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“I’m not very adept.”

“Let me be the judge of that.”

“Does that mean you will dance tonight?”

“I think . . . tonight is the night for rules to be broken.” He gave her another enigmatic smile before moving away to greet Megan.

He puzzled her. He was attentive, taking her for a drive a few times a week, conversing with her for several minutes every time they met in public, but never paying her the kind of interest that would give rise to gossip.

It made it hard to know if he was courting her. His attempt at a kiss the other night had led to nothing. No declaration nor diminution or increase in his attentions. What did he mean? Did he like her more than any other young lady he conversed with?

“He certainly has turned the charm on you,” Céline commented dryly when he had moved off.

Jessamine frowned, not sure if she liked Céline’s remark. It made it sound as if Mr. St. Leger’s attentions were false. Was it because as a beautiful woman who never lacked admirers, Céline couldn’t fathom that such a handsome man could find anything pleasing in Jessamine?

“Ah, well, enjoy it while you may. I suppose there is no harm in being admired for a season.”

“Is that all it is, flattery?”

Céline fixed her honey-hued eyes on Jessamine. “I didn’t say that. Just have a care. Some men’s charm is merely that—surface only.”

“How does one tell the difference?”

“Ask the Lord to reveal it to you.”

Jessamine stared at her. “You . . . you sound—”

“Like an evangelical?” She laughed her lilting laugh. “If I do, it is thanks to Rees.” Her smile died. “He . . . he brought me to understand how very close God is to us if we allow Him in.”

Not liking the direction of the conversation, Jessamine turned to greet the next person in the line. She would not be preached to by a . . . a Frenchwoman, possible spy, and traitress.

Her mouth felt stretched thin and her words were now a repetition of the trite phrases she had taken pains to practice the day before.

When the line of guests had dwindled, Céline glanced at her and suddenly winked. “It’s almost over and then you may go and dance.”

She forced herself to smile, wanting to feel grateful for all Céline had done for her. Of course, she’d done it for Megan. Still, having
to sponsor one more young lady couldn’t be easy, especially for someone in her condition. “Are you tired? You’ve been on your feet some hours now.”

“Thank you, dear. I am beginning to feel it, but I shall sit down soon. Most of the guests are here. There will always be latecomers, but the butler can attend to them.”

Seeing that Megan’s attention was occupied with a pair of young gentlemen, Jessamine dared the question she had been dying to ask for so long. “You met Rees when he was the butler here?” She held her breath, wondering how Céline would reply.

A faraway look filled her eyes. She had beautiful eyes, large, fringed by dark lashes, and of a hue not quite brown but something between golden amber and rich, aged cider.

“Yes, he was pretending to be a butler, but I must say I don’t think I ever really thought he was a butler.”

Jessamine’s eyes widened. “You didn’t?”

She smiled. “No. I don’t think I thought it consciously, until my maid began to arouse my suspicions. But I sensed it on a deeper level. He was too dignified in his manner. Of course a butler is supposed to be dignified. But, with Rees it was different. He would look at me as if he were my equal. It was nothing I could put my finger on but something which I sensed.”

Jessamine stared, wanting to know more. What had it been like? When had Rees begun to fall in love with this beautiful woman? At once, she could well imagine. She took a deep breath. “When did you suspect you were in love with Rees?”

Again, Céline looked away from Jessamine, as if she were looking into the past. “It was so gradual I can hardly pinpoint when I admitted it to myself. I think I could no longer deny it to myself when he was shot. I was terrified he would die. Suddenly it didn’t matter whose side we were on in that awful war.”

Jessamine could hardly breathe. “He was shot?”

Céline’s gaze fell on hers. “You didn’t know? I’m sorry, I should
have realized. We . . . don’t speak much of those months . . . before I left France.” She looked down at her hands. “Megan and I have talked somewhat at length in the last weeks, since she is Rees’s sister and I know he’d want me to trust her. I forget you haven’t heard it all. I know you and she are close.”

Megan turned her attention to them then but remained silent.

Jessamine expected her to say that Jessamine and Rees had once been close, but Megan didn’t intimate it by so much as a look.

“What happened?” Jessamine was on tenterhooks, wanting to hear about Rees.

“He took a bullet when we were on our way back from a visit to my mother. It seemed to be highwaymen at the time.” She shook her head as if to clear it of those details and proceeded. “It was a harrowing journey to London. Thankfully we were not far by then. The bullet hit no organ, and the surgeon was able to extract it. I believe it was after that, during his recovery, that we both began to admit we had . . . growing feelings for one another.” She moistened her lips, looking down again. “Although I know he had feelings for another, and he was too honorable a man to . . . to pursue one woman while another held his heart.”

Jessamine relaxed a fraction. Perhaps Céline had not been told of her friendship with Rees. The next second the meaning of the Frenchwoman’s words penetrated. Rees had had “feelings” for Jessamine, only those feelings had not held his heart, she realized sadly. She bit her lip to keep from betraying herself.

Céline drew in a deep breath. “In any case, with the war on, neither of us could act on any feelings we may have had. He was working for the British government, while I—” She gave a small laugh and shrugged her shoulders in a very Gallic way. “I had my own loyalties and was more concerned at that time with what hands France would fall into once Napoleon was defeated.”

“Now that he is back, do . . . do you support the emperor?” Jessamine whispered, hardly believing her boldness.

At Megan’s sharp intake of breath, Céline only smiled. “Good heavens, no!” She pressed her lips together in an impatient gesture. “France is trying to recover from decades of war. The last thing we need is a general ready to fight for the glory of an empire again.”

With a shake of her head, as if to dispel talk of the past, Céline motioned them toward the dance floor. “I believe we can enjoy the ball ourselves now. You mustn’t keep the young men waiting to dance.”

A gentleman in a naval uniform appeared in the doorway at that moment and spoke to the butler.

The butler announced in resonating tones, “Captain Alexander Forrester.”

Céline held her hand out to the latecomer, her face breaking into a smile. “How do you do? You were a friend and shipmate of my husband, Rees Phillips, were you not?”

He returned her smile as if in relief. He’d removed his bicorne, which he carried under his arm, and his dark, honey-blond hair had a slight wave to it. “Yes, though it was many years ago, and I was but a cabin boy when we first met and he already a midshipman.”

“You have come along since that time, I see, Captain.”

He grinned, making his already handsome face more attractive. “The advantages of war, if one survives.”

“Welcome to our home. I am so glad you were able to come to the ball for my sister-in-law, Megan Phillips, Rees’s young sister, and her best friend, Miss Jessamine Barry.”

He bowed over each hand but lingered a few seconds longer over Megan’s as his eyes scanned her face. “You look like your brother.” He glanced at Céline. “He is not here, I take it?”

“Alas, you have just missed him. He had to return to Brussels. With things so uncertain . . .” She splayed her hands.

His jaw tightened, the look in his eyes turning grim. “Yes, quite.
I myself have just arrived in London and found your invitation. I wasn’t sure if Rees was back in London. We haven’t been in the same port in quite some years.” He turned to Megan. “But I believe all is not in vain if I am able at last to make the acquaintance of his sister.”

A rosy tint filled her cheeks. Jessamine felt a spurt of hope. Perhaps Megan had at last met the person of her dreams.

“We were just about to go into the ball, Captain,” Céline said. “Would you accompany us?”

“It would be an honor. And if these two young ladies”—he inclined his head first to Megan then to Jessamine—“would honor me each with a dance, my evening would be complete.”

“I think that may easily be arranged,” Céline replied with a chuckle.

They proceeded into the ballroom, Megan on Captain Forrester’s proffered arm. Céline followed with Jessamine.

Jessamine couldn’t help one glance back. Mr. Marfleet had not appeared. She turned quickly away. She didn’t care. He had not forgiven her behavior at the last ball. In that case, she should be grateful she would be spared his grave countenance.

Mr. St. Leger was going to waltz with her. It would go much more smoothly than the first time with Mr. Marfleet. She would wager Mr. St. Leger waltzed superbly.

She danced the first set of country dances with Mr. Allan, all the while watching Megan and Captain Forrester. They seemed to be in animated conversation whenever the dance permitted, as if they’d known each other all their lives.

Feeling a pang of envy, Jessamine shook herself and replied to one of Mr. Allan’s questions.

When he led her off the dance floor, she halted at the sight of Mr. Marfleet. She was even more surprised to see his sister at his side.

“Hallo there, Marfleet, haven’t seen you about lately,” Mr. Allan said in a careless tone.

“I’ve been busy. Good evening,” he said with a bow to Jessamine. “You remember my sister, Miss Marfleet?”

She curtsied. “Yes.”

Miss Marfleet waved a hand. “Please don’t bother. I’m neither royalty nor a dowager yet.”

“I should say not,” Mr. Allan teased. “You’re just Marfleet’s annoying younger sister.”

She ignored his sally, her eyes fixed on Jessamine.

Jessamine wondered how she appeared to the severely-dressed young woman. Jessamine wore one of the made-over gowns, this one an aqua silk with seed pearls sewn about the neckline and capped sleeves.

Mr. Marfleet wore his spectacles, and she wondered if he no longer cared how he appeared at these social functions.

She fiddled with the ribbon of her quizzing glass, feeling foolish for her vanity. “I—I didn’t know you were here.”

“We just arrived. I’m sorry we are a little late.” He smiled wryly. “My sister doesn’t normally attend balls.”

“I’m honored you should attend this one,” Jessamine told her.

“Anything for a brother,” she muttered. “I must say, Lady Wex—that is, Mrs. Phillips, knows how to put on a grand affair.” She looked around the room. “I congratulate you and Miss Phillips on an impressive attendance. It should ensure the success of your season.”

Unsure if it was a compliment, Jessamine murmured, “Thank you.” Did Miss Marfleet see her as a nobody riding on a noblewoman’s coattails?

Mr. Allan excused himself. “I must find my next partner.” With a bow at them, he left her alone with the Marfleets. Jessamine swallowed, wondering how to proceed with the man she’d slapped in the face the last time she had seen him and his caustic sister.

13

H
ow are you enjoying your season?” Miss Marfleet asked Jessamine.

“Very well, thank you.”

“Have you been to the theater?”

“Twice.”

“My brother says your father enjoys botany.”

“Yes,” she answered cautiously, thrown off by Miss Marfleet’s questions, which sounded more like an interrogation than polite conversation.

“Lancelot is giving a lecture on the plants he brought back from Andhra Pradesh, Orissa, and Bengal. Perhaps you’d be interested in attending.”

Jessamine glanced to Mr. Marfleet. “You are? When is this lecture to take place?”

“At the Royal Institute on Saturday afternoon.”

When Mr. Marfleet said nothing more, she wondered if he wanted her to attend—or was his sister interfering where she wasn’t welcome? Jessamine couldn’t tell anything from Mr. Marfleet’s expression since he kept his eyes fixed on the dancers.

“I—perhaps I can ask my friend Miss Phillips to accompany me.”

“It is open to the public, so you may ask anyone you wish,” Miss
Marfleet said in clipped tones. “Well, I shall leave the two of you. I see an acquaintance across the room.” With a nod, she stepped away from them.

Jessamine wondered if Miss Marfleet had really seen an acquaintance or if she was merely maneuvering to leave them alone. If so, it was awkwardly done.

“You needn’t feel obliged to attend the lecture if you’d rather not,” Mr. Marfleet said stiffly, bringing his gaze to her at last.

She fiddled with her fan, wishing she could apologize for slapping him, but preferring not to allude to that evening if he didn’t. “If I do attend, it will not be because I feel ‘obliged to,’” she replied equally stiffly.

“My sister’s watercolors are quite accurate if you would care to see them.”

“I should like to.”

Silence descended once more. Jessamine continued to fret about apologizing, but her mouth remained closed.

“Would you care to dance?”

Relieved that he did not expect an apology, she acquiesced with a tilt of her chin.

As he led her out to the dance that was already in progress, her confusion only increased. That he still wanted to be seen in her company filled her with relief. That he obviously had not forgotten that evening was clear from his disinclination to talk to her.

Would he take this opportunity on the dance floor to bring up her conduct on that awful evening? Her lips firmed in anticipation of his assault.

“Are you enjoying yourself?” Mr. Marfleet asked her as they came together in the dance.

His question caught her by surprise. Her eyelids fluttered upward. “Yes, of course. Why do you ask?”

His lips twitched. “Because you looked so ferocious, I was afraid for a moment my cheek would be the recipient of your palm once again.”