“Might I be shown to my room now?” she asked wearily. “I’m feeling a bit tired from the trip.”
“I’ll escort her,” Grace announced.
“By all means,” Lady Whitefield agreed. Her husband appeared concerned over her sudden need to retreat.
Grace ascended the stairs, and Jolene followed. When she arrived in her suite of rooms, her luggage had already been deposited by the staff.
“I hope you like your quarters,” Grace said, glancing about the room.
Jolene thought it modest compared to the furnishings that lined her own room. Nevertheless, it appeared comfortable. “Yes, they are fine,” Jolene replied, walking over to the window. Her eyes scrutinized the gardens below, which immediately brought a smile to her face. “What colorful budding flowers. Your gardens must be ablaze with color when in full bloom.”
“Quite, and ablaze with bees, which I detest,” Grace quickly replied with a scowl. “For some reason I seem to attract the pesky things. Last year I was stung twice, so now I avoid the gardens completely.”
“Oh, what a shame,” Jolene replied, feeling sorry for her plight. Maria entered the room and glanced about.
“My lady, shall I unpack your things?”
“Yes, please do. I’m sure everything is terribly wrinkled.”
“Our maids can arrange for pressing if needed,” Grace offered. Maria opened the trunk, and Grace quickly went over spying a beautiful gown that caught her eye.
“Oh my, what a gorgeous dress,” she cooed. “Such beautiful satin and lace.”
Jolene smiled. “Thank you. My favorite dress shop carries the latest fashions from Paris, and I must admit that I quickly fell in love with it.”
“Perfect for the Chambers ball,” Grace announced. “You know, you must go. Our family has been invited. You, of course, as our guest must come with us.”
“A ball?” The event sounded intriguing.
“Yes, Lord and Lady Chambers, a friend of the family, holds the most fashionable ball in the spring. All of London’s society will attend.”
London society, Jolene grinned. “So you think that my accent will attract single men?” she inquired modestly.
“Yes, and I probably should have a long talk with you beforehand to warn you of the men to stay away from. There are a few rascals amongst the lot.”
It would be intriguing to meet men, but she feared it might sideline her from her intended purpose for coming to London. “And when is this grand affair to occur, might I ask?”
“Well, I hate to make you feel rushed, but tomorrow evening. I told mother that I was ecstatic over your coming so that I did not have to face the affair by myself.”
Jolene cringed at the thought. “So soon?” There would be barely enough time to acclimate to the English way of life.
“Maria, if that’s the case, then I’ll certainly need you tomorrow to help me groom and prepare,” she said, swinging around and feeling a bit panicked.
“Oh, I’d be delighted. A ball, how wonderful,” she replied in German.
“I’ll have to introduce you to my lady’s maid so the two of you can gossip. She’s quite the character, and I trust her implicitly to make me look my best.”
Maria gave a quick curtsy. “Thank you,” she replied, stumbling over her English pronunciation.
“Her name is Francis, and I will send her by later to help you get settled into the servant’s quarters. She can fill you in on all the scuttlebutt amongst the staff.”
Maria cast a confused look at Jolene. Obviously, she did not understand Grace’s pronouncement in English. Jolene repeated it to her in German, which caused her to giggle. Quickly, she returned to her duties of unpacking her mistress’ trunks.
“Well then,” Grace announced. “I shall leave the two of you alone. We dine at seven-thirty. The usual formal attire is our English way, of course.”
Jolene raised her eyebrows over the comment. Did she think Austrians were any different? “We dress for dinner, as well, in our household,” she confirmed.
“Very well,” Grace quickly responded. Her face flushed with embarrassment, and she quickly left the room.
Jolene wandered over to Maria who snickered. “Does she think we are barbarians in Austria that we need to be told how to dress for dinner?”
“She probably spoke her words before thinking of your position,” Maria said.
Jolene allowed the small infraction to pass. The long trip had taken its toll, and she did feel edgy and tired. Perhaps a hot bath and nap would help.
“I think I’ll wear my purple evening dress for dinner tonight, but I desperately need a bath and nap first.”
“As you wish,” Maria answered finishing her tasks.
Jolene wondered what the evening would bring. Conversation always had a way of revealing the personalities of others. Perhaps dinner would be interesting. She had much to learn about her hosts and the British in general. Then, of course, there remained the matter of the letter tucked away in her purse.
She brought her hand to her mouth to suppress a yawn. “Goodness. I do need some rest.” Obviously, her fitful night the evening before had robbed her of sleep. Coupled with the long trip and excitement over their arrival, she could barely keep her eyes open.
After lounging in a warm bathtub, Jolene crawled in bed and slept. She rose a few hours later after Maria woke her from a deep slumber. The time had slipped away, and the dinner hour approached.
Maria had taken her gown to have it pressed and brought it back free of wrinkles. After dressing, she arranged her dark hair into an evening coiffure, accenting her dark locks with a sterling silver and diamond hair comb, which her stepfather had given to her on her sixteenth birthday. “A beautiful hair pin for my beautiful daughter,” he told her when she opened the gift.
The precious memory remained fresh in her mind, as well as the deep commanding voice of the count. There were moments she felt his spirit as if he stood next to her encouraging her in the days ahead. “You shall always be my daughter, Jolene,” he would say to her with kind eyes.
“I know,” she whispered, “and you shall always be my father.” No matter what the days ahead revealed about her so-called identity, how could she ever change who she had become?
“If you have no more need of me, may I take my leave?” Maria asked, bringing her thoughts back.
“Yes, of course, Maria. Just return to me around ten o’clock to help me prepare for the night.”
With a quick curtsy, Maria left her alone to take one last glance in the mirror. After approving of her attire, she departed and made her way downstairs to join the Whitefield family. As soon as she descended the staircase, the butler approached.
“Your ladyship, the family has gathered in the rose parlor. If you will follow me, I’ll show you the way.”
Branson walked down a long corridor and stopped in front of two tremendously tall white doors. After swinging them open, he announced her arrival. “Lady von Lamberg.”
“Oh, my dear,” exclaimed Lady Whitefield scurrying to her side. “I do hope that you are settled in and all is well with your accommodations.”
“They are extremely comfortable, Lady Whitefield. I’m most pleased.”
“Good. If you need anything while you are visiting, please do not hesitate to call upon Branson or Mrs. Hatfield, our housekeeper. They will see to your needs immediately.”
Jolene quickly glanced around the room. Grace rose from a chair near the fireplace. Lord Whitefield stood near his daughter with a glass of champagne in his hand, dressed in his formal dinner attire with a white tie. To the left, an unrecognizable young man stood with his hand on the back of Grace’s chair. He appeared average in looks, but not uncomely, with light brown hair. Jolene surmised his age to be a few years her senior.
“Lady von Lamberg, this is our son, Alastair. He arrived home from our country estate a few hours ago.”
The gentleman took a step toward Jolene displaying a pleased smile on his face
. Jolene remained unmoved by his intense examination of her arrival.
“Lady von Lamberg, charmed,” he drawled. He reached for her hand, and Jolene offered it. Without making a spectacle of himself, he kissed it.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she replied, pulling her hand away.
“Don’t pay him any mind,” Grace said, walking over to her side and giving her brother a disapproving look. “He’s just returned from being in the company of some of the biggest philanderers in London. You best prepare yourself for tomorrow evening.”
Jolene, about to assure her she could handle herself in the presence of flirts as she called them, halted her words when Branson arrived. “Dinner is served,” he announced in his stoic voice.
“May I escort you into the dining room?” Lord Whitefield offered his arm, and Jolene quickly took it noting the disappointed frown on Alastair’s face.
“Yes, thank you.” She followed his lead as he escorted her into the grand dining hall of their home. He stopped at a chair, left of center, and helped her into her seat. A footman assisted Lord Whitefield, who sat center table. Their backs were to the fireplace warming her comfortably. Jolene felt slightly chilled in her short-sleeved evening gown.
Lady Whitefield, Grace, and Alastair were seated. The table was beautifully decorated with a white linen tablecloth, a bouquet of white roses in the center, and silver candelabras on either side that cast a warm glow on all the guests. A small card displaying the evening’s menu in French lay by her plate.
The table was impressively set with silverware, bone china, and crystal glassware that caught Jolene’s attention. They had gone to considerable length to impress their dinner guest. She glanced over at Lady Whitefield and Grace, who keenly watched her from across the table as if they were waiting for her approval.
“Very beautiful table setting, Lady Whitefield,” she complimented. A footman poured a glass of white wine, which Jolene looked forward to immensely.
“Tell me, Lady von Lamberg, do the Austrians put as much emphasis upon dining as the British?” Lady Whitefield raised her glass of wine and took a sip waiting for Jolene’s response.
“Yes, we are quite the connoisseurs when it comes to fine dining, elaborate meals, and spirits. In our household, though, most evenings only my stepfather and I dined together. He insisted that we dress to keep the tradition.”
“Only the two of you?” Grace asked.
“For the most part yes, but the count often entertained government officials at our home. However, such occasions were not a regular evening affair.”
“It must have been terribly lonely for you,” Lady Whitefield responded sadly.
“Not actually, though it must appear to others with large families. After my mother died when I was three, my stepfather had no desire to remarry. He focused his life upon my upbringing and preparation for the future. I do have a step aunt, who lives in Berlin and occasionally visits.”
“You have no other family?” Lady Whitefield inquired raising her brow.
“I’m afraid not. My mother was an only child, and my birth father passed away when I was a baby—the victim of an untimely accident, so I was told.”
“Oh, how dreadful,” Grace added.
Jolene silently pondered the statement with regret. Perhaps none of what she told them happened to be the truth.
“If your father prepared you to be a countess, then why is your title komtesse? Is that the Austrian pronunciation?” Alastair peered around his father with a curious look on his face.
“Komtesse is the title that denotes an unmarried countess. When I marry, then my title will change.”
“Very interesting,” he replied.
A footman served the first course of soup, which upon tasting Jolene recognized to be cream of watercress. The next course consisted of fish. They made small talk, until out of curiosity Jolene asked about tomorrow evening’s scheduled event.
“Grace told me that tomorrow night is the highlight of social gatherings in London.”
“The Chambers’ ball,” Lord Whitefield muttered.
Jolene turned her head at the surprising response that sounded laced with disapproval.
“Give my husband no mind,” Lady Whitefield retorted. “He hates to waltz, needless to say, so he is not looking forward to the affair.”
“I can think of better things I would rather be doing,” he responded in vexation.
“An evening at your gentlemen’s club, no doubt.” Lady Whitefield brandished her own frown of displeasure in return.
“Pay them no mind. You’ll enjoy it immensely,” Grace assured her with a smile.
“I shall enjoy it enormously, if you give me the honor of a waltz before my comrades spirit you away from me.”
Jolene looked at Alastair’s face, full of anticipation, and decided to agree to his invitation. “I promise you the first dance, Mr. Whitefield, if that is what you wish.”
“His comrades,” Grace interjected with a smirk. “As I warned you earlier, there will be quite a few compelling personalities in the mix. Take heed and don’t say I didn’t warn you, in case they fool you with their ploys of sincerity.”
“I can think of one in particular,” Alastair mused. “He will try his best to gain your attention. The scoundrel wins all the ladies.”
“Yes, I’m sure he will do his best.” Grace took a bite of fish and glanced at Alastair sporting a smug smile.
“You know, father, Robert beat me again in another mile race. That damn horse of his...”
“Alastair, watch your language. There are ladies present,” his father scolded.
“Excuse me, Lady von Lamberg. Let me rephrase my sentence.” Alastair wet his tongue with a sip of wine before continuing. “That magnificent horse belonging to Robert Holland. It is impossible to beat that stallion. You know...”
A loud clang echoed in the room as Jolene dropped her fork on her plate. Her hand, upon hearing the Holland name, lost all strength. Immediately, her face flushed in embarrassment. Everyone at the table looked at her in astonishment.
“Oh my,” she gasped. “Excuse me for being so clumsy.” Jolene went to pick up the fork, but a footman had arrived at her side, plucking it off her plate and setting down a clean one.
“Thank you,” she whispered. Her cheeks burned. Jolene took a sip of wine to soothe her nerves.
“As I was saying,” Alastair continued, “I’ll never be able to beat him unless I get another horse.”
“I’m not buying you another horse,” his father quickly answered.
“My brother just came back from a weekend in the country visiting with pretty girls and male friends. Take care to remember that name—Holland. Young Robert will no doubt flirt with you, using his striking blue eyes to pull you into his snare.”
“You’ll have to introduce me to this horseman,” Jolene smiled broadly. “In Vienna we do have great pride in our Spanish Riding Academy.”
“Lord Chambers’ son, Geoffrey, will probably twirl you across the dance floor as well.” Grace looked at Jolene and narrowed her eyes. “Beware,” she said in a low voice. “The man is the biggest cheat in London.”
“Can we speak of something else?” Lady Whitefield interrupted. “The komtesse is going to get the impression that every young, British male she meets tomorrow evening is a villain of some sort.”
“Speaking of villains,” Lord Whitefield said, “the Chambers do have their dark sheep of the family.”
“George, not now,” Lady Whitefield snapped, scowling at him.
“Oh, now you have my curiosity stirred.” Jolene urged him in a jovial tone.
“Slave traders,” he grumbled. “The elder Chambers was a slave trader of the worst sort before the States abolished the practice. Edmund Chambers, his son, kept their sugarcane plantations in the West Indies. It is how the family made their fortune from the sale of human flesh to the sugar on our tables.”
“Oh dear, how dreadful,” Jolene replied. “Slaves, that is,�
� she clarified. “I do admit that I am partial to sugar, though.”
The footman had taken her plate and replaced it with the next course consisting of roasted pork and a variety of vegetables.
“They are related, you know.” Alastair added.
“Who?” Jolene glanced in his direction.
“Hollands and Chambers,” he replied, shoving a piece of pork into his mouth.
“Not blood relatives,” Grace corrected him. “Marguerite Holland married Edmund Chambers. They are only connected through that union and nothing else.”
“Who is Marguerite Holland?” Jolene inquired of Grace, trying to keep her demeanor nonchalant.
“She’s the duke’s sister. Rumor be told, I do not think His Grace has been too fond of the match. Nevertheless, that union happened over twenty years ago, and their son and daughter have grown into maturity. Nora, the younger of the two, married and moved to Belgium with her husband.”
“Interesting,” Jolene said, cutting her meat and pondering the news. How uncanny that her travels should place her directly into the social center that included the Holland family. Her brow furrowed over the thought. Had fate determined to reveal her identity all along? What if she had never received the letter from her mother’s maid? Her visit here would be nothing but ordinary occurrence.
The thought of young Robert Holland making a pass at her suddenly caused her to chuckle aloud. Quickly, she reigned in the levity.
“Is the pork not to your liking, Lady von Lamberg?” Lady Whitefield glanced at her with a raised brow.
Another embarrassing moment caused her face to flush. Between dropping a fork and laughing at the prospects of tomorrow evening, she wished dinner would end.
“No, no, it is very tender, Lady Whitefield. Please, forgive me again.” She lowered her eyes. “I am so tired from the trip that I appear to be clumsy and giddy.”
“Well, I’m looking forward to tomorrow evening,” Grace announced. “I can’t wait to waltz the night away.”
“And I, as well,” Jolene added.
Chapter 6
Convergence of Strangers
“Komtesse von Lamberg of Vienna, Austria.”
The Price of Love Page 6
