The Westerby Inheritance (11 page)

Sir Anthony winced at the vulgarity of “your
other
beaux” and waited for Lord Charles to give Mrs. Bentley one of his famous setdowns. But his lordship merely bowed over Mrs. Bentley’s hand, nodded to the blushing and curtsying Fanny, and took his leave.

“I say, Charles,” cried Anthony, tottering after him in his tight shoes. “What has come over you? Why cultivate such a family?” A horrible thought appeared to strike him. “I say, you’re not in dun territory, are you?”

“No, Tony,” rejoined Lord Charles. “I am curious. I wish to meet this other demon of London society.”

“Glad it ain’t that Fanny girl,” grumped Anthony. “She’s pretty, I warrant you, but there’s something reptilian about her. Then, I never did like fashionable belles. Ah, now! There’s something more to a man’s liking. Zooks! What a little fairy!” He put up his glass, standing stock still in the middle of the promenade and gazing into the boxes.

Half amused, half irritated, Lord Charles followed his friend’s gaze, and then he too stared.

Lady Jane Lovelace sat in one of the recesses with Lady Comfrey. Bella stood guard behind Lady Comfrey’s chair.

Jane was wearing a gown of soft gray silk with rose-pink satin bows and ruching. Pearls had been threaded through her powdered hair. The delicate white of her skin owed nothing to art. Her strangely tilted eyes were very wide and very dark. Her oddly slanted brows made her appear the fairy Anthony had described her to be. Lord Charles felt slightly irritated that Anthony should find Lady Jane so beautiful. Lord Charles had thought Jane’s beauty of a rare variety, only appreciated by a connoisseur of women such as himself.

“Then you must introduce me,” Lord Charles said aloud.

“Glad to,” said Anthony, “but can’t. Don’t know ’em.”

“If I am not mistaken, the elderly lady with your—er—fairy is none other than Lady Harriet Comfrey.”

“’Fore George, she looks old enough,” said Anthony, continuing to stare, unconscious of the amused glances being cast in their direction. “Like a little old monkey, ain’t she? You sure it’s she? I don’t want to make a spectacle of meself.”

“You already are,” said Lord Charles. “Move along, man, and make your bow.”

Sir Anthony minced toward the box where Lady Comfrey sat, followed by Lord Charles, and Lady Jane watched their approach with her heart in her mouth.

Sir Anthony was an imposing figure in puce satin, but Jane had eyes only for the tall figure of his friend. Lord Charles was wearing a pale blue satin coat with gold frogging. His satin breeches were fastened at the knee with sapphire buckles. Sapphires blazed at his throat and on his fingers. His face, like Jane’s, was free of paint, but very white under the whiteness of his powdered wig, and a small black patch on his cheek accentuated the cynical curve of his mouth.

Then Sir Anthony was bowing before them. “Have I the honor to address Lady Comfrey?”

“Please do not let her go off into one of her strange moods,” prayed Jane silently. “Please let her
hear
what is being said.”

To her relief, Lady Comfrey acknowledged the presence of the two gentlemen with a small half-bow from the waist. “Sit down!” she commanded. “Tea, Bella!”

“First may I present my friend, Lord Charles Welbourne,” said Sir Anthony. Jane kept her eyes on her lap and did not look up. Her heart was beating fast. She had seen him when he had promenaded with Mrs. Bentley and Fanny and had found, to her surprise, she was experiencing pangs of jealousy. It could not be the case! She was not in love with him. She had only willed herself to be so. She applied her brain again to exorcising Lord Charles Welbourne and found instead that she was hoping blindly that he would see her, would talk to her.

“Sit down! Sit down!” barked Lady Comfrey. “My goddaughter, Lady Jane Lovelace. Jane, this here is so-and-so and so-and-so. I forget names. Blake, eh? I knew your grandmother. No doubt she is dead.”

Sir Anthony blinked but replied that his grandmother was well.

“Oh, alive, is she?” said Lady Comfrey, looking disappointed. “Oh, well, I shall probably outlive her. I outlive everyone, you know. Yes, yes. Why, I said to Amy Baxter only t’other day—”

“You ain’t seen Amy Baxter this twenty year,” put in Bella from behind her ladyship’s chair.

“—t’other day that I was a prime specimen of English womanhood. What’s that you say, Amy? Don’t know but what you ain’t right!” She gave an appreciative cackle, and Jane realized with a sinking heart that Lady Comfrey had once again retreated from the present.

Lady Comfrey’s voice sank to a mumble as she continued to converse in her mind with Amy, and Jane looked wildly at Sir Anthony, not daring yet to raise her eyes to Lord Charles’s face.

“It is pleasant to make your acquaintance,” said Sir Anthony in a slightly choked voice.

Jane made a little bow from her chair and studied her gloved hands again.

“No! No!” cried Lady Comfrey, suddenly and loudly. “You have no cause to say that, Amy.”

Sir Anthony snorted with glee, his small blue eyes twinkling in his round face.

“My lady does that, you know,” announced Bella to the company in general. “But she’s as sane as anyone here.” With that, the maid folded her hands over her ample stomach and stared out into space.

“Perhaps you would care to promenade with me, Lady Jane,” said Lord Charles. “I am sure Sir Anthony will excuse us.”

“Hey, what! No, I won’t,” cried Sir Anthony. But Lord Charles had already risen and was offering his arm to Jane.

“I say, Lady Jane,” said Anthony desperately, “tell you what. I’ll come too.”

“Do not trouble,” said Jane, to Anthony’s horror. “We will not be above a few minutes, and my godmother would appreciate your company.”

“Demme, she can’t even
hear
me!” expostulated the dismayed Anthony. But Lord Charles and Lady Jane had already made their escape.

They walked in silence, Jane too nervous and anxious to notice that he was leading her from the rotunda into the grounds of Ranelagh. At last the chill, smoky air brought her to an awareness of her surroundings.

“We should not be here unescorted, my lord,” said Jane, stopping firmly and taking her hand from his arm.

“No,” he agreed in that now familiar mocking voice. “But then, you should not have visited my home last night, either.”

“Oh, do not remind me of that,” said Jane bitterly. “I must have been mad. I wish to withdraw from the contract, my lord.”

“What happened to my courageous little fighter who told me she would not draw back?” he teased. “What happened to the young lady who told me she loved me?”

“I should not have said it. It wasn’t true,” pleaded Jane. “I don’t love you. I only said that to make things more—well, more conventional.”

“My poor child,” he laughed. “I am going to see James Bentley tomorrow, for I am intrigued to meet this villain who brings ruin and despair wherever he goes. I have a fair chance of winning your father’s estates for you, should he wish to play me.”

“I’m s-sorry,” stammered Jane, and he caught a hint of tears at the back of her trembling voice. “I did not realize at the time what I was doing. You—you see—well, that is, you have met my godmother and—and Bella. You see, life at Huggets Square is a trifle strange, and I am on my own quite a deal, for Lady Comfrey often holds conversation with herself, although—although she is very kind and generous. I have nothing to do but dream. And oh! I do so hate the Bentleys. I do so want revenge. So you see…”

Her voice trailed miserably away.

“I see,” he said quietly. “What seemed like an ordinary plan, in the strange surroundings of your godmother’s house, appeared madness when exposed to the reality of the outside world.”

“Oh, you
do
understand!” cried Jane thankfully. “So now you can let me have that contract, or tear it up, and we will say no more about it.”

He looked at her, reluctant, for some reason he could not fathom, to put an end to the game.

Instead he said, “I thought you did not go out into society.”

“I don’t—that is, we don’t—but for some reason—Oh, I remember, Miss Fanny Bentley and her mother called. And Fanny said something about me never going anywhere, and Lady Comfrey
heard
her, although I could swear she had been talking to some of her imaginary friends at the time, and so—and so, I am here.”

“So you are,” he said pleasantly, “and looking very pretty indeed.”

“Me! Pretty!” cried Jane.

“Yes, indeed, a certain gentleman told me so.”

“Who?” cried Jane, clapping her hands in delight.

He smiled and led her back toward the lights of the rotunda. “Now, you would not have me betray the secrets of my friend’s heart.” What a child she was! he thought indulgently and how easy it would be to make her fall in love with him.

He held her back a little at the entrance, holding her wrist lightly. “No more kisses, Jane?” he said softly.

“Don’t mock me,” she replied in a low voice.

She looked up into his face, and in the failing light she could make out the firm outline of his mouth as it slowly descended to her own.

“Jane! La! You
bold
girl,” came the voice of Fanny Bentley. Lord Charles swore under his breath and jerked his head round. Fanny was escorted by the ever-faithful Mr. Jennings. “You must take the round with us. Come! You shall walk with my so
dear
Mr. Jennings, Jane, and I shall take the arm of Lord Charles.”

For one split second, Lord Charles was about to give Fanny a set-down. Then he recollected that it would be more amusing to see if little Jane could be made at all jealous—she who had claimed to love him and who had kissed so passionlessly.

He accordingly swept Fanny a bow and walked with her into the rotunda. He glanced back once, over his shoulder, and saw to his surprise that Jane was laughing and chatting with Mr. Jennings as if she hadn’t a care in the world. He was amazed. He would have been even more amazed had he known that Jane, with a wisdom beyond her years, had realized exactly what he was about and was determined to give him no satisfaction.

But Jane was jealous nonetheless. Why could she not fall
out
of love with him as easily as she had persuaded herself to fall
in?

And Fanny looked so charming and feminine. “The art of fashion is a wonderful thing,” thought Jane viciously. “Her figure is made by her corset, and her complexion from a series of pots. And I swear her hair is not all her own.”

None of this showed on her face, however, and she chattered and sparkled with Mr. Jennings to such effect that that lovelorn young man almost forgot about Fanny. He was a tall, gawky youth with a pockmarked face and a wig that seemed to have been designed for someone with a larger head. But his doglike eyes were kind, and he was pleased to point out various notables to this charming Lady Jane who looked at him with such sparkling interest and laughed at all his mildest witticisms.

Underneath the silk, Jane’s bosom throbbed and burned with jealousy. Fanny had
so
much. She had the Chase, she had the Westerby town house, she had the Westerby money—added to the Bentley money, which was reputed to be considerable. Now, it appeared, she had Lord Charles Welbourne.

All at once as she watched Lord Charles’s attractive mouth parting in a singularly sweet smile (“Oh, God! He never smiled at
me
like that!”) as he looked down into the silly, empty face of Fanny Bentley, Jane decided she would hold him to their contract.

Jane was very innocent, still very much a schoolgirl, and she was sure he would not make her his mistress. He would marry her instead. It would cause too much of a scandal if he made a gently bred virgin his mistress.

Then, all at once, Lord Charles was back at her side, pointing out that he must rescue Sir Anthony. He bowed to Fanny, who simpered and said, “I look forward to your call tomorrow. We shall continue our most
interesting
conversation then.” Her eyes languished at him, and Lord Charles quickly looked down at little Lady Jane to see how she was taking all this, but she seemed to be engrossed in studying the passing, shifting jeweled throng without a care in the world.

He felt a stab of irritation. He racked his brains for the last occasion when any woman had ignored him but could not think of any.

The little chit deserved to be taught a lesson. Furthermore, it was his duty to protect her in case she put her scheme before some other gentleman less chivalrous than himself.

As they walked toward the box where Anthony could be seen staring dully into space while Bella and Lady Comfrey nodded their heads and chattered over the teacups, Lord Charles said in a low voice, “Do you still wish to withdraw from the contract, because, if so, I—”

“No!”

“What!”

“I said,
‘No,
’” retorted Jane, sticking out her chin. “I trust you are a gentleman of your word.”

“Word of a Welbourne,” he said smoothly. What had made her change her mind? Could she have been made jealous after all? But those strange eyes of Lady Jane’s, now dark, now silver, gave nothing away.

“Zooks!” cried Sir Anthony wrathfully. “You have been gone this age, and I am awash with tea. Take pity on me, Lady Jane. ’Fore George, you’re the loveliest thing at Ranelagh. Pray walk with me, and don’t let this rogue Charles
Londonize
you too much!”

“How can I refuse such a gallant proposal, Sir Anthony?” laughed Jane, flirting with her eyes over her fan.

Seething, Lord Charles watched his friend walk off with Jane on his arm. Little minx! He smiled automatically at Lady Comfrey, who was talking
at
rather than to Bella, and turned his mind inward to study the rage that consumed him. Then suddenly he began to laugh. A startled Lady Comfrey stopped her monologue and held up the teapot, as if to ward off this madman.

Lord Charles laughed and laughed as he watched Jane’s small, dainty figure dwarfed by the bulk of Sir Anthony as they leisurely walked the round, bowing and nodding to Sir Anthony’s many friends.

At last Lord Charles took a handkerchief from his pocket and mopped his streaming eyes. “I’m jealous!” he thought with great amusement. “I, Lord Charles Welbourne, am jealous! It is quite remarkable to feel something so intensely!”