Winning Lady Jane: A Christmas Regency Romance (Ladies of Bath Book 0)

by Isabella Thorne

  “Welcome to my solar,” the dowager said, and Jane smiled.

  “Thank you for inviting me.” She hovered uncertainly in the doorway.

  “Come, come,” the Dowager Keegain urged and Jane came further into the room.

  Jacqueline curtseyed politely and closed the door behind her as she left.

  “Where is Lady Charlotte?” Jane asked. “Surely she is not still abed?”

  “No,” the Dowager Lady Keegain said. “Her brother roused her sometime this morning to go for a ride with him. Helen, Margret and the others have had their gowns planned and did not need our input.”

  Jane felt a bit sad to be left out of the riding this morning, but perhaps Lady Charlotte wanted a bit of time with her brother, so she could not be upset. Besides, the knocking she remembered on her door may have actually been Charlotte. It served her right to be left out when she was so dour this morning.

  “Humph,” Lady Amelia said with a bit of a huff. Jane was not sure if she too was upset about being left out of riding or if she was thinking of Lady Helen and Lady Margret.

  Lady Alice assumed the later. “Oh, Helen is ever antisocial,” she said from where she had draped her long limbs over a chair.

  “Alice, that is a terrible thing to say about your sister,” the dowager scolded.

  “It’s true,” Lady Alice said with a shrug. “Unless, of course, you wish to discuss novels.”

  “No matter. We shall enjoy ourselves in their absence,” Lady Patience said smoothing the situation. “We have decided to trade gowns.”

  Jane looked around her. The room smelled of pine and was filled with Christmas cheer, but it had been nearly redesigned into a fitting room, complete with dressing screen, and ball gowns rested over the settee and chairs. Jane smiled with ease as she took in the view.

  “Has Lady Charlotte chosen?” Jane asked.

  “Indeed she has,” Patience said showing Jane a pink confection of lace and bows. “She has chosen mine.”

  Jane wondered what mask the lady would wear with the elaborate gown.

  “We were starting to grow worried that you were not well,” the dowager commented. “Charlotte has said that you are usually an early riser,”

  “I was simply overly exhausted from yesterday’s festivities,” Jane lied.

  Lady Amelia and Lady Patience shared a look, and Jane pleaded silence from the two of them with a glance. She did not want to make a fuss.

  “Why, of course, my dear. This is quite a lot of excitement for you I am sure,” the Dowager Keegain commented as she turned back to the other girls and the dresses they were perusing.

  Jane’s smile faltered then, but she was glad no one was watching her. It gave her a moment to regain her composure as she neared the spectacle of gowns, lace, ribbons and masquerade masks.

  The dowager introduced the seamstress, who had gone unnoticed until now, as Mrs. Greenly. She was a slight woman of uncertain age, but surely as old as the dowager or older. Her nose was rather long, like a beak and her arms were long and thin. She looked rather like a stork in the white smock that covered her dress. She had pins stuck in a line along the pocket, and from that pocket she took out a measuring tape and went to work.

  The dowager spoke in a hushed voice as she picked up a mask and handed it to Jane. “Now, I must share a secret with you, Miss Bellevue, and ask that you keep it between us.”

  “Of course, my lady,” Jane said as she took the mask the dowager had handed her. Whatever did the lady mean?

  Jane looked at the exquisite mask in her hands. It was white with swan’s feathers adorning it and cut glass, or perhaps they were truly diamonds, around the edges. The thing glittered. Another mask that graced the table was blue and purple with clear gems placed around the eyes. Surely they must be blown glass, Jane thought. A mass of peacock feathers framed the top of the mask. Both masks had ribbons fixed to the sides to allow the wearer to tie it around their head and hair.

  “I have a fascination with masquerade masks and have designed these especially for you three,” the Dowager Lady Keegain said, beaming with satisfaction as she picked up a third mask, of raven feathers and dark stones which may have been onyx. “But you must keep my secret, and of course, you may have your own, dear, and that is quite all right if you do not want to use one of these.”

  “I have nothing quite so grand as this,” Jane said examining the mask in her hand. She had planned to wear a simple black mask across her eyes. This was lovely, and she told the lady so.

  Jane admired the expert craftsmanship. The care made her suddenly miss her sister. “You are an artist, Lady Keegain,” she said. “But why would you not want to tell people of your talent?” Jane wondered as she carefully handed the mask back to the Dowager Lady Keegain who lifted a shoulder in a delicate shrug.

  “Because, Miss Bellevue, I enjoy making them, and I do not want to be revealed as a countess who enjoys a tradesmen’s art. So, I share this secret only with those whom I trust.” The dowager put the mask carefully aside.

  “I am honored,” Jane said seriously.

  The dowager raised a finger and wagged it before Jane’s nose. “Remember now, if you ever are questioned about the maker of your mask, you must tell them a secret friend from Town fashioned it for you,” the dowager explained with a wink, “and I shall be your secret friend.”

  Jane felt quite overwhelmed to be included in the lady’s surreptitious activities. “It will be our secret, Lady Keegain, and I shall give you all the praise when we shall talk alone together so that you might be appreciated for your wonderful talent,” Jane said, hoping to please the dowager. By the way the lady smiled, Jane knew that her words had truly warmed her heart.

  “Do you still make Christmas decorations, Agatha?” Lady Battonsbury asked the dowager.

  “I do,” she said and the two older women began discussing the said decorations.

  “You are an angel, Miss Bellevue,” Lady Patience said, picking up the swan feathered mask, “And so, we thought the white mask for you. Lady Charlotte said that your gown was white.”

  “It is,” Jane agreed.

  “We’ve been fussing all morning on which gowns would be best for the ball,” Lady Patience said. “I’ve changed my mind at least a dozen times, but I am leaning towards the black and blue, with the black mask although Lady Amelia did want to be the mysterious one and the gown is hers, so she should choose first.” Lady Patience peered at her friend, a question in her eyes.

  “The purple one is mine as well,” Lady Amelia in a teasing tone. It seemed the duke’s daughter had brought an entire trunkful of ball gowns.

  “So it is. Choose then, Amelia.”

  “Perhaps the peacock,” Lady Amelia said. “The blue and purple will go well with my sapphires.”

  “And which would suit you, Miss Bellevue,” the dowager said as she gestured to the dresses laid out on the bed.

  “Oh, I couldn’t,” Jane began, but Lady Amelia interrupted.

  “We want to share,” she said, “unless, you wish to wear your own gown.”

  Jane did have a gown, but not nearly as lovely as the dresses laid out for her perusal. She suddenly felt as if this was a plan to dress her so that Lady Margret would not make crass remarks about her clothing as she had done. Jane hesitated.

  “I do have a dress,” she said, “but these are beyond beautiful.” She was torn between her pride and the lovely dresses before her, dresses her father could never afford. All were silk with imported lace and stones or glass beading and embroidery.

  The labor alone would cost more than a common man made in a year. This was part of the reason she would not have a London season, but she could have a taste of it. For one night, she could be a lady or at least dress like one. The thought was tempting, but such extravagance was not her. She made her decision.

  “My dress is white,” she said at last, “and I have my mother’s pearls, but the swan mask is beautiful, if I may.”

  “You may,” the dowage
r said magnanimously.

  Lady Patience picked up the blue and black gown and danced around the room with it. “Do you think I could possibly meet my future husband tomorrow night, Mama?” Lady Patience asked dreamily.

  “Anything is possible, my dear,” Lady Battonsbury said.

  “But you must remember tomorrow is a masquerade and the unveiling isn’t until midnight,” the dowager added. “It will be hard to judge one’s character without knowing what they truly look like.”

  “For all we know, a gentleman could be covering a rather large wart on his face,” Lady Amelia added and they all laughed, but Jane thought of Mr. Reynolds comment about his brother who was called Wort, but was most warm and chivalrous.

  “I do not think I should mind, as long as he is kind,” Jane said and the ladies laughed again at her unintended rhyme.

  The ladies were in high spirits and Jane felt a part of the happiness. It was as if the ladies were family and the Dowager Keegain and Lady Battonsbury fussed as mothers should. As Jane thought her mother might have done. Jane felt the warmth of Christmas cheer and when Lady Charlotte joined them, Jane’s joy was complete.

  “What have I missed?” Lady Charlotte said breathless, clomping into the room still wearing her soiled riding habit.

  “Everything,” Lady Amelia said dryly, but Patience laughed. “We shall have to tell you everything, and bring you up to scratch.”

  “Darling,” her mother said. “Do remove those boots before you soil the carpet.”

  “Sorry, Mother,” Lady Charlotte said, sitting and attempting to pull off the boots. “It is only the pasture was uncommonly muddy with all the rain.”

  Lady Patience moved to help Charlotte, but the dowager rang a bell calling back a maid so quickly that Jane wondered if she were waiting outside the door.

  “You missed a wonderful ride, Jane. You should have come with us,” Charlotte said proving that she had tried to invite Jane this morning.

  “You could change in your room,” the dowager said as the maid moved to help Lady Charlotte with her boots.

  “Why, if we are trying on dresses here?” Charlotte said as the boot came loose and she fell back on the chair with a plop. The girls burst into laughter, and the dowager just shook her head. “I am never going to marry you off, am I?” she said.

  “Probably not,” Lady Charlotte agreed. “I shall stay here and care for you in your old age, Mother.”

  “Here?” the dowager said. “Oh, are you sure that Lady Margret will accommodate us both?”

  A frown of worry crossed Lady Charlotte’s features before she waved it away. “Lady Margret prefers her time spent in London. She shan’t bother us here at all.”

  “Indeed,” the dowager replied dryly and Jane wondered what the elder lady thought of her soon to be daughter in law.

  16

  Lord Keegain realized he had been neglecting his guests whilst speaking with the Duke of Ely. The ladies were engaged with dresses, and he found the gentlemen in the drawing room.

  “You’ve been quite ensconced with the duke.” Edgar Fitzwilliam began without preamble.

  The earl grimaced. “Not entirely by choice, Fitz. Have you seen Ted Reynolds?”

  “I have.” Fitz nodded toward the grinning man by the door. “In fact, we were catching up while we waited for our betters to finish their conclave.”

  Keegain gestured toward the tall blond man and he moved to join them, removing back to the study.

  “Then you are aware that Reynolds is in His Majesty’s service?” Keegain asked Fitz.

  “Aren’t we all, old boy?” Fitzwilliam grinned. When neither man reacted to his gibe, he frowned a little, looking from one to the other uncertainly. “I say… what am I missing here? The tension could be cut with a knife.”

  “Ted is here in an official capacity, I fear.” Lord Keegain poured each of them a drink but refrained from taking one himself. The brandy he had finished earlier with the Duke of Ely was still working on him and he wanted to keep sharp. Reynolds also politely declined, though Fitz took his eagerly.

  “Official capacity?” Fitzwilliam echoed, his expression curious as he lifted his glass to drink.

  “It seems there is a group of Englishmen calling themselves the….” Keegain turned to Reynolds. “What was their name again? Some fool society, I know.”

  “The Society of Second Sons,” Reynolds supplied.

  “Quite. At any rate, these men are unscrupulous types who are supplying funds to Napoleon.”

  “Englishmen financing that… despot?” Fitzwilliam’s eyebrows raised considerably.

  “I’m afraid so.” Reynolds’ expression was serious. At a nod from Keegain, he continued. “The funds are drawn from a spate of kidnappings that have been vexing the gentry of late. Ladies of quality taken by force and held for ransom. Mostly the daughters, but there have been wives taken as well. The ransom is always in gold and is sent south to France.”

  “Good God in heaven.” Fitzwilliam exclaimed. He seemed to forget about the drink he held, an indication of his upset, as he gestured wildly. “But what are Reynolds and the King’s men…” his head swiveled to Keegain. “Here? You think there will be an attempt here?”

  “The duke certainly is convinced,” Lord Keegain said crossing to the fireplace.

  “It is most likely,” Reynolds agreed with a nod. “I wish I could say otherwise. But a masquerade ball, out of sight of London? It is tempting indeed.”

  “Why have I heard nothing of this before?” Fitzwilliam slammed his drink down on the desk, sending brandy out in a wide arc staining the wood dark.

  “Because of good old-fashioned sensibility,” Keegain nearly spat the response.

  He too had been enraged when he heard. He still was, but had gained control of his features before leaving his study. He waited now, letting Fitz take in the shock. Truth be told, his own control was shakier than he let on.

  Lord Keegain could not think of the danger to the ladies’ person. Thus far the women had been returned, but at what cost? His voice was terse as he continued.

  “Imagine what a scandal it would be for one of our own to be made a victim: a wife or a daughter. What would be said of a gentlewoman left in the hands of ones so unscrupulous? Even returned she would be ruined and through no fault of her own. We must be vigilant. I cannot allow for my sisters, nor the wives or daughters of any of my guests to bear that burden.”

  “Or your betrothed,” Reynolds heaved a heavy sigh.

  “Of course,” the earl agreed hastily, but Reynolds continued.

  “Unfortunately, I am afraid you are right. The scoundrels are well-versed in the ways of the Ton. None would breathe a word for fear of scandal.”

  A knock on the door interrupted whatever he was going to say, immediately followed by a frontal assault of merriment with gay dresses and smiling women. Keegain’s sisters took the forefront with a small group behind them.

  “Here is the most common fixture of the house, our brother.” Lady Charlotte said breezily dismissing his scowl. “Oh, cheer up, Randolph, you have been hiding in here all afternoon with your brandy. It is time to join the world as it were.”

  “Yes,” Lady Helen announced. “You must share the benefits of your person with the rest of our guests. Do join us in the parlor for tea. All of you.” She called over Charlotte’s shoulder.

  “Especially you,” Charlotte added, seizing Mr. Reynold’s arm that she might draw him toward the door, while Helen took Fitzwilliam.

  The youngest of the trio, Alice, nearly doubled over giggling behind them as they turned to exit, the gentleman in tow.

  Reynold’s gave him a pleading look, but was swallowed up in the group before a rescue could be affected, a man drowning in the quicksand of femininity. “Stay strong, old chap!” Keegain called, with a sharp glance at Fitz who laughed at the ladies antics with his customary good humor, though Keegain knew him well enough to know the sound was forced.

  They would have to let the m
atter go for now. Their somber discussion had no part in this time of frivolity. If the ladies knew of the danger, it would only create a panic. No, best to stay alert. In the meantime, this was meant to be a house party celebrating the birth of the Christ Child and peace on earth. Humph, he thought of Napoleon. May the man rot. Still, it was a party. He was meant to be jovial.

  There came with that thought the realization that a certain young lady was likely part of the flock invading his library. Jane. The earl looked around for her now, spotting her near the back of the group. He shouted good-naturedly at the throng as he moved to join them.

  “Forgive us, ladies, we have been negligent in our duties to you all,” he said, taking the long way around the group, that he might be nearer to Jane as he spoke. She did not, however, look at him. He wanted her to look at him.

  “Indeed,” Fitzwilliam lifted his snifter from the desk as he was herded out, that he might toast them, even if the glass was nearly empty. “When it comes to entertaining the fairer sex that is the single profession at which I would not fail.”

  The women gathered Fitzwilliam and Reynolds in their wake and began to edge out of the room. Keegain spotted Jane eyeing him from beneath her lashes a moment before Lady Margret took his arm. Jane looked hastily away. Miss Bellevue, he reminded himself sternly. He could not be so familiar now that guests had arrived, Lady Margret most especially. It was for the best, he thought.

  He smiled at Margret and followed the others from the room.

  By the time the earl returned to the library all of his guests were abed. The day had been eventful, but all were accounted for and safe. He poured himself a brandy. Now that he no longer needed to be alert for danger he could take his ease here in front of the fire, but his mind kept going over scenarios in his head, each one worse than the last. The Christmas ball was still to come. He could not yet relax. Was the villain already in his house? The notion brought fear and rage in equal measure to his mind. He clenched his fist around his glass and tried to consciously settle his apprehension.