I eyed the man through the forest of well-dressed partygoers, and his face lit as he entered into conversation with a man approaching him. He thought himself high quality. Perhaps to women like Juliette, he was. With a deep breath, I thanked God that Papa had had the good sense to teach me the true measure of a man’s worth. Irritation simmered on my warm skin when I thought about how I’d admired him a moment ago, and even defended him to Juliette.
No matter. If he continued digging to understand my exact fortune, what he found would chase him away faster than a fox pursued by a hound. A wry smile lifted my lips. The joy of poverty—it provided a convenient buffer against the wrong sort of man.
When Silas Rotherham saw Aurelie next to the yellow-clad Juliette, he began to doubt their relation. Juliette’s hair had been curled above her head in unnaturally perfect loops, true to modern fashion. Aurelie’s looser hair, wild and exotic, floated thick and fluid about her petite face, matching the personality that sparkled through her eyes. One could never tame that girl, which was truly a blessing.
Maybe that was the answer—she wasn’t really a relation but was bound to this family from some past wrong they committed against her own. But no, she had called them her cousins. She could spin a wonderful story, but she wouldn’t lie, would she? She had too honest a face. So unlike her cunning, confident cousin.
The drawing room doors opened again to admit a woman whose familiar posture, graceful and statuesque, drew his attention. Her coiffed silver hair seemed too perfect to be real, but he knew it was. He’d tested it with his own hand as a child, which had immediately earned that hand a slap.
He closed the distance between them, nodded in greeting, but her wide, genteel smile dimmed as she saw him.
“Mother. A surprise to see you here.” Silas leaned in to kiss her cheek, but she blocked it with a folded fan and offered her hand instead.
“So this is where you’ve buried yourself away. And for the entire season, I might add.”
“I’d rather your new damask curtains be on display for your friends, not me.”
“Your father mentioned you were seeing to business of an urgent matter.” She held her arms wide to indicate the party, pursing her lips into a patronizing, polite smile. “Truly, I see the urgency.”
“Perhaps we can discuss it when I return?”
“I suppose.” She tapped his cheek with her fan and followed it with a kiss that did not quite touch his face. As if he was not deserving, and offering anything more affectionate would only encourage his subpar efforts.
“At last, I find you.” Kendrick’s arm dropped about Silas’s shoulders from behind. “Pardon the interruption, but I believe this gentleman has left my sister to hostess alone.”
Silas hesitated, suddenly uncomfortable. “I cannot welcome guests to someone else’s home.”
“Oh, come now. She’s too stubborn to ask you to be her official escort, but I’m certain she sees you that way.”
“Mother, I’d like you to meet Kendrick Gaffney of Lynhurst Manor. Kendrick, this is my mother, Lady Rotherham of Berkshire.”
The drawing room doors burst open with a flourish, interrupting the introductions, and a finely dressed young man with a wily gait strode into the room, a butler running after him to catch up his coat and hat.
That face seems most familiar. But where would I have seen it?
But the name he uttered to the butler—Jasper something—struck no memory.
12
Most rumors about Lady Jayne came from men who could not have her or women who could not compete with her.
~Nathaniel Droll, Lady Jayne Disappears
“Another awkward moment of hostessing.” Juliette leaned toward me, smile still in place. “A guest who brings a friend I’ve not yet met. Do I introduce him, try to find a suitable conversation companion for him? Or do I merely let him wander until he is introduced to me by the—truly rude—acquaintance who brought him?”
“If you did not invite him, ask him kindly to leave.”
Her lips twisted as she assessed the man with his back to us. “I suppose that’s one answer. But I rather prefer to keep him here. One always hopes for diversity in her dinner parties. Besides, I find the man . . . interesting to look at.”
When the familiar face spun toward us, I spit my drink back into the goblet and coughed. Did he wish to torture me all my life?
With slicked hair, a well-fitted suit, and a clean-shaven face, Jasper fit in as well as I did.
“If he’s to stay, it’s my duty to welcome him, isn’t it?” Without waiting for an answer, Juliette left my side in a breath, dress whispering along the tile as she went to meet him.
Private conversation between the two led to a playful volley of touches back and forth. Jasper’s eyes glittered dangerously as the beautiful girl absorbed every trace of his attention. Jaw clenched, I imagined stalking over there and cuffing him with an open palm. It’d leave a red mark.
How dare he.
How dare he.
“Has she stolen the man of your dreams?” Silas’s deep voice tickled the hairs around my ears. His body was close behind, near enough to brush if I wobbled on my unsteady legs. His aura of some elite-class scent lingered after he stepped back.
“Of course not. Whatever made you think that?”
“The disdain in your eyes is enough to poison a whole herd of elephants.”
“He’s the one who receives the look. Not Juliette.” I bit my lip hard, too hard, hating my glib tongue. I’d said too much, and now he’d ask something I couldn’t answer.
But he did not do the expected. “Good. I should hate to have to pry you apart from him later. He is far from worthy of you.”
I angled toward his face that was smooth as oil. Were all men wretches? “How can you assess a person’s worth by a simple glance?” Or perhaps the amount of one’s fortune.
“You do the same. Something about what reading does to the mind. A good book allows you to examine the life of another. Are you saying that a girl who analyzes book characters does not also read people in real life?”
“Performed on real-life people, it’s called judgment. Something I try not to partake in.” I moved away, but he followed, close at my elbow.
“What is the difference, other than a kinder label?”
I turned. “You take great pains to draw similarities between us, Mr. Rotherham, but there are more differences between us than stones in this house.” The heated words, useless and silly, felt good to my frazzled nerves. Life was not kind. People weren’t, either. I had grown tired of being gentle in this world of games and selfishness.
He moved around to face me, gaze digging into mine. “Why do you insist on hating me so suddenly? Have I so severely wronged you?” Why did he see through everything with such unsettling depth? He’d seen my fear and anxiety, as always.
“I do not hate anyone, Mr. Rotherham. But I do dislike shallow judgmentalism of any kind. Pardon me.”
Pushing through the crowd, I strode through the drawing room and onto the terrace separated from the room by two thin curtain panels. What was I doing? How could I let Grupp shake me so? I wasn’t myself.
To think, only a few short years ago he’d proposed. I’d considered it, back when I believed him to be a damaged but repairable wreck. Now . . .
Thank you, God, for protecting me from him when I knew no better myself.
I could have been his wife by now. Closing my eyes and lifting my face into the moist breeze, I exulted in God’s protection. I sank easily into a conversation with him, baring my heart and asking for help with the current predicament, which twisted my insides.
The sound of footsteps jostled me from the prayer and I turned toward the open doorway. A dark figure beyond the curtain walked intentionally toward me. I glanced around, then lifted my skirts, perched on the rail, and swung my legs up and over. I dropped onto lush grass half a story below, ankles stinging. The pursuer above me stole onto the terrace and easily cleared the rai
l in a side-jump and landed before me, polished boots thudding inches from my dress hem.
“Jasper, what is it you want?” Anger simmered below the surface at the sight of his face, but remained controlled, soothed by the talk with my heavenly Father.
“Only to show you my new clothes.” He held out the overcoat by the lapels, spinning in the grass. “You paid for them, you know.”
I pinched my lips together.
“I’ve kept your secret, as promised. But now I need you to do a little something for me.”
“Not another farthing will I give you.”
“Only because you haven’t any. Your wonderful papa gave every farthing to come through his greedy little fingers over to the prison guard. That grand tower, high as his pride . . .”
My defenses rose, but I pinched my lips shut. I had yet to locate any trace of money from Papa thus far. But he couldn’t have squandered it so, could he? It meant we never would have left Shepton Mallet, and surely that wasn’t his intent.
Jasper smirked. “Besides, it’s not money I want this time. It’s about a girl.” His laugh tipped him backward. “Always about a girl, isn’t it? Well, I need you to put in a good word for your old chap. Stoke the flames, as it were.”
Juliette.
“She cannot even know that I know you.” What would Juliette do if I revealed my true background? How many allies would I find at Lynhurst then?
He shrugged, hands in his trouser pockets, pushing back his overcoat. “What’s to say she needs to know a thing? All I need is female chatter.” He made a chicken-cluck motion with his fingers. “Start her talking, keep her excited about a certain young man she met tonight.”
“You’re deplorable.”
“And I’ll need an open invitation to everything at this lovely house. I aim to dance my way right into polite society and endear myself to the most beautiful woman alive. All that’s needed is the costume and a few of the right friends. The other details are filled in by the wonderful imaginations of the people with whom I shall now be closely acquainted.” With an exaggerated swoop, he plucked a fistful of tall grass and presented it to me as a bouquet. “And I know you’ll oblige me, what with you being so lovesick over me after I rejected you.”
I squinted. “Liar.”
He dropped an arm around my stiff shoulders. “Liar, debtor, storyteller. All one and the same, love. And don’t be a spoiler and tell anyone of our deal. My storytelling skills aren’t as fine as your father’s, but they have a much stronger wicked streak. I’m certain I could come up with quite a story to share with your family. Or perhaps, with all Nathaniel Droll fans.”
Panic cinched me at what I couldn’t control. And somehow his words marred the beautiful vision I’d carried of my beloved papa in a way I couldn’t rectify.
My muscles did not relax until later that night, when I’d stepped out of the constricting gown, lifted the pins from my aching scalp, and poured my emotions into Lady Jayne Disappears. A new side character appeared—the ragged street vendor who robbed a gentleman of his money, timepiece, and fine clothes to walk among polite society for an evening as one of them. I even included a few specifics from our dinner that night for a taste of authenticity.
The miserable man introduced himself as Arthur Hobbs lll and enjoyed his good fortune, gorging himself on fine seafood and the attention of beautiful women. He partook of two helpings of shrimp soufflé and cauliflower.
By the end of the night, however, this street vendor in disguise discovered an unfortunate allergy to seafood, of which he’d consumed a great deal. He turned a putrid shade of green and his throat swelled, causing a most embarrassing to-do at the dinner table in the presence of his newfound love interest. He ran in sheer humiliation from the room, hacking and sputtering over the guests. His foolish lie turned around and bit him in the end.
It wasn’t until I’d slid beneath the sheets that night and extinguished the candle that poor, faceless Alexander again came to mind. Juliette had forgotten to have that talk she’d promised after the benefit. It was just as well, though. I had not seen a single man fitting his description. My mysterious perfect match would have to reappear another night if we were to accidentally but providentially meet. In the meantime, he’d remain a frequent visitor to my dreams and conscious wonderings. Never in my life had I been told a stranger would be my perfect soul mate, and the little piece of my mind that didn’t believe it also wanted to be proven wrong.
To have a partner again—a best friend. Someone with whom I could be Aurelie Rosette Harcourt, and nothing more. The pleasant hope for my future carried me into a gentle sleep.
As the weeks turned hot, I began waking early, in the cool of the morning, to dream and write. But on one particular Thursday, a shrill sound in the distance burst my sleep, pulling me from bed. Glenna’s frantic voice echoed up from the second floor, contrasting with the pleasant lilac scent wafting in the open windows. Springing from bed, I flung my dressing gown about myself and ran to the landing.
“He’s spying on us, Garamond. Nathaniel Droll . . . spying on this house!”
And that’s how I knew the next installment of Lady Jayne Disappears had been printed and delivered in almost no time after I’d posted it to the publisher, thanks to the modern railways. It was jarring, realizing that the words I’d dreamed up in my head and penned in the quiet of my own room were now being made public to whoever happened to pay their shilling for a copy.
“There now, little woman. Don’t take it to heart. I’m sure he isn’t writing about you, dear. Many women in our class would have much the same clothing and food. Not to worry over the similarities. Perhaps you should refrain from reading this novel altogether. Yes, I believe that’s a wise idea.”
“But Garamond, I know he’s been here. I know it! He’s written some very startling details into his account that cannot be overlooked.”
The candy. It must be the peanut brittle she spoke of. I stifled a giggle, picturing the woman’s face. She’d never convince her husband that the insidious “Tabitha Toblerone” was in fact patterned after herself. Not without admitting her secret obsession. Fortunately she hadn’t seen me in the hall that day I’d spied her dipping into her secret dumbwaiter stash. Tickled with amusement at the sight, of course I’d been compelled to include it in one of the installments.
My smile froze as the truth dawned on me. Why hadn’t it occurred to me that my family would read Nathaniel Droll’s novels? Anything I wrote about Lynhurst, my family, or awkward situations would reach their eyes eventually. This could be dangerous, or it could be immensely amusing. As long as they never discovered his identity.
I dressed in a simple pink gown that I could manage myself and slipped downstairs, past the heated conversation on the second floor.
In the morning room, Silas poured himself tea at the end of the sideboard. It was the first I’d seen of him since the benefit, and the memory of my sharp words suddenly nipped at me. I joined him and selected a crusty orange Danish. Hopefully I was not breaking a social norm by approaching a gentleman uninvited.
“Good morning.” I smiled, hoping to melt through the ice of that night. “I thought perhaps I’d join you.”
“Of course.” Fingertips gently pressing against my back, he led me to the sage-colored sofa washed in sunlight, and we sat together.
“You’ve been dining in your room?” I bit into the Danish, but it crumbled dry and powdery in my mouth. I chewed it anyway.
“I’ve been in London, delivering Mother home and seeing to some business.”
Good. At least I had not been the cause of his absence.
A pinched smile turned his lips up. “You’re looking more like yourself than when I saw you last.”
I dipped my head. Did he refer to my dress, now a simple pink print, or my bearing? “I owe you an apology. I was cross about other things and you happened upon me in the right moment. Wrong moment, actually.”
“I found it refreshing.” Again, he turned the tabl
es on my expectations, glancing up at me with a lightly stubbled yet fresh morning face. “For once, the girl with such deep thoughts has let some of them seep out into the world. I was glad to hear you saying exactly what you thought, even if it offended a bit in the moment.”
“It was unladylike and uncontrolled. Hardly a positive trait.”
“But it was honest. A very positive trait.”
“Saying every honest thing that came into my head would cause a lot of trouble.”
“Or it would mend relationships and connect you to the people around you.” He set aside his plate and turned fully to me. “Nothing’s to say you cannot tell your aunt and your delightful cousins exactly what you think when they ridicule you and force you into awkward situations.”
“My father once gave me a rule for writing.” Squinting, I imitated his exact tone. “‘Always learn the rules before you break them.’” He watched me steadily, the calmly amused expression glowing on his face. “I aim to learn the ways of polite society before I decide which rules to break.”
“Why do you need their rules? Like Dickens’s Madame DeFarge—she immediately knew what was broken in her world and refused to be a part of it.”
“What of Charles Darnay, who had to live as an aristocrat for years to know for certain he must reject it? Besides, I’d never want to be Madame DeFarge. I haven’t that level of cruelty in me, no matter what sort of social evils I fight against.”
Silas’s gray eyes flicked back and forth, absorbing my face in a glance. “And do you fight against social evils? What a shame if you were too busy adapting to the rules to fight them.”
“I’m hardly a revolutionary, but there are certain social ills that tug at my heart. I have my own way of fighting them.” The urge to spill my secret was nearly overwhelming.
“I’d like to hear about your efforts.”
My skin warmed. “I must protect my efforts with secrecy for the moment.”
“That sounds very specific. Now you have left me wondering.”
Lady Jayne Disappears Page 11
