Lord Keegain felt out of sorts with the trouble afoot. He did not need further upset. He waited until the room emptied before confronting her.
He lowered his voice so that it did not carry. “I do not appreciate my guests humiliated or humbled. Guests of my house are exactly that, guests of my house and not the target of your malevolent gossiping.”
Margret looked stunned. “I am sure I do not know what you mean.”
“I think you do. I refer to the comment you made about a guest who was clearly upset and did not deserve being treated unconscionably by your sharp tongue.”
“You mean the common girl?” Margret could not have been more surprised at Keegain’s ire than if he had suddenly burst into flame. “Oh, darling, why would you care? No one else does.”
“No matter what you think of her,” Keegain said through gritted teeth. “She is my guest.”
“Your guest, is she?” Margret hissed. “I thought she was Charlotte’s guest.” Margret looked unaccountably flushed and Keegain calmed himself.
“Regardless, such behavior is unacceptable to guests in my house.”
Margret smiled at him. The smile did not reach her eyes. “Perhaps I might remind you, my dear, that very soon this house will be mine as well.”
Her words lit a fire of anger in him. This was his house. Margret was getting above herself. She was not his wife. Not yet. He thought to remind her of that fact, but he held his temper. The marriage was to honor his father and her mother who had been enamored of a bond between the families. He could not break the engagement. He had given his father a death bed promise, and he kept his word. He sucked his breath through gritted teeth and bit his lip against the harsh words that sprang to it.
How was it that she raised such an ire in him when they had been childhood friends? He approached the problem from that manner. “We were friends once, but when I see you behave in such a manner, I find myself wondering when you gained such venom.”
“Now, Keegain,” she said putting her hands on his chest and blinking up at him. “Certainly you don’t mean that.” She pulled at his cravat, straightening a stray wrinkle and letting her hands wander.
He was fully unaffected. He grabbed her wrists and firmly set her away from his person. “Curb your viper’s tongue around my guests or I shall find another way to silence you,” he said.
Margret’s face went as pale as milk.
He wondered what on earth she had thought he would do, cut off her allowance most likely once they were married. He knew he was out of his depth, but since their engagement, this new grating personality had taken root in Margret and it vexed him greatly. He found that his own tongue was as sharp as hers and more focused. Further, he seemed to have little enough control over it. He did not know how to retract his words or if he truly wanted to do so. Let her think what she will.
“I see.” Margret hissed, but kept her expression carefully neutral. “Will that be all then Lord Keegain?” She said in a voice colder than ice and just as implacable.
“That is all.” Keegain tried to match her icy tone, but the woman had a talent for acid.
“Very well, my lord.” She curtsied with a smirk dripping sarcasm, and spun on one heel, her back straight and unyielding her head high. She left the room in a leisurely pace, unhurried and seemingly unshaken. It was as if she wanted him to know that the world played on her timeline, not his. We shall see, he thought. With this business with the brigands looming, the last thing he needed was dissension in his house.
“Tell me old boy,” Fitzwilliam said from the serving table. Keegain started. He had thought the room empty, but his dear friend was placidly eating late-bloom blackberries from their hothouse. He popped one into his mouth, and chewed before continuing. “Do you find it wise to put needles in your bed at night?”
“You heard her,” Keegain snapped. “I will not accept such cheek. Guests are to be treated with respect.”
“Oh I agree.” Fitzwilliam said, eating another of the fruit. “One should always be polite to ladies with deep dark eyes.” He grinned knowingly and clasped his friend’s arm. “Come, I am sure the men have decided to use this lovely hour given to us by the ladies by smoking your cigars and drinking your brandy. You should join us.”
Keegain grinned in spite of himself, but with the possibility of villains in his home tonight, he did not want to start in on the brandy and said as much.
“Indeed.” Fitzwilliam said and considered the matter very seriously. “In that case, we’ll drink your Scotch. I like it better anyway.” He winked outrageously and headed toward the parlor.
Keegain shook his head and wondered what kettle of worms he had opened this morning. He wanted to crawl back into bed and begin the day again. His imagination conjured Miss Jane Bellevue there amongst the sheets, gazing at him with her dark and mysterious eyes. How had she so captured his thoughts? Miss Bellevue was an enigma he could not unravel.
He looked around the room. “Where is Reynolds?” He asked.
“Oh, he went in search of Lady Margret,” Fitzwilliam replied.
“Good. Good,” Keegain said distractedly. He could not have the woman wondering around unescorted when there were villains about. “Reynolds will protect her.”
“Oh, is that right?” Fitz said raising an eyebrow with his sarcastic tone.
“What?” Keegain questioned.
“Never mind,” Fitz said. “I am sure Reynolds will protect your intended as if she were his own.” Fitz shook his head. “You cannot see what is right in front of your nose.”
Keegain frowned. Whatever did Fitz mean by that?
Fitzwilliam just shook his head. “Do you love her, Keegain?” He asked seriously.
Keegain blinked.
“Lady Margret.” Fitz clarified with a small smile at the earl’s hesitation. That Fitzwilliam asked him outright was something of a surprise, although in retrospect it should not have been.
“I am avowed,” Keegain said sternly. “Both to Lady Margret and to my father’s dying wishes. I shall not break my word, not to either of them.”
“Lud, Keegain, how old were you when you made that vow? Thirteen?”
“What does that matter? A vow is a vow and a man’s word is his bond,” Lord Keegain said turning away.
“You were but a child,” Fitzwilliam spat.
“I was not,” Keegain said. “I was fifteen, and within the year I was the earl. I have not been a child for a very long time.”
“I know, my friend.” Fitz muttered as Keegain turned away. “You always were too honorable for your own good.”
Keegain did not know what Fitz was on about, but he did not want to argue with his friends. It was bad enough he and Margret were out of sorts. With a brigand lurking, they should have solidarity.
Keegain excused himself from the room. He needed air and just now the idea of walking in the garden in a freezing gale did not sound so bad even if he came in disheveled and mud-stained as the ladies had been.
25
In the end, Jane did curl up on the massive bed, with one of the books Keegain had given her. The first was a history tome. The other was a light hearted romp that made her laugh, and she needed to laugh.
She read for a while, but her eyelids were feeling heavy. She had not slept much the night before and with the ball pending in a matter of hours, it seemed the wisest recourse. She honestly thought she wouldn’t sleep now, not with the way the wind rattled at the windows. In the end she must have dozed or surely she would have noticed the knocking on her door that much sooner. As it was she lay there for the duration of several such sharp raps, trying to puzzle out the sound.
After the day she had, Jane was somewhat unsure if she wanted visitors. It was likely Lady Amelia and Lady Patience come to console her, or perhaps Lady Charlotte. Was she ready for company and their sweet pity?
I would not be here if it were not for them. I should not be avoiding them, she reasoned as she swung her legs over the side of the bed and lift
ed one hand to her hair to smooth it. It was a rumpled mess and would need Jacqueline’s careful hand, but it did not matter.
Jane threw open the door with a smile. “As you can see, I am fine…” she started only to find that she had been mistaken in the identity of her visitor. Jane found herself looking into the very pair of eyes she had been trying so hard to forget.
“Lord Keegain, this is most unexpected!” she murmured, lifting a hand to her heart in silent protest.
“I am here only for a moment. The others are downstairs and I have asked Fitzwilliam to let me know if anyone comes.”
Jane’s eyes opened wide.
“I did not mean to alarm you.”
She peered past him down the hall, seeing the second gentleman stationed at the head of the stairs. He seemed to be taking the role seriously, standing with all the attention of a soldier on guard duty. “I am duly impressed, but you are still taking quite a chance in coming to my room in such a manner. Was there something that you required?” she asked, hating this conversation, hating that not only did she have to dispel him from her mind, but from her very threshold as well.
“I only wished to apologize for the behavior of Lady Margret. As she is my betrothed I feel responsible for her actions.”
“You are not,” Jane said. “Her actions and her words are her own.”
“I…overheard what she said to you earlier and as your host, I am most regretful of the entire affair.”
Jane drew back into the room, feeling suddenly chilled “I am sure it does not matter,” she said softly, “and I would thank you to leave.”
“Of course it matters,” the earl argued. “And you are trying to handle the matter so tactfully that I cannot help but be grateful. But you are a guest in my home and I would not have you form a poor opinion of us here.”
As Jane looked into his eyes she became positive that there could be no such thing as a poor opinion of him personally. That he cared enough to come apologize was endearing and sweet, but that he stood in her bedchamber door was terribly dangerous. To be seen so would be considered compromising, aside from the fact that Lady Margret was like to scratch her eyes out, and she could not blame the woman.
Besides, Jane really did not wish to discuss this with him. He would ask, he would have to, what the entire incident had been about, and it all seemed petty now and ridiculous. She had imagined Lady Margret’s reaction to her pouring the tea. She was being too sensitive.
“You have spoken your piece, and I thank you,” she said again, starting to close the door. “As I said I have no wish to discuss it.”
Lord Keegain stopped the door, only inches from closing, one hand shooting out to hold the edge of the door. His hand was so near her own that she could have touched it had she wanted to. His hands were rather large for his stature. Large and powerful. His signet ring shined in the light of the sconces that lit the hall. Jane swallowed hard, trying to ignore the temptation, the flutter of danger that moved deep within her belly.
Having this conversation in the doorway of her bedroom could ruin her if any should see. She could invite him into her room, a reasonable voice in her mind urged. Then no one would see him hovering upon her threshold. That of course, if discovered, would be infinitely worse.
“I would have your forgiveness.”
“There is none needed,” Jane said, and indeed that was true. Margret’s actions had not been his. The idea that a man must take the blame for his wife’s action did seem silly, although it was not the first time Jane had heard it. It was not even the first time she had heard it in conjunction with an engagement, but Lady Margret was not his wife, only his intended. Jane’s heart spoke. Lord Keegain was not yet married.
Jane could only see a piece of his face between door and jamb. The earl’s eyes probed hers, filled with an agonizing sadness. “Why do you work so hard to push me away?” he asked in a hoarse whisper and for a moment Jane found herself wanting to push the door open enough to draw him into the room and her into arms so that she might comfort him. Oh, such thoughts were dangerous. Lord Keegain could never marry her. He was an earl and she was no one. It was ludicrous and could not be.
He was promised to another, a proper lady, and yet he stood at her bedchamber door.
Jane licked at lips that had suddenly gone dry and gathered her mettle. “I have noted the difficulty before, and wonder that you have not. It is simple. You are engaged, my lord. And not to me.”
With that she shut the door with infinite care that it would not slam.
She had half expected him to push his way in after all. It was something of a disappointment that he did not. Her heart was beating as if she had run a race, and she put a hand to it to gain some perspective. When she leaned against the door she could hear him in the hallway, just on the other side. Moving. Breathing. He stood there a long moment. She wondered if he stared at the wood and thought of her there leaning on the other side. Waiting. By the time she worked up the courage to reopen the door, he was gone.
She felt tears well up in her eyes and she tried to blink them back. If she cried now, her face would be a splotchy mess. Still, she could not stop the tears from coming. The pieces of her broken heart seemed to clog her chest. How could she let him go? Because he was never hers, she reminded herself.
26
Jane used the water in the basin to cool her eyes and wipe away the redness when she heard a tap on the door. She paused holding the cloth aloft thinking for a moment perhaps it was the earl returning, but it was not.
“It’s us, Jane,” said Lady Charlotte from outside the door, and Jane moved to open it. The girls trooped in with their dresses and their ladies’ maids.
“Oh,” Jane said surprised at the veritable parade.
“Alice is moping in her room, and Helen is dressing with Lady Guinevere,” Lady Charlotte said as she turned to her maid who carried her dress directing her to hang it in the armoire for the moment.
“We have brought everything,” Lady Patience said as Lady Amelia placed her jewelry box on the writing desk.
“I thought it may be too crowded,” Lady Amelia added looking around, “but I do believe that your dressing room is as large as mine. Apparently, Lord Keegain thinks highly of you.”
The words brought a blush to Jane’s cheeks. Could she have been so transparent?
Jacqueline curtseyed and brought Jane from her musings. “May I start ta coiffure, mademoiselle? Yes?” She held the hair brush in her hand.
“Yes,” Jane said rather overwhelmed by it all. She steeled her resolve as Jaqueline fixed her hair.
Tonight was the event for which she had originally come to Kennett Park. She had greatly anticipated the Christmas ball when she left Bath and she would not allow it to be spoiled. Jane was no lady, but tonight she would look like one. She would have this one night, to remember forever. She would laugh and dance and be merry. Tonight she would be Lady Jane.
Once she and the other girls were dressed, they tied on their masks and Lady Amelia put a veritable fortune in jewels around her neck.
“I shall be apprehensive all night,” she said touching the glittering necklace at her throat. “What if I were to lose them?” Although, that was not the only reason Jane was nervous.
“Do not be silly,” Lady Amelia said as her maid fastened a similar cascade of emeralds around Lady Amelia’s own neck. “Tonight, you are an heiress. You shall find a wonderful gentleman, and dance the night away.”
Jane nodded. Lady Amelia was right. She would worry about the earl and Lady Margret tomorrow.
Lady Patience grinned and hugged Jane. Her smiling eyes glittering behind her mask.
“Oh, I could just die with excitement,” Lady Charlotte said still moving this way and that much to her maid’s consternation. Lady Charlotte was dressed in her pink confection complete with diamonds. Jane was not sure what Charlotte was supposed to be: perhaps a bouquet of pink flowers, for surely she could not be only one flower in that dress.
&nbs
p; “Lady Charlotte,” her maid said as she tried to fasten the jewels around Lady Charlotte’s ever moving body. Charlotte stilled and in the next moment, the group was ready to go down to the ball.
“I am a lady,” Jane said to herself as several gentlemen came forward to escort them. Jane recognized Mr. Fitzwilliam and Mr. Reynolds, but did not see the earl with them. The third man, she realized was Lady Patience’s brother, Lord Barton. Patience waved her fan at him when he would have taken her arm. “No, Reginald, you escort Lady Charlotte,” she said.
Before Jane could blink, Lady Amelia had found a partner and was already half way across the floor.
Mr. Fitzwilliam bowed over Jane’s gloved hand. Jane smiled at him and they joined Lady Charlotte and Lord Barton who were lining up for the set.
The apology had not gone at all as Lord Keegain had planned. He realized, rushing to Jane’s door and asking Fitz to be his guard at the stairs was presumptuous. In retrospect, it was also dangerous. A scandal could cause Margret to rethink their promise and call off the engagement. Maybe deep down he wished for that, but the damage it would bring to Jane’s good name was something very different.
The shame would have been an insurmountable obstacle in her case, one not soon forgotten and possibly never forgiven, if he had been found in the doorway of her bed chamber. Her hair was mussed, and he wanted to raise a hand to smooth it, or perhaps muss further. He had glimpsed the rumpled bed beyond her shoulder and for a moment his imagination had taken flight. He had wanted her to invite him in, but of course, Jane would not. She was a lady; as much a lady as Margret, in his eyes. Miss Bellevue was noble in manner if not in name.
What Margret had against a perfect stranger other than the poor girl’s lack of social standing was beyond him. Why would Margret care about a guest’s background? To that point, if he wished to set up a chimney sweep in one of the guest rooms, it would be her incumbent duty as hostess to supply the man with clean sheets and hot water.
Winning Lady Jane: A Christmas Regency Romance (Ladies of Bath Book 0) Page 15
