Masque of Betrayal (27 page)

“I can now add compassion to your list of attributes,” Lenore declared. “But sympathy for others and devotion for your country does not preclude joy at a milestone such as your forthcoming marriage.”

A stout servant with a plump, red-apple face chose that minute to scurry into the room, bringing a pot of tea and a plate of warm scones and honey. She placed them on the table, then wiped her hands on her apron. “Will there be anything else, ma’am?” she asked Lenore.

“No, thank you, Dora. This is lovely.”

The maid beamed her thanks and scurried out as quickly as she had come.

“Continue with your shocking opinions, Jacqueline.” Lenore gracefully poured two cups of tea. “Surely you will reveal qualities that are far more scandalous than intelligence and patriotism?”

Caught up in the fervor of the conversation, Jacqui rose to Lenore’s challenge. “Apparently you employ quite a few servants at Greenhills,” she blurted out. She waited for Lenore’s affirmative nod, then went on. “Well, I do not believe in a class structure. As far as I am concerned, servants should not be treated as chattel, any more than wives should. Wives are partners and servants are workers, hired to do a reasonable job for a reasonable wage.”

“Wives?” Lenore inquired politely, handing Jacqui a cup of tea. “Or only servants?”

“Pardon me?”

“I was wondering if your beliefs about payment were restricted to servants or if you felt wives should be paid wages as well.”

Jacqui’s mouth fell open. “No, of course not. What I meant was—”

“Why not?” Lenore continued calmly, sipping her own tea. “If you consider all a wife does … running a home, hiring, firing, and training a staff, bearing and rearing children, sharing her husband’s bed …” Lenore broke off, pursing her lips thoughtfully. “Let me see, that’s a steward, an overseer, a housekeeper, a hostess, a governess, a companion, and a mistress. Seven positions—therefore, by your theory, seven times the wages.” She frowned. “Well, perhaps not seven. I really don’t believe a woman should be paid for making love with her husband. First, it cheapens her to the role of a mere prostitute, and second, as lovemaking is a mutually enjoyable task, it cannot be considered a job. So,” she brightened, “six times the wages one would pay to a trusted servant would suffice.” She gave an approving nod, placing her cup delicately back in its saucer. “I rather like that concept, Jacqueline. We’ll have to share it with Dane.”

After a stunned silence, Jacqui began to laugh. “For once, Lenore, I believe that Dane is right: You and I are going to get on famously.” She leaned forward with mock concern. “I shudder to think how our staunchly traditional leaders would react to the views we’ve just expressed.”

Lenore gave a casual shrug. “Our leaders are merely men and must, therefore, be excused for their inferior thinking.”

“I believe I have just been cruelly maligned.”

Both women started as Dane strolled into the sitting room, his tone rich with disbelieving humor. He cast a speculative look at Jacqui and Lenore. “I am delighted to learn that, in the opinion of both my betrothed and my mother, women are superior to men in their ability to think.” Bypassing the tea, Dane helped himself to a glass of brandy.

“Not in ability, dear, but in extent,” Lenore qualified. “Women devote more time to perceiving things as a whole, whereas men simply skim the surface.” Lenore gave Jacqui a conspiratorial wink. “It is a plight we women must learn to endure.”

Dane put his glass down with a thud. “I am ready for dinner.” He strode over and seized Jacqui’s hand, tugging her to her feet. “And a change in subject as well. Shall we?”

Both Jacqui and Lenore laughed at Dane’s response, and, taking his less-than-subtle hint, rose to accompany him. Yet each of the women was aware that, through the respect and understanding that had been forged between the two of them this day, a new and fragile relationship had begun.

Hours later, it was a much more relaxed, happier Jacqui who bid Lenore goodbye on the front steps of Greenhills.

“We are going to be great friends, Jacqueline.” Lenore took Jacqui’s hand in hers, speaking the words that Jacqui could not yet verbalize.

Dane studied Jacqui’s radiant face as she descended to the walkway. Then he turned and kissed his mother’s smooth cheek. “Thank you, Mother,” he said simply.

Lenore didn’t pretend to misunderstand his message. “Thank
you
.”

“For what?”

“For giving me a daughter.”

Dane squeezed her shoulders affectionately and walked after Jacqui.

“I’ll come into town at the end of the week,” Lenore called after them. She gazed warmly at Jacqui. “That way I can be there for the final fittings of your gown and, at the same time, we can send out the invitations.”

“Wonderful,” Jacqui agreed.

“The wedding is but several weeks away …” Lenore broke off as a sudden thought occurred to her. “Will you be going on a wedding trip?” she asked.

Jacqui looked at Dane questioningly. “I don’t know. We haven’t discussed it.”

Lenore hesitated briefly, then plunged on, giving voice to the hope that refused to be quieted. “England has a great deal to offer at this time of year,” she said quietly.

Dane stiffened. “This is not a good time for me to be away … for many reasons.” He stared straight ahead, his face averted, his expression hidden. “There is growing unrest in western Pennsylvania,” he said at last. “Many of the distillers are blatantly refusing to pay the excise tax on their whiskey. The fervor is spreading, making the whole situation highly volatile. I might be needed.”

“You fear violence?” Despite Dane’s casual delivery, Jacqui was instantly alert.

A warning bell sounded in Dane’s head, a reminder of the distrust that existed between Jacqueline and himself. “I don’t know,” he replied tersely. “But any traveling on our part will have to be delayed for a time. And Mother,” he added pointedly, his back still toward her, “when Jacqueline and I do make our plans,
we
shall decide where our wedding trip will best be spent.”

Lenore nodded, saying nothing. But Jacqui saw the determined light in her eyes and knew that Lenore’s suggestion that they visit England had little to do with that country’s climate or scenic views.

Jacqui’s curious gaze returned to Dane, who suddenly appeared most eager to be gone, and found herself wondering what had caused his abrupt foul humor. Was it Lenore’s subtle reference to the past or was it Jacqui’s interest in the rebel farmers?

“Come, Jacqueline, I want to get you home before dark.” Dane clamped his hand around Jacqui’s arm, dragging her forward, his brows drawn together in a black scowl.

With a quick, puzzled glance at Lenore, Jacqui followed Dane’s lead.

“We’ll see you at week’s end, Mother?” Dane called over his shoulder, without turning.

Lenore smiled, unbothered by her son’s brooding tone. “Yes, Dane. I’ll see both you and Jacqueline then.”

She returned to the house light of heart. Unhindered by Dane’s anger or Jacqueline’s youth, Lenore could foresee far more than either of them was able. What she saw convinced her, now more than ever, that all would be well.

E
LEVEN O’CLOCK. THE WEDDING
was but a quarter hour away.

In Greenhills’ pale pink bedchamber, the bride donned her gown, readying herself for the ceremony. Behind the manor, amid the sun-drenched gardens, the groom paced back and forth, willing away the minutes that separated him from his bride. In the parlor, Lenore surveyed her handiwork and, content with what she saw, hastened toward the stairway with the intent of assisting the bride in dressing. Instead, she nearly tripped over George Holt, who stood, still as a statue, at the foot of the stairs, anxiously awaiting the entrance of his precious child. Stomping by them both, Greta bellowed out orders to passing servants and, adjusting her own dark muslin gown, trod up to her anxious mistress.

“The guests are all here,” she announced, flinging open the bedroom door, trumpeting her words as if there were more than just the two of them in the room. “We are ready to begin.”

Jacqui fought her smile, wrapping her arms about herself and reveling in the rich satin of her gown and the warm glow of the sunlight streaming through the window.

She had known the sun would shine. While her father and Greta had fretted needlessly about the prospects of a waterlogged ceremony in the gardens of Greenhills, Jacqui and Lenore had disregarded that possibility, counting on July’s more promising extreme: sunshine and bright skies.

What Jacqui had not counted on was this unexpected feeling of avid anticipation.

“I said it is time, Fräulein!” Greta barked again.

Jacqui nodded, unbothered by her housekeeper’s fierce tone. Greta was terribly uncomfortable with emotional displays of any kind, but Jacqui suspected that, in her own way, the older woman was feeling sentimental about her charge’s forthcoming marriage. It was the sole explanation for her strange behavior this past week. Why, just yesterday afternoon Jacqui had searched the entire Holt house for Greta, only to find the elusive housekeeper locked in her third-story quarters, where she had purposefully ignored Jacqui’s insistent knocking.

Recalling this odd behavior, Jacqui fingered the folds of her wedding gown and studied Greta curiously, finally blurting out, “What in heaven’s name were you doing in your bedroom yesterday?”

Greta gave an indignant sniff. “What would you expect me to be doing, Fräulein Holt? I was readying myself for our move.”

“
Our
move.” Jacqui was stunned.

Greta leveled a cool, assessing stare at Jacqui. “Certainly
our
move. You didn’t for a moment believe that I was not going to accompany you to your new home, did you?”

In truth, Jacqui hadn’t given any thought at all to Greta’s position once the marriage took place. Greta had been a part of the Holts’ household forever, and Jacqui had just assumed it would continue that way.

“After all, I can hardly remain living there, alone with your father, Fräulein,” Greta continued decisively. “Besides, you need me to take care of you. As does Herr Westbrooke. It was he who made all the arrangements.” She smoothed her bodice. “Why, I am the only one who can prepare the strawberry tarts he enjoys. So, it is settled.” With that reverent declaration, she folded her arms across her ample bosom.

Jacqui bit back a laugh. So
that
was it. She should have guessed. Greta did have one weak spot. And that spot happened to be Dane.

“Of course, Greta,” she agreed solemnly. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Greta sniffed disdainfully, appalled that her new status had ever been questioned.

A sudden thought occurred to Jacqui. “What about my father, Greta?” she asked. “Who will look after him?” The most likely choice made Jacqui feel ill.

“That has been taken care of as well,” Greta returned. “Herr Westbrooke consulted with his manservant and it appears Herr Stivers has a friend who boasts both references and experience. Herr Redding will assume his new position immediately.”

“I see.” Jacqui shook her head in amazement. Efficiently and without her knowledge, Dane had seen to everything.

“My belongings are being delivered to Herr Westbrooke’s home early this morning, where I will go directly after the ceremony,” Greta stated. “I’ll make a brief stop at Herr Holt’s house to pick up your impudent pet, who I assume will be joining us at our new residence as well.”

Jacqui grinned, thinking of the antipathy that existed between that impudent pet and her soon-to-be husband. “Of course. Whiskey goes wherever I do.”

“Fine. Then we shall both be waiting when you arrive with your new husband.” Greta cleared her throat roughly, staring at some invisible spot on the carpet. “I hope you will be very happy, Fräulein.” She shifted her large frame from foot to foot, periodically glancing at Jacqui. “You look very lovely,” she barked.

“Thank you, Greta.” Jacqui was actually grateful for Greta’s unease, as she herself disliked overly sentimental scenes. She drew herself up to her full, diminutive height. “I am ready.”

The door opened again and Lenore glided into the room, looking extremely elegant in her light blue watered silk gown. Her eyes lit up when she saw Jacqui. “Oh my!” She came closer, appraising Jacqui’s heartstopping beauty. The shimmering satin wedding dress, intricately trimmed with lace, and the delicate headdress, adorned with small white roses and baby’s breath, made Jacqui look ethereal, like an enchanting angel on the threshold of a new life. Although Lenore had been darting in and out of the bedchamber all morning, assisting Jacqui as she dressed, nothing had prepared her for the dazzling effect of Dane’s bride in full array.

“You are positively exquisite,” Lenore declared with a gentle smile. “My son is a very lucky man.”

Jacqui raised her brows in dubious amusement. “I’m not certain Dane would agree with you.”

“Why don’t we let him be the judge of that?” Lenore returned, brushing an imaginary speck off Jacqui’s modestly scooped bodice. She took Jacqui’s hands in hers. “I wish you every happiness, Jacqueline. If ever you need me, I shall always be here.” She dabbed at her eyes. “Now I’ll go and prepare your father. The poor man is nearly beside himself.”

When Jacqui came down a few moments later, George stopped pacing, simply staring at his daughter as if she were a stranger.

“Jacqui? My God, you are beautiful.” He swallowed, his throat clogged with emotion. “Jacqueline … there is so much I want to say, so much I am feeling …” He broke off, anxiously raising her chin with his forefinger. “This marriage … it is what you want, is it not,
ma petite
? Because, no matter what has occurred, if you do not wish to wed Dane Westbrooke …”

“Father,” Jacqui interrupted softly, placing her fingers over his lips. “This
is
what I want … very much. The choice was mine and I have made it. I have no regrets.”

He kissed her palm gently. “Then be happy. And know that your mother is with us now, if not in body, then in spirit.”

Jacqui’s lips trembled. “I know.” She took George’s arm. “Shall we begin?”