by Tess Byrnes
“Oh, there is Deborah, um, Graybottle, or ,um, Grayshanks, whom I most urgently wished to speak to!” she cried and turned and walked quickly towards the girl before Priscilla could react, waving gaily as she went.
“Lucy!” Priscilla called sharply.
“That girl will go far,” Jasper commented admiringly, as Priscilla turned reluctantly to face him.
“You are shameless,” Priscilla informed him angrily.
“No, no,” he replied soothingly. “But I fear I am, however, somewhat tenacious, and you and I, my girl, have unfinished business between us.”
“Not as far as I am concerned, my lord.” Priscilla spoke decisively.
“I wouldn’t have recognized Miss Lucy,” he continued pleasantly, as if she hadn’t spoken. “You have done well to curb Mrs. Hartfield’s tendency to dress the girl in ruffles and ribbons. But then you have such exquisite taste, and always look so charmingly yourself.” His warm gaze rested on her and Priscilla was annoyed to find herself blushing slightly at the compliment. He had not put so much as a finger on her, yet her body was reacting as if he had her in his arms. She was aware of her rapid heartbeat, and a familiar tingling beginning in several traitorous areas of her body. Grateful that they were meeting in a public street and not in some private library somewhere, she gave herself a strong mental shake.
“My lord,” she began sternly, but he cut her off.
“Do you know, I missed you quite amazingly when you left Hillaire so abruptly. Never had that enormous house seemed quite so empty.” A wicked twinkle entered his blue green gaze and the seldom seen dimple appeared in his cheek. “The library, too, quite lost its allure for me.”
Priscilla’s color heightened further. “My lord,” she exclaimed indignantly, but got no further.
“Jasper,” he corrected helpfully.
“My lord Viscount,” Priscilla intoned firmly. “I wish you will not refer to an incident which covers me with nothing but shame and remorse.”
“Oddly enough, those are not the emotions with which I remember it,” he said with a glinting smile. Seeing that Priscilla was struggling to contain a most unladylike response, Jasper relented, abandoning his teasing with a laugh.
“Alright, I apologize, and further, I solemnly vow not to refer again to my very improper behavior in the library. Truce?” The rueful smile on his handsome face caused Priscilla’s own features to soften.
“Well, see that you keep that vow!” she said severely, unable to keep an answering smile from lighting her own eyes.
“And how are you enjoying your stay in London?” he enquired politely, entering wisely upon a neutral topic.
“Very well,” she replied warily, a little suspicious at this change. “But I have been in the country for so long, that I had forgotten how much bustle and noise there is here. I daresay I shall grow accustomed to it again.”
“It doesn’t seem possible, does it? But you will very soon be sleeping through the street vendors cries in the morning, and you won’t even pause in conversation for a poste chaise and four rattling by the parlor window.” He looked at her closely. “Yes, you do look a little tired, my dear. Those pale shadows were not there beneath your eyes before Christmas. Damn it,” he exclaimed, suddenly angry. “You have no business tiring yourself out looking after a minx like Lucy.”
Priscilla, aware that his raised voice had attracted the attention of the passers-by, saw with the relief the approach of her carriage.
“I would be obliged to you if you would not swear in my presence,” she said coldly. “And it is not very polite to tell me that I look haggard,” she added a little petulantly.
“And I suppose you are now going to tell me that Lucy is not a minx?” he asked with a suddenly tender smile.
But Lucy, having exhausted all conversational topics with a girl who was trying politely to pretend she remembered meeting Lucy, approached them in time to hear this question.
“Indeed I am not!” she said in mock dudgeon, looking to her governess for support. But Priscilla just took Lucy’s hand and shepherded her into the waiting carriage.
“Goodbye, my lord,” she said firmly as the carriage pulled away from the curb. She saw him raise a hand in farewell, and then the carriage turned the corner and Lucy, after a shrewd look at her governess, began to prattle happily of her come out ball.
The next day, having a rare afternoon off, Priscilla took a hackney cab to pay a long overdue visit to Dora. The vexing question of how to fulfill her duties as governess to a young lady making her come-out, at the same time avoiding meeting anyone who might know her had begun to seem almost unanswerable. She hoped that Dora would have some helpful strategies.
The cab pulled up at a handsome house on Upper Grosvenor Street, a very prestigious address, and Priscilla paid her fare and trod up to rap the knocker on the front door. She was escorted into a bright morning room, where her dear friend reclined on a sofa, swathed in shawls.
“Forgive me for not getting up, Priss,” Dora laughed, holding out her hands. “My doctor has forbidden me to do so.”
“Is anything wrong?” Priscilla asked in quick concern.
“Other than the son and heir causing me to miss every party and ball of the season, not a thing on earth. I have been having some early pains, and Mr. Manning insists on taking me to Riding this week,” Dora informed her cheerfully.
Priscilla’s heart fell at her words. She didn’t realize how much comfort she had gotten from the thought of having a friend in town who knew her situation and could support her. But she kept this from her face as she replied, “That sounds like the wisest course, Dora. You must be sensible, and it is only a few weeks sooner than you intended, after all.”
Dora grimaced playfully. “And then I will be a Mama, Priss! Can you imagine?”
Priscilla hugged her friend. “You will be a wonderful Mama, Dora. Your son or daughter will be very lucky.”
A maid entered with a tea tray, and Priscilla offered to pour.
She was soon settled in a chair with a cup of bohea, and as she stirred the cup distractedly, Dora examined her friend closely. Becoming aware of the close scrutiny, Priscilla flushed slightly, and spoke, “I do apologize, Dora. I was lost in thought. Tell me about your plans! When do you depart for Riding?”
“Never mind that,” Dora ignored this line of conversation. “Tell me, have you seen Lord Hillaire yet?”
“As a matter of fact I have. I ran into him while out shopping with Lucy yesterday.”
“And?” Dora urged.
“And nothing. We were polite, and then we went our separate ways.”
“How disappointing,” Dora shook her head, frowning.
Priscilla smiled at her outspoken friend.
“When are you going to admit that you are in love with Lord Hillaire and challenge Lady Spencer for him?” Dora chided.
It was Priscilla’s turn to shake her head. “How can I, Dora? He never wanted to marry me; he merely felt that he must. Plus there is the complicating fact that he is now betrothed to Lady Spencer. So he appears to have overcome his scruples.”
“I somehow do not think he has forgotten as quickly as you think,” Dora informed her.
A knock at the door sounded, and a tall woman, her clothes proclaiming her as a lady’s maid, entered.
“What is it, Lake?” Dora asked.
“Mr. Manning have me strict instructions to keep all visitors to a few minutes, Ma’am,” the woman relied in a toneless voice.
Dora wrinkled her nose in disgust. “My husband is an old woman,” she laughed to Priscilla. “But I have promised to be good.”
Priscilla stood immediately. “Of course, Dora. Take care of yourself, and I hope you will send me word after your confinement."
She stooped and embraced her friend. Refusing the butler’s offer to call her a chair or cab, Priscilla decided to walk back to Mrs. Hartfield’s house on Bruton street. After all, she told herself, one of the benefits of being in service is that
the rules of society no longer confine me. She pulled her pelisse firmly about her shoulders and was soon lost in thought.
As she approached Berkeley square she was aware of a carriage approaching her, and looking up she saw Lord Hillaire driving a phaeton with four beautiful chestnut horses pulling it.
“What a lucky chance, Miss Hawksworth,” he called down to her. “Will you allow me to take you up for a while? I was going to drive in the park, and would welcome your company.”
Priscilla hesitated for a moment, but the opportunity for truly private conversation with his lordship seemed too good to pass up. She took the gloved hand that was held out to her, and allowed herself to be pulled up into the carriage.
“Thank you, Lord Hillaire,” she answered.
Jasper swung his team back into traffic, expertly catching his throng over his head, skillfully threading between carriages and workman’s carts.
Priscilla watched appreciatively until he had swung through the gates to Hyde Park without once dropping his pace. As they gained the carriage way in the park, Jasper slowed his horses and was able to drop his hands.
“Nicely done, my lord,” Priscilla said approvingly, forgetting her constraint in her admiration of his driving.
Jasper merely grinned at her in reply, and Priscilla smiled back involuntarily. With her cheeks rosy from the cold wind, and her blue eyes meeting his with a smile, she took Jasper’s breath away, and the look in his eyes intensified. Priscilla immediately felt her pulse respond to him, and cursed herself for getting into the carriage. Fortunately it was an open carriage, so there would be no opportunity to act on the sensations that were already awakening within her.
The silence lengthened, and Jasper looked to his horses, struggling to get himself under control. This girl was tinder to his match, and he marveled at his lack of power over himself whenever she was near.
Keeping one eye on his horses, he looked sideways at Priscilla, where she sat clutching her hands together, literally trying to get a grip on herself.
“Do you know,” Jasper asked conversationally, “just how much I want to kiss you right now?”
An insistent pulse began beating in Priscilla’s throat and her mouth felt suddenly dry.
“This is quite improper, Lord Hillaire,” Priscilla eventually produced.
“Yes,” he murmured provocatively. “That is exactly how I want to kiss you.”
Priscilla choked. “Lord Hillaire,” she said reprovingly. “You are taking gross advantage of my presence in your carriage. I only accepted your invitation because I thought we would do well to have some private conversation.”
“I would indeed like to be private with you,” Jasper agreed. He pulled his team to a stop, and turned in his seat to look at Priscilla. “I have been able to think of very little else than the time we spent together at Hillaire.”
Priscilla knew it behooved her to end this conversation at once, but he had expressed her own state of mind exactly. As she turned to face him, determining to give him the chance to explain himself, as he had asked, a voice broke in on them.
“Jasper, darling! And the governess,” Lady Spencer strolled up to the carriage, stretching one purple-gloved hand out to Lord Hillaire. “So lovely to see you again, Miss Hawksworth,” the older woman continued in a sweet voice.
Seeing Priscilla locked in a passionate gaze with Jasper had enraged her, but Lady Spencer knew better than to expose her wrath. She was outraged that her work at Hillaire Castle had apparently not prospered, and Lord Hillaire still seemed to be on far too close terms with the dratted chit. Pasting a smile onto her face, Lady Spencer turned to Lord Hillaire.
“And here am I, thinking you would not remember your promise to take me up in your carriage.” She looked plaintively at Priscilla, who immediately sprang down from the carriage.
“Thank you again, Lord Hillaire,” she said hastily, “for taking me up. I will meet my charge here shortly, so, er, thank you again.” She nodded emphatically, and walked briskly away as Lady Spencer took her seat in the phaeton.
Lord Hillaire knew himself to be out-maneuvered, and as Esmé settled herself beside him, slipping a hand around his arm, he urged his horses back into motion.
“I have missed you, Jasper,” she murmured into his ear.
“Why, it is barely three weeks since we left Hillaire Castle, Esmé,” Jasper returned coolly.
“I think you know that’s not what I meant,” the widow purred, allowing her hand to slip from his arm, and rest suggestively on his thigh.
The Viscount covered her hand with his own, and as a satisfied smile dawned on her face, he picked it up and dropped it back in her own lap.
Esmé’s brows snapped together in a frown. “Does this have something to do with that chit, Jasper?” she demanded in an outraged voice.
“I will not discuss her with you, Esmé,” Jasper returned coldly.
“I take that as an affirmative. Well, well, she does very well for herself,” Lady Spencer said acidly.
“That will do,” Jasper stated in a very different tone of voice.
“How dare you,” she gasped. “How dare you speak to me in such a way?”
Lord Hillaire pressed his lips together, but replied in an urbane tone, “I do apologize, Esmé. But I really must ask you to let this subject drop.”
Lady Spencer, aware that she had tipped her hand, tried to make a recover. “You must forgive a woman in love, Jasper.”
Jasper bowed from the waist, but did not speak. “Where may I drop you, Lady Spencer?”
They rode in silence until they approached her town house, and Lady Spencer climbed down to stand on the pavement.
“I apologize if I have said anything I shouldn’t, Jasper,” she murmured with a compelling smile.
“Not at all,” Jasper returned. “Goodbye, Esmé,” he said with finality, and with a touch to the brim of his curly beaver hat, drove smartly off.
“No, no, no,” Lady Spencer repeated, a furious look on her face as she watched him drive away. “She will not just waltz away with my prize.”
The day of the Hartfield ball finally came, and the morning dawned to weak wintry sunshine. At the breakfast table as Mrs. Hartfield sorted through the last batch of acceptances for Lucy’s debut ball, Lucy enquired if one had been received from the Viscount.
“Why, yes,” Mrs. Hartfield replied complacently. “I believe everyone has accepted. And why should they not. I was always held to give the most enjoyable balls and parties. When my dear husband was alive we spent every season in town. Our parties were always amongst the best attended of the season! And it seems that so shall tonight’s be, as I have received over two hundred and fifty acceptances.” Lucy returned a noncommittal answer, while casting a covert glance at Priscilla.
“Mama,” Lucy said suddenly in a piteous tone. “Hawkie says she won’t come downstairs tonight. I shall be so nervous without her there, that I’m sure I won’t be able to enjoy the ball at all.” She almost managed to achieve a tear, as her mother looked up, distracted.
“What nonsense is this, Lucy?” she asked sharply. “I’m sure you have misunderstood entirely. My dear Miss Hawksworth, I made sure you would be there to help me. I’m afraid I must insist upon it.”
Priscilla was by now familiar enough with her employer to recognize in her rising voice the prelude to what would inevitably become a tearful argument persuading Priscilla that without her presence the entire evening would be ruined. As she applied herself to the task of soothing the agitated lady, and assuring her that she would have all the support Priscilla could provide, she noted Lucy discretely exiting the room and vowed silently to have a word with that enterprising damsel, and soon.
It had taken Priscilla longer than it should have to recognize in Lucy’s frequent disappearances a match-making bent. She had not been suspicious at the ill-fated picnic, nor at Hillaire Castle, when Lucy had again contrived to be absent, leaving Priscilla and the Viscount alone at tea with his Grandmama. But
it was becoming increasingly apparent that Lucy was unaware that Jasper was betrothed to Lady Spencer, and it seemed most important to Priscilla that Lucy be put in possession of this information immediately. Unfortunately by the time Priscilla was able to leave Mrs. Hartfield, Lucy had stepped out with her maid for a final fitting of the ball gown which would be delivered that late afternoon. So Priscilla spent the afternoon with Amabel, hearing her lessons, and almost succeeding in convincing herself that she didn’t care a jot whether the Viscount attended the ball or not.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Priscilla stood slightly behind Mrs. Hartfield’s chair, trying without much success to blend in with the draperies hanging behind her. She was attired in the second of her two ball gowns, this one a very pale blue with tiny puff sleeves, worn over a white under dress. A spangled gauze scarf hung negligently over her elbows, and matched the spangled slippers on her feet. Her eyes glowed like sapphires, and she had already refused three young bucks who had begged for the honor of leading her out upon the dance floor. It was therefore with some difficulty that she tried to become as one with the draperies and escape notice.
“I’ll just stay long enough to see Lucy established with her first few partners, then retire as soon as may be,” she thought to herself. But no sooner had she made this resolve, than she became aware of a tall figure immediately before her employer.
Astonishingly handsome in severe black evening dress, with impeccable white lace frothing at his wrists and throat, Lord Hillaire bowed deeply over Mrs. Hartfield’s hand. His dark hair was pulled back and secured at the nape of his neck, accentuating the sharp planes of his face. His expression was polite, but Priscilla was immediately on her guard.
“A pleasure to see you again, ma’am,” Jasper uttered smoothly. “My Mama sends her fondest regards.”
“Oh, yes, indeed. She is too kind.” Mrs. Hartfield responded disjointedly. She felt a little conscious in light of her hasty departure from Hillaire, and this did not allow her to enjoy, as she usually would, the circumstance of a very handsome young man holding her plump white hand. She gave a little titter, but nonetheless looked about her for rescue. Her glance alit upon Priscilla, whose lovely face was averted as she studied the silk hangings behind her with all the intensity of a drapery merchant.
