Lady In Waiting Part 3

"Now, Jenny, all of Bath society will be mingling at this event. Do take care to avoid drawing undue attention to yourself. A lady is demure, her movements graceful and understated. Do you understand, gel?" Lady Let.i.tia leaned forward and seemed to rest her heft atop her large, pillowy bosom as she awaited Jenny's reply.

"Oh, heavens, Sister," Lady Viola quipped, "Jenny has been living in our home for years and has no doubt had opportunity to observe the two of us. Of course she understands." She blinked her round watery blue eyes at Jenny. "Don't you, dear?"

"Yes, of course, my lady." Jenny lowered her gaze as she delicately folded her hands atop her lap. For she could not meet either of the old womens' eyes as the coming lie unfurled from her tongue. "I've already decided to fashion myself... I mean, Lady Genevieve, in the gracious image of the two of you." Rather apprehensively, she raised her eyes.

Both of the Feathertons grinned broadly.

"Oh, please," Meredith murmured, but thankfully for Jenny, neither of her great-aunts seemed to hear her.

The carriage pulled to a jerked halt, thrusting Jenny forward and sending her beaded reticule to the floor. She leaned down to retrieve it and as she did, the carriage door opened and the footman extended his hand.

Oh, goodness. She wasn't ready! How could she ever imagine she could play a lady true? Jenny's startled gaze flew to Lady Viola, who rose, took the footman's hand, and climbed out of the carriage into the night. Lady Let.i.tia and Meredith followed, and soon Jenny found herself shakily lifting her gown to carefully walk through the ice-encrusted mud toward the door of the Upper a.s.sembly Rooms.

She should have thought to wear pattens to raise and protect her shoes, for no matter how carefully she proceeded, flecks of wet earth splattered upon her slippers and they would never, ever be the same. But such was the price of fashion.

As they pa.s.sed through the columned doorway, Jenny removed her pelisse and looked about for a coat hook.

Lady Viola winced at this. Taking Jenny's upper arm in her hand, she guided her to the crew of awaiting footmen who were collecting wraps from ladies and gentlemen as they entered.

Oh, of course. How stupid of her, Jenny chided. If this ruse was going to work, she had to remember to think and act like a lady, not a coa.r.s.e maid.

Jenny squinted in the bright light. Even in the column-ringed octagonal entrance hall candles were not to be spared. A great crowd of people momentarily mingled as they converged in this s.p.a.ce, before pa.s.sing through the double doors and disappearing into the grand ballroom.

Lud, who'd have thought there would be so many gentry in all of Bath-or even all of London!

Lady Viola tightened her grip on Jenny's arm for support and guided her in the direction of the ballroom. Jenny could scarce stop her head from swiveling as she gaped at the grand decor, the voguish fashions-and some pitifully dated gowns as well-and enviable glittering earbobs.

Then suddenly, through the doorway of the card room, she spied none other than Lord Argyll. As if she'd called his name, he caught her gaze and smiled warmly. A nervous flutter battered about Jenny's insides as she watched him turn and walk toward them.

But then, her party entered the ballroom, and he was gone from her sight.

Huge glittering crystal chandeliers, the like Jenny had never seen or even imagined, dominated the ballroom. My word. She gulped down the swell of emotion rising in her throat as her eyes began to sting with tears. I am standing in a real ballroom. She looked over her shoulder as they moved deeper into the a.s.sembly room, and noticed that over the doorway was a wide balcony set into the wall, and in it eleven musicians overlooked the ma.s.sive ballroom. Around the perimeter were two rows of cushioned settees filled with older madams and gents, while stretches of wooden benches provided respite for giggling young ladies and their beaus.

Yards of pale blue and silver silk swathes were draped from the ceilings and across the high narrow windows, making her feel as though she were in a magical land where anything was possible.

But for her, it already seemed as if anything was. For she was standing in the ballroom of the Upper a.s.sembly Rooms, waiting for a handsome viscount to lead her in dance.

Lady Viola released her arm at last, and Jenny began to turn in a circle to take in the stunning grandeur of the ballroom, when suddenly she felt her hand brush something warm and furry. In her confusion, her fingers, of their own accord, instinctively gripped and prodded the fur.

She whirled around completely and found herself facing Lord Argyll, who was dressed most handsomely, but very unfashionably, in a coat, kilt, and-oh, heavens -a blasted fur sporran that hung centered over his-no, it can't be.

No.

Please, someone tell me I didn't just brush my hand over his sporran. Over his- Heat filled Jenny's cheeks and she squeezed her eyes shut.

"Good eve, Lady Genevieve." And then he leaned close and his deep voice buzzed in her ear. "Surprisin' how soft badger can be, aye?"

Chapter Three.

How mortifying! Had anyone seen what she had done? Seen her grip his... sporran?

"Oh, Lord Argyll," Lady Let.i.tia twittered. "How lovely that you found us."

Jenny felt a row of bony fingers on her upper arm, holding her in place and preventing her from dashing from the ballroom. "Why, Lady Genevieve was just commenting on how much she would desire to dance and here you are. How fortuitous."

The Scotsman arched a dark brow. "I've never been one for proper dancin', but fer ye, Lady Genevieve, I would be pleased to make an exception." He offered up his muscular arm and without thinking, Jenny instinctively took it.

Blast! What was she doing? Surely I will be found out the moment the music begins.

But then, the violinist set free his song and to Jenny's delight, couples took to the floor for a country dance. Why, glory be, she actually knew this one!

Jenny beamed at Lord Argyll, then turned as they waited for the right count to begin and let her eye wander the great room.

Heavens. Was it her imagination, or was every highbrowed eye focused on her?

She tried to follow the visual path of one particularly bug-eyed miss. Why, it almost looked like the chit was gazing at Lord Argyll-and not at her at all.

Jenny glanced appraisingly at her dance partner. Oh... of course! Everyone was likely focusing on Argyll's shocking kilt.

And then the viscount took her hands and drew her forward down the line. Together they whirled in a circle, sending her hem, and heaven forbid, his as well, flaring up behind them.

The brows of several matrons slammed the upper rims of their dowdy turbans. Still, their interested gazes trailed the handsome Scot down the column again, as wry smiles budded on their lips.

Jenny smiled too, her keen imagination creating what her own eyes had not the fortune to see.

Gads, dancing was enjoyable. She should do it more often. Why on earth had she worried so? The steps were the same as those she danced below stairs, on the off occasion that Mr. Edgar approved any sort of celebration -which wasn't often, what with all the work piling up the minute anyone looked away for an instant. Jenny watched the other young ladies demurely twirl and dance through the archway of arms.

Obviously she needn't have worried at all. Why, were she to cast judgment, she would have to say that her skill was far superior to those studied in the art of dance. Their movements seemed so restrained, so staid, compared to her own. Lud, they weren't even smiling!

Well, their loss, Jenny decided as she kicked up her heels gaily and raced forward to pa.s.s beneath the bridge of clasped hands.

Even Lord Argyll noticed her natural affinity for dance. She could see it in his eyes and his amused grin. They were having fun, and isn't that what dancing was all about?

But then, the music ended. Drat it all. And here she was, just beginning to truly enjoy herself.

Lord Argyll raised his forearm to her. A broad smile still lingered on his lips and playfulness she hadn't seen before lit his eyes. "Shall we return to yer duennas?"

"If we must." A sigh fell from her lips as he guided her to the Featherton ladies.

Blast the rules. She desperately wanted to dance again. "I do hope you will ask me to dance another time, Lord Argyll. I own, we make a fine pair. Did you see everyone watching us?"

The corner of his mouth twitched the very moment they rejoined the Feathertons and Meredith at the perimeter of the dance floor. "I did indeed, my lady."

"And I don't think it had to do with you not wearing anything under your kilt either," Jenny added matter-of-factly.

"Oh, my heavens!" Lady Viola wavered and leaned against her sister. "Spell..."

Lord Argyll, appearing somewhat startled, a.s.sisted Lady Let.i.tia in dragging the frail old woman into a chair along the wall.

Meredith dashed forward and snared Jenny's arm. "Come with me, please."

"What? Is something wrong?" Jenny asked as Meredith hauled her through the wide doorway into the octagonal foyer.

"Jenny, you simply can't mention things like men's under things... or lack of them... in proper company."

"Oooh, I see. Well, you're quite right." Jenny nodded her head. "But I don't think anyone, save your aunts perhaps, noticed my slip, do you?"

Meredith's eyes widened and she held her breath for a moment. "Oh, surely not. 'Twas likely just me. Still, I thought it worth a mention."

"What did you think of my dancing? I've had no proper training, mind you, but I thought I did quite well."

"Yes, your dancing was very... uh... enthusiastic," Meredith stammered.

Jenny grinned appreciatively. "Why thank you, Miss Meredith."

As the two young ladies slipped back into the a.s.sembly room, Jenny noted with some shock that their neighbor, Lady McCarthy, blocked the only pathway back to the Feathertons and Lord Argyll.

The widow showed her teeth as she recognized Miss Meredith and moved forward to greet her.

Oh, perdition. Jenny's breath snagged in her throat. For certain she would be recognized! 'Twas not more than four hours since she'd been summoned above stairs to mend the widow's loose hem. Four measly hours! Why, 'twas not even enough time for her needle stab wound to crust over!

As Meredith and Lady McCarthy exchanged pleasantries, Jenny averted her face and affixed her widened eyes to the floor. Lud, she had to get out of here. She lifted her eyes a smidge and sought out the double doorway. But then the widow's attention was upon her.

"Miss Meredith, would you do me the great honor of introducing me to your companion?" the widow asked. "I do not believe I've had the pleasure."

Jenny looked up and shot Meredith a horrified gaze.

Meredith appeared somewhat confused by the blatant look of alarm on Jenny's face and it was several seconds before she could summon her voice. "Uh, Lady McCarthy, this is my dear friend-"

"From Miss Belbury's School," Jenny blurted.

"... Yes, from school, Lady Genevieve d'en Bas."

Jenny stared into the woman's eyes, so frightened that it took a nudge from Meredith to remind her to drop the widow a curtsy. "Madam."

"Charmed." Then the woman studied her for several overlong moments. "Lady Genevieve, have you been in Bath long? I have the distinct impression we have crossed paths."

Jenny was aghast.

Thankfully though, Lady Let.i.tia had taken notice of the potential problem and was charging forward to take matters in hand. "Oh, good eve, Lady McCarthy. I see you have met Lady Genevieve. But I do beg your pardon. My sister has succ.u.mbed to a spell and I have come to fetch the young lady to her side. Do excuse us, please."

Jenny grinned. Lady Let.i.tia was ever so brilliant, for the next thing Jenny knew, she was being pulled quickly away from the overly curious widow, leaving Miss Meredith behind as a distraction.

Meeting the widow could have been a complete disaster, save for her quite convincing performance as the refined Lady Genevieve. But it wasn't really a performance, now was it? Had her father placed a ring on her mother's finger, she would be Lady Genevieve. Not a cowering imposter, but a lady true.

Lady Let.i.tia led the way, at a rapid clip, toward her sister and Lord Argyll. But not so fast that Jenny could not catch a snippet of conversation between the two matrons they were pa.s.sing.

"A kilt! Can you believe the nerve of that Scotsman? Why, his father would turn over in his crypt if he had any idea of what the current Lord Argyll is about."

Jenny stopped midstride and turned to look at the two starched matrons. What the current Lord Argyll is about? Another piece of the mystery, is it then?

Lady Let.i.tia jerked her arm and urged her onward.

"Did you hear what they said, my lady?" Jenny asked. "What do you think they meant?"

"Oh, I'm sure I don't know. Nothing probably. The viscount's kilt is causing a bit of a stir, but I see nothing improper. Just Bath gossip, I expect. One needs something diverting now and again to keep madness at bay in this sleepy little town."

Jenny grinned at that. At least to her way of thinking, the Scottish viscount was a most welcome diversion.

Barely a moment after returning and seeing Lady Viola fully herself again, Jenny found her arm atop Lord Argyll's and headed for the dance floor once more.

A waltz was called. Jenny could scarce believe it. A waltz in staid old Bath. And she had not an inkling how to begin. "I-I haven't permission to dance the waltz," she blurted.

Lord Argyll only chuckled at that. "Since when have ye fashed about obtainin' permission to do anything?"

Oh. Of course. The carriage incident. A little smile lifted her lips. "Now, now, my lord. You do not know me so very well as to make such a sweeping and, dare I say, ungentlemanly comment. One might take you for a rake."

"Several have." He lifted a brow as if waiting for her reaction.

"Have they?" An admitted rake, was he? A real lady would consider walking from the floor immediately. But for some reason, his admission of being less than a gentleman intrigued her all the more. In fact, it made her belly do a little flip. "Well, I definitely should not dance the waltz with a known rake."

"'Tis not as if the Upper a.s.sembly Room is Almack's." With that, he pulled her into his arms as the music filled her ears.

A shiver of pleasure raced southward, as his hand slid around her, rested in the middle of her back, and they began to move together. La, the waltz is wonderful!

Still, she could certainly see why permission should be obtained. Why, she was a woman of three and twenty, and her sensibilities were positively aloft.

But who could blame her? Lud, here she was in a handsome, tall Scotsman's arms, feeling his kilt brush against a place that would make a fresh-faced debutante blush. Knowing that between her and his... sporran was naught but one delicate layer of paper-thin silk and one of threadbare cotton. Heat suffused her cheeks, and elsewhere as well, at the decadent thought.

"But I have not danced the waltz before."

"Och, dinna fash. Ye are doin' quite weel. Just hold on to me and let me lead ye where I might."

Jenny nodded dumbly and tightened her hold on his muscled upper arm. Criminy. Even through his coat, it felt as hard and thick as a fire log.

As he whirled her around the floor, she lifted her chin and peered upward, surprised when she met his heated gaze. But she did not look away. Instead, she plunged into those warm eyes, as deep and brown as the mouth of a river in spring. And there she swam, as the music played on, barely aware of the crowd ringing the dance floor, blurring and fading until there was nothing but him, and her.

And sensation. Her body was highly aware of every place that his body touched.

"Ye're beautiful," he told her in the honeyed tones of the Highlands.