The Westerby Inheritance (13 page)

Certainly Lady Comfrey and her party negotiated the short distance to Oxford Street without mishap, although the Comfrey carriage could hardly be called a golden coach, being of antique design and badly in need of a coat of varnish.

They stopped in front of the imposing pillared portico of Crocker’s after waiting for about an hour in the press of traffic. Lady Jane felt she would die with excitement. It was all so strange, being masked and enfolded in a silken domino. She felt as if all sorts of marvelous and wonderful things were going to occur. She did not mind the long wait in the least, although Bella fretted and fumed, for every swaggering masked figure in one of the other carriages could be Lord Charles.

She longed to dance. She had never danced with a man before, her only experience of the art having been at school and with Philadelphia as a partner.

And oh! it was even more exciting than she had imagined, once they were seated in their box inside. Jewels flashed on gowns and sword hilts and shoe buckles. The air was heavy with all the perfumes of Arabia, which served to sweeten more than one little hand. It was a wonderful year for scent but a very bad one for personal cleanliness. Lady Comfrey’s eyes were sparkling as she watched the shifting, moving throng of dancers perform a gavotte, and she seemed almost as excited as Jane. Even Bella was enjoying herself immensely, trying to guess which notable hid behind each mask and saving every bit of gossip she could to relay to her servant friends the next day.

There were many virtuosos strutting about on their high heels and several daughters of joy hunting for prey. There were all the fashionables and those who prayed on them, from cardsharps to prostitutes. Despite the members of the less savory society, it was a well-ordered affair.

Jane started to scan the throng for Lord Charles. There seemed to be quite a number of tall men with masks who could be he. At last she gave up in despair and was just about to turn her attention back to Lady Comfrey when she espied a familiar portly figure standing at the entrance. Despite the glory of a green sequined mask, there was no mistaking the stocky figure and form of Sir Anthony Blake. As she watched, Sir Anthony was joined by a tall figure dressed in white silk. Immediately Jane recognized Lord Charles’s mouth beneath his white mask, and her heart hammered against her ribs. Now, would he recognize her? Her face felt hot behind her mask of gold silk. Her hair was unpowdered, but then, Lord Charles had never seen her without powder. Surely he would recognize Lady Comfrey and Bella.

A roguish-looking female was ogling him, and he answered her sallies with a slow smile. Jane pettishly turned her head away and then found that a small man with a foppish air was staring up at her in her box.

“May I beg the favor of this dance, my sweetness?” he asked.

“I am sorry, sir,” said Jane quickly. “I do not dance.”

“Faith,” he persisted, “such a pretty miss would grace the floor.”

“No,” repeated Jane firmly. “I am not dancing this evening.”

“Desolated,” he drawled and bowed and withdrew.

“Now you can’t dance at all,” said Lady Comfrey, alive to the world this evening.

“Oh, no, Godmama,” said Jane. “It was just that I did not like the look of him.”

“But you can’t dance
now
,” persisted Lady Comfrey. “If you refuse to stand with one gentleman, then you cannot stand up with any other. ’Tis the form, you know.”

Jane sank back bleakly in her chair. She had to admit to herself that she had been longing to dance with Lord Charles. Now she would have to sit and watch him dancing with someone like that roguish slut, who, Jane was sure, was no better than she should be.

Oh, dear! He had recognized her and was coming toward her.

Lord Charles and Sir Anthony joined Jane in Lady Comfrey’s box. They complimented Jane on her sac gown of gold brocade, and Jane mumbled her thanks and stared miserably at her hands.

Lord Charles’s eyes glinted with amusement behind his mask. “Why so downcast?” he asked Jane.

To his surprise, it was Lady Comfrey who answered. He had become accustomed to Lady Comfrey rambling on to herself, seemingly oblivious of the outside world.

“She can’t dance,” said Lady Comfrey. “She’s just refused a gentleman minutes before you arrived.”

“But we are all masked,” said Lord Charles gently. “I am sure Lady Jane’s cavalier will not recognize her. Come, Lady Jane.”

She glanced fleetingly up at his face. There was a warm expression in his eyes, and she felt strangely breathless. She mutely put her hand in his, and he held it in a strong grasp as he led her to the floor.

She hardly felt her feet touch the floor as she performed the steps of the gavotte, hypnotized by his presence. She was headily conscious of the strange, disturbing scent he wore, of his eyes on her face, of the soft swish of silks on the floor and the measured tread of the dance.

At last the final chord was struck, and she sank into a deep curtsy as he bowed low over her.

Then her enchanted world was shattered.

“Fie, for
shame
, lady!” came a querulous voice, and she found the hard eyes of her unsuccessful gallant looking down at her. “You said you did not dance,” he went on, “and it is against the rules therefore to dance at all, once you have refused me. But perhaps Miss is new from the country and not accustomed to town ways.”

“You are mistaken,” said Lord Charles icily. “You have never seen this lady before.”

“I’ faith, sirrah,” retorted the young man pettishly. “I beg to differ.”

“Then perhaps you would like to settle the argument to your satisfaction,” replied Lord Charles, fingering his sword hilt.

The young man looked up at Lord Charles’s great height and gulped. “You are right, sir,” he said, retreating hurriedly. “Never saw the lady before. Beg pardon.” And with that, he faded back into the crowd.

“Are you usually so ferocious?” asked Jane.

He looked down at her oddly. “Where your honor is at stake, my lady, I would challenge anyone,” he said with a strange intensity.

He led her back to the box, to find that Lady Comfrey and Bella had left. Jane leaned over the balcony and searched the masked faces in the crowd below. The next dance had not yet begun. Then she saw Lady Comfrey on the other side of the floor, with Bella in attendance, talking with great animation to an elderly gentleman.

“My lady has found herself a beau,” murmured Lord Charles, “and I think Sir Anthony has found a belle, so we shall sit here, very sedately, just like an old married couple, and survey the dancers. Have some wine. It is surprisingly good, or perhaps the intoxication of your company makes it so.”

“I had not thought you capable of making pretty speeches,” said Jane, feeling awkward and shy.

“Only to pretty ladies.”

Jane looked up at him from under her long lashes. Fashion was a great mask, she decided. Apart from the actual mask he wore at the moment, there seemed to be a barrier created by his exquisite silk costume, his glittering jewels, his patched face, and his powdered wig. “I wonder what color his hair is,” thought Jane, and then blushed.

She drank her wine very quickly as he surveyed her with amusement. “May I ask if I am the subject of that charming blush?”

“Oh,” faltered Jane, too embarrassed to tell less than the truth. “I suddenly wondered about the color of your hair.”

“Black. Black as my wicked heart, Lady Jane,” he mocked.

“And is that so very black?” asked Jane, made suddenly bold by the heavy wine.

“Very.” He poured her another glass and raised his thin eyebrows, and she downed it in one gulp. “Unless you are a hardened toper, my lady, I suggest that you
sip
your wine.”

Jane smiled at him dreamily. He found himself becoming fascinated by the changing color of her eyes. It was as well he was a hardened bachelor, or this little girl might be just the one to make him think of marriage.

“Did you go to the Bentleys’?” asked Jane.

“Yes, this afternoon.”

“To see Fanny?”

“No, my sweet. To titillate the interest of Mr. Bentley. I gave the very picture of an oafish, drunken lout. He was delighted. He may play me yet.”

“Oh,” said Jane in a small voice. If only there wasn’t that horrid contract between them. But if she told him she did not wish to go through with it, would he want to spend any time in her company? Surely he would marry her rather than make her his mistress.

Instead she said, “I thought you were becoming enamored of Fanny.”

“No. You will find me very singleminded and hard of heart. Miss Fanny was quite disgusted with me. I said she sang like a crow.”

Jane gave a delighted gurgle of laughter.

“Have you any friends of your own age?” he asked curiously.

“Oh, yes,” replied Jane eagerly. “There is Philadelphia, Philadelphia Syms. She is the daughter of the vicar of Westerby and very beautiful.”

“As beautiful as you?”

“You are funning. I am not beautiful.”

He leaned forward and deftly removed her mask and studied her face.

“Not in the common way, my elf,” he said. “But you have great charm.”

“I think that is quite the most—the
kindest
thing anyone has ever said to me,” said Jane seriously.

“I am not kind, Jane,” he said in a solemn voice. “Merely a jaded gentleman of the town seeking a little amusement.”

Jane’s face fell, and all at once he could not bear to see her look so disappointed.

“We will promenade a little and find Lady Comfrey,” he said. “You are beginning to see some of the sights of the town. Would you like to meet His Majesty?”

“The King!” gasped Jane. “Oooh! Yes!”

“There is a Drawing Room to be held in two days’ time. I think I could arrange your presentation. King George was a great admirer of your mother.”

“Oh, you must be funning,” said Jane.

“No, I am serious.” He removed his mask. He gently took her hand and removed her glove and stared for a few moments at the small, still work-worn hand. Then he turned it over and pressed a kiss against her wrist.

Jane stood motionless, the other hand against her breast as if to quell its fluttering. “I have drunk too much wine,” she said in a low voice. “I feel shaky.”

“Yes,” he said in a suddenly flat voice. His eyes looked hard, and she wondered what she had done to offend him.

They promenaded in silence around the perimeter of the hall, but of Lady Comfrey and Bella there was not the slightest sign.

“I declare, that silly old woman has gone and left you,” said Lord Charles impatiently.

For the first time, poor Jane realized the disadvantages of her social position. Her father was landless and penniless, and her godmother was eccentric and could hardly be said to be a conscientious chaperon.

“Did not that maid of hers consider the folly of leaving a young maiden alone at Crocker’s?” he asked testily.

“Perhaps they considered me safe with you,” ventured Jane.

“Then they both have windmills in their heads. To be with me is worse for your reputation than being alone.”

“I feel quite safe with you,” said Jane timidly.

“More fool you,” he snapped unkindly, and then, as he saw her wince, he added in a quieter voice, “Well, no matter. It is a pity we unmasked.”

Lord Charles was now being accosted by various friends and acquaintances. He punctiliously introduced Jane, taking care to say that Lady Comfrey was still present.

He gradually led her to the entrance. Since they were leaving early, they did not have long to wait until his carriage was brought round.

Jane felt uneasy at being alone with him in the intimate darkness of the carriage. She hoped he would not take advantage of the situation, and when he settled himself in the far corner and appeared to become absorbed in his thoughts, she was surprised to find herself experiencing a faint twinge of disappointment.

Not until they came to a stop did he rouse himself and help her down to the pavement.

“Then I shall see you at the Court Drawing Room,” he said in an absentminded way.

“If Lady Comfrey remembers to take me,” said Jane tartly, wondering why he did not kiss her hand or look at her in that disturbingly intimate way of his.

He made her a magnificent bow. She curtsied and, after a slight hesitation, walked up the steps to Number Ten, unable to resist turning at the top to watch him as he climbed into his carriage. She could see the pale glimmer of his face behind the glass as he drove away.

Feeling strangely lost and sad, she rapped loudly with the knocker and was admitted by the butler, who informed her that her ladyship had retired to bed, saying before she did so that she had a feeling she had left something important at Crocker’s.

“Yes, she left me,” said Jane crossly. It was no use becoming exercised over the idea of meeting His Majesty. She could not possibly see how such a grand invitation could be arranged at such short notice. And in any case, the invitation, if it did come, would be sent to Lady Comfrey, who might not remember to tell her, Lady Jane, about it.

Or even to go!

Incredible as it seemed, in but two days’ time Lady Jane Lovelace and that eccentric recluse Lady Comfrey were on their way to Kensington Palace.

The arrival of the invitation had had the same effect on the absentminded Lady Comfrey as if someone had placed a charge of gunpowder under her. Gone was her abstraction, her absentmindedness. The whole of Number Ten was thrown into an uproar as hairdressers collided with couturiers and wigmakers. Even the house had to be washed from top to bottom, for some reason. Perhaps Lady Comfrey felt that King George was endowed with special powers and that his royal eye could see into St. James’s and espy dust in the corners.

And so the night was made hideous by the bangings and clangings of the washerwomen. Washerwomen never did their work except in the middle of the night, and Jane had never been able to fathom the reason for this strange custom.

Now as a blustery wind spun red and gold leaves past the carriage windows and a glittering sun sent splinters of light from Lady Comfrey’s jewels, their carriage fell in with the long line of coaches and chairs entering the courtyard of Kensington Palace.