by Carola Dunn
Beside her mother’s delicate porcelain prettiness, Jane felt like a clumsy giant. Lady Hornby’s frivolous boudoir, all pink and white with silver frills and gauzes, augmented her discomfort. Thank heaven her own hastily prepared apartments, while elegant, were more staidly furnished.
“Well, your height cannot be helped,” her ladyship continued fretfully, “but something will have to be done about your hair and those distressing clothes. If I am obliged to present a daughter to the Ton, at least she must be presentable. Your abigail must be turned off and I shall find you a competent dresser.”
“I cannot dismiss Ella! Her family has been employed at Hornby forever.”
“Then send her back to Hornby.”
Jane decided that pleading her maid’s hurt feelings would not impress the marchioness. “No, I want her with me,” she said with determination. “She will soon learn, Mama.”
“Oh very well, but I beg you will not call me ‘Mama’. It is so very aging, I vow. I daresay people would stare if you used my Christian name, so you may simply address me as ‘ma’am’.”
“Yes, ma’am,” she agreed unhappily. My Lord Winter’s iciest gaze had never chilled her as did her mother’s words. By now she was convinced that had she not taken matters into her own hands she’d have waited in vain for a carriage to fetch her from Lancashire.
“Pickerell, send for the friseur and the modiste,” Lady Hornby ordered her dresser, without so much as glancing at the tall, gaunt woman. “If Lady Jane is to be made ready for her come-out ball they must be put to work at once.”
“I am to have a ball, Ma...ma’am?”
“La, of course, you silly child. And to be presented at Court. It is expected. I shall have to be hostess for the ball and chaperon for your presentation, so the sooner they are over with the better.”
“But will you not chaperon me throughout the Season, ma’am?” Jane asked, bewildered but ready to fight any attempt to send her back to Hornby.
“And be constantly explaining that you are my daughter? That would be the outside of enough! It will not be difficult to find someone to take you about.”
“I have a number of aunts, have I not?”
“Yes, but unfortunately they either live abroad, married to diplomats or soldiers or East India officials, or they are ridiculously preoccupied with young families in the country. I expect I shall have to hire someone. Your governess, for instance—what is her name?”
“Miss Gracechurch.”
“Gracechurch is a well-bred female, is she not?”
“Oh yes, ma’am, and elegant.”
“Then doubtless she will prove suitable. I’m sure I cannot waste much time on the matter. Now off you go. I am obliged to attend one of Hornby’s tedious political dinners tonight and it is time to dress. You may come and see me again when your head is fit to be viewed and you have had a few fashionable gowns made up.”
Jane curtsied and went out into the gas-lit hallway. Her elation at the prospect of having Gracie for her chaperon contended with the hollow hurt of her mother’s lack of pleasure in her arrival and interest in her future.
She was desperate to see Gracie, but she had no idea where to find her. Though nowhere near as vast as Wintringham Abbey, the St. James’s Place mansion was spacious for a Town house. Jane’s rooms were at the back; arriving in the dusk, she had caught a glimpse from her windows of a walled garden, and beyond it Green Park with its herds of cattle and deer.
Crossing the landing at the top of the stairs she saw that a maroon-liveried footman stood there at call, the same tall young man who had fetched her to her mother’s boudoir. As she spoke to him, she wondered what had become of her own Thomas, and old Tom Coachman.
“Do you know where Miss Gracechurch’s chamber is?” she asked.
“Yes, my lady. Will I fetch miss to your ladyship?”
She looked at him in surprise. The thought of summoning her governess like a servant had never crossed her mind. “No, pray direct me thither.”
“’Tis the servants’ quarters, my lady,” he said dubiously. “’Tain’t fitting...”
“I shall judge what is fitting. Show me the way.’’
He led her up a pair of back stairs to a narrow, carpetless corridor lined with doors at close intervals. At least they were not quite in the garrets. These must be the upper servants’ rooms, the housekeeper and butler, her ladyship’s dresser, his lordship’s secretary and valet...and Gracie. The footman knocked.
“Who is it?”
“It’s Jane!” She burst into the small, drab room. “Oh, Gracie, I didn’t know they had tucked you away in a horrid corner. This will never do. I shall speak to the housekeeper at once.”
With an effortful smile, Miss Gracechurch gestured at the window by which she stood. “I have a view of the park, Jane, and the room is not uncomfortable. You must not upset your mama’s arrangements.”
“I don’t believe Mama—whom I am to call ma’am!— cares a fig where you are lodged. Besides, as you are to be my chaperon, you ought to be close to me at all times.”
“Your chaperon?”
“The marchioness does not care to be seen with her daughter at her heels. So shockingly aging!”
“My dear!”
“I don’t care, Gracie,” said Jane defiantly. “I had much rather have you with me. You will not refuse?”
“Of course not, my dear child. For my own sake, as much as for yours. I had expected the marchioness to give me notice.”
“Never! Whatever should I do without you?” She ran into Gracie’s welcoming arms and hugged her, her throat tight.
Together they went down to Jane’s chamber, where Ella was unpacking her trunk. Thomas and Old Tom, she announced, had arrived the previous day, having avoided the fog by taking the stage via High Wycombe rather than Henley. No one in the house seemed interested in the fact that the party from Lancashire had arrived in two separate groups.
Jane sent for the housekeeper, a colourless but efficient woman who apologized stiffly for her mistake. In no time Miss Gracechurch was established in a nearby guest chamber and a maid instructed to wait upon her.
The two ladies dined before the fire in Jane’s sitting-room, a pleasant apartment decorated in pale blue and green enlivened by painted and embroidered posies of bright yellow flowers. As Thomas, delighted to see his mistress again, served them the delectable concoctions of the French chef, they made plans for the morrow.
“At last I can believe I shall really have a Season,” said Jane with a contented sigh.
That night, too excited to fall asleep, she found the memory of her mother’s petulant face haunting her. She dismissed it firmly, only to have it replaced by the haughty, handsome features of the Earl of Wintringham. The contemptuous twist of his mouth changed to a smile of sardonic amusement, his hostile gaze warmed to tenderness. She felt again the disturbing pressure of his arm about her waist, the touch of his lips...
“No!” As she had then, she cried the word aloud, sitting up in bed and covering her face with her hands. He had taken unconscionable advantage of her inexperience. She was determined to forget him.
* * * *
A week passed in a flurry of activity. The dressmaker came to take Jane’s measurements and suggest styles and colours and fabrics. The friseur came, and was forced, like Ella before him, to admit that Jane’s hair simply would not take a curl; however, he suggested a new way of dressing it in soft loops that pleased her. And then there were endless shopping expeditions, shopping for shawls and reticules, slippers and bonnets, parasols and fans, ribbons and gloves and stockings.
Jane made sure that Miss Gracechurch obtained her share of this bounty.
“How mortifying it would be to have my chaperon looking like a governess,” she teased. “That lavender silk will become you admirably, and now we must find you a pelisse and bonnet to match.’’
Even Ella had two new gowns, “Just so’s that hatchet-faced Pickerell female can stop looking down h
er nose at me afore she goes cross-eyed.” She was thrilled with a black silk for everyday wear and a startling lime green that caught her fancy for best. Both she proudly trimmed with lace she had tatted herself.
Though Jane enjoyed the fascinating shops of the metropolis, by the end of a week she was ready for a change.
“Tomorrow,” she proposed as Old Tom drove them home from Oxford Street in the elegant Town carriage, “let us walk in Green Park, and take out a subscription at Hookham’s Library, and visit Mr. Selwyn. He will think we have forgotten him.”
“I cannot think that the marchioness would approve of your visiting a lawyer,” said Miss Gracechurch wistfully, her brow wrinkled with worry.
“She will never know. I have only spoken with her three times since we arrived! I realize now you were right to say that Mr. Selwyn must not call on you in St. James’s Place, but I promised him I should take you to see him. When we get home, Thomas shall go to Hart Street with a note to see what time will be convenient.”
Thomas returned with an invitation to drink tea in Hart Street the following afternoon. In the meantime, Jane and Miss Gracechurch had tried on a number of new gowns which had been delivered while they were out. Jane thought Gracie looked particularly young and pretty in a walking dress of amber jaconet muslin with a Circassian cloth pelisse to match.
“You shall wear that tomorrow,” she said, “and Ella shall dress your hair in ringlets. Mr. Selwyn will scarcely recognize you!”
She herself wore a pale blue gown with a slate-blue pelisse. The modiste had assured her that her colouring was admirably suited to the pastels required for a young lady, even white, which could be such a trying colour. The woman had also praised her elegant height and figure. Lady Hornby’s strictures were forgotten and Jane set out with confidence for her first social engagement since arriving in Town.
Thomas had procured a hackney for them, which awaited them just around the corner, since a carriage bearing the Hornby crest would have aroused comment in bourgeois Bloomsbury. And when they reached the tall, narrow house in Hart Street, the lawyer’s cheerful elderly housekeeper greeted Jane as Miss Brooke, as she had requested in her note. If she was not known here as Lady Jane, surely no gossip could possibly reach her mother.
Mr. Selwyn welcomed them with delight to his comfortable if unfashionable home. Jane was amused by his evident admiration of Gracie. That Miss Gracechurch had also noticed his glances was proved by the delicate colour that rose in her cheeks, and her reticence as he settled them in his small sitting-room, inviting her to pour the tea.
Jane chattered to him about the activities of the past week while Gracie recovered her countenance. Gradually the conversation turned to such subjects as the Royal Academy and the British Museum. It was Jane’s turn to fall silent, not from lack of interest but because Mr. Selwyn’s company, together with being addressed as Miss Brooke, forced upon her unwanted recollections of Wintringham Abbey.
For a week she had successfully banished My Lord Winter from her consciousness—except for drowsy moments falling asleep or waking when she could not control her memory. Now, against her will, his image rose again to trouble her peace.
* * * *
However, the next fortnight allowed Jane little leisure to brood over the infuriating earl. That very day, arriving home from Bloomsbury, they discovered that they were to dine with Lord and Lady Hornby, who for once were dining at home without guests. Jane was a trifle nervous, not on her own account but for her governess. Gracie would undoubtedly be blamed if her pupil’s conduct fell short of the marchioness’s unknown standards of propriety.
She need not have worried; all went well. In fact, as the ladies left him to his port, Jane’s father told her kindly, “I believe you will do very well, my dear. Your mother will soon teach you the little nuances of Court etiquette.”
Jane curtsied to the tall, thin, stooped gentleman she scarcely knew and gave him a grateful smile. As they left the dining-room, she thanked heaven she hadn’t inherited his beak of a nose.
“The Queen’s next Drawing Room is in ten days time,” announced her ladyship with a martyred sigh. Reclining on a chaise longue by the fire and disposing her skirts, a froth of rose-pink barège, in elegant abandon about her slim ankles, she went on, “I suppose you have ordered a Court dress?”
“Yes, ma’am. A white silk petticoat over hoops, with an overdress of white lace and a headdress of white feathers. The modiste said that hoops and feathers are de rigueur?” she ended on an uncertain note.
“Queen Charlotte’s notions of fashion are positively Gothic. I shall have to spend the next few days showing you how to go on at Court, and I daresay I ought to introduce you to a few hostesses since your ball will be three days after the Drawing Room. How tedious!” Diamonds flashed as the marchioness raised a dainty, languid hand to cover her yawn.
“I am very grateful, ma’am.” Jane tried to keep the resentment out of her voice. “I shall do my best to be a credit to you and my father.”
“Yes, well, tomorrow will be time enough to start. You may retire now, Jane. Your father will go to his club and I am expecting some friends to call.”
Reaching the landing halfway up the stairs, Jane heard the doorbell ring and paused to see which of her mother’s flock of admirers had arrived. The butler admitted two gentlemen, one a willowy youth dressed with poetic carelessness, the other of middle height and middle years, clad in black, with a dark face ravaged by dissipation. The poet glared at the rake, who ignored him with an air of boredom. They were ushered into the drawing-room.
Jane shook her head in puzzlement. The other cicisbeos she had previously glimpsed were a stout, elderly dandy—one of the Prince Regent’s set, according to Ella—and a rugged young man of perhaps three-and-twenty who looked like an aspiring Corinthian. She could not understand what pleasure her mother found in their company.
Certainly the marchioness seemed to find little pleasure in her daughter’s company. In the days that followed, Lady Hornby instructed Jane in the finer points of Court and Society etiquette; took her to call on the most prominent hostesses, including three patronesses of Almack’s; and hired a dancing master to teach her the waltz and the quadrille. All this she carried out without any sign of enjoyment. When Jane mastered the dance steps and the deep curtsy, and was described by no less a Tartar than Mrs. Drummond-Burrell as a pretty-behaved girl, her mother reacted with relief, but neither pride nor praise.
After all the preparation, Queen Charlotte’s Drawing Room was an anticlimax. A swarm of young ladies, all in white with hoops and feathers, stood for hours with their chaperons waiting for a few brief, guttural, German-accented words from a little old lady with an irritable expression.
Jane suspected that her majesty found the affair quite as tiresome as she did. The two princesses in attendance upon her, a pair of dowdy middle-aged spinsters, appeared to be equally uninterested.
“La, but I am exhausted!” said Lady Hornby in the carriage on their way home. “I shall lie down until it is time to dress for dinner, and I advise you to do the same, Jane, so as to be in your best looks for your ball. Though your rank and fortune will bring you suitors aplenty, first impressions are all-important if you are to catch a husband quickly.”
Surprised, she was about to deny any wish for an early marriage, but her mother leaned back in the corner and closed her eyes. Of course, Jane realized, the only way the marchioness could rid herself of the burden of her daughter’s presence was to find her a husband.
Despite her plaint to Gracie that she was nearly at her last prayers, Jane had no intention of being rushed into a match she might later regret.
Nonetheless, she naturally wanted to look her best for her come-out ball. Arriving home, she went to take yet another peek at her ball gown, a slip of palest blue satin under a white net frock embroidered with flowers of cerulean blue. The tiny puff sleeves, low neckline, and hem were trimmed with rows of the finest Valenciennes lace. How could anyone fail
to feel beautiful in such a heavenly creation?
If only Lord Wintringham were invited to see her glory! But no, far from falling in worship at her feet, he would doubtless stare down his haughty nose in contempt. She had deceived him, and she recalled uneasily his grim declaration that he could not abide deceit.
No matter, he was not going to see her. Three days later, taking her place beside her father in the receiving line, she anticipated nothing but enjoyment.
On her other side stood Miss Gracechurch, to be introduced to the Polite World as Lady Jane’s companion, so that her subsequent chaperonage would raise fewer eyebrows. Jane was glad of her support as the crème de la crème of Society filed past.
“I shall never remember all their names!” she whispered in a brief lull. “I never dreamed so many would come.”
“Between four and five hundred,” Gracie told her, “according to his lordship’s secretary, who had the unenviable task of sending out the invitations. I believe you will meet the same people wherever you go, so you will come to know who is who. The circles of the Haut Ton are of limited extent.”
Just how limited Jane discovered a moment later. Bobbing a curtsy to a plump matron in pomona green satin, she heard her father presenting her for the two- or three-hundredth time: “Lady Chatterton, my daughter Jane.”
And after Lady Chatterton, their eyes goggling, came Miss Lavinia Chatterton and Lord Fitzgerald.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Drifting up through layers of sleep, Jane snuggled under the warm covers and mused on the joys of dancing till dawn. She had not sat out a single set, and whether the reason was her title, her large dowry, her new gown, or simply that it had been her ball, she had revelled in every moment.
Except... She sat bolt upright as the memory struck her. Oh Lord, Lavinia and Fitz!
Fitz had opened his mouth to say something that was bound to give her away. Quicker-witted, Lavinia had read the desperate plea in Jane’s face and gripped her brother-in-law’s wrist, silencing him.
