The Unlikely Lady (15 page)

“Correct me if I'm wrong, Lucy, but wasn't Upton madly in love with Cass until recently?”

Lucy twisted her lips. “Oh, ah … about that…”

Jane narrowed her eyes on her friend. “What?”

“It seems I was mistaken about that.” Lucy traced her fingernail along the pattern in the bedspread.

“Mistaken?”

“Yes.”

“Upton wasn't in love with Cass?”

“No.”

“Ever?”

“Never.”

Jane crossed her arms over her chest. “How did you make such a mistake?”

Lucy raised both palms toward the ceiling and shrugged. “He was always there, you know, sitting next to her and being nice to her, and well, Cass is so pretty, and accomplished, and so … Cass. I just assumed…”

Jane pushed up her spectacles and nodded sagely. “That explains it. You're only assuming now, aren't you? Upton's no more in love with me than he was with Cass.”

“No, this time I'm quite sure.” Lucy nodded firmly.

Jane narrowed her eyes. “Sure, how?”

“I told you, he admitted it to Derek and Julian.”

Jane searched her friend's face, arms still resolutely crossed over her chest. “But did he tell
you
?”

Lucy didn't meet her eyes. “Telling Derek is as good as telling me.”

Jane had to concede that point. She was skeptical, but even Lucy, egregiously behaved Lucy, wouldn't
lie
about such a thing. She might hint at it. She might heavily imply, but coming right out and declaring that her husband had told her the exact words, that was too much even for the most outlandish of all of Lucy's plots.

“Now that you've told me, Your Grace, what do you suppose I
do
with this information?”

Lucy leaned back on her palms. “Nothing, obviously. You're a confirmed bluestocking spinster, after all. I just thought you should know. In case Garrett is perhaps”—she eyed Jane carefully—“acting differently toward you or something of that sort. Is he?”

“Is he what?” Jane's words were a bit too rushed.

“Acting differently toward you.”

Jane let her hand slide over the copy of
Montague's Treatise on the History of Handwriting and Graphology
that sat on her writing table. “No, not that I recall.” Oh, yes he was. But she'd die of embarrassment before she'd tell Lucy about it.

“Not a bit?” Lucy prodded.

“Not that I've noticed.”
Liar.

“Very well, then. I suppose you should just go about your business as usual and pretend as if you don't know. In the meantime, we should discuss our plan for Mrs. Bunbury's introduction to your mother in a few days.”

Jane shook her head to clear it of the prior subject. In the wake of this news about Upton, her plan to fool her mother didn't seem quite as pressing, but Lucy was correct. Jane's mother would be appearing in a few days and they needed to have a solid plan in place. Jane's first attempt at scandal had ended hideously. She was wary of a second attempt.

“I, er, I cannot think of a sufficient scandal,” Jane mumbled.

“We'll need a secondary plan in the meantime. Here is what I propose.” Lucy stood and shook out her skirts. “Between the three of us, you, Cass, and myself, we shall endeavor to keep your mother guessing. ‘Why, Mrs. Bunbury was just here not five moments ago, didn't you see her? No, she's not here now, but I just saw her near the refreshment table a bit earlier.' That sort of thing.”

It sounded insane. But then again, most of Lucy's plots sounded insane. That was the beauty of them, but even Jane had to admit they usually worked.

“Very well, we'll take turns,” Jane agreed.

She had come to Surrey a few days ago, convinced that her Mrs. Bunbury plot was the most complicated thing in her life. Now she wasn't certain about that. Not certain at all.

 

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Garrett scrubbed a hand through his hair. There was only one way to get to the bottom of this. He was going to bloody well ask Jane Lowndes himself. Was she or was she not in love with him? First, he would ask her to dance. The Morelands were having a dance tonight. A plain little dance. No dominoes, no hidden identities. It was quite simple.

He hadn't been able to get what Cassandra had told him earlier out of his head. Jane Lowndes was in love with him? Could it be? It was true that she had been quite …
congenial
with him the other night, but that had been when they didn't know who the other was, hadn't it? Or had she known all along? No. It couldn't be.

He was tired of guessing. He would ask her to dance, they would talk, and he would be able to tell by her reaction whether she was in love with him. It would be simple enough. Didn't women who were in love simper and bat their eyelashes and that sort of thing? He could hardly imagine Miss Lowndes doing something like that. Normally, if she did anything of the sort, he'd probably ask her if she had something in her eye, but that wasn't the point. The point was that there must be some sign, some tell, of a woman in love, some indication of whether Miss Lowndes, Jane—why was it so difficult to remember to think of her as Jane?—was such a woman. He would know soon enough.

Garrett squared his shoulders and took a deep breath, then made his way to the refreshment table where Jane hovered near the teacakes. She wore a light pink gown that wasn't at all hideous. In fact it enhanced her figure. Had he ever seen her in pink before? Bloody hell, this was going to be awkward enough without him thinking about her figure again.

“Miss Lowndes?”

She swiveled on her heel and turned to face him, a large, telltale lump of teacake pushing out her cheek. She had the look of a hare trapped in a game warden's snare. Pure fright.

She had the grace to chew and swallow before she responded. “Upton,” she said, gulping down the last bit. “What can I do for you?”

He bowed slightly. “I've come to ask you to dance. Would you do me the honor?”

She glanced back as if she expected another lady to be standing there. “Me?” She pointed to herself, eyes wide.

He had to smile. “Yes, you.”

Without looking, she set her empty plate on the table, pushing it behind her with a flick of the wrist. “I suppose I can dance with you.”

He bowed to her. “Thank you.” He held out his arm. She took a step forward and put her hand on his arm. He led her to the dance floor.

Was her hand trembling?

He pulled her into his arms as a waltz began to play. He'd tipped the musicians a goodly sum to play this waltz. It afforded the perfect opportunity to speak with Jane.

He spun her around. “Are you having a good time?”

Again, she had the look of a hare caught in a trap. Her eyes were wide and she
was
trembling. “Here? With you?”

“I meant at the party in general,” he said.

“Yes, of course.” She didn't meet his eyes. A sign of a woman in love, was it not?

He laughed. “You're lying. You've never enjoyed a party before in your life.” Her throat worked. Another sign of a lady in love?

“Then why did you ask me? I'm doing my best, Upton. Don't I deserve credit for that?” She met his gaze this time and her dark brown eyes were bright and full of mischief. Quite charming, actually. Damn it. Now
he
had to look away.

He smiled at her. “You do indeed. Tell me, how is your plan coming? Done anything scandalous lately?”

*   *   *

Jane blinked at Upton. She'd spent the last several minutes desperately attempting to interpret everything he'd said and done. He'd made his way directly to her and asked her to dance, hadn't he? Very not Upton-like. That had to be a sign he was in love with her, didn't it? He hadn't mentioned her teacake consumption. Also quite un-Upton. Now he was being nice to her and laughing when she said something funny, a third entirely probable sign that the man was madly in love with her.

This was difficult. Why couldn't it be something tangible to interpret like, say, handwriting? She'd learned a great deal about handwriting of late. For instance, if a letter written to someone contained wide, scrolling letters, it meant the author was infatuated by the recipient. Would it be odd to ask Upton for a sample of his handwriting? It would, wouldn't it? She shook her head and refocused on his question. “Something scandalous?” she managed to ask in a tone she hoped sounded nonchalant.

“Yes, the scandal you and Lucy are hell-bent on creating.”

“Oh, we've been…” Good heavens, was she perspiring? She removed her hand from his shoulder and waved it in the air briefly. “Considering our options.”

“I see,” Upton continued. “And what of Mrs. Bunbury?”

Jane had to concentrate on his words, because otherwise she was thinking about his shoulder. Specifically how good it felt under the tips of her fingers, even through her glove. The man was surprisingly muscled for being Upton. He wore impeccably tailored black evening attire with a sapphire waistcoat and a starchy white cravat that looked enticing against the bit of stubble from his chin that had scraped the soft skin of her cheeks last night. That, coupled with the heady scent of him, and she was finding it altogether too difficult to follow the thread of the conversation.

She sucked in her breath. “Mrs. Bunbury? Yes. We have made progress there.”

“What do you intend to do?” he asked.

Jane squeezed his shoulder just barely. She couldn't resist. “Lucy says we should keep Mama guessing by constantly acting as if Mrs. Bunbury has been in our presence and left just before Mama arrives.”

He arched a dark brow. “Truly? That's your plan?”

“Yes. For now.” Why did Upton have to smell so good?

“Seriously?”

Jane trained her gaze over his shoulder. Why did Upton have to have such heavenly hazel eyes? Or more specifically, why had she had to
notice
that Upton had such heavenly hazel eyes? She'd been quite satisfied with barely noticing them before, thank you very kindly. Though now he was questioning her plan, much more Upton-like of him. Good heavens. Perhaps Lucy had been mistaken about his being in love with her and now Jane was stuck thinking about the blasted color of his eyes.

“Yes,” she answered with a nod. “Between Lucy, Cass, and myself, we believe we can make it work. At least for the day or two of the wedding until we leave for London again.”

Upton's mouth curved into a smile that made her want to kiss him. Blast it.

“How will you explain that Mrs. Bunbury isn't traveling back to London with you?” he asked.

Why did Upton insist upon asking a lot of questions about Mrs. Bunbury? Jane could barely concentrate on his words. Instead, she'd been staring at the sensual curve of his lips. Confound Lucy for telling her anything. “Because Mrs. Bunbury is going to become horribly ill the night of the wedding and leave before Mama has a chance to check on her.”

“Poor Mrs. Bunbury.” Upton shook his head.

Jane wanted to thread her fingers through his thick, dark, curly hair. “Don't worry. Mrs. Bunbury shall recover.” Though Jane might not.

Upton smiled again, flashing his perfect white teeth at her. Since when did she notice that Upton's teeth were either perfect or white?

“It's ludicrous, of course,” he said. “But you and Lucy are so confident about it. That is her secret, isn't it? Lucy makes things work because of her supreme confidence in their working.”

Jane returned his smile. Was he thinking her teeth were perfect and white? She didn't know about the perfect part, one of the teeth on the bottom was a bit crooked, but they were white. Weren't they? “I'm not certain what Lucy's secret is, but she does have confidence. To spare.”

Upton sighed. “I suppose it will give even more credence to the story if I mention to your mother that I've met Mrs. Bunbury and she's a lovely woman and an apt chaperone.”

Jane blinked at him. “You'd do that for me?”

A resigned smile tugged at his lips. “I've learned that going against Lucy when her mind is made up is a losing battle. Being a former soldier, I like to have the field in my favor.”

Jane spun around and around in the dance, barely hearing his words. Garrett Upton was going to do
her
a favor? Without being asked? Without being begged? Oh, heavens. The man was indeed madly, madly in love with her.

 

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

There was nothing, absolutely nothing, redeemable about Isabella Langford. Perhaps her beauty, but beauty was fleeting. Awfulness lasted forever.

Jane eyed the woman the next day as the houseguests took a walk to the lake. Lady Moreland had promised there would be rowboats available. Finally, the one enjoyable outing since the house party began. Enough of picnics and balls. Jane could truly enjoy herself relaxing in a rowboat under the shady willow trees, reading her book. She'd tucked a novel in her reticule and marched down here with the rest of them. She wore a serviceable yellow morning dress. No more low-cut ball gowns for her. A white bonnet completed her ensemble and she felt quite returned to her natural element, that of a bluestocking spinster.

Mrs. Langford, however, was dressed like a doxy. Jane watched the woman laugh and smile at every word Upton said. Quite nauseating. Mrs. Langford's hair was swept up in a set of black curls, held in place by the tiniest hat Jane had ever seen, and a small gown to match her tiny hat. The gown was small in that it had very little fabric covering her chest. It would be more in place at a demimonde banquet than a friendly little rowboating venture at a country house.
I hope she gets a sunburn.
Not to mention it was a garish shade of red. Though Jane had to admit it brought out the rosy color of Mrs. Langford's full lips.

By the time their party made its way to the lake, Upton had managed to extricate himself from Mrs. Langford's clutches. When Jane peeked up from the book she'd been attempting to read while simultaneously attempting not to trip, Upton was strolling alongside her, his hands in his pockets.