“The Queen’s next Drawing Room is in ten days time,” announced her ladyship with a martyred sigh. Reclining on a chaise longue by the fire and disposing her skirts, a froth of rose-pink
barège,
in elegant abandon about her slim ankles, she went on, “I suppose you have ordered a Court dress?”
“Yes, ma’am. A white silk petticoat over hoops, with an overdress of white lace and a headdress of white feathers. The modiste said that hoops and feathers are
de rigueur?”
she ended on an uncertain note.
“Queen Charlotte’s notions of fashion are positively Gothic. I shall have to spend the next few days showing you how to go on at Court, and I daresay I ought to introduce you to a few hostesses since your ball will be three days after the Drawing Room. How tedious!” Diamonds flashed as the marchioness raised a dainty, languid hand to cover her yawn.
“I am very grateful, ma’am.” Jane tried to keep the resentment out of her voice. “I shall do my best to be a credit to you and my father.”
“Yes, well, tomorrow will be time enough to start. You may retire now, Jane. Your father will go to his club and I am expecting some friends to call.”
Reaching the landing halfway up the stairs, Jane heard the doorbell ring and paused to see which of her mother’s flock of admirers had arrived. The butler admitted two gentlemen, one a willowy youth dressed with poetic carelessness, the other of middle height and middle years, clad in black, with a dark face ravaged by dissipation. The poet glared at the rake, who ignored him with an air of boredom. They were ushered into the drawing-room.
Jane shook her head in puzzlement. The other cicisbeos she had previously glimpsed were a stout, elderly dandy—one of the Prince Regent’s set, according to Ella—and a rugged young man of perhaps three-and-twenty who looked like an aspiring Corinthian. She could not understand what pleasure her mother found in their company.
Certainly the marchioness seemed to find little pleasure in her daughter’s company. In the days that followed, Lady Hornby instructed Jane in the finer points of Court and Society etiquette; took her to call on the most prominent hostesses, including three patronesses of Almack’s; and hired a dancing master to teach her the waltz and the quadrille. All this she carried out without any sign of enjoyment. When Jane mastered the dance steps and the deep curtsy, and was described by no less a Tartar than Mrs. Drummond-Burrell as a pretty-behaved girl, her mother reacted with relief, but neither pride nor praise.
After all the preparation, Queen Charlotte’s Drawing Room was an anticlimax. A swarm of young ladies, all in white with hoops and feathers, stood for hours with their chaperons waiting for a few brief, guttural, German-accented words from a little old lady with an irritable expression.
Jane suspected that her majesty found the affair quite as tiresome as she did. The two princesses in attendance upon her, a pair of dowdy middle-aged spinsters, appeared to be equally uninterested.
“La, but I am exhausted!” said Lady Hornby in the carriage on their way home. “I shall lie down until it is time to dress for dinner, and I advise you to do the same, Jane, so as to be in your best looks for your ball. Though your rank and fortune will bring you suitors aplenty, first impressions are all-important if you are to catch a husband quickly.”
Surprised, she was about to deny any wish for an early marriage, but her mother leaned back in the corner and closed her eyes. Of course, Jane realized, the only way the marchioness could rid herself of the burden of her daughter’s presence was to find her a husband.
Despite her plaint to Gracie that she was nearly at her last prayers, Jane had no intention of being rushed into a match she might later regret.
Nonetheless, she naturally wanted to look her best for her come-out ball. Arriving home, she went to take yet another peek at her ball gown, a slip of palest blue satin under a white net frock embroidered with flowers of cerulean blue. The tiny puff sleeves, low neckline, and hem were trimmed with rows of the finest Valenciennes lace. How could anyone fail to feel beautiful in such a heavenly creation?
If only Lord Wintringham were invited to see her glory! But no, far from falling in worship at her feet, he would doubtless stare down his haughty nose in contempt. She had deceived him, and she recalled uneasily his grim declaration that he could not abide deceit.
No matter, he was not going to see her. Three days later
,
taking her place beside her father in the receiving line, she anticipated nothing but enjoyment.
On her other side stood Miss Gracechurch, to be introduced to the Polite World as Lady Jane’s companion, so that her subsequent chaperonage would raise fewer eyebrows. Jane was glad of her support as the
crème de la crème
of Society filed past.
“I shall never remember all their names!” she whispered in a brief lull. “I never dreamed so many would come.”
“Between four and five hundred,” Gracie told her, “according to his lordship’s secretary, who had the unenviable task of sending out the invitations. I believe you will meet the same people wherever you go, so you will come to know who is who. The circles of the
Haut Ton
are of limited extent.”
Just how limited Jane discovered a moment later. Bobbing a curtsy to a plump matron in pomona green satin, she heard her father presenting her for the two- or three-hundredth time: “Lady Chatterton, my daughter Jane.”
And after Lady Chatterton, their eyes goggling, came Miss Lavinia Chatterton and Lord Fitzgerald.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Drifting up through layers of sleep, Jane snuggled under the warm covers and mused on the joys of dancing till dawn. She had not sat out a single set, and whether the reason was her title, her large dowry, her new gown, or simply that it had been her ball, she had revelled in every moment.
Except... She sat bolt upright as the memory struck her. Oh Lord, Lavinia and Fitz!
Fitz had opened his mouth to say something that was bound to give her away. Quicker-witted, Lavinia had read the desperate plea in Jane’s face and gripped her brother-in-law’s wrist, silencing him.
“Please, I’ll explain later!” Jane had hissed.
Lavinia had glanced around the crowded foyer and replied, her eyes sparkling with curiosity, “We shall call tomorrow, without fail, shall we not, Fitz?”
Fitz had nodded speechlessly, and Lavinia dragged him off in her mother’s wake. Jane had exchanged a few words with each later in the evening, but they had both obligingly refrained from interrogating her.
Now she looked at the pretty porcelain clock on the mantel and gasped. Noon already! They might call at any time and if she was still abed the butler would deny her. She absolutely must speak to them today.
She rang the bell by her bed, then pulled the covers around her against the chilly March air. A few minutes later, Ella came in with a tray of hot chocolate.
“Awake already, my lady!” she said, her round face beaming as she set the tray on the dressing table and poured a cup. “I hear as you danced till daybreak. I could’ve got up to put you to bed.”
“Gracie and I helped each other. Oh, it was such fun, Ella, even though Lord Fitzgerald and Miss Chatterton were there.”
“Mercy me!”
“They did not give me away, but they are coming today for an explanation. I must get up at once.”
“Nonsense, my lady. Here, you just sit quiet and drink your chocolate in peace, for Miss Chatterton won’t be up and about so early after the ball.”
“True.” Jane relaxed against her pillows and sipped the warming drink. “In that case, I should like some toast and a coddled egg, and a slice of ham, as well.”
“Makes you hungry, dancing, eh?” said Ella, and went out grinning.
While Jane was breaking her fast, Miss Gracechurch came to see her. She was fully dressed, in a morning gown of dove-grey merino.
‘You are up very early, Gracie.”
“Her ladyship sent for me,” she said with a troubled look.
“What is wrong? She has not decided that you cannot be my chaperon, has she? I conducted myself with the greatest propriety last night, and I am sure you did, too. I will not let her dismiss you!”
To her relief, Gracie smiled. “No, nothing like that. In fact she congratulated me on my modest, ladylike bearing and confirmed that I am to be your companion. No, Jane, she wished to instruct me in which of your suitors are to be encouraged.’’
“Suitors? After one dance apiece I cannot claim any gentleman as a suitor.”
“The marchioness is of the opinion that several of your partners may be easily persuaded to seek your hand.”
“Because of my fortune and because Papa is a marquis. I wish I were really plain Miss Brooke!”
“Come, my dear, in that case you would now be seeking a position instead of lying in bed drinking chocolate after your come-out ball,” Miss Gracechurch pointed out tartly. “Believe me, you would not care for the experience. And believe me that you rate your own attractions too low. You are a very pretty girl, and charming when you remember not to be too outspoken.”
“Pretty?” Jane shoved her tray aside, bounced out of bed, and sped to examine her face in the looking glass as if it might have changed overnight. “Am I really pretty? You have never said so before.”
“I did not want you to grow up to be like your...to be a vain, shallow creature to whom her appearance was the most important thing in life.”
“Thank you, Gracie. I should hate to be like...that.” She shivered and hurried back to warmth of her bed. “Tell me what the marchioness said about my so-called suitors. Upon whom am I to exercise my powers of attraction?”
“Upon Lord Ryburgh and Lord Charles Newbury. An earl and the younger son of a duke, respectively, I understand.”
Jane frowned in thought. “Lord Ryburgh and Lord Charles. Oh, yes, I recall them. Why those two in particular, I wonder? Lord Charles is not much older than I am, and he talked of nothing but hunting. Lord Ryburgh is not much younger than Papa and he waxed eloquent over his crops.”
“Oh dear. Did you find them disagreeable?”
“No, they were as agreeable as any of my partners. One uttered only flowery compliments and another babbled of his winnings at cards. It is difficult to carry on an intelligent conversation when one must constantly guard one’s tongue.”
And that was why she missed Lord Wintringham’s bracing company, she realized with a pang of regret She had had nothing to lose by speaking to him freely because from the first he had disapproved of her and considered her beneath his notice.
All the same, she did not want him to discover her deceit. “Time to dress,” she announced, once more swinging her legs out of bed. “We must be ready to face Lavinia and Fitz.”
Miss Chatterton and Lord Fitzgerald arrived shortly after Jane and Miss Gracechurch settled in the Chinese salon set aside for their use. Unfortunately, Lord Charles Newbury had reached the front door at the same moment. A solid young man, he eyed with alarm the spindly false-bamboo furniture upholstered in delicate-looking ivory brocade. He might be the son of a duke, but his fresh complexion and his buckskins and riding boots suggested that he was more at home on the hunting field than in a ladies’ drawing-room.
Before he took his leave after a proper quarter hour, they were joined by two more of Jane’s dancing partners, followed by a matron with a debutante daughter to whose ball Jane had been invited. For nearly two hours a tide of visitors and polite chatter ebbed and flowed between the red silk-hung walls.
Throughout, Lavinia stayed stuck to her seat as if glued. Fitz, tiring of constantly rising to his feet to greet ladies, wandered about the room, pausing to exchange a word with an acquaintance or examine a black-lacquered cabinet adorned with gilt dragons.
At last Lady Bridges, Miss Bridges, and Miss Josephine Bridges took their leave. Fitz plumped down beside his sister-in-law, looked expectantly at Jane, and said, “Well?”
“Tea!” said Jane. “I vow I cannot speak another word without a cup of tea.”
Fitz obligingly jumped up again and rang the bell. While servants came and went, Jane and Lavinia compared notes on which entertainments they expected to attend in the coming week. Lavinia promised that as soon as she reached home she would make quite sure that Jane was on her mother’s guest list for her own ball, in a fortnight’s time.
“I trust Lady Chatterton is not unwell?” said Miss Gracechurch, just as the butler shut the door behind him.
“Perfectly well, thank you, ma’am,” said Lavinia. “She stayed at home to keep Daphne company.”
“And the devil—beg pardon, the deuce of a time we had persuading her not to come with us!” Fitz exclaimed impatiently. “Now, Lady Jane, are you going to tell us what hocus-pocus you were up to at Wintringham Abbey?”
Pouring the tea into fragile Limoges cups, Jane explained about the carriage wreck, the decision to travel on the Mail, and the mischievous impulse that had led to her masquerade. Lavinia seemed a trifle shocked, but Fitz laughed so hard he had to put down his cup of tea.
“You had us all fooled.” He wiped his eyes. “That’d make a dashed good story, but I daresay you won’t want it noised abroad. I shan’t tell anyone but Ned.”
“Oh no!” Lavinia protested, wide-eyed. “Jane, it would be dreadful if
he
found out.”
“Oh no!” Jane echoed with more force. “Not Lord Wintringham, of all people.”
“No? Well, perhaps you’re right. Ned’s changed a lot since the old days.”
Before Jane could enquire about “the old days,” Miss Gracechurch asked, “Do you expect the earl to come up to London?”
“Yes, he’ll be here next month. But he don’t go to ton parties, and Wintringham House is in Grosvenor Square, about as far from St. James’s as you can go and still be in the fashionable part of Town. You’re not likely to bump into him by accident, never fear. We had best be off now, Lavinia, before my dear mama-in-law sends out a search party.”
They took their leave, with promises to meet at Lady Bridges’ ball.
“What did he mean by ‘the old days’?” Jane wondered aloud.
“I cannot guess. Pray do not ask him, Jane; it is a personal matter and none of your affair.’’