Red Jack's Daughter (7 page)

It was true that Miss Eastwood was prepared to ignore Alex’s hand and spring down from the coach unaided, but as he quickly grasped her arm and smoothly assisted her anyway, even that small gaffe was overlooked by Lady Grantham as she stood beaming, waiting to enter the shop. While it was
a
lso true that the young woman checked and seemed to shrink within herself as she stepped across Madame Celeste’s portals, it was again. Lord Leith who smoothed the way by
prodding her gently into the room and continuing to chat lightly with her.

It was a well-decorated anteroom, more like a private salon with its oriental carpets, small tables, and gilt chairs tastefully arranged about it, than like a shop. The proprietress herself looked more of a society woman than a tradesperson, but that was what made her reputation among the highest of the Ton, just as much as her creations did. For one never felt as though one were dealing in trade when patronizing this establishment, so much as paying a pleasant afternoon call. Lady Grantham explained her errand while Lord Leith kept Miss Eastwood in conversation. That, however, he found, was getting to be more difficult, as Miss Eastwood’s eyes kept wandering about the room and her hands began to clutch her reticule more tightly. She began to resemble a startled colt and there was an almost imperceptible leap of her person when the stout, little dark-eyed Madame Celeste was introduced to her.

“Ah, yes, charming,” Madame Celeste purred. “And if you will come with me,
chérie
,
we will proceed to do the measuring and some preliminary fitting.”

Madame Celeste swept her hand forward to indicate the way Miss Eastwood should go, but the young woman simply stood as though rooted to the spot and said simply, “Is that really necessary? Could I not just give you one of my old frocks? You could get the size from that, I’m sure.”

Lady Grantham froze and Madame Celeste appeared puzzled. But Lord Leith said lightly, “Yes, that would appear to be simpler, I grant you, Jessica. But even though it is time-consuming and rather a bore—(forgive me, Madam
e
Celeste, but although we all admire your creations, the construction of them is a mystery to us)—even I Jessica, have to donate some of my time to my tailor. A proper fit is essential in tailoring, my dear, so you needs must accompany the good woman to ensure one.
”

Although this speech seemed extraordinary to all the other females present, it seemed to strike the right note to the one it was addressed to.

“Yes,” Miss Eastwood said finally, “I can see that.” Without another demurral, Miss Eastwood, raising her chin and gripping her reticule again, marched off toward the
b
ack room with much the same determination of a young lady
ste
eling herself to have a tooth drawn, rather than to have a gown fitted.

When she had disappeared into the back of the shop with
an
eager Madame Celeste in pursuit, Lady Grantham sank to a chair. “Alex,” she breathed, “however did you accomplish
t
hat? I have explained and importuned, but the chit would
ha
ve none of it. She is a most unnatural female. Yet you breezed her in here and into Madame Celeste’s fitting rooms without a murmur. I have underestimated you, Alex. No wonder you haven’t wed,” she added in chagrin, “when you c
a
n most likely talk any female into anything you choose.”

“Would that were so, dear Aunt.” The gentleman
la
ughed, settling his long frame into a chair by her side. “I am not so gifted, I fear. But your mistake is to consider Miss Eastwood an unnatural female.”

Seeing his aunt’s puzzled look, he leaned and whispered, “When she is obviously a quite natural young fellow.” He laughed softly as he saw his aunt growing more perplexed, and then he settled back, looking quite pleased with himself.

His expression did not remain so for long, however. Within a short time Madame Celeste erupted from the back rooms in a very agitated condition.

“It is not possible,” she said without preamble. “There is no way I can fashion a wardrobe in the dark.”

At that Lord Leith smiled even more hugely, envisioning his aunt’s
protégée
’s excessive modesty and he asked, “Has she blown out all the lamps, then?”

“No, no,” Madame Celeste said in annoyance. “It is not that. I have the form, the size, and the length, but I ca
nn
ot create a wardrobe without color.”

Seeing her patron
’
s incomprehension, she said in exasperation, appealing to Lady Grantham, “But how shall I say green, when it might overpower brown? Or how can I cut that lovely buttercup velvet when it might clash with blond? And the exquisite watered silk I have just received, how can I dare suggest it, when it is so light a cream that it would be disaster, a disaster, nothing less, for mouse color? It is impossible, impossible,” Madame Celeste quavered, so upset that she forgot to color her own words with the light French accent she usually affected.

Lord Leith appeared at sea, but Lady Grantham understood at once. “She won’t take off that ridiculous cap even for you?” she asked knowingly.

“She won’t even consider it,” Madame Celeste replied, adding belatedly,
“
Dommage,
but my hands are tied.”

Lord Leith chuckled. “Tell Miss Eastwood I wish to speak with her. It will be the work of a moment. Send her to me, all will be well then, I assure you,” he said airily.

Although she was infinitely grateful to her nephew, Lady Grantham stiffened at his tone. She looked at his amused face and for a brief moment wished to see him less pleased. It was unseemly, she thought, for any male to be so sure of himself. But then she was amazed to see his smile slip and a look of deep surprise pass over his countenance. She turned to look at the apparition that had fulfilled her unspoken desire.

Miss Eastwood came creeping out of the back room. There was no other way to describe her entrance. She walked as one might who was on surface of ice for the first time in their life. But when she saw Lord Leith, she straightened and came forth more boldly. In a moment Lady Grantham saw Leith had his countenance back again, but still his eyes were opened wider than usual.

Miss Eastwood’s face was the usual pale oval, perhaps a shade more pale than usual, Lord Leith noticed, but that at least was unchanged. But from that face down, there had been an enormous change wrought in the girl. She wore a blue frock pinned to her lithe figure. And it was lithe, he realized, and far more than he had imagined. For now that she was not shrouded in folds of material, he could see that she was possessed of a lavish figure. Her breasts were high and full, her waist slender, and her slightly rounded hips led to long supple lower limbs. The fashion of the day, which was to seem as though one were only a lightly draped Grecian statue, suited her to perfection. She might have only just, he thought, arisen so from the foam. Except he noted, narrowing his eyes, for the gray concoction
o
f a cap that she still wore upon her head.

Seeing his notice fixed upon the top of her head, Miss Eastwood raised her hands to it. That action caused Lord Leith to drop his gaze a bit lower again, but she was too overwrought to notice.

“I accept that this is not a fashionable cap,” she said defi
a
ntly, “but surely some more appropriate item can be made up in a material to match the rest?”

“Such as a turban?” Lord Leith asked languidly, in command of his reactions again.

“Nonsense!” Lady Grantham cried. “Even I do not affect one as yet. I am not in my dotage. And only such females wear turbans, child. And you are far too young for a spinster’s cap. The very idea is ridiculous.”

Watching Miss Eastwood carefully, Lord Leith added wryly, “Of course, Jessica, if you wish to attract attention, to create a stir and cause all eyes to be upon you, we can swathe your head in some material to match each gown you wear. It will cause a sensation. But I did not think you wished to cut such a figure. But, if you insist
...
Madame, do you think you could do it?”

Madame Celeste could not disguise the calculating gleam that came into her eye and said pensively, “But it might become all the rage. I never thought of it, but if mademoi
s
elle wishes to be in the forefront of fashion, I could fashion such—”

“No,” Miss Eastwood said abruptly, and then her lower lip began to tremble a bit and she said softly, “I don’t want to create a stir, but I should if I uncovered my hair.”

Lord Leith cursed himself silently and rose swiftly to his feet. It had not occurred to him before, but of course, the child might have some deformity she sought to keep from prying eyes. Perhaps a scar or some unsightly condition, he thought; he had been a fool not to think of it.

“Madame,” he asked quickly, “is there a room to which I can take mademoiselle so that I may speak to her privately? I do not think I can come into your fitting rooms and not overstep propriety.”

Madame Celeste led them to her private office. After ushering Lord Leith, Lady Grantham, and the shaken young woman into that sanctum, she closed the door behind them. As she composed herself to greet the new custom that had just entered her shop, she allowed herself to hope that the trio might solve the problem between themselves. They’d come down handsomely for a complete wardrobe, she thought, and s’truth, with such a shape the chit would be a
good advertisement for her skills, even if she were as bald as an egg.

“Now, Jessica,” Lord Leith said softly as he led her toward the window, “we are all friends. Surely you can show us why you refuse to doff that cap of yours? Lady Grantham and I cannot be counted as strangers and we are only trying to help. And,
”
he whispered too low for Lady Grantham to hear as she seated herself beside the modiste’s large desk and tried to read some dunning letters that had been left out upon it, “now that we’ve got you into fashionable gear, that cap looks most unusual. Just imagine a cavalryman wearing a flowered bonnet and you’ll get the general impression. It just doesn’t suit,” he added, delighted to see a small wavering smile appear upon her lips.

“No, I suppose it doesn’t,” she agreed sadly.

“No matter what the problem,” he urged, “it cannot give us a disgust of you. I’ve seen a great many things in my travels, and Lady Grantham isn’t the sort of female to swoon.” Jessica looked at him curiously, as he went on. “So please believe whatever lies beneath is not about to overcome us. Whatever it is, it will be better if we can see and judge for ourselves what’s to be done.
”

Jessica looked up at his earnest face, read sincerity and deep concern in the now-warm gray eyes, and slowly comprehension came to her.

“Lud,” she breathed, “I haven’t got horns.” She reached up to her cap, removed it, and then began to unplait the tight braids that she had woven. “And I’ve got hair, if that’s what you’re thinking. It’s only that I know what I’ve got isn’t the thing at all. Cook even said so, she always said it was a pity I hadn’t been blessed with conventional locks, and Papa always laughed at it,” she went on desperately, never taking her eyes from the tall gentleman’s face as he stared incredulously at what she was unloosing.
“Cousin Cribb said that I had the badge of a courtesan. There,” she said finally, combing her fingers through the last of the plaits, “you see, it isn’t the thing at all.”

It was not at all the thing for a demure young miss, he thought as he stared at her in the full light of the window. A whole spectrum of shades of hair were acceptable. Despite the fact that brunettes were in fashion this year, blondes
w
ere
classic English beauties, and raven-haired lovelies were
envied
, there was yet enough latitude so that light-brown
hair
inspired poets. Even so, Jessica’s hair was not in style.
For
as he stood and looked at her, he saw masses of bright
deep
-red hair falling to her shoulders. Where shadows touched
it,
it was a dark living auburn; where sun struck it, it sparked
blazing
fire. It was neither carroty nor a ginger color; rather it
was
a true and startlingly distinct red.

Cousin Cribb, whoever that gentleman was, Lord Leith thought, had been right. It was the hallmark of a courtesan or
an a
ctress. To have such blatantly colored tresses was undeni
ably
exceptional. To even be a redheaded person was thought in some way to be either sinister or strange, as if one were
left
-handed. There were still some rural places where to
enc
ounter a redhead was considered good luck; in others it w
a
s deemed bad fortune. Nowhere was it ignored. And, yes,
h
e thought, nowhere was it fashionable.

Yet to see her standing there, wreathed around with that
startling m
ass of hair, was to be enchanted. For the color
gave
life to her face and brought the hidden fox fire in her ryes to blazing light. Even Lady Grantham was affected. She
left
off reading a most satisfactory missive addressed to Lady
Franklin
, requesting overdue bills be paid, to gape at Jessica.