Lady In Waiting Part 2

Jenny felt her eyes bulge in their sockets and she half feared they would burst from her head. "But I cannot-"

"Decide which gown to wear?" Lady Viola interrupted. She patted Jenny's arm rea.s.suringly. "Pish posh. No need to think on it any longer. The saffron gown is perfect."

As the manservant, Mr. Edgar, entered the room and saw Jenny, his wild gray eyebrows shot toward his hairline. But somehow, he remained otherwise unaffected by her surprising appearance in the drawing room, and solemnly handed Lord Argyll his hat.

"Do you not agree that the gown is beautiful, kind sir?" Lady Let.i.tia asked as she gestured to Jenny. "Lady Genevieve appears undecided."

Lord Argyll studied Jenny then, taking in every detail of the gown, then a slow smile eased its way over his lips. "A more flattering gown ye'll never find, Lady Genevieve."

Suddenly Jenny felt a warm fluttering in her middle and a blush swept her cheeks. She gazed up coquettishly through her lashes. "Oh, surely you jest, my lord."

But at her words, meant only to glean another compliment, the viscount glowered at her. "I a.s.sure ye, my lady, I never speak anything but the truth. You may take my words as gospel."

Jenny was stunned by the sheer strength of his response. "Oh! I-I beg your pardon, my lord. I only meant-"

"I agree with Lord Argyll," twittered Lady Viola. "The gown suits you perfectly. I vow you and young Meredith will be the talk of the ball."

No doubt, Jenny thought. Jenny Penny, lady's maid, mingling with the ton at the Fire and Ice Ball at the Upper a.s.sembly Rooms. That alone will send the ton into an uproar. Still, she had to own, she was exceedingly excited by the prospect.

Over the next few minutes, Jenny paid little attention to the ensuing conversation. For if the ladies were serious about allowing her to go to the ball-and of course they were, for such an exploit was just the sort of thing that sent their blood racing-Jenny had a bucket full of preparation awaiting her.

Her knees wobbled beneath her flowing skirts in antic.i.p.ation. Oh, how she longed to rush below stairs and begin her toilet.

She'd bring the gold-shot tapestry reticule, of course. Oh, and she had to wear the red satin mules with the marigold trim. She smiled at the thought. There were lovely, and surely the most voguish shoes she'd ever possessed.

But then her smile tightened into a grimace. What was she thinking? It was a ball, for heaven's sake. One cannot wear mules for dancing!

She knew this from experience, for one eve she'd tried dancing in them in her chamber. Within three steps, one mule flew from her foot and slugged that awful scullery maid, Erma, in the head. Didn't really hurt her though, and besides, it was her own b.l.o.o.d.y fault. Had she knocked before entering, she might have spared herself the goose egg on her noggin.

So no mules-she'd have to wear slippers. But the only pair she owned were castoffs from Meredith's oldest sister, Eliza. They were adequate, of course, but they did nothing to set off the fine saffron gown.

Jenny chewed her lip. If the viscount would be good enough to leave, perhaps she'd have a few moments to slip into one of the shoemaker shops.

At the sound of a masculine chuckle, Jenny broke from her musings and looked up to find Lord Argyll eyeing her. "I see I am delayin' the ladies from their ball preparations."

"Oh, no, my lord," Lady Viola protested.

And though the Featherton ladies tried in earnest to persuade Lord Argyll to extend his visit, he bid them all farewell and disappeared through the doorway to the street.

Jenny for one was pleased the handsome Scot was gone. He was right, she had much to do. The first of which was slip back into her work clothes so she could begin to dress Meredith, a task she dreaded, for when it came to clothing selection, the young miss was habitually unable to make up her mind. With an audible sigh, she turned her gaze upon Meredith, who had just hiked her hem to her knees and raced to the front window to watch the viscount board his town carriage.

With a squeal of delight, Meredith whirled around, her face positively aglow. "Jenny is truly coming with us to the ball?"

A mischievous grin lifted the whole of Lady Let.i.tia's face. "Indeed she is. Did you not see the way Lord Argyll looked at her? He was smitten with Jenny, I tell you."

Jenny felt the pads of her ears heating. "If the viscount was smitten, as you suggest, my lady, it was by Lady Genevieve-and she does not exist. Had I walked into the drawing room as myself, Jenny Penny the lady's maid, he would not have paid any heed."

Lady Viola shook her head. "No, no. His attraction was clear and I daresay, so was yours, Jenny."

Jenny felt her cheeks grow hot. Her attraction? What was she talking about?

Lady Let.i.tia leaned forward. "You do fancy Lord Argyll, gel?"

Looking up, Jenny met her employer's gaze. Oh, no. She'd watched the two old ladies turn the household upside down when they'd gotten it into their heads to find matches for Meredith's older sisters. Is this what they had in mind for her? How intriguing. "He is every woman's dream."

"But is he your dream, Jenny?" Lady Viola awaited her answer with bated breath.

"Oh, yes. Of course," Jenny muttered softly. If saying so gets me to the ball this eve.

Lady Viola beamed. "So, Cupid's arrow has been drawn from the quiver. But you are right, dove. The difference in your stations is great, and being a peer, I fear he mightn't allow himself the opportunity to know a gel in service."

A look of worry fell over Meredith's eyes. "She's right, Aunt Let.i.tia. Once he knows who Jenny really is, he won't wish to court her. He'll never see past her ap.r.o.n and know the true woman inside."

Pausing, Lady Let.i.tia considered Meredith's words, then her round face brightened like a beacon. "The solution is simple. We do not reveal Jenny's true ident.i.ty until we are sure she's snared the Highlander's heart."

Jenny looked helplessly from one Featherton lady to the other. There was no way she could maintain a masquerade of this sort for more than one eve. "Please do not think me ungrateful, my ladies, but have I no say in this?"

Lady Let.i.tia took her hand and squeezed it. "You want to go to the ball, Jenny. I can see it sparkling in your eyes."

Of course, she longed to attend the ball-to be a real lady and live the life she'd always dreamed of, but this matchmaking scheme of theirs was insane. She raised her eyes to her employer. "Perhaps for one night. Beyond that-"

Lady Viola broke in. "Beyond that will be up to Cupid." She glanced at Let.i.tia, and the two old ladies began to giggle excitedly.

Jenny gave a worried look to Meredith.

"Don't fret, Jenny. I'll help. Just follow my lead and you'll be fine." Meredith smiled hopefully at Jenny, then hugged her aunt Let.i.tia. "Such fun this will be, Aunties-but you both are mad. Mad I tell you! That's why I love you so much."

Yes, the two old ladies were mad if they thought they could pull this off, Jenny silently agreed.

But out of this night's folly... a lady would emerge.

No sooner had Jenny removed the glorious saffron gown and had begun to dig through her bedside table for the earbobs she intended to wear than her summons bell jingled on its iron coil.

"Oh, perdition," she murmured as she wriggled into her black service gown and stuffed her hair beneath a white cotton cap. "I have a ball to prepare for, and those ladies well know it."

Stealing a glance at her image in the small oval looking gla.s.s sitting on her table, she raced up the stairs only to be stopped by her mother, the Feathertons' housekeeper.

"Go back down and fetch your sewin' basket, Jenny. The Widow McCarthy popped by to visit the ladies and snagged her hem on the step."

Jenny narrowed her eyes. "And she wants me to mend it? Why can't she go home and have her own girl have a go at it? Haven't I got enough to do this day?"

Her mother glared back at her. "Look at you all high and mighty today." She flicked her fingers outward. "'Tisn't up to you to question Lady Let.i.tia's directives. So go on. Hurry now. It doesn't take much to get the widow's ire up, and every moment you delay will make it that much worse for you."

With a huff, Jenny returned to her small, windowless chamber for her sewing basket and scampered back up the stairway. When she entered the drawing room, the twig-thin widow, who appeared not more than ten years older than herself, rudely snapped her fingers at her.

"Here, gel. The hem."

Jenny nodded and turned for the footstool, but the young widow reached out with her clawed fingers, clutched her ap.r.o.n, and reeled her close.

"Haven't got all day. Just kneel down and mend it."

From the corner of her eye, Jenny saw Lady Let.i.tia snarl and open her mouth to speak, but Lady Viola, her countenance pinched in a worried look, shook her head vehemently and her employer said nothing. Too bad, Jenny thought. The crow really deserves to be knocked down a few steps.

Ignoring Jenny completely, the widow resumed the conversation. "So why is the viscount in Bath? I mean, a Scottish viscount, here. It's not an everyday occurrence, is it now?"

Lady Viola appeared even more unnerved by this comment and looked to her more courageous sister for a response.

"He did not say," Lady Let.i.tia began. "His mother was a relation, and we cared for her for a time in her youth. His visit to us was purely obligatory, I a.s.sure you."

Jenny glanced over at Lady Viola, and saw her release her pent-up breath. Now that was interesting. There was something they weren't saying. Maybe even hiding.

Well, soon enough she'd get to the truth of it all. It would be like a little mystery. What sport!

"Perhaps he's come to Bath for a wife," the widow offered as a pleased smile stretched her tight lips. "He's quite handsome, isn't he? At least, he appeared so from what I saw through my window. Rich is he?"

Neither Featherton responded, only stared back at the widow in shock.

Well, blow me down. The widow must have buried her husband as half a man, for she certainly had his stones today. Even Jenny knew such a direct question was entirely inappropriate and, not to mention, ridiculously stupid. For goodness' sake, didn't she see his sleek town carriage? Of course he had money. One didn't come across a carriage like that every day.

Just a few more st.i.tches and she'd be done. Pity. It was quite diverting to sit here, invisible as air, and listen in on ton gossip. Jenny slowed her needle's movement to a snail's pace.

Then the widow started up again, in that whistling nasal voice of hers. "You'd tell me if he was, searching for a wife I mean. Charles, G.o.d rest his soul, has been gone for two years now. 'Tis about time I reentered the marriage mart, wouldn't you say? And Lord Argyll, well, a lady could do far worse. Ouch!"

Jenny looked down and saw her needle protruding from the widow's ankle. Lord have mercy. In one swift movement, she pried it out.

"Ouch! You stupid girl!" the widow howled. "You've stabbed me, and now I've got blood on my new stocking."

Lady Let.i.tia wrenched Jenny to her feet, then yanked her behind her. "Of course I will reimburse you for your stockings. 'Twas just an accident."

"An accident? A scratch might be an accident. A poke. But half the needle's length was in my ankle!"

"Oh, no, madam. 'Twas only a quarter of an inch at most." Jenny produced the needle. "See, the blood only goes up to here."

"Dear me! Below stairs, Jenny. Quickly now," Lady Viola whispered.

Jenny nodded. "Truly, I didn't mean-"

"Now, gel," Lady Let.i.tia ordered.

"Yes, my lady." Jenny disappeared into the pa.s.sage and started down the stairs.

She really hadn't meant to jab her. At least... she didn't think she meant to. But what right did that old bat have to put her claim on her viscount?

After all, she saw him first-and he was her voucher to the ball!

Dressed in Meredith's glowing saffron ball gown, Jenny strode through the kitchen on her way to her mother's chambers. Two scullery maids snickered as she pa.s.sed them by.

"Look at the fine lady. Off to the ball, she is, like one of the Quality," Erma, the younger of the two, announced loudly so that anyone below stairs might hear.

"Thinks she's better, she does. But she ain't. She mightn't have grime under her nails, but she's as lowborn and coa.r.s.e as the rest of us." The two maids chuckled at that.

Jenny stilled her step, but did not turn around to face them. She wouldn't let them rile her. She was a lady after all and as such was above such petty remarks.

Straightening her shoulders she rounded the corner and entered her mother's chamber.

Her mother, who was sitting in her worn tufted chair before the low fire, looked up as Jenny opened the door.

Jenny grinned and raised her arms outward as she spun around in a joyous circle, allowing the dress's full skirts to lift with the momentum, before drifting gently down to her sides once more.

But instead of smiling with pride, as Jenny had expected, her mother only frowned, then set back to plunging her needle into the crisp linen napkin on her lap.

"Mama? How do I look?"

Her mother exhaled but did not look up. "You know very well. You look ridiculous in that gown."

"W-what?" Jenny shook slightly at this. "I thought you would be happy for me. Tonight my dream is coming true."

Then she turned her reddened eyes upward. "Thought I'd be happy? Happy? You are making a fool of yourself, child. Why, all of below stairs is abuzz about it. Why can't you let this dream die, child? Why can't you accept your lot in life-you are a lady's maid. 'Tis a coveted position in service. You should be proud. 'Tis nothing to be ashamed of!"

Jenny shook her head as she walked to her mother and knelt down. "Mama, I am grateful for everything. And I am not ashamed of being in service. But you are right. I am not content. I want more. I deserve more."

Two burning dots appeared on her mother's pallid cheeks. "Because of your father's position in society? Bah! Jen, you are not of his ilk. You are in service and the sooner you come to accept this, the better off you will be."

Jenny rose slowly and moved to the small wooden box sitting on the bedside table. Opening it, she removed a gleaming opal brooch and turned back around.

"Oh, no," her mother exclaimed, leaping up from the chair. She s.n.a.t.c.hed the brooch roughly from Jenny's hand. "You're not wearing it this eve."

Jenny bristled. "But my father gave it to me."

"Which is exactly why you are not going to wear it. I'll not have it said I encouraged your nonsense. I won't!"

Heat collected in the corners of Jenny's eyes, and she spun around and raced for the door, but when she reached it, she looked back over her shoulder. "'Tis only for one night, Mother. You needn't worry. By morn my dream will be ended and I will be simple Jenny Penny, the lady's maid, once more."

The short distance to her chamber never seemed so great. She sat down on her narrow bed carefully, so as not to crush the gown, and waited in silence for her summons above stairs.

When the great clock in the upper pa.s.sage finally toned the hour, Jenny quietly gathered up her pelisse and reticule and met the Feathertons and Meredith in the entry hall.

As the Feathertons' town carriage ambled across the hill toward the Upper a.s.sembly Rooms, Jenny watched her breath crystallize in the cold air. She drew her pelisse close over her shoulders. She should have worn something warmer, more appropriate to the weather, but the pelisse, trimmed with a bit of the whitest ermine, was the more stylish wrap of the two she owned.

Meredith, on the other hand, had insisted on wearing a horrid wool shawl, more determined to remain toasty warm than to be fashionable.

Chattering excitedly with her sister about the evening's grand possibilities, Lady Let.i.tia sat directly across from Jenny, her gout-plumped feet resting on the only brazier in the carriage. Jenny kicked off her shoes and slipped her stocking-wrapped toes forward to steal a little warmth, but guilt got the better of her. The whole reason they were in Bath was to soften the effects of her employer's gout, and she knew she should not begrudge the old lady her comfort.

Spying Jenny's outstretched toes, Meredith nudged Jenny in the ribs. "Put your slippers back on, Jenny. You're a lady tonight, remember?" she whispered to her.

Jenny hurriedly shoved her feet back into her slippers, before either of the prattling matchmakers took notice, then glanced about the cab in an effort to distract herself from a growing case of nerves. She'd ridden in the conveyance before, but tonight it was as if she were seeing it for the first time. The walls were green, but devoid of ornamentation, and the leather squabs were hard. No doubt stuffed with straw. Such a contrast to Lord Argyll's plush town carriage.

Instantly her mind centered on the handsome Scotsman, who she was sure would ask her to dance. This unnerved her more than a little for she only knew three or four dances, and those were of the country variety that she learned on the arm of dear old Mr. Edgar. She had not a clue what sort of dances the Quality of Bath would prefer and at this moment, she wanted to not think about it. Lord above, she had to concentrate on gathering her courage just to walk through the door of the grand Upper a.s.sembly Rooms.