Lord Wraybourne's Betrothed (11 page)

“Then what are you to do now?”

“Oh, she will make more,” Jane said airily, unaware of the task the seamstress had undertaken, “and sell those my mother ordered to some other young lady whom they would suit. I am to wear mostly cream and yellow, some green, and reds with an orange tint.”

Lord Wraybourne was observing her excitement indulgently. “Did Sophie accompany you?”

“Oh yes. And you ordered some outfits, did you not, Sophie?” she asked of the young lady opposite.

Sophie made a face at her brother. “Just two new gowns, David. Madame Danielle is very skillful.”

“Did I say a word?” he protested.

“You were doing accounts in your head. You will have to take care, Jane, or he will have you in the same gown for years.”

So they
were
in financial difficulties. Jane made haste to reassure him. “I am really very frugal, My Lord.”

He took her hand. “Sophie is teasing, my dear. I will always be delighted to have my wife be a leader of fashion.”

“Oh, I don’t think I could be that.”

“Do you not? You are beautiful, and you have the height for fine dressing. Your carriage is extremely graceful. I am sure your mother is a great advocate of the backboard. I see no reason you should not become a standard for the rest to follow.”

Jane was quite overset. She had hoped for some appreciation, yet again he had turned to outright flattery, and she did not wish to be paid in hollow coin. She wished she could tell him it was unnecessary, that there was no doubt she would marry him and endow him with her fortune.

Instead, she had to resort to a light tone. “Lord Wraybourne, are you paying me compliments to upset me? Be assured, you will not succeed again.”

By the gleam in his eye, Jane guessed he was about to take up this rash challenge. She was grateful that they were entering the park, as Lady Harroving began to bow and wave and point out people of importance. Lord Wraybourne was happy also to be a guide.

“That lady in the gray landau is Lady Foley. She is acknowledged a beauty. Her husband is standing over there with some other men. He is commonly called Number Eleven because he is so thin, you see.”

“Does he not mind?”

“Good heavens, no. It is the aim of everyone to be distinguished for
something
even if only for lack of flesh.”

“Oh. For what are
you
distinguished, My Lord?”

The gleam in his eye warned her before he spoke. “Why for capturing the richest and most beautiful heiress in England, what else?”

She took refuge in severity. “If you continue to lay the butter on so thick, My Lord, I will refuse to speak to you entirely.”

“Many a husband would consider that a blessing,” he said mischievously and then added, “But I could be persuaded to stop for a little while by a lady who would address me as David, rather than My Lord.”

Jane smiled triumphantly. “Sophie,” she called to attract that damsel’s attention away from a group of friends too far away to actually hear her greetings. “Your brother says that he will cease pestering me with high-flown compliments if
you
will ask him.”

Sophie was bewildered. “Why ever would you wish him to stop? David, what are you about?”

Lord Wraybourne was laughing. “Merely being outmaneuvered in a masterly fashion. Very well, Jane. I give you victory, for now.”

Sophie regarded them in indulgent perplexity for a moment, then returned to the fascinating business of greeting old friends.

Jane relished the warmth of her victory, not acknowledging that a great part of the pleasure was generated by the admiration Lord Wraybourne obviously felt for her quick wits. She used those wits to observe and remember as her companions threw names and tidbits of gossip at her, and she only spoke when introductions were made. Despite her concentration, her head was soon spinning, and she knew that she was as likely to call Gentleman Jack-son the Duke of Rutland as to get any of the names right.

“I have forgotten every one of them,” she whispered in dismay to Lord Wraybourne as the carriage turned for home. “What am I to do?”

“Good heavens, don’t even try to remember names yet. You’ll soon get to know all the important people. Maria, Sophie, and I will be around to prompt you.”

Jane cast a doubtful glance at the older lady. It had become obvious that she had no intention of putting herself to any effort for her charges. Still, Jane made no comment. She knew her brain to be keen and had no doubt she could learn about the bewilderments of the ton with only a minimum of help. She had noticed how popular Lord Wraybourne was and how knowledgeable about Society. It would be to her advantage if he was to devote himself to her in the next few days, even if he insisted on his flattering ways. But how was she to reverse her previous order to him to cease his attentions, without losing face? There was only one way. For the first time in her life, Jane set out to flirt with a man, and believed she was being quite subtle until he handed her down at Marlborough Square.

He held her hand and said, with a slight smile, “Whatever it is you want, Jane, it would doubtless be easier if you just asked me.”

This had the effect of rendering her speechless, and she hurried into the house so fast she appeared to be in flight.

“Whatever are you about, David?” asked his sister in surprise. “I would have thought you a little more skillful. You appear to be constantly casting poor Jane into a panic.”

“Dear Sophie, you know nothing of the matter,” replied her brother amiably.

“You look odiously self-satisfied. If you are mean to Jane you will have me to deal with. She is my friend.”

He gave her a very warm smile. “Excellent. I hope you will look out for her. Everything here is new and since Jane won a victory and I am no longer allowed to tease her with compliments, you have no need to worry about me. I am a toothless lion.”

Sophie shook her head. “You are an idiot. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were in love.” With that she swept into the house and went to seek out Jane.

She found her friend had forgotten any distress over her betrothed and was staring helplessly at a huge mound of packages on her bed. After visiting the
modiste
earlier in the day the three ladies had stopped in at Layton and Shears for some trimmings and at Mills Haberdashers for other necessities such as silk stockings and gloves. Jane knew she had bought a number of items and remembered the attendant footman had had to make many trips back to the carriage with their purchases, but surely not as many as this.

“What am I to do with all this, Sophie?”

“Open them.” Sophie poked at the pile. “Some of these are mine, I think.” Decisively she rang the bell and when Prudence arrived she was given the task of opening the parcels while the young ladies made their judgment.

“Those silk stockings were mine, Jane. I remember the clocks. Are they not delightful? Bronze flowers! Are those yours?”

“Yes, Madame Danielle said I should wear bronze but I’m not sure I like them anymore.”

“Positively gothic,” was Sophie’s comment. “I cannot imagine why anyone would wear metal flowers except gold or silver. Give them to Prudence.”

Jane was pleased with her purchase of plain silk stockings, the first she had ever had, and some artificial cherries, which were all the rage, but found six pairs of plain cotton stockings for everyday wear to be too coarse, so Prudence was given those too. When the maid left, she was piled high with items: string mittens that were too short in the fingers, ivy leaves that Sophie declared would make her look like an ancient monument, braid that was quite hideous, lace that did not, after all, match Sophie’s green Pyrenean mantle, and a reticule which had probably been purchased by Lady Harroving. Sophie gave it to the maid anyway, saying it was ugly and Maria needed to be protected from herself.

At this rate, thought the maid as she staggered away under her load, she would be able to retire and open a haberdashery shop of her own.

Jane, meanwhile, was full of guilt. “How terrible. All that money wasted.”

“Nonsense. Prudence will make good use of those things.”

“But my parents did not provide money for the ornamentation of Prudence Hawkins. My mother would have an apoplexy if she knew. I cannot imagine how I came to buy so much. It is as if a madness overtook me.”

“Yes,” said Sophie happily. “It is always the same when shopping. And what else is money for?”

No wonder Lord Wraybourne needed to marry a fortune. Jane’s upbringing warred with her new delight in frivolity and, by a mere margin, upbringing won.

“I will not behave so again,” she resolved. “If I have money to spare, I will give it to a worthy cause.”

“Good Lord, Jane, if you are to turn Methodish on me I shall cut your acquaintance. Think of poor Prudence. She will have no status at all in the servants’ hall if you are not generous with your castoffs.” With that Sophie took herself away and left Jane to struggle with her conscience.

She started to read the sermons of Dean Bagnold, a parting gift from her mother, but when she came upon the words, “Clothing as ornament is an abomination. Simple garments of sturdy stuff, suitable for modest covering and protection from the elements, are all that is needed by all ranks of men and women . . .” she slapped the book shut in irritation.

Even her mother did not believe that. Otherwise, why had she ordered such fashionable clothes for Jane and why were her own gowns always of the finest cloth? Happily, Jane gave the victory to Sophie’s side. It was a young woman’s duty to uphold her family’s dignity in Society. Had not Jane’s husband-to-be specifically said that he wished her to be fashionable? And since it would be her own money which would purchase the necessary finery, she need feel no qualms at all.

Her conscience thus appeased, Jane could be happy once more, and this gave her leisure to reflect on Lord Wraybourne. Would he really cease his flattery, and did she wish it after all? Even if she knew he had chosen her for cold-blooded reasons, she could still find pleasure in his skillful attentions. She found herself eager for the next opportunity to match wits with her betrothed. She held a wreath of yellow roses against her dusky hair and regarded herself in the mirror with great satisfaction.

T
HAT PARTICULAR EVENING, the party did not go out or entertain at home, and Jane was glad of it. She would soon discover that to be in her bed before two or three in soon discover that to be in her bed before two or three in the morning was rare. Eventually, her body would learn to accommodate by allowing her to sleep until nearly noon, but on her second morning in London, her constitution was still keeping country hours. She was up unfashionably early. To pass the time she decided to explore the library, a small and carelessly stocked room, used more for card-playing than reading. It held a number of popular works, however, and Jane was suddenly aware of another aspect of her newly gained freedom. She could read whatever she wished.

She retreated to her room with a Minerva Novel called
The Castle of Modena,
of which her mother would totally disapprove, and was soon entranced by the world of the heroine, Virginia, who was being compelled by her heartless parents to marry the evil but rich Count Malficio when she really loved the honorable knight Sir Tristram. In some respects, the story seemed to address Jane’s own situation, and she began to suspect that she had been unfairly persuaded into her betrothal. Moreover, though Lord Wraybourne was inclined to flattery, he showed none of the respectful adoration with which Sir Tristram addressed his lady.

Jane sighed as she read of the faithful golden-haired knight, kneeling before Virginia. “You are a gossamer angel, tranquil and ethereal in this elysian bower. It cannot be, it will never be fitting for a mere crude man to touch even the hem of your mantle!”

It was only with reluctance that Jane laid down the book at this touching moment in order to go to breakfast, where her inclination to linger in Modena was disturbed by the reminder that Lord Randal and his twin sisters were due to call so that they might all ride together.

“But Sophie, I do not have a habit. My old one was left at Carne, and Madame Danielle refused to allow me to have the gray one which had been commissioned.”

Sophie was dismayed. “My old one would not fit you, Jane. What are we to do?”

Jane smiled nobly. “You must go, of course. In a few days I will have my new habit, and then we can ride together.”

“Are you sure? I will keep you company if you wish.”

“Of course, I’m sure, you goose,” said Jane, truly moved by this offer. “I have any number of things to do. For example, I really should write home.” And I have the entrancing world of Modena waiting upstairs, she thought guiltily.

As soon as she had waved the riding party on their way, she fled to her room to resume her reading. She was soon interrupted, however, by the news that Lord Wraybourne was below. Caught in the middle of the passage in which Count Malficio was suavely assuring the trembling Virginia that she was in his power and could not help but become his bride, Jane felt a stab of fear much greater than her irritation at having her reading interrupted.

She’d forgotten Lord Wraybourne’s gentle humor and remembered only that he was a man of the world, a duel ler. Heaven knows what he might do if crossed. Thinking herself very much the persecuted damsel, Jane sent for Lady Harroving to accompany her before going down to the salon.

Confronted with reality, however, Jane had to admit that though Lord Wraybourne might fall short of the standards set by Sir Tristram, he did not fit her notion of Count Malficio. His face was clear and honest, and even if those tantalizing lids tended to droop at times and conceal their meaning, the eyes they concealed could never be described as deep and fiery. The smile with which he greeted her was genuine, not sneering.