A Lord Rotheby's Holiday Bundle (114 page)

The banister was waist-high. Jane
cringed, thinking of how high her skirts would have to be raised to
get over the railing, but there was nothing to be done for it. So,
she raised up her gown and held her skirts with one hand, then used
the other to balance as she tossed first one, then the other leg
over the side and steadied her feet on the rickety
ladder.

A low whistle reached her from below,
and she sent Neil her best scowl...then wished she had done nothing
of the sort, since it put the horses back directly in her line of
view. Blasted animals. If only they weren’t so necessary for
everyday life.

Before she could change her mind, she
lowered her feet one at a time, grasping onto the rungs of the
ladder with the one hand for dear life and still holding her skirts
with the other, so as not to tangle a foot in them. Thankfully, she
was at the ground in short order.

“
I daresay, my dear, that
was rather the prettiest sight I’ve seen in weeks. I can hardly
wait to see it again when we return.”

She had half a mind to slap the man
for his impertinence before she thought better of it. They only had
a few hours. She really must be on her way, and what would she do
without his help? Even just getting back up to her chamber was an
impossibility without his assistance.

Instead of striking him, then, she
turned on her heels and stalked to the waiting carriage. Which
would have been much easier to do had she remembered to let go of
her skirts and loosen her grip on the ladder.

Since she did
not
remember to perform
those rather pertinent things, the ladder came falling on top of
her as she landed in a twisted heap on the ground. Drat. Not quite
the haughty exit she had intended.

Even worse, Neil chose that moment to
drop his roguish demeanor and play the gallant gentleman. He deftly
removed the ladder from her person, placed it against the wall of
Hardwicke House again, and then offered her his hand. “Might I
assist you up, ma’am?” His voice held a polished, refined tone,
even with a mocking twinkle in his eyes.

Why, exactly, had she ever agreed to
Sophie’s hare-brained idea?

Whatever the reason, it was
irrelevant. She took his hand and allowed him to assist her to her
feet, then straightened her skirts about her legs and climbed
aboard the carriage—careful
not
to accept his aid this time.

And finally, they were on their way.
When they arrived at Bond Street, Neil agreed to wait for her
return in the carriage and not chase after her to discover her
dealings.

She met with Mr. Selwood, who took her
to visit three different shops. The first two were a bit too dusty
and cramped, too poorly lit, and entirely unacceptable in almost
every imaginable way.

But the third was about as close to
perfect as Jane ever dreamed she would find. It stood on a corner,
and had windows all along the front and the side, allowing ample
daylight to stream in and light her work—and allowing plenty of
room to display her wares for potential clients.

An area in the back would need only
minimal work to suit as a dressing area, where the ladies who came
for fittings could try on their new garments and Jane could work
with her pins to finalize all of the stitchery. Off to one side, a
countertop was laid out where Sophie could operate, dealing with
all of the bookkeeping and such, and keeping an eye on comings and
goings while Jane was busy with her sewing.

So of course, she said to Mr. Selwood
after being shown this third and final shop on the tour: “I’ll take
it!” Her grin was so wide that the corners of her lips felt like
they might crack, but she didn’t care.

She was becoming a business
owner.

They settled all of the details, but
for its location and nicities, Jane believed she was coming out on
top in terms of the rents she would have to pay. She had more than
enough saved to pay for the first year’s rents on the building, and
still plenty set aside for buying her supplies. She could open her
doors sooner than she had ever allowed herself to
anticipate.

Well, there was still the slight snag
of convincing Cousin Henrietta (and her parents, but they could
wait) that she should be allowed to go about it.

Still, after the matter of Charlotte
and Jane’s come-out ball was in the past, then Jane and Sophie
could work on buying their supplies and setting up the shop. She
imagined they could be open for business by the middle of the
Season—or the end of it at the very latest. Which would be in time
to work on autumn and winter garments for her new
clients.

This was all working out just
splendidly.

She was still beaming when she
returned to Neil in his carriage, but he kept his promise to her
and asked her no questions. When they returned to Hardwicke House,
she still had half an hour to spare before Meg would return to wake
her from her nap.

She climbed the ladder to her chamber
with a touch more decorum than she had displayed when descending.
Neil spared her the humiliation of showing off her legs in their
entirety again by providing her with the equally as embarrassing
humiliation of scurrying up the ladder behind her and lifting her
over the railing.

Jane was far too excited to be too
upset with him, however, so she gave him a chaste kiss on his cheek
and thanked him for his assistance.

“
Any time, sweet Jane,” he
said, and rushed down the ladder to clean up the evidence of their
excursion and be off.

Oh, she simply
couldn’t
wait
to
tell Sophie the news.

Chapter
Thirteen

“
You look simply divine,
miss,” Meg said as she placed the finishing touches on Jane’s hair.
Somehow, as usual, Meg had tamed the mess of curls into a smooth,
bouncy coiffure that Jane would have never accomplished on her own.
A few tendrils were strategically left out of the knot to frame her
face and trail along the nape of her neck.

Her excitement from the afternoon had
yet to wear off, and her skin was glowing back at her from the
mirror, contrasting nicely against a peachy-pink silk. They had
chosen (or rather Cousin Henrietta and Sophie had selected) this
one because of its simplicity—no extra bobs or adornments
tonight.

Jane would shine in her natural glory
on this night. Her night. The night of this silly come-out ball
thrown in her honor, which she would just as well skip in its
entirety.

Oh, all right. She was not
quite as callous as that. There was
just a
hint
of excitement coursing through her
over the prospect of a fete thrown just for her.

The rush of exhilaration over securing
a storefront for her modiste shop, however, threatened to
extinguish any frisson of emotion still burning over the upcoming
ball.

She had yet to tell Sophie any of her
news. There’d been no time, with the other girls returning from the
Marlborough sisters’ house and then all of them needing to dress
for the evening.

Their celebration of impending
independence would simply have to wait.

A knock sounded at the door and Meg
hurried over to open it. Cousin Henrietta and her two daughters
stood in the hall, beaming with excitement.

Three pairs of eyes looked her over,
up and down, examining every detail.

“
You’re ready, then,”
Sophie said with a brisk nod. “Come along. Peter’s already fuming
downstairs about how long it takes the females of his family to
dress.”

“
We must be downstairs
before the first guests arrive,” Cousin Henrietta said. She spun
and hurried along the hall, her long, royal blue gown breezing
behind in her wake. “Let’s be going, then. It’s time to form the
reception line.” The dowager didn’t wait to see if they would
follow her.

Sophie took hold of Jane’s hand and
led her along behind her younger sister, leaving a small buffer
between them. “Are things settled?” she asked, quiet enough that no
one else could hear the question.

The smile that built inside her
bubbled over. Good Lord, she couldn’t be expected to keep the news
quiet if she had to answer. Instead, she merely nodded her head.
Anything more might alert the servants that the house was afire if
not something even more disturbing.

Sophie squeezed her hand in promise
that they would discuss their new business venture more fully in
the wee hours of the morning.

Now was certainly not the
time.

~ * ~

Even with his house full to bursting
with the quality of London, Peter could scarcely take his eyes from
Jane.

She almost glowed tonight. Her smile—a
true smile, shining clear through to her eyes and beyond—had never
left her face, not even for a moment.

He had never seen anything more
beautiful. Well, perhaps, his sweet Sarah on every moment of every
day.

But this? This was different, by far.
Jane was no child.

Somehow, the minx even stood out from
the décor of Hardwicke House. The grand ballroom was filled with
flowers and candles at every turn, the floral scent even somehow
banishing the usual malodorous nature of town. The chandelier
overhead and the wall sconces bounced flickers of gold over
everything beneath them until the whole room was awash in their
radiance.

After Peter’s dance with her, Peter
checked with Mama to be certain Jane would not lack for
partners.

Mama looked at him without bothering
to hide her disdain. “Heavens, of course her card is
full.”

The minx’s dance card was
plastered with names of nearly every gentleman present, and he
couldn’t arrange for a second set with her. Neither could he dance
more than once with either of his sisters. So, Peter instead tried
to fill as many sets as possible with contentedly married ladies of
the
ton.
He had to
congratulate himself on his success. Only two sets this evening
would he be free—and for those he would scour the walls to find a
wallflower and make her evening by asking her to dance.

Mama couldn’t find fault with him. Not
tonight.

At the moment, he was waltzing with
Lady Fontaine, a newlywed fully enamored of her husband. He
sincerely tried to converse with her, but realized he was doing a
poor job of the task when she offered, “Your Grace, I do hope
you’ll have the opportunity to dance with Miss Matthews again this
evening. She seems to hold your rapt attention.” She trilled a
laugh at his dropped jaw. “I daresay you are unable to fool anyone
tonight about where your affections lie.”

Deuce take it.

Sinclaire was waltzing with Jane,
sweeping her through the throng so that her skirts swayed about her
hips and legs in a decidedly enticing manner. A manner that drew
Peter’s gaze and held it firmly locked in its grasp.

“
My affections?” He nearly
choked on the words.

Lady Fontaine gave him a consolatory
smile. “Of course. You do know how the tongues of the gossip mill
tend to wag.”

“
But there’s nothing for
them to wag about, my lady, I can assure you.”

“
You, sir, are quite
mistaken.”

“
Quite?”

“
Quite.” Lady Fontaine
nodded and sent the plume over her head bobbing as though to
emphasize her point.

Blast it, they’d send him to parson’s
mousetrap if they could. “Surely something must have been taken out
of context, then. Or exaggerated. I can assure you, there’s no
reason for the gossips to be talking about me and Miss
Matthews.”

They spun around the floor and passed
by Sinclaire and Jane again. He could almost smell the peach scent
always present when she was in the room, even though several feet
remained between them. His head involuntarily turned in her
direction.

“
And
I
can assure
you
that the way you look at Miss
Matthews is more than enough to engage the gossip mill. Add to that
how you walked with her alone for so long at Vauxhall on a recent
excursion, and the rumors are compounded. And then one might also
include the fact that she has been living beneath your roof for the
entire Season in one’s estimation of things, and what other
conclusion must one draw? Such a thing only increases the voices
speaking of the two of you tenfold.”

“
Yes, she’s been living in
my home—along with my mother and sisters, not to mention countless
servants. Our association has been properly chaperoned at every
turn.”

“
Nevertheless, there are
rumors. Those rumors are only fueled by your fixation with the lady
in question, Your Grace.” Lady Fontaine fell silent for a moment,
eyeing him with pity. “It would not truly be the worst future fate
could hand you, would it? She is quite lovely, and rather
refreshing. One could never meet a lady of the
ton
quite so unhampered by social
dictates.” She drew closer and lowered her voice. “Why, just the
other day I was conversing with Miss Matthews and Lord Sinclaire,
and she dared to talk about how constraining her corset was. It was
shocking, to say the least. But really, why must we only speak of
the weather and embroidery?”