Authors: Kathryn Caskie
Jenny folded her arms across her chest. Meredith was
14
damned lucky to be allowed to attend any society even
t
—
e
ven in staid old Bath. True, young ladies often were permitted to hone their social skills in the spa city before later coming out in London, but Meredith was a real hoyden.
Meredith peered at her reflection in the cheval mirror, then whirled around to face Jenny who stood behind her. "I wish I could see them both at the same time." She arched her brows expectantly.
"What do you mean?"
"You and I measure for size more closely than the Brunswick twins. Will you not slip into the saffron gown, then we can both go downstairs to the drawing room and let my aunts choose which is best suited for me."
"Oh, no, I couldn't possibly." Jenny knew she ought to protest more strongly, owing to her position in the household, but goodness, she could barely restrain herself from dashing to the bed and throwing the gown over her head that very moment!
Meredith took Jenny's hands into her own and pushed her bottom lip outward in a pretty pout. "Please, Jenny. For
me
?”
Jenny glanced down at the floor, as if considering the proposition. She counted to ten, for anything less would not be convincing, before returning her gaze to her mistress. "Oh, very well. But only if you explain to your aunts that this was
your
idea, not mine. Wouldn't want to cause trouble with the ladies, you know."
Meredith giggled at that. "What a thing to say, Jenn
y
! You've been part of this household since you were a child. Why, they think of you more as a daughter than a lady's maid. Now, raise your arms for me."
15
Jenny laughed as Meredith assisted her into the saffron gown. "This exercise will likely all be for naught anyway, for I doubt the gown will fit my form." But of course, she knew it would.
Perfectly in fact.
For more than four days after Mrs. Russell, the modiste, had completed the gown for Meredith, Jenny had secretly sequestered the finery in her own small chamber. Each night she'd withdrawn it carefully from her trunk, eased into it, adding the requisite citrine ear-bobs and pendant she'd acquired from Smith and Company, then slipped up the stairs to peer by candlelight at her reflection in the cheval mirror.
Meredith tied the lacings off, then stood side by side with Jenny. They both blinked into the mirror with astonishment.
Jenny could not help but stare at her reflection in the cheval glass. In the daylight
,
the gown emphasized the golden highlights in her ordinary brown hair, and the vibrant greens in her hazel eyes. La, she felt positively regal.
She fel
t
... like a lady.
"Oh, Jenny," Meredith gasped. "You're ...
beautiful.
I mean it. I always thought you were pretty, bu
t
... just look at you. You look like a princess."
It took Jenny a moment to find her voice. "Well, I don't look like the old Jenny Penny anymore, that's for certain." She gave a small laugh as she turned and dropped a pronounced curtsy to Meredith. "So pleased to meet you, Miss Meredith. I am Lady Genevieve, Countess of Below Stairs."
Meredith laughed
,
then turned Jenny to face the mirror once more. "You are truly beautiful."
16
Jenny bowed her head, hoping the ridiculous tears swimming along her lashes would remain in place.
"We must show my aunts. Come!"
"Oh, no, Miss Meredith, I don't thin
k
—" But it was too late. Meredith snatched up her hand and within a blink Jenny found herself being whisked down the stair treads to the drawing room.
In any other household, an abigail caught for whatever reason in her lady's clothing might well be dismissed on the spot. But Jenny knew she had little to fear in the Featherton home. No, her employers, two peculiar old spinsters, had as strong a penchant for mischief as their grandniece Meredith, and would surely delight in the diversion of seeing their maid trussed up in a gown of the first cut.
Giggling uncontrollably, Meredith threw open the drawing-room door. "Aunties, may I present my dear friend, Lady Genevieve." With that, she propelled Jenny through the doorway and into the center of the drawing room.
In an instant, Jenny regretted setting foot outside Meredith's chamber. Regretted leaving her bed that morning. For her employers, the grand ladies, Letitia and Viola Featherton, who might have enjoyed Meredith's game under more intimate circumstances, were not alone.
There, standing before Jenny, was a towering, dark-eyed, kilted gentleman. The very same Scot, in fact, whose carriage she had had the audacity to invade only two hours earlier.
Both of the elderly Featherton ladies, who had come to their feet the moment Jenny entered the room, were wearing like expressions of pale shock.
17
The Scotsman lifted a sardonic brow as he slowly surveyed Jenny from boot to crown.
"My lady," he said, in the deep, dulcet tones of the Highlands. "I am so verra pleased to make yer acquaintance"—
a
musement played briefly on his lip
s
—
"again
."
Chapter
T
wo
Jenny couldn't move. Sweet Mary, what was she to do now?
Her gaze lurched from the huge Scotsman and fixed on the drawing room's doorway. There Meredith stood, grinning mischievously.
Why, the young miss was enjoying this! And why shouldn't she? Her clever pranks at Miss Belbury's School for Girls had prompted many a letter from the ste
r
n headmistress threatening to pack Meredith in a trunk and set her off for home on the very next mail coach.
Lady Letitia crossed the drawing room and laid her pudgy gloved hand around Jenny's bare arm. "How nice to make your acquaintance
again,
did you say, my lord? No introduction needed then?" The old woman lifted a white brow as she awaited his response.
As Jenny stared blankly at Lady Letitia, she saw an unmistakable gleam in her employer's faded blue eyes.
Oh, no.
She'd seen that look befor
e
—
w
henever the two Featherton sisters were about to stir up a touch of excitement.
The Scotsman abruptly moved closer, his looming presence all but stealing the breath from Jenny's lungs.
19
"
The lady and I met briefly in Milso
m
Street earlier this afternoon." He paused then, and Jenny could feel his sharp gaze upon her. "It seems she suffered a bout of dizziness and was forced to retire to my carriage until she found her feet again."
There was a wryness to his tone that Jenny didn't quite care for. Surely he realized she was not truly a lady. Just what was he trying to d
o
—
s
ee her sacked? She tried to glare at him, but how could she, what with him looking at her so intently?
He was different, this gent. Unlike other highborns in Bath, the Scotsman didn't seem to care a lick about his appearance. He was wearing a kilt for goodness' sake. A kilt! No one wore a kilt in England! No one. Still, he looked damned good in it, what with his long muscular legs.
His shoulders were broad and around his slim waist hung a badger sporran. His dark brown hair was shorn quite fashionably, but pieces hung carelessly about his forehead
,
brushing his brows and all but commanding
h
er to gaze into his sab
l
e-hued eyes. Even Jenny had to admit, he carried off the rugged look quite well.
Lady Viola lifted her ebony walking stick, plunged it
in
to the Aubusson carpet, and aimed her frail body in Jenny's direction.
The sudden movement forced Jenny to recall her predicament. And remember it, she did. It was all she could do not to groan as the old woman moved beside
he
r and wrapped her thin
,
knobby fingers around her
ot
her arm.
And there Jenny was, trapped between her employers
m
the most horrid situation she could ever imagine.
"'
Dear, did you suffer a spell?" Lady Viola asked her
20
with genuine concern, but before Jenny could answer, the old woman looked to the Scotsman. "I, myself, suffer from spells of a sort. But I must own, since I've begun taking the waters at the Pump Room, and soaking in the baths, my health has greatly improved."
"Indeed it has, Sister. My gout has all but disappeared as well." Lady Letitia leveled an amused gaze at Jenny. "Mayhap
Lady Genevieve
should join us when next we visit the baths?" She widened her eyes at her sister Viola, then tipped her head toward Jenny, as if she believed no one would notice.
Lady Viola did not miss her cue. "Oh, pray, do forgive us, my lord. Whether or not you and the
lady
have met, a formal introduction is due." She cleared her throat, and glanced nervously past Jenny at her sister Letitia.
"Lady Genevieve," she began in a quivering tone, "may I present Callu
m
Campbell, Sixth Viscount of Argyll."
Jenny blinked. She was just introduced as
Lady Genevieve.
My heavens! Did they actually think they were going to get away with this? There was no conceivable way he was ever going to believe that she was a
rea
l
—
"Lady Genevieve," the Scotsman said. "I am charmed."
Good heavens.
As the viscount bent in a low bow, Jenny noticed the hem of his kilt rise several inches in the back and couldn't help but wonder if what one of the scullery maids told her about Scotsmen and
th
eir kilts was true.
Jenny looked up and as her eyes met Lord Argyll's
21
penetrating gaze, her mind went utterly blank. Just what did one say to a viscount anyway?
Just then, she felt Letitia's firm elbow in her side. "Curtsy, gel."
"
O
-oh, quite right," Jenny muttered as she dropped a perfectly serviceable curtsy.
Lady Letitia quickly slapped a p
l
aster on Jenny's social gaffe. "Lady Genevieve is a dear friend of Meredith's ... from Miss Belbury's school. Although she is some years older, she took our dear Meredith under her wing immediately and for that Sister and I are forever grateful."
An amused giggle came from Meredith's direction, earning her a reproachful gaze and a finger-summons from her great-aunt Letitia. "This young rapscallion would be my grandniece and charge, Miss Meredith Me
rri
weather."
Meredith slunk into the room and sank into a halfhearted curtsy. "Good afternoon, my lord."
Jenny fixed her gaze on her shoes. Lud, the lies were mounting so quickly she was not at all certain she could remember them all. Why were the ladies doing this? It made no sense at all.
"I am pleased to have made yer acquaintance, ladies, b
u
t I fear I have other business to attend to this day." Lord Argyll tipped his head at Jenny and Meredith.
Finally,
Jenny sighed inwardly, more relieved than
a
nyone would ever believe. The Scotsman was leaving
a
nd this wretched game of her dotty employers would be over for good.
"Mayhap we shall meet again ... at the ball this eve?
”
"Of course you shall, my lord. We've been anxiously
22
awaiting the Fire and Ice Ball for some weeks now." Lady Letitia looked straight at Jenny.
"All
of us."
Jenny felt her eyes bulge in their sockets and she half feared they would burst from her head. "But I canno
t
—"
"Decide which gown to wear?" Lady Viola interrupted. She patted Jenny's arm reassuringly. "Pish posh. No need to think on it any longer. The saffron gown is perfect."
As the manservant, Mr. Edgar, entered the room and saw Jenny, his wild gray eyebrows shot toward his hairline. But somehow, he remained otherwise unaffected by her surprising appearance in the drawing room, and solemnly handed Lord Argyll his hat. . "Do you not agree that the gown is beautiful, kind sir?" Lady Letitia asked as she gestured to Jenny. "Lady Genevieve appears undecided."
Lord Argyll studied Jenny then, taking in every detail of the gown, then a slow smile eased its way over his lips. "A more flattering gown ye'll never find, Lady Genevieve."
Suddenly Jenny felt a warm fluttering in her middle and a blush swept her cheeks. She gazed up coquettishly through her lashes. "Oh, surely you jest, my lord."