The Earl, the Vow, and the Plain Jane

by Cheryl Bolen

"An aristocrat?"

  She nodded, and he was reminded of how young and sweet she had looked opposite the dinner table from her doting father during those lively dinners. Yet she had served as his hostess most capably, despite that she could not have been much more than fourteen when she started.

  "May I try to guess?" he asked.

  She nodded again, barely suppressing a smile.

  "You object to the fact that so many seats in the House of Commons are controlled by a handful of powerful peers."

  "It really is an outrage."

  "I agree."

  She favored him with a smile, and he was once again struck by the realization that she was no longer that precocious girl, but a full-fledged young woman.

  "Worst of all," she continued, "is the rotten boroughs. They are a painful reminder of how antiquated our system of government is."

  "I agree. Neither house is representative of the people we are supposedly serving."

  "Like the thousands of people in Birmingham who have no representation at all?"

  He nodded. "While a pasture in Cornwall does?"

  "Exactly!"

  "It's my pleasure to tell you that we now have a new ally in the House of Lords."

  "Besides yourself?"

  He nodded. "Yes, my dear friend Lord Wycliff."

  Her mouth gaped open. "I did not know you were friends! His wife has long been one of my closest friends."

  "Then that must mean she's one of your bluestocking friends."

  "Indeed. Our group has always met at her house--even before she married his lordship."

  "I know the house well. Wycliff and I have been close friends since we were young lads at Eton."

  She regarded him with narrowed eyes. "I declare, my lord, I believe you used your persuasive abilities to encourage him to take his seat in the House of Lords just so that he could support our cause."

  His eyes sparkled. Our cause. "Between that lovely wife of his and me, poor Wycliff had no choice."

  At that very moment he witnessed Wycliff emerging from the card room to stand and survey the large ballroom that was near bursting with finely dressed members of the ton. When his gaze alighted on Slade's, a smile of recognition brightened his face, and then he strode toward them.

  Slade introduced Miss Featherstone to his friend.

  "I beg, Miss Featherstone," Wycliff said, "that you will forgive me if I lapse and address my old friend as Sinjin. It's what we all called him for a great many years."

  She nodded. "At Eton. Actually, I've heard him addressed as such before. When he was in the House of Commons."

  "Her father . . ." Slade started to say before Wycliff cut him off.

  "Must be Harold Featherstone. I am a great admirer of him."

  "When I had the pleasure of serving in the House of Commons," Slade said to his friend, "I was privileged to attend dinners at the Featherstone house. A gathering of more well-formed minds I've never attended."

  "My wife thinks we should start emulating such gatherings at Wycliff House." Wycliff eyed Miss Featherstone. "Your father would most certainly be welcome."

  Slade chuckled. "Miss Featherstone is every bit as astute on political matters as her brilliant father. I daresay if you invite him, you must invite her."

  Wycliff screwed up his face in thought. "Now that I think on it, I do believe my wife is already acquainted with Miss Featherstone."

  "Indeed, my lord," that young lady responded. "I've had the honor of attending her Tuesday gatherings for several years. In fact, I was introduced to you there before you married."

  He thwacked his head. "I do remember. It was the only time I ever attended one of Louisa's Tuesday sessions." His voice softened. "It was the luckiest day of my life. It was the day I met my wife."

  Wycliff was still a sappy newlywed who was madly in love with his countess. How fortunate he was to be able to marry for love, something Slade would never be permitted to do. He was very happy that his old friend had found such happiness in marriage. Wycliff had been raised in an extremely close family of three. Just him and a pair of adoring parents. When they died, he'd been lost and bitter, but all that was behind him now that he'd found a wife he worshipped and who worshipped him in return.

  While Wycliff had been standing there, his eye kept following his pretty wife as she gracefully danced across the ballroom, and when the set was finished, he excused himself and claimed her for the next set.

  Slade returned his full attention to Miss Featherstone. "May I say how much I'm looking forward to renewing those dinner conversations with the erudite Miss Featherstone? And your father, of course." He used to marvel at how well read and well informed she was—and that was before she'd officially entered society.

  Not many men he knew were possessed of as much knowledge as was crammed into her youthful head. "Until I saw you in the park today I'd forgotten how very much I enjoyed those evenings I spent at your home. How long has it been?"

  She shrugged. "I expect we haven't seen you since your father's last, grave illness."

  "Then it's been nearly four years. You've grown from a girl to a woman in that time. I should be honored to dine at your house tomorrow night. Will your cousin be there?"

  A puzzled look passed over her face. "Lord Harry?"

  How stupid of him to have expected the most popular debutante in London to choose to spend an evening discussing political reform at her uncle's modest home. "Actually, I was referring to Lady Sarah, but I realize now how unlikely that would be."

  Miss Featherstone's gaze swept to the dancing floor where Lady Sarah was presently standing up with Lord Slade's dashing brother. "I believe my cousin will be dancing blisters on her feet for the next several nights."

  "You will not accompany her to all the fetes?"

  "It was important for me to be with her this first night, but I believe she will be more than capable of handling herself from here on out."

  "It just seemed to me this afternoon in the park that your cousin rather deferred to you."

  "How perceptive you are. We are as close as sisters—neither of us having a sister—and, owing to the fact that I'm three years her elder, Lady Sarah has always rather looked to me for guidance." She paused, casting a quick glance at her elegant cousin. "But as you can see, in a single night the pupil has surpassed the teacher."

  He shook his head. "I beg to differ. Were Lady Sarah to sit at your father's table tomorrow night, your acumen of politics and literature would likely leave her sadly in your dust."

  "You're much too kind."

  "I'm honest."

  "I have noticed that about you. Sometimes your honesty hinders your . . ."

  Silence stretched between them while Miss Featherstone was obviously searching for a non-offensive comment.

  Then he understood. "You refer, of course, to my effectiveness in Parliament?" The lady was too gracious to malign him, but he was well aware of the many times his truthful tongue had gotten the better of him on the floor of the House of Lords. And in the House of Commons before that.

  To this day, Lord Haygood refused to speak to him, and he couldn't blame the man. After all, he'd referred to the Tory—on the floor of the House of Lords—as a "bloated parasite gorging on riches won by his long-ago ancestor."

  "Exactly." Her eyes flashed with mirth.

  "You certainly are your father's girl. A pity you weren't a male. We could use you in Parliament."

  "Papa's always lamented that my brother Robert did not choose to stand for office. Of course, it is very expensive. It's understandable his wife would wish to funnel funds elsewhere. Not all of us are as wealthy as George Berkley was."

  Money! That's why Miss Featherstone had not married. None of the Featherstones had a feather to fly with. "How well I know about that. In fact," he cleared his throat. He hated like the devil what he was about to do, but it was his duty. "In fact, that brings up the question I wished to ask you tonight."

  Her thin, nicely arched brows rose.

&n
bsp; "I intend to court your cousin, and I would be grateful if you could lubricate my way into her intimate circle. While such a request might be onerous to you, I assure you I have the best intentions."

  This was devilishly difficult for him. All afternoon he'd practiced what he was going to say, and now he recited his points like a schoolboy racing through his memorized Chaucer. "Allow me to appeal to your altruism, Miss Featherstone. I remember well how that bleeding heart of yours bent and cracked over any misfortune to orphans or to others who've been oppressed, and were I to marry Lady Sarah, I vow that I will put her money to humanitarian use."

  There! He had finished his plea. Had he just proposed to the heiress he'd met but once, he could not have felt more nervous than he did at this moment.

  Miss Featherstone did not respond. Her soft brown lashes lowered, and she appeared to be examining the fan gripped tightly in her fingers.

  From the turmoil he read in her expression, he already knew the answer. In his nine and twenty years, Jack St. John, the fourth Earl of Slade, had never been more humiliated.

  In the same way that her brilliant father never spoke rashly but gathered his composure while rationalizing a situation before commenting, Miss Featherstone must be carefully arranging her rejection before speaking.

  Finally, she looked up from the fan, and squarely met his gaze. "It pains me to have to turn you down, my lord, but you must realize the selection of a husband is something my cousin must do with no help from me—or anyone." Then she stood, looking down at him.

  He'd never felt so small.

  "I must assume your reacquainting yourself with me was for this nefarious purpose, and I won't expect you at dinner tomorrow." She spun away.

  He lunged from his chair and snatched her gloved arm. "I will be at your house tomorrow."

  "Very well." She whirled back and left the chamber.

  He hated what the Vow had made him become.

  * * *

  She raced down two flights of stairs, and on the ground level she found the French doors leading out onto the terrace which gave onto Green Park. Speeding past gathered couples who were merrily chatting, she rushed out into the vast blackness of the park. She had to get away. She couldn't let anyone see her in such a distressed state.

  Sweet heavens! She had almost burst into tears in front of Lord Slade. All because she had been so ridiculously stupid as to have thought the man was going to ask for her hand! How could she have been such an imbecile?

  He had said he'd come to the ball expressly to see her. Then he flattered her prettily and said he had a question to ask her. What was a lady to think?

  Now she felt like a rug he'd wiped his shoes upon.

  Equally disappointing was how far her respect for him had plummeted. She had never thought the noble lord would sink to marrying for fortune, and that is exactly what he intended to do. As pretty as Lady Sarah was, Jane knew the man could not have formed a deep attachment to her after one brief meeting. Why, he hadn't even danced with her!

  How could he wish to pledge the rest of his life to a woman for the sole reason that he wanted control of her wealth? His single act—or more precisely, his mercenary intention—had stripped from him every commendable trait she'd ever admired. How could she have been so wrong about his character?

  Her stride fast and furious, she paced in the park, her fists clenched tight, her eyes stinging. Her thoughts in a black swirl, she was startled when, at length, buttery squares of light seemed to burst through the darkness. Houses. How far had she gone? The pounding in her heart had by now returned to normal. She finally forced herself to stop and get her bearings. It took her a minute to realize she'd reached Buckingham House. She hadn't gone so terribly far, after all. It had gotten beastly chilly. She rubbed her arms, lamenting she'd not stopped for her shawl.

  She turned around and headed back. It was so dark she could barely see where she was placing her satin slippers, but she knew she must hurry. Her reputation could be ruined if she did not immediately return to Spencer House. Besides, it was almost time for supper, and she was uncommonly hungry.

  When she returned to the lantern-lighted terrace she was relieved the others had gone inside, obviously for supper. No one would witness her indiscretion. She climbed the steps and entered the house a great deal more calm than when she'd left.

  The late-night supper at these balls, though, always posed a problem, owing to the fact a lady must wait until a gentleman honored her by asking to escort her to the table. It was rather embarrassing not to be paired. Often, her dear cousin, Lord Harry, would do her the honor. Would he forgo the opportunity to escort a lovely debutante in order to spare his cousin?

  She reached the corridor at the same time as Lord Slade's brother. The brothers' appearances were very similar. Both were tall and possessed of dark chocolate-coloured hair, and there was also a strong resemblance in their faces. Lord Slade, though, was a great deal more muscular than his brother. Some might say Lord Slade was too large. It was true, she must admit, the younger brother's build with his exceedingly trim waist and wide shoulders would be considered perfection, while Lord Slade might be considered just a large man.

  His gaze met hers, and a smile flashed across his handsome face. "Miss Featherstone, is it not?"

  "Indeed, Mr. St. John, or should I call you. . ." She looked at the various medals pinned onto his scarlet military jacket. "I know I should be able to know your rank, but I'm sadly ignorant of such matters."

  He chuckled. "From the one and only time I had the pleasure of your company, I would have to say the word ignorant could never be applicable to you." He gave a courtly bow. "I am now known as Captain St. John."

  Other couples around them began to pair up for supper. "Would you do me the goodness of allowing me to escort you to dinner?" he asked.

  She only barely suppressed a huge sigh of relief as she placed her hand in his. "I would be honored, Captain."

  She was happy to find Lady Sarah and Freddie Whey sitting across the table from her. "Do you know my cousin, Lady Sarah?" Jane asked the captain as he assisted in scooting in her chair.

  He smiled at the lady in question. "I am beholden to Sir William for making me known to the lady. How do you do again, my lady?"

  Lady Sarah fluttered her lengthy lashes. "Very well, thank you, Captain."

  "I should think you must be welcoming the opportunity to sit," Jane said to her cousin. "You've danced every single set."

  "Oh, la! I enjoy dancing vastly." Lady Sarah turned to her partner. "Are you acquainted with my cousin, Miss Featherstone?"

  Freddie Whey, who was a year younger than Jane, nodded. "Yes, I've had that pleasure."

  "How do you do, Mr. Whey?" Jane said by way of greeting.

  She was very sure his response was all that was proper, but for the life of her, she could not hear it.

  As the long table filled, the drone of more than a hundred voices made communicating across the table excessively difficult--in addition to being a breach of etiquette.

  She then directed her attention on the officer beside her. "I must own, Captain, I was astonished you remembered me," she said over cold, diced mutton sprigged with fresh parsley. "You must have been just a boy when we met."

  "Indeed. It was five years ago, when I was seventeen."

  So he was a year older than she. "However would you remember that?"

  "Because Jack did not deem me mature enough for dinners at Featherstone House until I was seventeen, and the following year I was off to India." He tossed back a sip of his champagne. "I must own, I was most curious to meet the girl Jack was always telling me about."

  She gave him a quizzing look.

  "You, Miss Featherstone. Jack would lament that I was not more diligent in my studies. 'Miss Featherstone is younger than you, and she knows everything,' he would tell me. So, of course, I was most impatient to meet this remarkable girl he was always blathering about."

  Some of her depression lifted away, like a gray cloud
to reveal a blue sky. Lord Slade had actually admired her! "Then you must have been very disappointed when you did make my acquaintance."

  "Not at all. I still remember what was being discussed that night. Penal reform. I shall always remember your insistence there should be a hierarchy of offenses, that the punishment for poaching should not be the same as for murdering. That sort of thing."

  "If your memory is that remarkable, then you must have been a far better student than you say."

  He vigorously shook his head. "That's why I'm a soldier. "

  She was struck by how much he looked like his brother. Only his brother was far more grave. "Your facial expressions are so much like your brother's, except that you're a jollier version."

  "It's no wonder. I have the good fortune to be the second son."

  Her brows hiked. "You prefer being a younger son? No title? No fortune?"

  He laughed out loud. "There is no fortune. There's nothing but a crumbling castle, a pile of debts, and a pack of siblings who have to be provided for. And if all that wasn't enough crushing responsibility, poor Jack was pressured into making a deathbed vow to our father that I don't think he'll ever be able to keep. And to know Jack is to know he has always prided himself on his truthfulness."

  "Indeed." She wanted to ask what the Vow was, but it really wasn't her concern. Lord Slade was nothing to her. The Vow between him and his dying father was a deeply personal matter. Nevertheless, she was consumed with curiosity.

  "You understand, I'm telling you this only because I know you and my brother are on some terms of intimacy," he said.

  If he thought that, perhaps he might tell her what The Vow was. Of course, she had no right to ask. Absolutely no right. And she most certainly was not on any terms of intimacy with Lord Slade! She hadn't even seen him in nearly four years.

  But he had actually praised her to his brother! Such knowledge had the power to make her feel as if she were walking on clouds. All these years she had believed he couldn't possibly notice anyone as plain as she (no matter how pretty her father told her she was). All these years she had rather fancied she blended in with the wallpaper. And all these years Lord Slade--who'd been Lord Jack St. John then--had actually been aware of her! She was exceedingly flattered.