Miss Frances so carefully let fall. Courage. I shall look on Miss North again.’
Harriet studied their visiting cards in dismay. She was about to tell the butler that she was ‘not at home,’ but a Mrs Bletchley, a friend of Mrs Haggard, said eagerly, ‘You look dismayed. Who has called?’
‘Monsieur le Comte de Mornay and his friend Mr Ferguson,’ said Harriet.
‘Oh, do have them up,’ cried Mrs Bletchley. ‘The comte is such a rattle.’
‘You are surely not interested in a rattle for your Sarah,’ said Harriet.
‘Fiddle. This French comte is ridiculously wealthy and must settle down sometime. I beg you, dear Duchess, show them up.’
‘Very well,’ said Harriet but she was aware of Frances’s shining eyes and the rigidity of Jane’s face. Sarah Bletchley had run to the mirror to pat her curls. She was a dumpy little girl, and yet, to Frances’s suddenly jealous eyes, she appeared to have hitherto unnoticed charms.
The ladies all sat in a half-circle round the fire. The two gentlemen entered. There were classes in Bond Street to instruct gentlemen of the ton in the correct way to ‘break the circle,’ as it was called. It was considered a superior grace to know how to enter a drawing room, to penetrate the circle, to make a slight inclination as you walked around it, to make your way to your hostess unruffled, with your hat under your arm, with your stick, your gloves, and, possibly, since it was all the rage, an enormous muff. Gentlemen also took lessons in how to move. Gentlemen did not just walk, they glided. Fashion was all. There was even a whole chapter in a book on etiquette entitled, ‘How to take off your hat and replace it.’ The comte acquitted himself with elegance; Jamie, passably.
‘To what do we owe the pleasure of this visit?’ asked Harriet when all the introductions had been made and all the bowing and curtsying were over.
Jamie produced the handkerchief and presented it to Frances. ‘You dropped this in Gunter’s the other day.’
Frances flashed a guilty little look at her mother before she smiled and took it. ‘How very kind of you, sir.’
But Mrs Haggard had been doing some quick arithmetic in her head. Mr Ferguson was not amazingly rich like this French comte, but tolerably well off. ‘Show Mr Ferguson your portfolio, Frances,’ she said.
Frances led James off to the end of the large saloon. With the grace of a dancing master, the comte took a chair, placed it next to Jane and sat down. Harriet watched this anxiously, but Mrs Haggard, on the comte’s other side, said, ‘Will you be honouring us with your presence this Season, my dear Comte?’
‘Yes, I think I shall,’ said the comte while he wondered what was wrong with this Miss Jane North. What was causing that aura of sadness?
Mrs Bletchley laughed. ‘You will break hearts as usual and remain just as unwed at the end of this one as you have remained unwed at the end of all the others.’
‘How ancient you do make me feel,’ said the comte. ‘But I may surprise you, madam. It is time I settled down.’
‘You amaze us,’ giggled Sarah. She hid her face behind her fan, then peeped over it at him. ‘You sound as if you have met a lady of your choice.’
‘I rather think I have.’
‘Tell us,’ urged Mrs Bletchley, thinking that Sarah had never looked so well.
‘Ah, that is my secret. I fear the lady is not even aware of me.’
For a brief moment his ey
es slid to Jane, who was sitting with her hands folded in her lap. Oh, no, thought Harriet. Very unsuitable. Jane needs a steady, reliable man, the kind of man I could take aside and explain her predicament to. Not this frivolous rake. He might even think the irregularity of her situation puts her in the mistress class!
Frances was showing her water-colours to Jamie, who was examining them with his quizzing-glass. Frances amused him. She was such a friendly little thing. ‘Do you plan to find a bride at the Season, Mr Ferguson?’ asked Frances.
‘Alas. I fear I cannot. My heart is not yet mended and the lady who broke it will be at the Season . . . with her husband.’
‘Ah, Lady Dunwilde,’ said Frances.
There is nothing more irritating than finding out that the secret of your heart is public property. Jamie’s face darkened. He tucked away the quizzing-glass. ‘I have stayed long enough,’ he said abruptly.
‘I am sorry,’ said Frances impulsively. ‘I should not have mentioned her name. But I could be of use to you, sir.’
He had begun to turn away from her, but at this he turned back and said in a voice in which irritation and amusement were equally mixed. ‘How, my child?’
‘I am not a child,’ said Frances. ‘I merely meant that I could make a confidante of this lady and find out what she thinks of you, don’t you know, and if I found out that she cared for you just a little bit, you might feel better about things.’
‘You would do that for me?’
‘Oh, yes,’ said Frances. ‘You had best ask Mama if you can take me driving tomorrow and we will discuss strategy.’
He laughed. ‘You are a minx and I should not encourage you. But yes, I would dearly like to know what the lady thinks of me.’
‘Is she very old?’
‘Old? Of course not. She is the same age as myself.’
‘The prime of life for you, sir. You are in your early thirties, are you not? But middle-aged for a lady.’
‘You are too harsh. I see my friend is ready to leave.’
He bowed before Frances, thinking again what a funny-looking little girl she was.
Meanwhile the comte had asked permission to take Jane driving, but Harriet had said firmly that as Jane’s wardrobe was not complete, she had to be at home for fittings. The comte looked at Jane’s still face for any sign that she might be either relieved or saddened by this decision but came to the conclusion that the mysterious Miss Jane North did not care one way or the other.
‘How did you fare?’ asked Jamie when the comte drove off.
‘Very badly, my friend. I asked her to go driving with me, or rather, I asked the duchess, who refused permission, and the sad Miss North sat with her head bowed, caring neither one way nor t’other.’
‘I am taking her little friend, Miss Haggard, on a drive tomorrow, so I will find out more about Miss North for you.’
‘Miss Haggard is an engaging child,’ said the comte. ‘A much healthier pursuit than your mercenary Scotchwoman.
‘She is not mercenary.’
‘My apologies. It was the title.’
‘It was her parents, I am convinced of that. She had no choice in the matter. Miss Haggard has offered her help. She is to become a confidante of my Fiona during the Season and find out if she cares for me a little.’
‘This being Miss Haggard’s idea?’
‘Yes, she is a good-hearted girl.’
And a devious one, thought the comte. But I am not going to put a spoke in her wheel.
Aloud he said, ‘Do not quiz her about Miss North. I have lost interest.’
‘So soon?’
‘There is nothing there to be interested in. No sparkle, no wit, no humour.’ The comte sounded almost angry.
‘And no interest in you?’ Jamie grinned. ‘Your pride has taken a dent. Hitherto you have only been interested in eager matrons who wish to be unfaithful to their boring husbands. Still, it is not like you to give up so easily.’
‘Then you do not know me very well. Who wants to make love to a statue?’
Although some of the following day was taken up with fittings, Jane found there were more calls to make. Harriet was taking her job of bringing Jane out seriously. ‘I hope you did not mind me refusing the comte permission to take you driving. He is too old and frivolous for you. You need someone younger and of a serious turn of mind.’
‘Yes, I am a trifle dreary, I confess,’ said Jane. ‘I feel the threatening shadow of my father always looming up behind me. I am so grateful to you, Harriet, for all your kindness, and yet I feel such expense and care are wasted on me. What serious and sober man is going to look on me favourably when he finds that I have been masquerading under another name? What if one of my neighbours who saw me at assemblies at home should turn up at the Season and recognize me?’
‘Do you know, I don’t think anyone would. No one surely is going to think that the beautiful Miss Jane North, sponsored by the Duchess of Rowcester, is Lady Jane Fremney. They will merely think there is a striking likeness. I have a mind to go out this evening to the Poor Relation and visit my friends. They gather in their own sitting room after dinner and chat. It will remind me of the old days. Would you care to join me? It will not harm your reputation, for who will notice us? It is a very fashionable hotel and they will think we are going to pay court to the prince.’
Jane agreed that, yes, she would like to go, simply because she knew it would please Harriet.
Jamie and the comte made their way to the Poor Relation that evening, the comte saying he had every intention of taking up Lady Fortescue’s invitation to a free meal. He also knew it would irritate Sir Philip. Jamie was in good form, having enjoyed his drive with Frances more than he had expected to. She was so easy to talk to, and because they were now conspirators in a way, he did not have to worry about making polite conversation. He had not told Frances anything about the comte’s previous interest in Jane, for the comte had declared himself to have lost that interest.
Sir Philip was every bit as annoyed with their appearance as the comte had gleefully anticipated. But the food was excellent and it was amusing to see how Sir Philip, Lady Fortescue and Colonel Sandhurst appeared to serve the prince and his entourage while it was the waiters, in fact, who did all the work. The prince’s mistress kept casting roguish looks in the comte’s direction. Before, the comte would have enjoyed the game of flirting back, but for some reason he now thought it would be a rather childish thing to do. To his annoyance, he found his thoughts constantly straying to Jane North. He should not have given up that game so easily, not before he had managed to make her laugh.
He was facing the open door of the dining room and had just finished the pudding when he saw the Duchess of Rowcester and Miss Jane North arriving. They went past his vision in the direction of the stairs.
He saw that Lady Fortescue had noticed the arrivals. She said to the colonel, ‘Harriet is here with Jane.’ And then the colonel, Sir Philip, and Lady Fortescue left, leaving the waiters to collect the pudding plates and serve the nuts, fruit, wine, and butter at the end of the meal, some people preferring to eat butter with a spoon to finish off their dinner.
‘How very curious,’ said the comte. ‘Miss Jane North and the duchess have just made their entrance and presumably gone upstairs. Lady Fortescue says to that colonel, “Harriet is here with Jane,” and then the three owners take their leave. Ah, of course, the Duchess of Rowcester was once Harriet James, fallen on hard times, and rumour has it did the cooking in the kitchens here. So no doubt she has come to talk over old times. Where? They must have a private room somewhere, some parlour to which they retire.’
‘You are never thinking of going after them!’ exclaimed Jamie. ‘Not the done thing. Not convenable, mon brave.’
‘Your French accent is appalling. Why not? It is our duty to thank the owners for this free meal and assure them all is forgiven. All very conventional.’
Jane, suddenly shy at finding herself back amongst the very people who had saved
her life, sat next to Miss Tonks on the sofa. Sir Philip had just summoned Despard the cook, under the orders of Lady Fortescue. The prince, in raptures as usual over the excellence of Despard’s cooking, had given ten guineas to Sir Philip to give to the chef. Sir Philip was all for pocketing it, grumbling that a Despard with too much money might be a Despard who would retire, but Lady Fortescue had insisted that the chef be paid.
Despard took the gold, his twisted face lighting in a smile. He would add it to the stack of gold which he had obtained as a bribe from a certain Lady Stanton who had wished him to flee the country and so leave the Poor Relation without their famous chef. Despard had betrayed her to Sir Philip and the rest and had kept the money. He turned and bowed to Harriet and then left.
‘So,’ said Mr Davy, ‘what is the gossip of the day?’
‘Our prince is still happy with us and everything goes smoothly,’ said Lady Fortescue. ‘No upsets or alarms. Does everything go well with you, Harriet?’
‘I am assured of several useful invitations for Jane,’ said Harriet. ‘We had a visit yesterday from the Comte de Mornay and his friend, Mr Ferguson. I believe you experienced a certain difficulty with them here.’
‘A misunderstanding,’ said Lady Fortescue smoothly as Sir Philip scowled. ‘He is, I believe, rich and unmarried. Have you hopes there?’
‘No, he is a rattle. Not at all suitable for Jane.’
‘Perhaps Miss Jane needs a rattle,’ said Mr Davy sympathetically. ‘Opposites attract.’
‘Like yourself and Miss Sheep Face there?’ demanded Sir Philip waspishly.
‘Your jealousy of the friendship between Mr Davy and Miss Tonks is becoming tiresome,’ snapped Lady Fortescue, seeing poor Miss Tonks’s nose turn red with embarrassment.
‘I? Jealous . . . ?’ Sir Philip was beginning wrathfully when the door opened and the comte and Jamie stood revealed on the threshold.
‘My dear sirs,’ protested the colonel, walking forward, ‘you have strayed into our private quarters.’
‘You must forgive us,’ said the Comte ruefully. ‘We have enjoyed your hospitality and are come to thank you.’
Back in Society (The Poor Relation series) Page 6
