“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 altogether.
“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.
Unfortunately, however, Lord Baldwin lined up right next to the lieutenant and the blond woman, and it was only a moment before she heard Treynor’s unmistakable voice.
“Lady St. Ives, what a surprise to see you here.”
The fact that he had greeted her forced her to acknowledge him. She nodded, using every ounce of self-control to appear indifferent. “I might say the same, Lieutenant Treynor.”
He smiled, but his gaze sparked with anger. “Indeed. May I introduce Lady Ambrose? Lady Ambrose, this is Lady St. Ives.”
Jeannette felt the tightness of her own smile but did her best to be pleasant. “Lady Ambrose.”
As Treynor’s lady friend nodded, her gaze ranged over Jeannette from head to foot with little effort to hide the perusal. “I have heard a great deal about you.”
“I am sure you are not the only one,” Jeannette said.
Lady Ambrose’s eyes widened, but the music started, cutting off any reply.
Jeannette endeavored to keep her mind on the dance, which moved her down a line of men and presented her with a new partner every few moments. Treynor was the last to take her hand, and try as she might, she could not stop herself from feeling the warm vibrancy that coursed down her arm when he touched her.
“The duke is playing games with me, I see,” he said, his voice curt, as though something had upset him.
“
Pardonez-moi
, Lieutenant?” She and the other women turned a full circle before they came close enough to their partners to speak again.
“Nothing. How are you, anyway?”
“As well as could be expected. His Grace, the Duke of Ellsborough, has promised me a recommendation. It seems that his granddaughters are in need of a governess.”
“He has, has he?”
Jeannette ignored his wry tone. “I should be well-engaged in teaching before long.” She didn’t know why she added that, except she wanted him think she had her life well in hand. “Are you now a captain?”
Again she turned around and came back to face him before he could answer. “Yes, but I am still awaiting word of my ship.”
“The wait must be very frustrating. It is a good thing you have had Lady Ambrose to entertain you.”
“Jeannette—”
It was time to switch partners again. Gratefully, Jeannette released her hold on the lieutenant and returned to her beginning position across from Lord Baldwin. As they started through the line again, she heard Lady Ambrose say, “You promised to tell me more of the battle that won you such honors, Sir Crawford.”
Jeannette wished she could tell Lady Ambrose about the rats, the lice, the smell of blood, and what it was like to see a man die, but Treynor merely shrugged.
“The weather turned and allowed us to gain the upper hand.”
“Surely you are being modest,” Lady Ambrose responded. “Men are not knighted for a lucky turn in the weather.”
“Are you enjoying your stay in London?” Lord Baldwin intruded upon Jeannette’s awareness of Treynor and his partner, causing her to lose the thread of their conversation.
“
Oui
, my lord. Do you like it here, as well?”
“At this time of year, I do. But when August hits, the heat drives me to our country home farther north.”
“I see.” Jeannette’s eyes flicked toward Treynor every few moments despite a supreme effort to stop them. Once their gazes clashed, and she looked quickly away.
“Have you known Captain Treynor long?”
If the duke’s son wasn’t privy to the latest gossip, she had no intention of enlightening him. “No. We are merely acquaintances.”
“I thought we had graduated to friends, at the very least,” Treynor interrupted, overhearing her words.
Jeannette ignored him as the music ended. Turning, she headed off the floor almost before Lord Baldwin could escort her. “I am warm,” she said, feeling a desperate need to escape the room without having to negotiate her departure with her parents. “Perhaps a walk in the gardens would be nice. Would you care to join me, Lord Baldwin?”
He shot a glance over his shoulder at a glowering Treynor and smiled. “I would be delighted. Perhaps you would like something to drink first?”
Jeannette thought of dulling the razor-sharp edge of her emotions with wine, then decided against it. The last thing she needed was to lose one shred of her control. Pride was all she had left. “No, thank you.”
The garden offered the cool, quiet respite Jeannette needed. She turned about the well-manicured bushes and freshly blooming flowers, breathing in the heady scent of the roses that scaled the white lattice as she tried to clear her head.
“Are you feeling better, Lady St. Ives?”
“A little.” Jeannette bit back a sigh and kept walking, hoping she didn’t appear as pensive as she felt. “You have a lovely home,” she said in an attempt to provide at least some pleasant conversation.
“And never has a more beautiful woman graced it. I had heard tell of you, I must admit, but the realization is far better than the original promise.”
“
Merci
.” She knew such a compliment deserved better than a tired thank-you, but couldn’t rouse herself to the occasion. Gentle strains of music filled the air; she focused on trying to let it ease her misery.
The duke’s son paused near a white iron chair. “Would you care to sit down for a moment?”
Jeannette felt no great need to sit and rest, but to accommodate him, she agreed.
Baldwin made a few comments about the weather and the war, which she tried to answer coherently, but her mind was consumed by the memory of Lady Hafton’s words.
He is courting Maude …he has been to the house several times over the past few weeks
.
She could see a corner of the ballroom through the open doors of the house. The silhouette of a tall form, standing in the shadows and gazing out, suddenly claimed her attention and made her miss what the duke’s son had said last.
“My apologies, Lord Baldwin. I am afraid I am not very good company tonight. What did you say?”
He laughed. “Nothing important. I merely mentioned that my father tells me you want to become a governess. I would tell you that it is a waste of your beauty and talents, but it is not my place. So I will settle for warning you that Catherine’s girls are hardly what you might expect.”
“My lord?”
“One would picture three little girls only ten, eight, and six as sweet and subdued.”
“Are they not?”
“No. Nor are they studious. All three have a rather, shall we say, tempestuous nature. And I am not sure my father mentioned this, but Catherine is demanding a four-year commitment. She hopes the children’s next governess—” he laughed “—yes, they have chased off quite a few already—will seriously apply herself instead of giving up on the girls.”
Lord Baldwin’s words were discouraging, but not overwhelmingly so, not when Jeannette remembered growing up with a similar “tempestuous nature.” “I consider such children a challenge,
monsieur
, nothing more.”
She glanced back at the house again. The man hovering near the doors had to be Treynor, for no one else stood so tall or so straight. Where was Lady Ambrose?
“What would motivate a woman like you to throw away her youth?” he persisted.
She did not reply.
“Forgive my impertinence, but governesses should be plain and without better option. You come from a good family. I know you have experienced difficult times, but you have a sponsor here in England. Lord Darby would see you remarried, I dare say, if you but gave the word. Is there not someone here you have met?”
The thought of Lord Darby selecting another husband for her chilled Jeannette to the bone. “Marriage no longer appeals to me,” she said simply, unwilling to lay her heart bare. “Shall we go back inside?”
As much as she wanted to flee the pain inflicted by Treynor’s presence, Lord Baldwin’s company and his pointed questions troubled her, too. Standing when he nodded, she allowed him to take her elbow and lead her back into the house.
They had scarcely entered the crush when Treynor cut them off. “There you are.”
“Growing a bit hot, Lieutenant?” Lord Baldwin asked. “May I suggest a turn about the gardens? The weather is lovely.”
“I am not interested in the gardens.” Treynor’s voice was a bit too brusque to warrant the chuckle that came from Baldwin. “I was wondering if Lady St. Ives would grant me the pleasure of the next dance.”
Jeannette shook her head, but Treynor pulled her away from the duke’s son before she could offer a refusal sufficient to stop him.
“I beg your pardon?” she snapped.
He led her almost forcibly to the dance floor. “A ‘turn about the gardens’ with Baldwin. Are you looking for another proposal, after all?”
“And if I was?” Jeannette challenged.
“You said you wanted to become a governess.”
“And you said you were returning to sea. We are both free to do as we please.”
“There you are, Sir Crawford.” Lady Ambrose had placed herself in their path. “I have been looking all over for you. Do you not remember that you promised me another dance?”
Treynor opened his mouth to speak, but Jeannette answered before he could. “He was just on his way to find you, Lady Ambrose. Good night, Captain.”
She pulled her elbow from his grasp and headed toward Lord Darby, who was standing next to the door and edging closer to it all the time. At least she wouldn’t have to talk him into leaving. They would simply send the carriage back for her parents.
“Jeannette—”
Treynor called after her, but a backward glance revealed Lady Ambrose at his side, wrapping a possessive hand around his arm.
“There is nothing left for us to say,” Jeannette muttered, mostly to herself. Then she hurried away—before the tears burning at the back of her eyes found their way down her cheeks.
* * *
Treynor cursed under his breath as he watched Jeannette and Darby pass through the door. Carefully detaching himself from Lady Ambrose, he mumbled an excuse he hoped wouldn’t offend her, without really caring if it did, and attempted to follow.
Baldwin’s hand on his arm stopped his forward motion. “The Lady St. Ives is a rare beauty,” he said, looking after her. “Now I can see why you would fight a duel for her.” He smiled. “But since you are so set on remaining unfettered by the fairer sex, perhaps you wouldn’t mind if I—”
“Stay away from her,” Treynor growled. The admiration on the other man’s face was worthy of a fight.
Baldwin laughed. “So Father was right. I thought so.”
“Right about what?”
“You are smitten with Lady St. Ives, and she with you. Now, you can continue to deny the truth and try to distract yourself with other women, fickle women like Lady Ambrose there, who would not have the warmth to capture a dog’s heart. Or you can make Lady St. Ives your wife and have her waiting for you, warm in your bed, every time you put in.”
Not wanting to let the thought of Jeannette waiting for him in any bed influence the decision he had made to go on without her, Treynor scowled. “I am trying to do the kindest thing I possibly can. She deserves more than what I can give her. What kind of life would she have, always waiting for me to return from sea?”
“The war will not last forever, my friend. Besides, there are worse things than being married to a sea captain. Teaching Catherine’s girls is one of them.” A mischievous sparkle entered Baldwin’s dark eyes as he shrugged. “It seems an easy decision to me, but then, I inherited my mother’s good judgment and not my father’s stubborn streak.” Bowing, he gave Treynor a jaunty smile and took himself off.
Treynor watched him go, then slipped through the crowd and out into the garden. Baldwin was right. For weeks he had immersed himself in trying to forget Jeannette. But just the sight of her was enough to let him know that all his efforts, especially the time he’d spent with Lady Ambrose, had been wasted.