Suddenly, I saw Lucy perk up with excitement. “Lady Grainger! At last!”
Lady Grainger was a spindly woman in a dove gray dress that matched her intelligent eyes and slate gray hair. She looked to be in her early sixties, and either time or carelessness contributed to a tired appearance, a bit of threadbare elegance that spoke of better days. The women exchanged kisses on the cheek, although Lady Grainger was so much shorter than Lucy that my friend nearly stooped to deliver hers. Mr. Douglas crowded closer and bent to kiss the woman’s hand.
“Mr. Douglas, so good to see you! Darling Lucy, you are back! Have you heard more about Evans? Oh, I am so excited for you. Which reminds me, I spoke to Claymore the other day. My solicitor. I’ll have to tell you—”
The woman stopped when she noticed us standing behind my friend.
Lucy gestured toward Edward and me. “May I present to you my husband’s dear friend Squire Edward Rochester and his bride? They are the Rochesters of Thornfield Hall in Yorkshire. I was recently their houseguest and now they are mine.”
I curtsied and my husband bowed low.
“Of course! Lucy has spoken so warmly of the both of you. Mr. Rochester, you are Edmund Rowland Rochester’s son, are you not? Rowland was your older brother?” I felt a frisson of alarm, knowing how Edward’s relationship with his father and brother represented a painful portion of his life, a time rife with misunderstandings and disappointments.
“Come closer, please.” Lady Grainger raised her quizzing glass to get a good look at my husband and, in response, Edward almost stepped on her foot, but the faux pas amused her. In that small window of time, I decided I liked the woman very much indeed.
“I am the same, ma’am. Although not so nimble as others in my family.” As always, I found Edward captivating, but at this juncture, I was most impressed by my husband’s bravado. He did not act like a man who was nearly blind. On the contrary, he maintained that dignity and stature so integral to his personality. I marveled at his effort, and I regretted what it must cost him to play his part so well.
“My late husband, Bertram, Lord Grainger, knew your father quite well. I remember Thornfield Hall, especially the huge battlements. What a pity that it has burned to the ground! A grave loss, both to the Rochester family and to the surrounds. We have a country home not far from Millcote. That is the village closest to your estate, is it not?”
“Indeed it is,” said Edward. He and Lady Grainger launched into a discussion of how the county had grown, while I studied the swirling mass of patrons moving around us. Again I noted how, as Lucy had assured me, my sumptuous costume actually afforded me the opportunity to blend in. Despite my discomfort, I felt thankful for her tutelage.
I indulged my desire to surreptitiously glance at the King and his lady, standing in the center of a crowd of sycophants who were eagerly vying for his attention. But my voyeurism came to an abrupt halt when Lady Grainger turned toward the crowd and, with a wave of her fingers, beckoned to others. “I believe you must be well acquainted with my sister-in-law, the Baroness Ingram of Ingram Park, and her daughters, my nieces, the Honorable Blanche and Miss Mary? They are my houseguests.”
Immediately, my hands turned cold as stones in a frozen creek even as my face flamed hot with remembered anger. When I served as Adèle’s tutor, the Ingrams had made much sport of governesses, declaring that they found all of us to be “incubi.”At the time, I was rather pleased with myself that even in my fury at this disparagement, I had not burst out with the correction that “incubi” are male demons, and that therefore the term they were wanting was “succubi.”
“Silvana?” Lady Grainger called to her sister-in-law, Dowager Lady Ingram, and gestured for the woman and her daughters to join us. The three women turned our way. I stiffened my resolve; there was no way to avoid an encounter with them now.
But I had no desire to exchange polite commentary with the Ingram tribe. Blanche, Mary, and their mother all shared the same faults: Their minds were not original, their hearts were barren as weathered rocks, and cold calculation reigned where tenderness should have mounted the throne. Had Blanche been blessed with a loving temperament, or the ability to think for herself, or even a modicum of compassion, my whole being might have suffered the pangs of jealousy, for she was a very handsome woman and, supposedly, one of the best riders in the county, a person who regularly distinguished herself in the hunt.
In the event, I wrestled with my feelings and forced myself to stay right where I was as the trio advanced on us.
After all, I had as much right to be here as they.
All three of the Ingram women combined robust stature with haughty bearing, which, added to the imperious shape of their noses, would clearly indicate to any amateur who studied physiognomy their excessive self-regard. This evening, however, Blanche’s typically dark complexion was unusually pale, and plum-colored circles under her eyes suggested her constitution had been compromised. Dowager Lady Ingram lowered her crimson and ebony fan to stare coldly at Lucy, and as she did those multiple chins of hers set to wagging. When the Dowager spoke, she did so with an air of condescension. “Yes, Mrs. Brayton, I recall our meeting, and I have seen you at Almack’s. You are friends with Mrs. Fitzherbert, aren’t you?”
Lucy nodded. “Among others.”
“I believe you also know Mrs. Brayton’s brother, Mr. Bruce Douglas,” continued Lady Grainger.
“Charmed.” Mr. Douglas faced the Ingrams and bowed deeply, planting a courtly kiss on each of their hands. Blanche and her mother basked in the glow of his approval, though Mary, the lifeless and dull one of the trio, merely stared at her feet without bothering to change her vacant expression. “It’s not often I am privileged to meet three lovely women who share a surname.” He spoke with utter sincerity, but I detected the glint of amusement in his eyes.
“Mr. Douglas, you are too kind.” Blanche fluttered her eyelashes at him and stepped a little too close. Mr. Douglas managed to inch back by pretending to help Lucy square her shawl over her shoulders.
The Dowager turned to urge her younger daughter forward, but Mary only stared off into the distance as though she would rather be anywhere else but here.
I knew exactly how she felt.
However, I am no coward. I am Edward Rochester’s wife, and I would meet their disapprobation with head held high, for I had no reason to fear any of them. After all, in the skirmish Blanche and I had fought for Edward’s affections, I had been acclaimed the victor.
“Lady Ingram? Honorable Blanche? Miss Mary? May I present to you my dear friends? Mr. Edward Rochester and his bride?” Lucy emphasized that last word, and with a flourish she stepped aside slightly to reveal my husband and me.
“Yes, of course we know Squire Rochester. He is our neighbor,” said Dowager Lady Ingram.
Under the cover of my full skirt, Edward’s right hand reached for mine and grasped it tightly. His voice was brittle as a piece of shale when he said, “And my wife. I believe you’ve met her as well.” With that he tugged me slightly forward so I was standing right in front of the Ingrams. I could feel the Ingram daughters’ eyes boring into me, examining my apparel with interest. Once again, I was filled with appreciation for Lucy’s oversight of my appearance. I knew that in every way, I looked my part as the wife of a member of the landed gentry.
As was proper, I waited for the Dowager Lady Ingram to acknowledge my presence.
Very slowly, the Dowager turned her head away from Edward. She adjusted her gaze so as to pinion me with her fierce and hard eyes. Long seconds ticked by. At long last, she slowly and deliberately turned away, so that she was looking past me when she said, “Lovely weather we’re having, aren’t we, Mr. Rochester? Who else is here that we know?”
Chapter 10
No one spoke. No one moved.
I considered my options, and in the end, despite Lady Ingram’s rudeness, I decided not to
respond in kind. Letting her dictate my behavior would be tantamount to giving her the power to control me. Instead, I began the expected curtsy toward her. But even as I shifted my weight Edward grabbed my arm and hissed, “Don’t you dare!” in a tone so low that none heard him but me. To my amazement, he followed this with a sound something like a low growl. I glanced up at him to see the anger that had contorted his features.
The fullness of his rage startled me. Reflexively, I turned toward Lucy for an explanation, but she stood unnaturally still, her face drained of all expression. I heard Mr. Douglas’s quick intake of breath, and the Dowager Lady Grainger gasped loudly, sparing no effort to hide her shock. Meanwhile, Blanche’s eyes narrowed and her lips curved into a smirk. Her sister Mary simply seemed to withdraw.
Such a meeting had been bound to happen eventually. I had imagined it many times over, and now I could put my fears to rest, as the reality was no worse than I had conjured it. Up to that point, our evening had been enchanting, so I decided I would carry on. I would not give the Ingrams the satisfaction of taking away my happiness.
Only . . . Edward, Lucy, Mr. Douglas, and Lady Grainger seemed more affected than I. They stood still as garden statues.
At long last, Lady Ingram angled herself away from us and began speaking to Lady Grainger in low, urgent notes. The Ingram daughters circled their mother and aunt, listening in.
“That was a cut sublime. I have heard of such treatment but never have I seen such a public rebuke, such a mortal blow.” Lucy’s voice trembled as she whispered in my ear.
“A mortal blow? I do not bleed. I am still standing.” I laughed, thinking back to punishments I’d endured growing up. “I feel no pain. Actually, I prefer not to be recognized by the Dowager Lady Ingram. She and her daughters impress me not one whit!”
“You don’t understand, Jane. You’re too innocent to realize.” My husband’s voice was so gruff, so annoyed, that I lost my grip on my fan and it fell from my hand.
Mr. Douglas bent to retrieve it. As he handed the fan back to me, he spoke very quietly. “Trust me. You have no idea what you just endured. The Dowager Lady has not only damaged you, but she has also dealt Lucy a horrible blow. In brief, because my sister sponsored you, this is a stinging rebuke to her as well. You have both been insulted.”
This sobered me. While I could laugh off the slight and return to our country home, Lucy could not. She would live and die here in London, unless she chose to follow her husband Augie again to India.
“Oh, Lucy, I would never have knowingly caused you pain.” I reached out to her.
She took my hand and squeezed it but said nothing. I could see the shimmer of tears in her eyes.
Her misery caused me to feel quite undone. Usually Lucy was magnificent in a crisis, which provided yet another reason that her response surprised me. How could it be that the Dowager Lady had caused her such distress?
“Lucy, darling, have a care. It will blow over . . . soon,” said her brother gently.
“No it won’t. We’re in for a long, ugly siege,” she said as she brushed a tear off her cheek.
“Ah! Good evening!” A familiar voice interrupted the tense atmosphere and set us all in motion, as though we were clocks that had been badly in need of winding.
Phineas Waverly bowed first to me and then to the rest of our party, his battered face showing little emotion. As usual, he carried a black baton under his arm. I knew from having seen it before that at one end it bore a royal emblem in gold, a symbol of the Bow Street Runners’ responsibility to the Crown. Mr. Waverly spoke loudly, almost as if making an announcement. “It is a particularly pleasant surprise to see you here, Mrs. Rochester. Quite timely, too. His Majesty heard you are in town and expressed an interest in meeting you.”
“Meeting her? Whatever for?” His greeting had caught Lady Ingram’s attention, and she moved closer to inspect the newcomer. “Why would the King take notice of a common governess?”
The spark of that insult set the dry timber blazing.
“How dare you!” Edward snarled, but Mr. Douglas grabbed him by the arm and bent to his ear to say, “Stop! Collect your wits! Can’t you see? This is exactly what she wants. All eyes are on you!”
He was quite correct, as a small clutch of onlookers had gathered to watch the drama unfold.
Mr. Waverly turned toward the Dowager, studying her from behind wire-framed glasses. A certain set of his shoulders, an intensity about his mouth told me that he had caught Lady Ingram’s aspersion toward me—and he was not pleased. Not at all.
“Allow me to introduce Mr. Phineas Waverly,” Mr. Douglas said, with some gravity. “He is the senior officer at Bow Street, currently assigned to guard His Majesty.”
“Which is why my visit must be brief.” Mr. Waverly abruptly turned his back on the Ingrams. He wore a cutaway coat and a gray waistcoat that had seen much use, but his boots were shined to a glasslike finish. Although he was not as tall as Edward or Mr. Douglas, he carried himself in a manner that precluded any dismissal of his authority. He pointedly did not bow to the Ingrams or to Lady Grainger, and I noticed the Dowager’s lips curling downward in distaste. However, he did turn back toward her as he said, “Ma’am, I must dispute your conjecture. I have reason enough to know that there is nothing common about Mrs. Rochester. Nothing! In every way, she is exceptional, and His Majesty wishes to applaud her meritorious conduct as should every citizen. Thanks to her singular bravery, a killer was brought to justice.”
“Is that so?” Lady Grainger lifted her quizzing glass to study Waverly.
“Edward Rochester’s wife involved with a murderer? How unseemly! Of course, what can one expect? She not only reaches above her station to marry a squire, but also dips below it to mingle with low criminals,” Lady Ingram cackled.
“Silvana!” Lady Grainger hissed at her sister-in-law. “I had warned you!”
“How dare you? If you were a man, I would call you out!” Edward snarled.
But before my husband could continue, Mr. Waverly avenged me. The Bow Street Runner turned on the Dowager Lady and said, in the manner of a general announcement, “Mrs. Rochester did the Crown a great service. She posed as a teacher to catch a killer, a fiend who suffocated a child to death.”
There was a collective gasp from the gathered patrons of the upper circle who’d all been openly eavesdropping.
“Mrs. Rochester’s bravery is unquestionable, as is her character. The King wishes to thank her personally.” Waverly turned to me. “Mrs. Rochester,” he said, “would you be so kind as to wait right here? I shall divert the King on his way back to the royal box. When I told him that I had seen you in the crowd, he expressly asked that I present you to him so that he might show you his gratitude.”
“This is an unheard of honor!” Lucy whispered in my ear.
“What do we do?” I asked, having never had the occasion to study royal protocol.
“Curtsy, wait for him to lead the way in conversation and in actions, do not attempt to touch him, and never turn your back on him. If you must leave his presence, after securing permission, you continue to face him and back away. The usual procedure would have been for Mr. Waverly to lead us to the sovereign, where you would stand in line to see His Majesty, and might eventually be presented. Or he might send around a note inviting you to be presented at court. But for the King to come to you? This is a high honor, indeed.”
One glance at Edward and Mr. Douglas told me she was not exaggerating. Both men looked stunned, but that quickly dissipated as they stood a little straighter and adjusted their waistcoats.
Suddenly, the sting of Lady Ingram’s insult mattered not at all. A new emotion roiled within me: pride. I swallowed hard, as my mind raced. All eyes were on me, and I was not sure how to react. Should I allow myself to look pleased? Should I wear an expression of calm? Should I simply remind myself that I was deserving, because I
had, indeed, helped solve a crime of passion? Each of these emotions fought for dominance.
A heat rose in my face. I reminded myself that Mr. Waverly was a man skilled in serving his own purposes, and the glint in his eye when he spoke had suggested that through his actions he planned to vanquish the Dowager Lady Ingram. As the son of a cobbler, he knew all too well the disparity between those with titles and the working class. On that point, he and I were firm allies.
Perhaps this was little more than a game to him. Perhaps the King wasn’t really behind this introduction at all.
Meanwhile, the Ingrams stood dumbfounded, their mouths hanging open with shock.
Chapter 11
Following Lucy’s lead, I spread my fan wide enough to obscure the smile on my face as Mr. Waverly left to collect the King. Mr. Douglas was seized with a fit of coughing, a thin disguise for his own amusement but a genteel response regardless, but Edward’s coiled tension did not subside. I could tell he was still angry. Seething, actually. Lady Grainger filled the time by asking Lucy about Evans and his expected arrival. The Dowager Ingram and her daughters talked among themselves in low tones, but they did not dare leave. I believe they still held hope that I would be mightily embarrassed.
We stood, waiting, and watching as the bobbing postures of those around us signaled the King’s approach. Although Mr. Waverly usually moved at a fast pace, he slowed his natural stride in order to escort the King to our location. As George IV and his consort arrived, all of us displayed our obeisance, the men with low bows and the women with deep, slow curtsies—although the Dowager had difficulty getting up and down. Lady Conyngham and the Dowager Lady Grainger seemed to have at least a nodding acquaintance with each other, but Mr. Waverly now took charge of the encounter.
“Your Majesty, and Marchioness Conyngham, may I present to you these dear friends of the Crown? This is Mr. and Mrs. Edward Rochester, Esquire, along with Lance Corporal Bruce Douglas, whom I’m sure you will remember for serving you bravely in Calcutta.”
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