Authors: Kathryn Caskie
It was the woman dressed in red that she saw at the Pump Room only the other day!
"You,"
she hissed.
The woman behind her, who was at least a hand taller
126
than Jenny, sneered down her nose. "I asked for the scarf first. It is
mine."
Jenny snapped her head around and snatched the scarf from Mr. Bartleby with her left hand, while digging inside her reticule for a coin. Then she handed both to the shopkeeper.
"Here you are, sir. You may wrap it up. I shall take it with me now."
To her astonishment, the man just shook his head. "I told you not to come back here—
w
ithout all the money you owe on your account."
Jenny held up her reticule. "But I have paid you for the scarf."
"Can you pay off your account?" he replied in an odd voice that made her think his nose was blocked.
Blast!
She had plenty of blunt with her, just not quite enough to pay off her account. "Not completely, but I can
—
"
Mr. Bartleby smiled as he wrapped the scarf in a length of brown paper.
Jenny turned around and gave a satisfied smirk to the woman behind her.
But then the shopkeeper did the unthinkable. He passed the parcel over Jenny's head to the woman from the Pump Room.
"Why, thank you," the woman said, casting a laughing glance at Jenny as she tossed a gold coin to Mr. Bartleby.
Jenny's eyes went wide with absolute disbelief. Her facial muscles went slack and her mouth dropped open of its own accord.
"Come back with the whole account payment," the shopkeeper told her, "and I will be happy to do business
127
with y
o
u again. Meanwhile, I'll apply the guinea you gave me to your debt."
"Ah!" Jenny exclaimed as she caught up Annie's arm and started for the door. "Well, I never!"
"I know you neve
r
—
n
ever
pay,
that is," the shopkeeper called out with a nasty chuckle as Jenny exited the establishment.
******************
After visiting the dispensing apothecary for the supplies she needed, Jenny headed back to Royal Crescent. Eighteen more stones were piled in the order basket by the time she reached the house that evening. She nearly cried when she saw the teetering pile.
By morn, after spending her nocturnal hours toiling over a steaming cauldron, then setting up the blend of moisture cream and essential oils into no less than fifty gallipots, Jenny was exhausted.
Still, she sat in the drawing room with her employers, hands folded in her lap, patiently awaiting the dance master.
Lady Letitia peered at her through the quizzing glass she wore on a golden chain about her neck. "Heavens, gel, you look positively ashen this morn. Did you not sleep at all?"
"Oh, Sister. How insensitive you can sometimes be. ‘
'Tis
obvious she has not slept
,
and who can bla
m
e her? Lord Argyll kissed her yesterday. A gel's first kiss is a momentous occasion."
At the comment, Mr. Edgar, who had just delivered a tray of tea and biscuits, cleared his throat loudly. "I beg
128
your pardon, my ladies," he murmured. "Just a dry tickle."
/
beg your pardon, indeed.
Jenny shot a barely masked scowl at him.
Go ahead, Mr. Edgar, tell the ladies that their prot
ι
g
ι
e has kissed at least a half-dozen footmen on the Royal Crescent alone. I'm sure they'd be quite interested in that.
Lady Letitia smiled empathetically at Jenny. "I do understand. Are you fit enough for a dance lesson this morn?"
"Oh, yes, my lady. Wouldn't miss my lesson for anything, for I do not wish to embarrass either you ... or Lord Argyll."
The old women exchanged pleased glances.
"
Lord Argyll is a fine, fine catch, if I do say so
m
yse
l
f,
"
Lady Viola informed her. "His father was Lord Lyon, you know."
Jenny felt the skin above her brows wrinkle. "But Callu
m
Campbell is the Sixth Viscount Argyl
l
...
Argyll,
not Lyon. What am I not understanding?''
A guttural laugh burst from Lady Letitia's lips, making her sister spill a grand splash of steaming tea on the silver salver. "No, no, gel. The title 'Lord Lyon' is an esteemed elected position in Scotland. ''Tis he who records and monitors Scotland's heraldry and governs her ranking peers."
"He worked for years to acquire the position, much to his wife Olivia's hardship and dismay, I'll have you know. And in the end, the assembly unanimously elected Callum's father, Lord Argyll, to the position."
"Oh, that is a great honor." But something about this revelation did not meld with Callum's view of his father. And so, Jenny decided to take the opportunity pre-
129
sented to her and delve a bit further into the Argyll history. "His family, therefore, must have been very important to Lord Lyon."
"More likely his family name." Lady Letitia snorted. "The standing and continuity of Argyll was always foremost in his mind. In fact, it was his most earnest desire to see his son marry and produce an heir before he died."
"As we all know, that hasn't happene
d
—
y
et." With a trembling hand, Lady Viola passed her sister a cup of tea. "Oh, Jenny, dear, do not think the viscount is disinterested in marriage, for I do not believe this to be so."
"That's right," Lady Letitia quipped. "He just hadn't yet met you, gel." She whooped with laughter again, nearly spilling her tea upon her outdated lavender gown.
When Lady Viola offered her tea, Jenny took it graciously and made a point to smile at her and her sister as if in agreement with their assessment of the situation.
Only Jenny's intuition told her there was something more to Callum's continued bachelorhood. She remembered hearing the two women discussing Callum's exploits at the Fire and Ice Ball and how the former Lord Argyll would be tossing in his grave.
No, there was more to Callu
m
than the Featherton ladies were telling her.
And she planned to know what it was.
******************
Ten pots were still left in the basket that morn.
Ten!
Jenny came back inside and closed the kitchen door hard behind her. But as she did, she caught notice of the scullery maids grinning.
130
"Did you put the extra stones into my basket?" she asked.
They only cackled gleefully, then grabbed up their ash buckets and dashed out of the room.
Seething mad, Jenny slammed her basket down on the table.
Those conniving wretches had better run. They'd played a jolly good trick on her, they had. Made her stay up at least an additional two hours last night filling their false orders.
Oh, they made her so bleedin' angry! Why, she would certainly be within her rights if she was to wring their thick necks.
Today was not the time for the maids to pull their little
,
stunt. Jenny's mood had been blacker than soot for two days already, for since her day jaunt to Dyrha
m
Park there had been no card or communication of any kind from Callu
m
.
None.
Thankfully for her, however, the ladies were well aware of this, and had already taken matters into hand.
Yesterday, they had sent around invitations to an intimate dinner party. Lord Argyll was the first on their guest list, but the ladies also admitted to extending their hospitality to at least one other. It wouldn't do to have it appear the rout was merely a ploy to position Callum before Jenny again. Which it was, of course.
A spinet player and a small quartet had been engaged to provide just the music to showcase Jenny's newly acquired dance steps. Yes, the ladies had already gone to quite a lot of trouble to bring Jenny and Callum together.
Most amazing, however, was the new gown that had just arrived from Bristol.
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When Jenny opened the parcel, she had to applaud Lady Viola's classic sense of style even if she never seemed to ply it on herself. The luxurious gown was made of fine dove-gray silk, and had short puffed sleeves as light and sheer as summer clouds. A gossamer overdress, iced with silver threads and tiny fresh pearls, overlaid the bodice and skirt that seemed to sparkle and shimmer in the candlelight.
Still, even the surprise of such a wondrous gown did little to lighten Jenny's mood. And she knew nothing would, until she was sure of her standing with Callu
m
.
Crossing her arms over her chest, Jenny looked at the ten gallipots with disgust at first, but then her outlook suddenly brightened. Dashing into her bedchamber, she pulled open the drawer in her bedside table and drew out a slightly dog-eared but still serviceable piece of foolscap, as well as a frayed quill pen and a glass pot of ink. Within moments, she had penned her message.
Lady E. regrets that she will be unable to fulfill more than ten orders this eve.
Smiling for the first time that day, she affixed the note to the handle of her order basket and set the lot outside the kitchen door.
Jenny nearly skipped back to her chamber and plopped down on her bed.
Finally,
she would get some sleep this eve.
As she lay on her back, she reached over, picked up her oval looking glass, and peered into it.
Oh, my word.
Her face was as wan as a ripening rain cloud! She could not wear the dove-gray gown
thi
s eve.
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The "just risen from the grave" look wasn't apt to draw Callu
m
back to her.
What could she do?
Jenny sat bolt upright in her bed as the solution occurred to her.
The cream.
Snatching up her ink-soaked quill, she raced outside the kitchen door and scratched through the phrase "ten pots" on her foolscap note and changed it to "nine."
Then she lifted a pot of the cream and carried it to her chamber. If a dab could bring back youthful vigor to the Featherton sisters' ancient faces, then a palmful might be just what was needed to raise her from the realm of the dead.
Gleefully, she scooped out a handful and smeared it over her cheeks, under her sleep-deprived eyes and across her forehead. Since she could not go about her daily chores with the tingle cream looking like white wave caps all over her face, she decided to lie down on her bed and rest for ten minutes while allowing the cream time to do its magic.
Who would miss her a mere ten minutes anyway?
******************
"What in the king's name are you doin', gel? You can't be sleepin' the day away when there is a party to prepare for this eve!"
Jenny blinked her lids open.
Criminy.
Her eyes were stinging something fierce. Must have gotten a bit of the cream in them.
"Good heavens, Jenny. What have you got slathered all over your face?"
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"O
h,
a
bit of my cream. Thought it might put a glow in my cheeks for the rout this eve."
But the horrified look on her mother's face told her the cream had done much more than that.
Hurriedly, she grabbed the oval glass and looked into it. Peering back at her was a red, swollen-faced beast, the like she'd never seen before! The oval slid from her hand and shattered on the floor.
"Oh, Mother, what shall I do?"
The housekeeper shook her head. "I don't know, child. You're the chemist. But whatever you decide, you best do it quickly. The ladies . . . they've sent me to fetch you."
******************
Lady Viola gasped loudly as Jenny entered the drawing room. "Lord have mercy, child, what have you done to your face?"
"
I
—
I
was . . . testing my own blend of the cream. You know ... the
below stairs
cream," she fibbed.
Lifting her quizzing glass to her eye, making it appear like a blinking bulbous fisheye, Lady Letitia studied Jenny's face from close range. "Oh, dear. Doesn't look good. Not good at all. Have you tried cold water to bring down the swelling?"
Jenny nodded futilely.
"Course you have." Groaning her displeasure, Lady Letitia returned to the settee to sit beside her sister.
Lady Viola wrinkled her brow and chewed her lower lip. "But why were you testing i
t
... on your face?"