Lady In Waiting Part 25

Rising up from her seat, Lady Let.i.tia came to stand before Jenny. "But I do not understand. Who supplied this information to the on-dit columnist? I a.s.sume it is he who shall report this gossip. No other journalist would find interest in such society drivel."

Jenny's eyes remained trained on Lady Let.i.tia's wholly unfashionable, lace-fringed lavender slippers that jutted from beneath her wide and equally dated lavender mantua.

"I learned just last eve that the guineas meant to silence the service staff of the McCarthy and Featherton households were never distributed by the maid set with the task," Jenny muttered.

The Featherton ladies looked pointedly at each other, then spoke one world in unison. "Erma!"

"And if I know her, and I do, she is likely the on-dit columnist's mole." Lady Let.i.tia's cheeks reddened and her face was filled with anger. "I declare, that gel has been nothing but trouble since she arrived at the house. I shall see that Edgar dismisses her immediately!"

Jenny shot to her feet. "Beggin' your pardon, my lady, but mightn't it be wise to retain her until after the storm has pa.s.sed?"

"The gel is right, Sister," Lady Viola said evenly. "Once Erma is gone we shall have no control over her. She might share... other private matters that could damage our family... and my grandson."

As Lady Let.i.tia stepped from the edge of the carpet, the force of her high-heeled slippers clicking on the wooden floor left no question as to her mood. She yanked the bellpull and almost as if by magic, Mr. Edgar appeared instantly in the drawing room.

"See that Erma does not leave this house. Furthermore, no one but you, sir, shall speak with her or listen to her. Am I understood?"

"Yes, my lady. Entirely." Mr. Edgar bowed and backed from the room to make his way below stairs.

An afternoon nap was a most civilized inst.i.tution, one Jenny wished she had opportunity to observe more often. Thanks to Meredith's concern for her well-being, the Featherton ladies had shooed Jenny to her bedchamber to restore her energy before the ball.

She awoke refreshed and rested, and begrudgingly began her toilet. But she was not at all eager for the ball to commence. For its beginning marked the end of her grand love affair with her beloved Callum.

Mrs. Penny entered Jenny's bedchamber just in time to fasten the two pearl b.u.t.tons at Jenny's back and to witness for herself the ethereal beauty of the gown.

Trying to raise her own spirits, Jenny whirled in a circle to demonstrate Mrs. Russell's clever st.i.tchery. "Do you see how the overskirt floats when I turn? This gown was made for dancing, Mama."

Jenny forced a pleased laugh, but it quickly died on her lips and even the most elegant and beautiful gown in all of England could not revive it.

She slumped into a small wooden chair, prompting her mother to race toward her, hands waving in the air. "Goodness, child, do not sit like that. You'll crush the gown!"

Drawing in a long breath, Jenny exhaled a sigh. "I don't care."

"You don't care? Is attending this ball not your grandest dream come to life?"

Raising her eyes to her mother, Jenny nodded solemnly. "Tonight, a lifetime of impossible wishes will come true." She turned her head slowly to her mother. "Except, I no longer desire such things. I do not care about this dress, or jewels, fashionable bonnets, reticules, and handfuls of gold. My only desire is to spend my life with the man I love, Callum."

Just the sound of his name on her lips was enough to bring down a torrent of tears. Oh, perdition. Love had completely muddled her emotions.

"I know this is difficult, darling," her mother said very softly. "Perhaps you should not attend the ball this eve."

Raising the back of her hand to her face, Jenny scrubbed the wetness from her cheeks. "No, I must be there. 'Tis the last time Lord Argyll and I will be together. I must go."

Her mother withdrew something glittery from her ap.r.o.n pocket and held it out to her.

Jenny stared at it with amazement. Why, it was the brooch her father had given her when she was but a child.

"Take the brooch and wear it this eve." Her mother urged her to take it, but Jenny could not seem to obey.

Criminy. She couldn't believe it. Her mother was going to let her wear the brooch.

This was unbelievable. For nearly twenty years, her mother had been unable to bear the sight of the brooch. Seconds after her father had given her the pin, her mother had s.n.a.t.c.hed it from her dress, leaving Jenny to stand teary-eyed, with a hole in her frock, as her father's gleaming carriage rolled away, never to be seen by either of them again.

Jenny looked down at the pin, then again at her mother. "Are you sure, Mama?"

"He meant it for you. *For his little lady,' he said when he pinned it to your dress. Do you remember?" Her mother lifted Jenny's hand and placed the brooch in her palm.

"I do... somewhat." Jenny's hand shook as she lifted the brooch by the clasp. With utmost care, she affixed it upon the satin band beneath her b.r.e.a.s.t.s.

"Looks lovely, it does." Her mother sniffled. "I thought by hiding the brooch from you, you would forget your father, forget the life you might have had... were I not in service. But you never did forget. Being denied his brooch only made you want it all the more."

"What are you talking about, Mama?"

"Don't you see? This brooch is the reason you are utterly obsessed with lovely things. As if by acquiring baubles, gowns, and the trappings of a society miss, you will become your father's *little lady.'" Her mother knelt before her and took her hands into her own.

Jenny sat very still. Lud, it was true. On some level, she felt she knew this somehow. Until tonight, though, she never connected her pa.s.sion for pretty things with the brooch and her father's words "my little lady."

A light rap summoned her eyes to the door. There Mr. Edgar stood, his hands folded behind his back. "Mrs. Russell was here earlier for you."

The headdress. Oh, no. Jenny stared back into Mr. Edgar's stern face.

The modiste had warned her that if she did not pay, there'd be trouble.

"I apologize, Mr. Edgar." Jenny swallowed. There was a queer look in his ancient eyes-something akin to sadness. He must be so very disappointed in her. She'd brought him nothing but mayhem to his tightly run ship the past month.

"I did not have the money to pay her," Jenny muttered.

Then, her astonished eyes nearly leapt from her. For Mr. Edgar, dear Mr. Edgar, withdrew her gown's matching headdress from behind his back and held it out to her.

"Oh, my word." Jenny could scarcely stand, but somehow she managed to reach the tall manservant and take the Indian rose headdress. "I don't understand... how?"

"Cook told me that Erma stole your receipt and therefore your business with Mr. Bartleby. So I... I paid the modiste in your stead."

The ever stalwart butler stumbled over the words that betrayed his warm heart. "There you have it. I know this eve is very special to you. The headdress matches your gown, so you should wear it. Only makes sense." His old blue eyes welled up, startling him so, that he turned swiftly and made to leave.

"Wait, Mr. Edgar." Jenny thrust the headdress at her mother and threw herself into the tall old gent's arms. "Thank you, sir." She looked up at him and saw the merest hint of a smile on his thin lips. "You have no idea what your gift means to me." She stood on the tips of her toes and kissed his cheek.

Mr. Edgar broke from her embrace, his wrinkled face turning the most adorable shade of crimson. "Now, now, Jenny. Your thanks is more than adequate." He turned, trying in vain to obscure the tiny smile on his lips, and hurried from the room.

Darling old Mr. Edgar. Were she to know her father, she always fancied that he would be exactly like him.

As her mother looked on, Jenny settled the headdress atop her head like a crown and began to swirl several locks into braided roses, which she mingled with the c.r.a.pe blooms.

When she finished, Jenny stood and turned around. "H-how do I look, Mama?"

Her mother's eyes brightened the moment she spun around. "Oh, my dear Jenny, you look..."

Jenny found herself holding her breath-needing her mother's approval more now than ever before.

"You look beautiful-every bit the lady."

A single tear ran down Jenny's cheek as her mother took her in her arms and hugged her tight. "Thank you, Mama. Thank you."

The orchestra stopped playing the moment they entered the a.s.sembly room. And as Jenny had dreamed, everyone on the dance floor turned and stared as the Featherton party was announced and regally entered the ballroom.

Jenny held her head high and shoulders back as she walked beside Miss Meredith toward the front of the grand a.s.sembly room. Her ear seemed especially attuned to the appreciative observations made about her appearance, and to the sprinkling of suppositions that she was a grand French lady of royal descent.

And lud, she felt like royalty this eve-like a princess in a faery story. Of course, were this true, she could count on a happily ever after ending.

But she knew her story would not end that way.

Still, until black Sat.u.r.day, she made a promise to herself to smile and to live her life to the fullest. To drink in every sight, sound, and sensation and store them safely in her memory for the bleaker days to come. What good would it do to rob herself, and indeed Callum, of one last evening of pleasure?

This promise was all well and good, but inside she was screaming-for tonight she was going to lose Callum and there was naught she could do to stop it.

And then she saw him, smiling excitedly at her from the edge of the dance floor. He walked toward her, his long legs carrying his towering body at twice the speed of any ordinary man.

But he was no ordinary man, was he? He was her betrothed-her prince-at least for tonight.

Callum politely greeted Miss Meredith and the Featherton ladies, then without a word to her, extended his hand to Jenny. She laid her hand atop his and allowed him to lead her to the floor for the waltz that had just been announced.

The music filled Jenny's ears, and happiness welled in her heart as he turned her about the ballroom floor. They made a striking pair, Jenny thought, and so did the a.s.sembly, for couples seemed to fall back to dance the perimeter, leaving the center floor to Callum and herself.

Jenny tilted her head back and looked up at him.

"Ye are the most beautiful woman I've ever seen." Callum's eyes seemed to sparkle as he gazed upon her.

A blush crept across Jenny's cheeks and swept the sensitive skin rising from her low neckline.

The edge of Callum's kilt brushed her thighs as they moved, and his sporran, heavy with tooled leather and silver studs, bounced upward a bit as they danced, drawing her eye to its movement-and her wanton thoughts to what lay beneath it.

"I have never seen you look so handsome either, my love," she said just loud enough that he could hear her above the sweet swell of violins. Still, as she gazed wistfully at him, she felt a burn at the back of her eyes.

"Is everything all right, Jenny? Ye dinna seem quite yerself this eve." Callum's face filled with a look of real concern.

Caressing his hand as they waltzed, Jenny looked up at him through her long lashes and gave him a small but convincing, she hoped, smile. "Everyone is staring," she told him. "I feel a bit as though we are on stage at the Theatre Royal."

"Staring are they? Weel, let us give them something interesting to watch." He waggled his dark brows at her and grinned.

Jenny couldn't help but laugh at the devilish curve of his lips. "What are you going to-oh, my heavens!"

In that instant, with one strong arm, Callum hoisted Jenny against his chest so their eyes were level and her feet, thankfully shod in new, gleaming white satin slippers, dangled.

Faster and faster he turned, never missing a four-count step. The rotation sent Jenny's legs flying backward behind her.

Starting to feel a little dizzy, Jenny trained her gaze on the crowd surrounding the ballroom floor to steady herself.

Bath society was indeed staring. But not with looks of shock in their eyes, as she might have expected, but with amus.e.m.e.nt. To them, they were but a young couple foolishly in love.

Lady Let.i.tia and Lady Viola, clapping with delight, had turned to watch Callum and Jenny as Meredith excitedly recorded her observations in her notebook.

"Lord Argyll, they will think you mad!" Jenny quipped, giggling between her words.

He only laughed. "Madly in love with you, Jenny, and I dinna care who knows it."

An uneasy jolt shot through Jenny, and she knew Callum must return her to the floor. He mightn't care now who knew of his love for her, but come morning, his feelings would be different.

"Please, Callum, I cannot breathe. Do set me down."

"Verra weel, my lady. Yer wish is my command."

His eyes twinkled with happiness as he loosened his grip on her waist and allowed her to slide down his chest to the wooden floor. Even this was far too intimate an act, but the Highlander seemed oblivious to the fact. And this sort of scandal, while guaranteed to generate comment, was of little concern to Jenny. Oh, how she wished that displaying affection in public was her only shame.

When the music ended, Callum, his eyes still alive with the excitement of the dance, offered Jenny his arm and together they left the floor to return to the Featherton ladies and Miss Meredith.

Jenny smiled pleasantly at all those she pa.s.sed, until from the corner of her eye, she caught notice of a man bowing to her-a very small man.

She jerked her head around to be sure. How had he managed an entree to this esteemed event? But then Jenny remembered the Featherton ladies' public invitation.

Oh, my word. Hercule Lestrange was here... and no doubt already hard at work.

Chapter Seventeen.

Squeezing Callum's gloved hand gently, Jenny bade him to rejoin the Featherton ladies, and with a few mumbled excuses for leaving his side, promised to join him again a few minutes later.

At once, she picked her way back through the churning crowd until she came upon the guest she sought. "Ah, we meet again, Mr. Lestrange." She hung a bright smile on her lips for him. "I had not truly expected to see you at the Upper a.s.sembly Rooms this eve."

He seemed surprised. "Where else would I be? Gatherings such as these are how I make my living. But then, you know this."

"Quite right." Jenny covertly stole a glance at Hercule's deep coat pockets, searching for any signs that he had already been slipping baubles and rings from unsuspecting guests.

"Since our last discussion, my lady," he said, intoning the last two words a bit louder, "I wondered how you came to discover my true ident.i.ty. Over the years, many have tried, but none successfully. That is, until you."

Jenny was a little stunned by the question. "I don't know really. Maybe it was the way you always seemed to haunt the locales where society gathered. And you were always watching, your eye tuned to detail."

Hercule Lestrange nodded thoughtfully, then lowered his voice to a private level. "You have a very keen eye yourself, as well as a clever mind, to have inferred from so little that I am Bath's mysterious on-dit columnist."

What? A rolling shudder seemed to throttle Jenny from within. Hercule Lestrange wrote The Bath Herald's on-dit column? Lord above! But suddenly it all made sense. He wasn't the leader of the swell gang at all. He was a bleedin' gossip columnist!

Schooling her features, Jenny tried very hard not to let on that she had had it all wrong.