by Brenda Novak
“A governess?” The earl pursed his lips. “But your mother hopes you will marry again and have a family. Another few years and—”
“I know. I might be too old to make a favorable match.”
He didn’t argue with her. “You have considered that?”
Jeannette took a deep breath. She had thought about nothing else in the two weeks since the duel. Part of her had secretly hoped she would hear from Treynor, but when no word came, she knew she had to go on and build something with her life.
“Thanks to my widow’s portion, we shall not want for money. My family and I plan to let a small house here in London where we can once again stand on our own, and I—”
“You and your family have been no trouble,” he interrupted.
Jeannette knew he was merely being polite. Kind but basically practical, the earl would be glad, whether he admitted it or not, to rid himself of his impoverished relatives and be left to devote himself exclusively to his political causes. “And you have been most generous, my lord, but I feel it is time we adjust to this new country and make our own way in it.”
“An admirable attitude, but has your experience with the baron so poisoned you against marriage that you are unwilling to try again?”
Jeannette frowned. “No, not that, exactly. I have come to the conclusion that I cannot be happy with a man I do not love.”
“But many times love, or at least a mutual respect, comes later.”
It had for her parents, but…
“For me, it will be marriage that comes later—much later. I am quite set on my decision. Teaching will give me something worthwhile to devote my life to.”
“Very well, then. I shall speak to my friends and acquaintances and see if I can find you a good post.”
“Thank you, sir. You can tell them I am ready to start immediately.”
“And how long might you stay on?”
Jeannette thought of the years that loomed before her, long, lonely years without Treynor. “Two to four, to start, I should think.”
“I shall see what I can do.”
“You have my gratitude.” She stood to go, and he turned his attention back to the work on his desk. But before she passed into the hall, he called her back.
“Yes?”
He lifted the square sheet of paper he’d been reading when she entered. “The Duke of Ellsborough is having a ball. He knows that I rarely attend such events, but he has sent me an invitation nonetheless and asks that I bring my French relatives. Are you interested in going?”
Jeannette thought of all the balls and masques she had attended before St. Ives extended his proposal, and didn’t think she could endure another one. She refused to go into mourning for the baron, a man she scarcely knew and didn’t love, but was hardly ready to return to polite society and the gossip that would face her there. She longed only for a quiet post where she could bury the hopes and dreams that were now lost to her. “No, sir.”
“I will send His Grace a polite refusal and see you at dinner, then.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“And Jeannette?”
“Yes, sir?”
“Do not worry. I shall find you a two-year post as governess within a fortnight.”
Jeannette gave him a smile that was decidedly wobbly. “Thank you, Lord Darby. You are most kind.”
* * *
A week later Henri burst into her bedroom without so much as a knock. “Jeannette!”
Irritated, Jeannette looked up from the book she had been reading. “What is it, Henri?”
“The Duke of Ellsborough is here.”
“Who?” Where had she heard that name before?
“The Duke of Ellsborough! And he wants to see you.”
“Me! But why?”
“He didn’t say. Lord Darby has already introduced Maman and Papa and myself, so I suppose His Grace simply wants to meet the rest of the family.”
Jeannette tossed him a disbelieving look. “That makes no sense, Henri. A duke would not stoop to introduce himself to a family of poor French immigrants.”
Henri looked insulted. “Papa is a gentleman!”
“I know.” Jeannette gave him a weak smile in apology for her dour mood and tossed her book on the bureau. The last thing she had expected was a visitor. But she could not refuse to meet a duke.
With a quick glance in the mirror, she did what she could to tame her short, curly hair—which was, thank goodness, growing out—and ran a hand over her dress to smooth away the wrinkles.
“Come on, Jeannette. We cannot keep him waiting,” Henri said.
“Does the duke seem to know Lord Darby well?” She followed him from the room, still trying to figure out the reason for this unexpected visit.
“I think so.”
Then it hit her, where she’d heard Ellsborough’s name before. Lord Darby had mentioned it during their interview a week ago. From the sound of it, he and the duke were friends. Perhaps Ellsborough wanted to meet her because he was looking for a governess.
Of course! Darby had promised she would have a post inside of two weeks, but so far she had heard nothing. The duke’s visit signified that the earl was remaining true to his word, after all.
She felt a tremor of excitement, the first since Treynor had left her to go on his merry way. If she must work, she could do no better than to school a duke’s children.
Her parents were sitting on the sofa when she entered the drawing room. Darby stood next to a wingback chair, his back to the windows that overlooked the fashionable houses across the square. A tall, older gentleman with flowing dark hair and graying temples sat closest to the door. He regarded her with thoughtful blue eyes the moment she stepped into the room.
“There you are, Jeannette,” Darby turned to the older man. “Allow me to introduce Lady St. Ives, my cousin’s lovely daughter.” To her, with a nod, he said, “His Grace, the Duke of Ellsborough.”
Jeannette dipped into a deep curtsy. “It is truly a pleasure, Your Grace.”
“The pleasure is all mine. I see that I have not been misled. You are beautiful indeed.”
Blushing at the thought of her unconventional hairstyle, she smiled. “Thank you, Your Grace. You are very kind.”
“His Grace has come to insist we attend his ball next week, Jeannette,” the earl announced.
Her mother added, “And I told him we would be happy to.”
“Then of course we will come,” she responded immediately.
“Now, concerning the matter of a governess,” the Duke began.
Jeannette didn’t have to look at her frowning parents to know they hoped she would change her mind.
His gaze flicked to Darby. “Lord Darby has mentioned your interest in such a post, Lady St. Ives. Are you convinced you shall enjoy such work?”
“Indeed, Your Grace. I have no prior experience as a governess, but I am well educated and long for the opportunity to be useful.”
His eyebrows rose. “You appear quite determined.”
“I am, sir.”
“Well then—” he paused and rubbed his chin “—I have no young children at home, but my oldest daughter is married with three girls of her own. She is looking for a good governess. I will happily recommend you for the post, if you still want it after the ball.”
“Thank you.”
“It will be my pleasure. And now, I am off to Bath. The duchess has been ill for months. I shall accompany her there to take the waters, and I will not be back until the day before the event.”
“I am sorry to hear Her Grace is ill. Is she hoping to attend the ball herself?” Rose Marie asked.
“No, she will be staying in Bath for at least a month.”
“We will certainly miss her.”
“Alas.” He turned his attention back to Jeannette. “After the ball, with your permission, I shall arrange an interview for you with my daughter.”
Jeannette inclined her head in a graceful nod. “I would be most grateful.”
“Then we are agreed.” The duke rose. “I look forward to it with the utmost anticipation.”
Jeannette struggled to keep her bemusement from revealing itself on her face. Why had this duke suddenly taken a personal interest in her? And why should he care whether or not she attended his ball?
Ellsborough gave a slight bow. “Until next week,” he said to the room at large, and with a strange smile, he let the butler show him out.
* * *
The night of the ball, Jeannette dressed in a new lavender silk gown, deeply décolleté, with puff sleeves that fell off her shoulders. With matching slippers, long white gloves, and some of the first flowers of spring in her hair, she had to admit she felt better, and more feminine, than she had in a long time.
The ride to the duke’s house at St. James’s Square took only fifteen minutes. Jeannette sat in the carriage next to Darby, facing her parents.
“Are you nervous, dear?” her mother asked as they rocked and swayed over the cobblestones. A light rain had begun to fall, just enough to wet the ground, but the weather was surprisingly warm.
“No.” Jeannette smiled in an effort to show some enthusiasm, but she could feel a headache coming on and wished the ball were over. After the preceding months, she knew it would be difficult to go back to the stilted, polite conversations that would be required of her this night.
The carriage came to a stop behind a row of similar conveyances. The earl grumbled something under his breath and tugged at his cravat. Jeannette felt sorry for him, knowing he had no more desire to attend the ball than she did. “We do not have to stay long,” she assured him.
He gave her a quick, grateful smile. “Simply say the word, and we will leave.”
Feeling better for knowing she had an ally, Jeannette allowed the waiting footman to help her down. When they had all alighted, she took the earl’s arm and walked with him and her parents to the line of guests waiting at the door.
The women around them tittered and gossipped, making Jeannette’s head hurt more. Many of them were near her age; she should have felt a natural kinship to them. But she felt removed, apart, older. Rubbing her temples, she determined to help the earl escape his social duties in record time. Then she caught sight of a tall man with sandy-colored hair standing farther up the line—a man who looked remarkably like Lieutenant Treynor.
Just the thought that it might be him made Jeannette’s heart pound against her ribs. She stood on tiptoe to see for sure, but surely her eyes were playing tricks on her.
Those in front jostled and moved, making it difficult for her to see. When the man passed through the door and disappeared, she groaned in frustration.
“Is something wrong, my dear?” her mother asked.
Jeannette blinked at Rose Marie, her mind too busy to answer. Treynor didn’t generally circulate among the ton. According to the Times, he had been knighted, but she still didn’t expect to find him at a duke’s ball.
She craned her head to see inside the double doors ahead of them.
Her mother grasped her arm. “What is it?”
“Nothing,” she replied. “I am a bit cold.”
“Then pull your cloak tighter, dear. It is this cursed rain. I swear, I shall never get used to it.”
Her father patted her mother’s shoulder, then glanced down at Jeannette. “You look lovely, ma petite. You will be the toast of the evening.”
“Merci,” she replied, curbing the more instinctive, I hope not! For once, she wasn’t interested in generating attention or gathering beaux. Not like before. If the man she saw wasn’t Treynor, there was no one here to interest her. And if he was …How would she face the lieutenant without giving her heartbreak away?
The servant at the door announced them, and Jeannette reluctantly followed her parents through the portal.
A man with fine brown hair and eyes the same color stood next to the Duke of Ellsborough, helping him greet the guests.
“Ah, there you are.” The duke smiled when he saw them. “Lord Darby, you know my son. Comte de Lumfere, Lady Lumfere, and Lady St. Ives, this is my heir, Lord Baldwin.”
The duke was far more distinguished-looking than Baldwin was. Ellsborough stood several inches taller and carried himself with an athletic grace Jeannette couldn’t help but admire. But his son was not unhandsome.
She smiled as he kissed her hand. “Tout le plaisir était le mien, Lord Baldwin.”
“So this is the one,” he replied, sending a glance at his father. “I can certainly understand the attraction.”
“Pardon, my lord?” Jeannette asked.
“You are a vision of loveliness, my lady. If you would be so kind as to save me a dance or two, I would be most honored,” he replied.
“Of course she will.” Rose Marie spoke with a blatant eagerness that caused heat to shoot up Jeannette’s neck and pool in her cheeks. Evidently her mother hadn’t given up hope that Jeannette would marry again instead of becoming a governess.
She sent her a pointed look before responding. “Who can refuse such flattery, Lord Baldwin?”
“I will anxiously await the moment.”
The liveried servant at the door announced the next guests and Jeannette followed her parents deeper into the ballroom. Large chandeliers, blazing with candles, hung from the ceiling over a marble floor. The orchestra played from their place in the far corner, but was nearly drowned out by the low roar of voices.
The women were dressed in fine, jewel-colored gowns. Most of the men wore brocade waistcoats of similar hues with black tailcoats and knee-length breeches. Jeannette searched for another glimpse of the man with the sandy hair, but the room was already crowded. She could see only those immediately surrounding her.
A maid passed, carrying a tray of drinks, and her father paused to sample the champagne. “Excellent,” he murmured, and they moved on, occasionally stopping to visit with some of those they had met at other soirees.
Many raised their fans to whisper about Jeannette as she passed, but she ignored them. She was too preoccupied to be annoyed by the gossip over her ordeal with St. Ives.
Hair the color of Treynor’s caught her eye again. She made her way toward it, only to discover a man too fat to resemble the lieutenant in any other way.
“Lady Lumfere, is that you?”
Jeannette glanced back to see a rotund woman push past a couple of young ladies to reach her mother’s side. Wearing a yellow gown bedecked with gathers, frills, and ribbons, the woman smiled in obvious pleasure when Rose Marie turned and recognized her.
“Lady Hafton! It has been too long! How wonderful to see you looking so well. I had heard you were ill.”
“Oh, deathly so.” The woman fluttered her fan. “I thought I would die for certain.”
As Lady Hafton expounded upon the details of her ailment and her subsequent recovery, Jeannette watched others mingle about the Hepplewhite tables and chairs, which were strategically placed so those too old or too tired to dance could sit and enjoy the sights. Only a few heeded the music this early in the night. Most were too busy greeting old friends, taking note of the new arrivals, or admiring what the fashionable wore.
Jeannette’s eyes sought the sides of the room, the corners, every nook or cranny, hoping to locate the man she had glimpsed earlier, but she found him not ten feet away, on the dance floor.
Evidently her mother caught sight of him at the same time. “Ma petite, look who is here. It is none other than your friend, Lieutenant Treynor, n’est-ce pas?”
Jeannette struggled to keep her mouth from gaping open as she gazed at Treynor moving in step with a tall blonde wearing a green velvet gown. An exceptionally attractive woman, his partner had a voluptuous figure to rival her porcelain-pale face. And she turned a dimpled smile on him every time he spoke.
“Did you say something about the lieutenant?” Lady Hafton asked.
A definite numbness began to deaden Jeannette’s fingers and toes, making her wonder if her heart had stopped beating alt
ogether.
“He is the latest rage, you know,” Lady Hafton continued, without waiting for an answer, “a bit of a war hero. That is my niece Maude he is dancing with now. They make a divine couple, do they not?”
Jeannette forced herself to nod and smile along with her mother. “You know him, then?”
“Yes. He is courting Maude. He has been to the house a number of times over the past week.”
Jeannette purposely ignored the look of sympathy and understanding her mother gave her. She had been mooning over Treynor for nearly six weeks. And here he was, looking as fit and handsome as ever in a single-breasted black coat over a double-breasted blue silk waistcoat, making his debut with the aristocracy.
Throwing her shoulders back, she forced her eyes from the woman who touched Treynor with a familiarity that lent credence to Lady Hafton’s words. She couldn’t watch them together, or she would cry. And she refused to shed any tears over him—not here, not now.
Rose Marie nudged her again. “You are too good for him anyway, ma petite.”
“He made me no promises, ma mère. I expected nothing more.” The falter in her voice gave away her true emotions and solicited a gentle squeeze from her mother.
“What is it?” her father asked. “Jeannette, you look so pale.”
“I have a headache, Papa. Perhaps we can go.” She started toward the door, but her mother pulled her back.
“Wait.” Rose Marie nodded at Lord Baldwin, who was making his way toward them, and Jeannette felt her heart sink even farther. The music had stopped. Those on the floor were getting ready to start another quadrille, but she wasn’t up to smiling and dancing and talking.
“Is something wrong, Lady St. Ives?” Lord Baldwin asked as those around her parted to let him through. “You seem distressed.”
Jeannette shook her head. She dared not speak.
“Would you care to dance, then?”
Forcing a shaky smile, she nodded and curtsied before taking the arm he offered. She wouldn’t make a fool of herself and humiliate the duke’s son by pulling away and fleeing the ball in front of everyone. She would dance one dance, then slip out before Treynor saw her.
