My Dear Jenny (10 page)

Jenny eyed the two dresses she had finally settled on with a
critical eye. “Either the amber or the gray silk-muslin. Which do you prefer?”
She held them out. One was made of satin; its lower skirt and bodice were a
deep amber color, with an overskirt of gauze in a slightly lighter shade. It
was laced and tucked at the wrists and throat. The other, a pale blue and gray
silk-muslin, was neither as modish nor as becoming as the amber, but was
somewhat more to Jenny’s taste and her idea of what was consonant with her
position in the household.

“Jenny, please, the gold. You’ve not worn it since it was
delivered, and it is so fine!”

“Perhaps a little too fine for a country wren, Emily. Well,
it is one or the other; I suppose it might as well be the amber.”

“Jenny, will you let me dress you tonight? Just this once?”
Since their arrival in town, Emily had begged that Jenny let her lend some
small gold ornaments and oversee the arrangement of her hair. Up to this
evening Jenny had demurred, certain that Emily would dress her up absurdly, and
make, all unwittingly, a game of one with pretensions neither to beauty nor to
youth. But tonight, still inwardly shaking from Lady Teeve’s onslaught, and
feeling that perhaps Emily needed the diversion as much as she did, she agreed.

“But I reserve the final judgment, do you hear?”

“Absolutely, dear,
sweet
Jenny! Quickly, then, into
your petticoats, and I’ll send Maggie in to you.”

Miss Prydd’s notion of dress and Emily Pellering’s were not
very much alike; however, at the end of half an hour under the hands of Maggie
and Emily, Miss Prydd pronounced herself satisfied, if a trifle startled. After
vetoing several small brooches that Emily wished to scatter on her shoulder,
Jenny remained some few minutes at the mirror, wondering if, had she been born
to wealth, the reflection in the mirror would have been her own. She remarked
wryly to Emily upon the changes a few geegaws and a fearless heart could wreak,
then sent her friend down the hall to hurry with her own toilette. Emily
skipped out of the room, her earlier suspicions quite forgotten, leaving Jenny
to wonder if she ought, after all, to go abroad dressed in such a fashion.
Staying behind a moment, Maggie made so bold as to reassure Miss in common but
cheering tones that she looked entirely splendid, but very proper as well.
Jenny, trusting Maggie’s judgment a little more than Emily’s, had to take the
pronouncement of such a stalwart, and made her way to the stairs, abandoned to
her appearance. “Although, only for tonight, of course.”

Fifteen minutes later Emily arrived in the library,
charmingly decked out in pink-sprigged muslin with black ribbon. Lord Graybarr,
who had promised his escort as far as Mrs. Temple’s house on Wimpole Street,
said that he was proud to have such a pair of pretty chits to escort. Lady
Graybarr, after frowning at her husband’s jocularity, was brought to admit that
the girls looked very nice indeed.

Delivered to Wimpole Street, Jenny would have found time to
worry again over her appearance, had not she had to take over the task of
amusing Mrs. Temple, a plump, indolent, agreeable person who was easily
pleased, and only wanted the latest gossip—which Jenny sadly lacked—or
the chance to tell it herself, to make her happy. Emily had begun immediately
to chatter in mysterious tones with Mirabelle Temple, the daughter of the
house. By the time the four had dined and were installed in the Temples’ box at
Covent Garden, Jenny had forgotten—almost—her unaccustomed finery,
and Emily and Mirabelle entirely renewed their old friendship. Mrs. Temple
nodded amiably for a time, and slipped with equal good cheer into a light
slumber. The opera was, of course, dreadful, but only Jenny had had any idea of
listening to the music; Emily and Miss Temple were still whispering and
giggling when the curtain rose, and Mrs. Temple’s gentle snores indicated that
she was not likely to pay the least attention to the plot. When the ramblings
of the soprano had become unbearable, Jenny turned her attention to the
audience, hoping to find a familiar face or to catch sight of someone famous in
the audience. After a moment, however, she wished she had not.

First she saw Domenic Teverley, awkward in evening dress
that was obviously too new for comfort. Then the sweet, virulent glance of his
mother came into focus; behind Lady Teeve there was the shadowy, vague form of
her companion, and, she rather thought, of Mr. Peter Teverley as well. While
she thought their attention on the stage, she was glad for a moment to examine
all three Teverleys; but when Dom’s eye caught hers, then jumped to his mother,
and Peter Teverley indicated by a nod that he had also noticed their party,
Jenny thought she would die of mortification.

At the intermission— “And about time, too,” Mrs.
Temple yawned—Jenny noted unhappily that the Teverley men had absented
themselves from the Teeve box. Praying that Lady Teeve had not noticed their
party, Jenny turned her attention to Mrs. Temple, who had been joined by a
corpulent gentleman in creaking stays who came to practice his gallantry on an
old flame and to ogle the young ladies present. A shuffling in the back of the
box, and Peter and Domenic Teverley were standing there, Peter smiling
unreadably, Domenic standing with the air of someone about to go to the scaffold
bravely, if a little reluctantly.

Shuddering at the inopportune timing, Jenny rose to make the
Teverley men known to Mrs. Temple and her daughter. Emily, with no knowledge of
Lady Teeve’s visit that afternoon, was quite happy to see both gentlemen, and
forgot her devotion to Mirabelle Temple as her eyes went to Teverley with a
look of kittenish devotion that was as charming as it was absurd. After the
first civilities had passed, however, Peter Teverley adroitly left Emily and
Miss Temple to Dom’s attention, and chose to speak with Jenny.

“Why is it I sense you are not overly pleased to see me?” he
murmured mildly over her hand.

“I cannot imagine how you came to that conclusion,” Jenny
said with asperity, heartily wishing he had decided to visit any other box in
the theater; she was certain that she could feel Lady Teeve’s red-hot glance at
her back.

“You are particularly decorative tonight, Miss Prydd. Or may
I truly call you Jenny? I did not mean to tease you into a familiarity with
which you are not comfortable.”

“At this point, Mr. Teverley, I hardly think it matters.”
Then, to change the subject, “I let Emily supervise my dressing tonight, and
the result is as you see.”

“Very fine, and exceedingly becoming, but, I think, a little
uncomfortable?”

“I am far too plain a churchmouse to dress up in such a
fashion,” Jenny said candidly. “But it made Emily happy to use me for her doll—”

“Neither a doll nor a churchmouse. But I agree that this
sort of thing is not quite your style. A little more simplicity, I think. A
deep blue or red, in velvet, with thin gold banding. I do admire the topazes at
your ears.”

Jenny stared at him in astonishment.

“My dear Prydd ... that is, my dear Jenny, pray do not
believe that because I am a man I know nothing of female fashion.”

“I am perhaps startled to find you know so much of
proper
female fashion—” Jenny admitted. “No, see, you have me brangling again,
without the slightest intention to do so. When you have been so pleasant, too.
I think.”

“A touch!” Teverley grinned. “Jenny, you are becoming a wit!”

“You are the second to say so today, sir, and I must say
that I think you are both sadly mistaken,” Jenny replied, and was joined in her
protest by Emily, who had forcibly removed Domenic from an admiring Mirabelle
Temple and brought him over to his uncle’s side.

“Next thing you know, you will be pronouncing my poor Jenny
a bluestocking!” she sniffed in disgust.

With a careful, delicate nudge, Emily pushed herself to the
front of the box, nearest Teverley, and pushed Jenny back with Dom. Teverley,
with equal aplomb, turned himself so that he was again, in the main, addressing
Miss Prydd. A moment’s irritation crossed Emily’s face, but she restrained from
pushing any further. In the meantime, although she had missed none of the machinations
in her own party, Jenny was increasingly aware of Lady Teeve’s gorgon glare
aimed at her shoulder blades. Partly in compassion for Emily, partly in an
urgent wish to speak to Domenic, Jenny turned the boy to the back of the box
and drew him aside.

“I was visited by your mother today,” she began.

“The devil! What did she say?”

“Well, first off, she took me for Emily. No, Em don’t know
of it—” She pushed him further back in the box, out of Emily’s earshot
entirely. “Nor am I of a mind to tell her.”

“Was m’mother
brutal
, ma’am?”

“That may be putting it too strongly, but she was rather—well,
yes. I do think you might be a little careful of what you do, for Emmy’s
comfort if not for mine or your own; if your mamma so dislikes the idea of
Emily—of course, she thought
I
was a shameless older woman,
twining my desperate toils about you, and I know not what else, but even so...”

“But
you
, ma’am? She thought you was Emily? I beg
your pardon, but Mamma surely knows better than that! Why, you’re old enough to
be my—my—” here he foundered, embarrassed.

“Your older sister?” she suggested evenly.

“Exactly!” Dom missed the irony of her tone. “I’m sorry if
Mamma was a plaguey nuisance, but I’ll see to it that it don’t happen again.”

Jenny smiled, wondering how Dom intended to accomplish this
feat. “It isn’t myself I would worry for, Dom. I shall be out of London and
back at my aunt’s house sooner or later. But Emily is a part of this life, and
your mamma could make it most uncomfortable for her in London. I should hate to
see that happen.”

“Well, so should I,” Dom agreed stoutly. “But I say, Jenny,
don’t you think you might pretend to be Emmy for a little, so that Mamma won’t
realize that Emily is Emily and you are you?”

Jenny congratulated herself silently: She had neither
laughed at this absurd proposal, nor at Domenic’s complete seriousness in
making it. “Even if I could, I would not. I’ve already informed your mother of
her mistake. Granted she don’t know who Emily
is
, but she does know that I am not her. All I say is that you must
act with a little more thought, or Emily might be hurt, and I know you cannot
want that.”

“No, Ma’am. Not at all. I’ll try, then, although I’m not
sure what I am trying at.”

“Well enough for now, my dear.” Jenny reached out and patted
the boy’s hand. “Just try not to antagonize your mamma where Emily is
concerned.” Dominic blushed, thanked her, and was about to inquire as to the
particulars of his mother’s interview with Jenny when Peter Teverley appeared
at his shoulder.

“I think, from your mamma’s glances, that we are desired
back in our seats. You will pardon us?” They made their farewells and left.

Emily and Mirabelle, returning to their whispers, had a
whole new field of conversation: Mirabelle questioned Emily closely about
Domenic, whom she regarded as delightful, and Emily demanded of her friend
whether Peter Teverley’s attentions to her had not seemed most marked. An
altercation seemed about to transpire when Mirabelle announced that she hadn’t
seen anything of the sort, and if it had not been for the beginning of the
farce, they might well have come to blows. Jenny turned her attention with
relief to the travesty on stage.

When all the possible cast had been married off, the curtain
had fallen, and the diva had returned to the stage for one last, quivering bow,
Mrs. Temple shook off her lethargy. She suggested that, in hope of avoiding
some of the crowd, they leave before the musical selection was played. With
that conservation of motion practiced only by the very lazy, she herded her
flock out of the box and through the already filling hallways. Jenny, a few
steps behind—in consequence of retrieving a shawl and two reticules left
by the girls—was separated from the party and heard only Mrs. Temple’s
assurance, over the heads of the crowd, that they would wait for her below.
After that she gave her attention to maneuvering her way out of the theater.

She had begun to think that she might, after all, make it
down the stairs with her property intact—for there seemed to be hundreds
of little boys picking pockets in the hallways—and without undue injury,
when she was confronted by Lady Teeve, who had deliberately cut off her exit.

“A companion?” Lady Teeve sneered. “A fine companion you
look in those feathers and stones, miss! I can almost understand how you
bewitched my poor boy. And I can see that Peter is head-over-ears as well.
That
serves him right, I must say. Well, it won’t wash. I was ready to believe you
this afternoon, but I will not be bamboozled again. You are not to entice my son,
do you hear me?”

Jenny, white with shock at the public attack, forced herself
to choose her words with caution, lest she ruin not only herself but Emily—and
her family as well, perhaps.

“Lady Teeve, I was not lying to you this afternoon, nor am I
lying now when I swear to you that I am
not
who you believe me to be, and that I have
no
designs of any sort upon
your son. He is a dear, sweet boy, and thinks of me as an older sister or an
aunt. As for his feelings toward anyone else, I cannot believe that they can
be, at his age, more than merest puppy love, which will, without interference,
probably die of itself. I can assure you that you have nothing to worry over
from me—or from Miss Pellering, who thinks him an agreeable friend and
nothing more. And I suggest that we end this discussion now, before we cause a
scene.”

Lady Teeve glared at Jenny. “
My
reputation can stand
a scene, girl. Can yours?”