Lady In Waiting Part 19

"Jenny, I ken the ladies are aware of what happened when ye stayed with me in Laura Place."

"Yes." Jenny nodded. "I saw no reason to lie."

Callum's breath left his lungs, almost as if her statement had knocked it from him.

"Och, just let me say it," he finally managed. "If ye are with child, Jenny, I will marry ye. I will not condemn ye to a life of embarra.s.sment and dishonor."

Lady Let.i.tia grunted. "How magnanimous of you," she muttered.

From the corner of her eye, Jenny saw Lady Viola shaking a finger of disapproval at her sister.

Jenny considered his words carefully, wanting to make sure she understood him. "But if I am not carrying your child..."

"Then I canna marry ye. Ye ken my purpose. I will put an end to the Argyll line." There was a break in his voice, and she knew all of this was killing him inside.

She knew too that she alone could release him from the conflict he had been facing since they shared his bed.

"Lord Argyll," she began, "before you say another word, there is something I must confess to you."

Suddenly both Featherton ladies came to their feet.

"No, Lady Genevieve, you do not," Lady Let.i.tia broke in, cutting off Jenny's words. "Lord Argyll has not presented an honorable offer, and therefore you are under no obligation to explain anything whatsoever to him!"

Jenny looked up at Lady Viola. Why were they doing this? She must tell him the truth. She must release him from his pain.

But as her eyes met with the watery blue of Lady Viola's, she saw an urgency in them that confused her.

"No, Jenny, not another word. Not now. Not yet," the old woman said in a slight voice, barely more than a whisper. She began to waver and grow unsteady on her feet. Oh, heavens, she was going to have a spell.

"Please, what did ye want to tell me, Jenny? I am here, listenin'." Callum's hand tightened over her knee.

Lady Viola crumpled and crashed down in a sitting position upon the settee. As she struck the backrest, her frail body seemed to lose solidity and she tipped to the side, careening with the firm seat cushion. But strangely, the old woman's grip on Jenny's hand remained ever tight.

Callum jolted as Lady Viola toppled, but having witnessed her spell before did not take his attention from Jenny.

"No, not another word!" Lady Let.i.tia snapped, thrusting her free hand forward and whisking Callum's palm from Jenny's knee.

Jenny's gaze darted from Callum to the sleeping Lady Viola and back again.

"In fact, Lord Argyll, since my sister is unwell, I must ask you to away. Please." The stern look in Lady Let.i.tia's eye made clear her seriousness.

"Jenny." Callum's gaze held hers firmly.

"No, I am sorry, Lord Argyll, but I must insist." Lady Let.i.tia shot a glance at Mr. Edgar, who had been standing sentry in the corner of the room. Taking his cue, he shuffled forward and stood over Lord Argyll.

Callum slowly came to his feet.

"I meant what I said, Jenny. If ye carry my bairn, I will marry ye. I will."

Jenny looked helplessly into his eyes. She wanted to run to him and beg his forgiveness for her grand lie. She knew she could break away from the two old ladies' firm grasps and go to him if she truly desired. But there was a part of her, a selfish part, that did not wish to confess her true ident.i.ty. The childish, greedy part of her that wanted Callum so much that she would live a lie forever to retain his love.

Callum took his coat and gloves from Edgar and with one long, meaningful parting glance at Jenny, he left the Featherton household.

Meredith, who had slipped into the drawing room unseen and had hidden behind the thick curtains, made her way around the settee to Jenny and began to sputter.

"Are you mad, Jenny? Why didn't you tell him who you really were? You started to do it, and you know by now he certainly deserves the truth!"

Jenny lowered her eyes and stared down at the gold and cream sunburst pattern in the center of the Aubusson carpet. She said nothing.

But Lady Let.i.tia did. "Because it was not yet time." Jenny looked up for her to continue. "He has not acknowledged the depth of his feelings for our Jenny yet."

Lady Viola opened her eyes and quickly sat up. Her supposed spell was clearly a ruse.

"Once he has, he will offer for Jenny no matter the circ.u.mstance," Lady Viola said, adding, "and it will not matter if she is a lady's maid or a fine lady."

Meredith did not seem convinced. "You are putting quite a lot of faith in a man-no, a rake-you barely know."

Lady Let.i.tia opened her mouth to speak, but very uncharacteristically, Lady Viola raised her hand to quiet her and spoke in her sister's place.

"We knew his mother well, and though he is unruly and does not conform to our society's rules and expectations, he is his mother's son and his heart is warm. You will see, Meredith, he will not disappoint young Jenny here."

"I wish my faith in him matched your own, my lady," Jenny said to Lady Viola. "I truly do."

"Mark my words, he shall marry you, Jenny. He shall."

Jenny looked into Lady Viola's eyes, and saw the Herculean strength of her faith in Callum. And for a brief moment, she actually believed it could be true.

Meredith plopped down on a footstool and stared up at her aunt. "So a rogue with a warm heart is... redeemable," she murmured to no one in particular. "But how does a lady learn these things?"

"Sadly, gel, through trial and error." Lady Let.i.tia bobbed her head solemnly.

Meredith wrapped her arms around her knees and hugged them to her chest. "Well, someone should write a guidebook on dealing with rakes, scoundrels, and rogues, so young ladies will know what sort of men they are dealing with, and will not be so easily deceived by their charming ways."

The two Featherton ladies laughed at the absurd comment, but Jenny noticed that Meredith did not join them. No, instead the right corner of her mouth lifted, and Jenny could see the machinations of a working mind in her shifting eyes.

Oh, dear.

Later that evening, Jenny pocketed a guinea and slipped next door to check Molly's progress on her second project, a velvet pelisse she'd quietly a.s.signed her a week before. Since she was trying to put aside a few bob each day for her shop, she had dismissed the notion of lining the garment with beaver fur for warmth, and instead settled for wool. Horrid, rough wool.

She'd never be able to step into a wind, for she would be sickened to have the plain wool exposed. It would ruin the effect of the pelisse. And how lovely and luxurious would fur have been? She sighed, for there was no use lamenting over it. What was done, was done.

To appease herself for the cost-cutting measures she was forced to accept, Jenny had convinced Mr. Bartleby to supply her with a dozen gleaming onyx b.u.t.tons. In exchange, she only needed to add two gallipots to his next order. That was a bargain, for the b.u.t.tons were worth at least... hmm. Not two pounds. Not anywhere near that.

The pleased smile dissolved from her face as she realized her mistake. Maybe it wasn't such a grand arrangement after all. No wonder Bartleby was so eager to seal their deal. She'd have to watch that man. He was far cleverer and half as trustworthy as she'd first thought.

Jenny rapped three times on the servant portal and Molly opened the door, appearing more than a little nervous.

"Come with me," the girl whispered. "But don't say nothin'. The mistress has been scaring the pudding from the service staff by surprising us below stairs all eve. She's havin' a grand guest tonight, and is giving Cook fits about the menu. She's changed it three times already! Imagine the waste."

"Who is the guest?" Jenny asked softly as the two of them slipped into the bedchamber Molly shared with a parlor maid.

"Oh, some sotted highborn, I don't doubt. What was his name... Argyll? Yes, I think that's it."

Jenny began to cough and choke.

Molly slapped her on the back. "Are you well, Miss Penny?"

"Y-yes," she croaked. "Are you sure-Argyll?"

"Sure as I can be. The widow hasn't had a gentleman visit the house since before her husband died. She's been primping all day. Never seen her in such a condition. Why she's acting like a love-struck chit."

Jenny sat down on the edge of the bed and watched the maid's cat wind an eight around her mistress's ankles. Molly could not possibly be right. Callum had no interest in the widow. Heavens, anyone could see that.

"Here's your pelisse. It's so beautiful, miss. But if I were makin' it for myself, I would have lined it with fur. Why go to the expense of using the softest velvet, satin trim, and real onyx b.u.t.tons, then go and line it with commoners' wool?"

"For warmth, of course. Utility is far more important than style." Jenny roughly took the pelisse into her hands and spread it across the bed to view Molly's work. "And besides, I do not condone the killing of innocent creatures simply to strip them of their fashionable fur."

Molly wrung her hands before her ap.r.o.n. "Oh, yes. I hadn't thought of that."

Jenny suddenly felt almost heroic. Yes, she might have saved countless beavers' lives by her decision. "It would be like... killing your cat because it has such lovely fur, wouldn't it?"

"Oh, Miss Penny, don't say that. Why, I'll never be able to look at a fur collar or m.u.f.f again."

A little twinge of guilt pinched at Jenny as she remembered the bear m.u.f.f sitting inside her wardrobe. But as she caressed her lovely new pelisse, the feeling vanished just as quickly as it had come.

"Molly! Molly!" came a harsh female voice from the other side of the door.

Molly's eyes filled with terror. "It's the mistress. What do we do?"

Jenny jumped to her feet and scanned the chamber. There was no way to escape. No windows. Not even a wardrobe in which to hide.

"Open this door!" came the widow's screech again.

A moment pa.s.sed, during which neither Molly nor Jenny dared even to expel a breath.

"Very well, then..." The door swung open and the widow barged inside. Her eyes swung from Molly to Jenny.

"Who are you?" she demanded, but then, as she studied Jenny for a moment longer, her gaze softened. "Wait a moment. I know you!"

"I-I..." Goodness. She was going to faint. Sweat began to burst at her temples and blood pulsed in her ears.

The widow looked at Jenny's cream-colored muslin gown with tiny embroidered sprigs of gold ringing the hem. Clearly, this was not a lady's maid's costume. Blast! Why hadn't she changed into her brown frock before coming next door, and pulled a snowy mob cap over her perfectly coiffed hair?

Run, her mind screamed. Just run! There was nothing else to do, so Jenny tucked the pelisse under her arm and started for the door. She could push her way through the spindly widow if she needed to. Certainly, Lady McCarthy wouldn't be expecting such a bold move.

But as she neared, a smile broke over the widow's otherwise pinched face and she extended her hand. "Lady Genevieve," she crooned. "So lovely to see you."

Jenny stopped a mere breath away from the widow. She forced her shaking hand forward and dropped a curtsy as she became Lady Genevieve.

Then the widow's brows cinched tightly. "But what are you doing here... with my maid?"

"I-I-" Jenny's mind began to spin through options, finally, miraculously pulling one plausible explanation from the jumbled mix in her mind. "I needed these onyx b.u.t.tons sewn onto my pelisse."

More, Jenny. Something more.

"But after hearing that you were stabbed by the Feathertons' completely mad lady's maid, why, I feared for my life if I were to request her a.s.sistance." She waited a moment, unsure if the widow was eating the lies she fed her.

The widow's eyes widened. "Yes, yes! She is mad, that one. Why I couldn't walk for days after she stabbed my ankle down to the bone-the bone, I tell you. Can you imagine?"

What a huffing liar. Why, Jenny saw her dancing at the Fire and Ice Ball at the Upper a.s.sembly Rooms that very evening!

"I remembered how kind you were to me, and since I needed the pelisse this eve-for it is exceedingly bitter this night-I stopped by to ask your girl if she might quickly st.i.tch the new b.u.t.tons for me. And she did."

Jenny turned to Molly and pressed the guinea into her hand, taking care to fold the girl's fingers over the gold coin so her mistress would not see its high denomination. "This shilling is for you, Molly, for doing me the favor so quickly."

"A whole shilling for st.i.tching b.u.t.tons?" The widow appeared appalled. "I think not. Molly, give it back."

Jenny raised her hand. "Madam, I do insist. And I must commend you on the training of your staff. For though I pressed, they insisted I not disturb you for you were about to receive an esteemed guest."

The widow flushed with color. "Err... yes. A... just a gentleman friend."

Jenny smiled at her. "Really? Well, he must be quite handsome for you look positively radiant this eve."

The older woman gave a nervous half laugh, and surveyed her flame-hued gown with a matronly green turban. She looked like a huge orange.

"Oh, he is somewhat tolerable, I suppose."

Jenny fought the impulse to sneer. Tolerable, indeed. If 'twas Lord Argyll paying her a call, tolerable was not a word she would ever use to describe such a devastatingly handsome man.

"Well, I do thank you for the use of your girl. I must away. Good eve, Lady McCarthy." Jenny dropped a deep curtsy, then with a parting glance at a totally confused Molly, she exited the chamber.

At a mad dash, she shot through the service door and headed back to the Featherton household.

After placing her new pelisse in her wardrobe, Jenny crept up the stairs and slipped into the drawing room. By luck, the room was unoccupied, though candles glowed in the two sconces above the hearth where a low fire burned.

She was relieved, for now she could step behind the thick curtains and watch for Callum through the great windows facing the crescent. For nearly an hour, she stood with her forehead and her hands, spread like two fleshy stars, pressed against the cold gla.s.s.

Though Molly and the widow had all but confirmed his visit, Jenny could not make herself believe it. And so she stood, waiting, until, just as the tall case clock struck eight in the eve, a familiar town carriage drew up before the widow's home.

Holding her breath until her lungs burned, Jenny watched as the footman let down the stairs, and Callum, so ruggedly handsome in his fine dress kilt, stepped out into the night. He was holding a gathering of hothouse roses in his gloved hand.

Roses. How she loved roses. In fact, they were her absolute favorite flower.

Her brows drew together and she felt a sudden tightness in her chest. He'd never brought her roses. Heat washed across her eyes. Why was he bringing them to the widow? Had he dismissed her, er... Lady Genevieve, already?

Callum stopped before continuing up the walk and turned to stare up at the Feathertons' house, at the same window where Jenny stood. For some moments, he did not move, but looked up, waiting.

Jenny's body jerked involuntarily, though she was sure he could not see her.