“I should think that would be perfectly obvious. A lady named lphegenia.”
“Nicely turned, my dear. But—” He broke off as the figure separated them, then brought them back together again. “Why did you come to London?”
“‘I beg your pardon? You were explaining who my namesake was, were you not?”
“I was. But in order to do so, I will need you to refresh my memory on some particulars. You came visiting?”
“Yes, and to help my friend Mary through her sister’s wedding, and through the setting-up of her nursery and her confinement as well, although Aunt Winchell had no idea that I should be gone such a time.”
“No doubt.” Teverley smiled.
“Well, I could not have anticipated the stop at the Green Falconer, or meeting Emily or any of you. And even at that, I didn’t really tell my aunt the whole, which was easy enough to do, since the note arrived from the countess so impressed her that—”
Teverley blinked. “Countess?”
“Mary’s sister’s aunt-in-law.” Jenny explained patiently. “This must sound like the most maddening history, but recall that you did ask me.”
“Which countess is your friend’s new—er—aunt-at-law?”
“Lady—humm—Boskingram. Or something. Yes, I believe that is right.”
“So this Lady Boskingram invited you to London?” He smiled. “I confess that I grow more and more confused.”
“I shall endeavor to make it clearer. Mary Bevan’s sister Ally was wed to Lady Boskingram’s nephew, and I was invited to the city to companion Mary for a while.”
“Rather than companioning your aunt,” he said gravely. “I see. Just as I imagined. Mary Bevan ... she’s a pretty, flighty thing with fair hair, isn’t she?” He cast a look across the room to where Emily stood, conversing cheerfully with half a dozen young men.
“Exactly so! I noticed that Maria and Emily are rather in the same style some time ago. Of course, there is no relationship, so—”
“And rather than attend that wedding, you have been dancing attendance on Emily Pellering and her family, taking their orders, and outmaneuvering my aunt Teeve. Quite a holiday for you.”
Jenny missed, or ignored, the dry tone he used. “Why, it’s been quite an adventure for me. If you were used to mending shirts and writing letters and making visits to Dumsford parsonage, and teaching in the nursery, and living altogether the most countrified sort of life, London is the most prodigious adventure you can imagine. Even had I been confined to my room the entirety of my visit, I should at least have been in a different room!”
Teverley did not smile in response to her joking. Instead, his hands gripped her more tightly as he swung her round in the figure.
“I’ll tell you who lphegenia was. She was a woman in Greek myth, the daughter of Agamemnon, one of the Greek kings. And just before he went to fight the battle at Troy he was advised that the only way to assure his victory was to kill his eldest daughter—Iphegenia.” Teverley’s voice was rough. “What I mean, Jenny my dear Miss Prydd, is that you must stop letting people ride roughshod over you. Your aunt lets you mend shirts; your mamma let you wait upon her; Emily Pellering is in a fine way to let you reduce yourself to genteel—and unpaid—slavery. And even your friend Mary seems to have no other use for you than to companion her and help her fit out her nursery. Don’t you want anything for yourself?”
Jenny looked at Teverley with amazement; it was she who lost the step, and he who guided her skillfully back into the pattern.
“My dear sir, I—why, I am so much more fortunate than I had ever thought to be! You cannot understand: you’re a man, and have your business; even had you been left penniless you might have had some chance to make your fortune, whereas a woman has very little unless she marry it. You cannot have any notion of what it is to be plain, without a dowry above thirty pounds per annum, and rising on thirty years old! Even Mamma, when she saw that I was not likely to turn a beauty, sent me to the school where I met Maria Ervine—Maria Bevan, now—so that I might have some education to fall back upon later in making my way. And now, why, to go to ton parties, to be accepted without comment, almost as if I were handsome or wealthy or only seventeen ... Surely if I were a different sort of woman, these would seem very poor triumphs, but, situated as I am, I never expected such riches!”
Teverley stared down at her, his mouth tightening as if he were trying to restrain a reply. The music was coming to a halt and Jenny realized that the room was terribly hot; it was all she could do to return his look.
“Peter!” The voice broke them from their sudden concentration. “I wonder if I might have Miss Prydd’s company for the next dance?” It was Lord Teeve, splendid in formal evening dress, peering mildly at his nephew.
“Certainly, sir.” Teverley bowed politely. “Miss Prydd?”
With a wavering smile for her last partner, Miss Prydd took her place with Lord Teeve at the head of the chief set.
“Oh, no, sir, there must surely be someone with whom you ought to dance,” she demurred when she realized that they were to start the second set, of dances.
“My dear, one of the great good fortunes of growing old is that you can have your whims—say, dance with whatever pretty young woman you choose—and no one can say you nay or yea about it.” He smiled; the music began.
o0o
Emily Pellering, surrounded by Domenic’s school friends, one or two of the local sons, and some other various gentlemen, reflected grimly behind her smile that the only gentleman who had not yet begged the favor of a dance was Peter Teverley. Instead—and she remembered all Lady Teeve’s hints upon the subject—he was dancing with Jenny. Her Jenny. And worse than that, her Jenny was dancing with him, when she knew…. It was all simply too much. Even Domenic, her faithful, oft-scorned beau, was making duty dances with the older ladies and behaving in an exemplary fashion, which irritated her beyond bearing. The loud, good-natured attentions of Mr. Willson, Mr. Keally, and Mr. Authernot only served to fan the flame, and Emily became, in a burst of rage that shone inexplicably behind her smiling mask, unquestionably the most beautiful girl at the ball. Mr. Willson offered to fetch her lemonade. Mr. Keally offered to fan her. And poor Frog Authernot offered to fetch her two glasses of lemonade, in an effort to outdo both of them.
“No, it will take you an age to fetch the lemonade, and I am perishing of thirst now.” She shrugged. “What is it you are drinking, sir?”
Mr. Keally, the gentleman so addressed, looked up, somewhat startled. “It’s the sort of punch kept for the gentlemen, ma’am. A mite too strong for the ladies, of course—”
“Fiddle!” Emily took the glass from him and drained it. “I doubt it will do me any harm at all. And it tastes much nicer than that dreadful insipid lemonade, anyway.”
Mr. Keally and his friends, enchanted by such bravado, applauded mightily, adding that Miss Pellering certainly was a game sort of female.
“And I will drink as much of that stuff as you set before me,” she insisted. “Or anything, I am so dreadfully thirsty.” Mr. Keally at once hurried away, intending to fetch lemonade. It was not his fault that, by the time he reached the punch bowls, the lemonade was momentarily depleted and the punch just now refilled. He brought back three cupsful, with a look of chagrin, and was rewarded by Emily’s fervently expressed thanks, her hand to kiss, and her smile. Then she took two of the cups from him (before he could indicate that one was for himself, another for Mr. Willson, and only one destined for her) and drained both, in time to be claimed for the dance by Mr. Authernot. Her step was somewhat unsteady as she was led out to the floor, and Willson and Keally alternated between contrition and delight at having—mildly—foxed the reigning belle of the evening. Finally, since there was nothing to do for it any longer, they went off to claim other partners until their respective turns with Emily should come.
o0o
Lady Teeve, with her friends, had observed Miss Prydd’s entrance, had seen her dance, first with her
nephew, then with her husband. As Lord Teeve relinquished her, another gentleman appeared to request the honor, apparently encouraged by his host’s sanction. Lady Teeve clenched her hands together tightly and conversed with the ladies and gentlemen in her group, and watched. She saw, to her surprise, that Emily Pellering seemed somewhat uneasy on her feet, and at first wondered if this one would faint at her feet. But a little more observation brought the truth to her: Emily Pellering was foxed. Not truly drunk, but somewhat more than mildly inebriate. Lady Teeve’s smile became wider, more genuine. She searched out Miss Prydd again and found her, at the beginning of the fourth dance, partnered by Peter Teverley again.
“You’re smiling, Prydd. I believe that you are enjoying yourself.” Teverley regarded her mockingly. “Can it be that you have forgotten that exasperating piece of nature that you call friend, and are actually thinking of yourself?”
“What a saint you would make of me, sir!” She laughed.
“Certainly considerably more sanctified than ninety percent of the people of my acquaintance—male or female.”
“Faugh, I believe you are trying to put me out of countenance.”
“Of course I am, Prydd my dear. You are so much more amusing when you are out of countenance. I believe I might almost make you blush if I tried.”
“But you will not, will you.” It was not a question.
“I suppose I will overcome the temptation—for the moment.” He smiled down at her.
Lady Teeve, watching the whole of this exchange, stopped in midpronouncement to stare at her guest and her nephew. “I believe he likes her!” she marveled. “I believe he has a tendre for her!” She had made hints of such a state of affairs to Emily Pellering, but had thought them created from whole cloth. “My God, if he were to offer—” It was no longer a matter of personal satisfaction. It was an imperative required by family honor. She made her excuses to her friends, passing through the crowd, which continually produced some person who had to congratulate her on the success of her party and so slowed her progress.
At last she was near enough Jenny so that she could stop her when she and Teverley left off dancing. “My dear Miss Prydd.” Lady Teeve smiled a smile that almost drove Jenny’s answering one from her face. “You look to be enjoying yourself, which I am glad to see, since so much of your visit here has been so sadly confined. It is not every day that you attend a ball, I would wager.”
“On the contrary, ma’am, I have seen Miss Prydd and Miss Pellering at several balls during my stay in London. Miss Prydd must be an old campaigner by now,” Teverley submitted blandly.
Lady Teeve regarded her nephew with dislike. “Ah, you and your soldier’s talk, Peter! Now do fetch me a glass of lemonade. I give you my word, we are not going to vanish anywhere.”
Teverley’s look boded refusal, and Jenny, sensing a scene, added her pleas to those of her hostess with a meaningful look that indicated she was able to defend herself. He had no choice but to leave, a trifle irritated with Jenny’s self-sufficiency.
“It is a most delightful party,” Jenny offered, when Teverley was gone.
“It would appear to be, from the way that you enjoy yourself.” Lady Teeve plainly disapproved of the enjoyment. Close to her prey now, she could see that Miss Prydd was wearing a very fine gown for a poor dependent, and that her hair was neither modish nor dowdy, either of which she could condemn with equal facility, but simply becoming. “I see that your charge is enjoying herself also.” Her words were heavily weighted, and Jenny, who had not seen Emily since her first glimpse earlier, wondered uneasily why Lady Teeve was dwelling so much upon the point. “There, you see her,” the lady insisted.
And through a parting of shoulders and heads Jenny could indeed see, with a sinking heart, Emily. She was not castaway, not even obviously under the effect of drink, but her manner, her carriage, the very slight disarray of her hair and dress, bespoke a hectic, reckless behavior that made Jenny suddenly guilty, conscious of her lack of attention to Emily’s mood.
“Indeed, ma’am, so I can. I think perhaps I ought to join her and—” She faltered. “And ask her aid, for I can feel one of my flounces is in danger, and—”
“No need to bother Miss Pellering,” Lady Teeve said with sweet venom. “After all, you have neglected her thus far. Surely a few minutes more will not harm her.” The first shot fired. Jenny looked at her dainty, elegantly dressed foe and realized that the battle she had dreaded was at last joined.
“I have not neglected her, ma’am, except by staying in my room, which was only following the orders of the physician you so kindly ordered for me. After all, I expected that, surrounded by such kindness and wisdom as you and your family could be depended upon to exert, she could hardly feel my neglect.”
“My dear Miss Prydd, I suspect that very little of kindness and wisdom would have any effect on that hoyden. I have seen her throw herself at my nephew, at my son, at my guests, and now she is disgracing herself, not mentioning her family or mine, by dancing in that fashion—” She gestured grandly toward Emily, who was indeed waltzing with her partner in a manner which would have been highly censured by the patronesses of Almack’s. “I have had a hussy in my sickroom and one in my drawing room for a week now, and have been mightily amused, I may tell you. But the effort of both of you to win any male within your grasp to your side cannot be called pretty behavior.” Lady Teeve had forgotten to lower her voice (if she had ever intended to) and Jenny, replying, found that she had similarly few compunctions. If she was to be slandered and reviled in public, she would make her defense publicly as well.
“Miss Pellering may be young, and still testing, as a young girl might, the charms and manners which will later suit her to grace her home and salon, but a hoyden she is not. She is impetuous, and inclined to be too little guided by the advice of others, but she has a generous heart, and—”
“A generous heart indeed!” Lady Teeve sneered satirically.
Jenny drew herself up to her full height and took a breath, making of herself as dignified a figure as she could. There was a wild ringing in her ears that reminded her that she was not long from the sickroom.
“My lady, I will say only this, and then I will say nothing further to the subject. You have chosen an oddly public moment to upbraid me for a neglect which it was not within my power to remedy. You have taken me to task for another’s headstrong faults, mild though those faults be. And you have taken care to do it here, where you judge my humiliation to be the greatest. I will not submit to this treatment, for, even if my family is merely ‘respectable’ and my fortune nonexistent, I am as good stock as you, and need not listen to such a tantrum. I have no designs on your family; I had no wish to make this visit at all, but was only persuaded by Miss Pellering’s urgings and your son’s assurances that you were willing to let bygones be bygones. I strongly suspicioned that I should be ill-used at every opportunity, and my suspicions, it seems, are realized. And since you have contrived to make Emily miserable enough as well, to turn her against me and against her own self-interest, I think I may judge myself released from all responsibility to her. If I may beg the indulgence of your dog-cart and a groom to see me to the village in the morning, I will be gone. And if you cannot spare me that, I assure you I will walk.”
Lady Teeve gawked.
“And since I am bent upon ruining myself here,” Jenny finished tremulously, “I will only mention that your son is one of the dearest, best boys I have ever met, and can only take after your husband in that, since he certainly gets none of his temper from you.” She shrugged angrily, determined that no tears should fall until she was clear of the room. “Good evening,” she managed at last, and turned away to walk through the interested and sympathetic crowd toward the hallway.
Lady Teeve remained where she was, her throat quivering urgently. Then she looked about for support. Miss Brickerham was dancing. Miss Sarah Brickerham was entertaining an elderly gentleman with an account of something or other. Mary Quare�
�here the lady drew a satisfied breath, for her companion had made her way to Miss Pellering’s side, and was no doubt relating to her all that had passed in the scene—from the proper perspective.
“My dear?” Lord Teeve, at his wife’s elbow, spoke with a voice of mingled pity and iron. “Come now, let me fetch you a glass of lemonade. And will you sit for a moment? I realize that holding a party is a taxing business; you should take better care of yourself.” He offered her a chair. “Now, no more mischief this evening, hey, my dear?” he ordered with rueful kindness, and went to fetch her drink. Lady Teeve, suddenly small and insignificant against the wall, was too tired even to cry.
o0o
Jenny made her way successfully from the room, passed the salon, where a crush of people were exclaiming at a lucky turn of a card, skirted the great dining hall, where supper was being laid out in the promised lavish proportions, and found, at last, a small receiving room with no one in it. Her ears were ringing still and her heart was thumping uncomfortably. She was miserably aware that she had ruined herself, may have ruined Miss Pellering, and.... She began to weep, great tearing sobs which made her head ache the more. She didn’t even hear it when the door opened and someone entered the room.
“Well,” Emily Pellering began somewhat shakily. “You weren’t content with making a fool of yourself, but must ruin my credit as well. And in the middle of a party, too! I wish you had stayed upstairs in your room as you ought to have done!” And she burst into tears almost as furious as Jenny’s.
Chapter Sixteen
Gradually Miss Prydd managed to calm Emily, and her sobs were reduced to mere watery cluckings. But as soon as she regained that much of her senses, she shrugged Jenny’s hand from her shoulder and cried, venomously, that she had rather be held by a snake, a toad, by.... Here she ran out of comparisons and could only sob again, weakly.
“But Emmy, love, what has—”
“Don’t call me that! It’s not your place to call me that!” Emily snapped angrily, struggling to stand up against her own fuddled sense of balance.
My Dear Jenny Page 17
