Nina Coombs Pykare (15 page)

  Finally she stood back to examine her handiwork.
“C’est magnifique,”
she breath-ed. “Lady Carolyn will never again reject one of my creations. Look, look in the glass.”

Slowly, fearfully, Jennifer turned. The creature that stared back at her out of the mirror was like a vision of some maiden from a faraway place. Her hair gleamed in the candlelight and the dress fit as though created especially for her.

She cast the Frenchwoman a suspicious look, but what possible reason could there be for such a thing. “I am... indeed...
mag-nifique,
” she stammered. “I cannot thank you enough.”

“De rien,”
Claudine laughed. “I must return to my post. Only... only I should much like to see Lady Carolyn’s face when she sees you.”

Jennifer smiled. “I will try to remember and describe her expression to you.”

“Merci.
” Claudine scurried off and Jen-nifer, about to leave her room, had another thought and turned about. Perhaps the girls would not be sleeping yet. They would like to see her in her borrowed finery. She moved swiftly into their room.

  Since darkness had fallen the room was well illuminated with candles. The children were gathered near the fire with Betty and at the sound of the door looked up. There was a moment’s silence and then a chorus of exclamations.

Jennifer, smiling, tried to calm them.

“Just like a princess in a story,” said Cassie, and Cammie nodded enthusias-tically in agreement, reaching out with careful fingers to touch the shimmering gown that in the firelight glinted green and purple as well as blue.

Even Mortimer’s eyes grew big. “Well,” he volunteered. “If
that’s
how a lady looks, maybe I’ll forget my career in the navy.”

“Oh, Miss,” said Betty, rendered for once at a loss for words.

Jennifer gave them each an enthusiastic, if careful, hug and made her way once more toward the door and the staircase. “Tomorrow,” she said with a smile, “I shall tell you all about the ball.”

  The smile did not survive long after she had shut the door behind her. Perhaps she was being foolhardy. Certainly Lady Caro-lyn, no matter what she had said in pique, would not like to see her dress on the governess. Nor would Mrs. Parthemer be pleased to find that her drab little servant had blossomed into a beautiful young woman. But, of course, said some other stubborn part of her, if the government wanted her to keep Haverford busy, she was certainly now far better equipped than she had been.

And so, resolutely putting one foot before the other, she descended the stairs to the drawing room, not quite denying and not quite admitting that the real reason for taking the risk of wearing this dress had to do with a certain smile that she hoped to see in a particular pair of male eyes.

Mrs. Parthemer’s reaction was not quite as violent as Jennifer had feared. Indeed, resplendent in a gown of cerise that seemed more diamonds than silk, she probably considered that no one could outshine her. Lady Carolyn, after one rather startled look of recognition, did not deign to cast another glance in her direc-tion. Mr. Parthemer, much harassed by his wife’s last-minute instructions and a cravat that severely threatened his ears, still managed to beam his appreciation.

  Rather content with the results, Jennifer hurried hither and yon, fulfilling Mrs. Parthemer’s frenzied last-minute instructions. Once, hurrying from ballroom to kitchen she rounded a corner and came face to face with Lord Proctor. That gentle-man raised his quizzing glass, took a long and thorough look, and pursed his lips approvingly. Jennifer, without the hint of a smile, evaded his outstretched hand and hurried on her errand. From the look in his eyes Lord Proctor was quite likely to make himself obnoxious before the evening was over. With that disheartening thought in mind she returned to the ballroom by a different route.

Eventually even
Mrs. Parthemer ran out of last-minute things to do and Jennifer had a chance to look around. The ballroom was filled with banks of fresh flowers and streamers of colored satin, but it still look-ed terribly like the hall of a dismal castle. The many tapers that gleamed around the walls might easily have kept more than one poor family in light for several years, though no poor family could afford tapers like these, of the finest beeswax.

  The little orchestra began to play and Jennifer recognized the mellow tones of the violin played by Henri, Monsieur Dupin’s valet. Then the guests began to arrive. Mrs. Parthemer, her arm through her mate’s keeping him captive, glided here and there, introducing neighbors of long standing to each other. Jennifer catching the amused glances of the guests, was powerless to enlighten her employer. But at least these guests were amiable, willing to be amused by the preposterous antics of these
nouveaux riches
rather than insult-ed.

Jennifer moved among the crowd, doing what she could to keep things running smoothly, but she was very much aware that her eyes kept returning to the door. And when finally she spied a familiar fair head and a pair of broad shoulders, she only just managed to keep her satisfaction from being reflected in her face.

Haverford was here! And in his blue coat of superfine and his breeches of kersey-mere, he was by far and away the best looking man in the room. She saw him make his greeting to Mr. and Mrs. Par-themer, give a nonchalant nod to Ingleton and receive a weak copy in return, but when his eyes began to range out over the crowded room, began in fact to search in her direction, she ceased to watch him.

Even so, she was in some strange way conscious of the moment that his gaze swept over her and in spite of all her efforts to stop it, she felt the embarrassing tide of color reach her cheeks. She did not dare look up, but busied herself arranging some flowers that lay near her hand.

Still, she was not surprised to hear his deep voice say, “Good evening, Miss Whit-comb. You are looking well tonight.”

She raised her eyes to his and saw there the same warmth that had so captured her heart earlier. She could not avoid him, she told herself, out of duty to her country, but she must keep a firm hold on her emo-tions. “You are looking quite well yourself, Milord,” she replied with a noncommittal smile.

His eyes took in the gown and narrowed. “I fear that you were flummering me the other day. This is not a gown for a gover-ness.”

“Indeed, it is not,” replied Jennifer. “It is ... a loan.” And then she told him the story of the gown’s arrival. “I rather believe Claudine’s ruse will work too, for Lady Carolyn seems rather put out with me.”

“Perhaps she does not care to have com-petition,” declared Haverford gravely.

Jennifer shook her head. “I am no ninny, Milord. I am not competition for Lady Carolyn and she knows it. I am merely a poor governess.”

“A beautiful one,” said his lordship.

Jennifer frowned. “As I have said before, beauty is more liability than asset to a governess.”

  Haverford smiled cheerfully. “In the future perhaps I shall commiserate with you on this tremendous liability, but at the moment I must confess to enjoying it hugely.”

Jennifer could not help returning his smile.

“Will you dance the next quadrille with me?” he asked.

She found herself suddenly breathless. “I.... Perhaps you had better ask another lady. I have not danced for many years. And... and Mrs. Parthemer may not like it.”

“Nonsense.” Those grey eyes held her captive. “Mrs. Parthemer commanded your attendance here, did she not?”

Jennifer nodded.

“And I am a guest. Is it not your duty to see that guests are entertained?”

Again Jennifer was forced to nod.

“Ergo,
there can be nothing wrong with us dancing the quadrille. Unless, of course, my company offends you.”

The grey eyes regarded her quizzically. “Of course not,” she stammered. “You know it does not.”

At first, as he led her to the dance floor, she was conscious of the envious eyes of other women. But by the time they had taken their places and begun to move in the intricate paces, all thought of anyone but him was gone.

  It was as if they moved in a beautiful world of dreams - coming together and parting, and all the time those eyes were shining down into hers.

Then the dance was over and she turned to thank him, only to find that his hand had firmly fastened itself on her elbow and he was leading her toward a secluded corner. Suspicions of many kinds sprang up in her mind, but she yielded to none of them. And, when he had seated her in a chair, asked if she wished an ice, and received a polite refusal, he, too, settled himself.

“Something has been disturbing me,” he said gravely. “Perhaps you can help me.”

“I shall be glad to try,” said Jennifer.

“I do not understand my invitation for this evening. Ingleton and I have been on the outs for some months now and in any case I did not previously call here. I would not have come tonight except that I was curious, and....” He stopped suddenly, his eyes gazing down into hers.

Jennifer had to wrench her thoughts back to his question. That the Parthemers and Seven Elms were far beneath his touch was no news to Jennifer. But as to the reason for this invitation - a cold hand seemed to clutch at her heart. The govern-ment had been behind that. Ingleton had said as much and Ingleton was his lord-ship’s sworn foe.

Jennifer shook her head. “I cannot tell you the reason for the invitation. Mrs. Parthemer is a strange person who lives in a world quite other own making.”

Haverford grinned and Jennifer’s heart stood still. “Yes, that is very well put.”

Her hand went to her mouth in dismay. What was there about this man that made her behave so? “That was very foolish of me. I am a servant here and I have no right to speak so of my employer.”

He covered her gloved hand with his. “Have no fear.
I
shall not report this dereliction of duty. Nor your others.”

In those warm grey eyes she seemed to see memories of a sunny day on the beach. “You are most kind, Milord.” Her mouth curved into a smile. “I fear that I am not quite the stuff a correct governess should be made of.”

His lordship chuckled. “I do not find you lacking in
anything.
”

This compliment kept Jennifer silent for several minutes. She let her eyes roam over the crowd. Lord Proctor had finally succeeded in gaining Lady Carolyn’s hand in a dance. Ingleton, Jennifer noticed, was slipping out the door.

  The big man beside her shifted suddenly. “I am sorry, Miss Whitcomb, but I have just remembered a matter of some impor-tance that I must attend to immediately. Please excuse me.”

The hand that reached out to grasp his sleeve was impelled, not by patriotism but by love. “Please,” she stammered, “you know there are those who hate you. Please be careful.”

His hand closed over hers for a brief moment and then he pulled away. “Do not concern yourself over me,” he said evenly. “I am quite capable of looking out for myself.”

And then he was gone and Jennifer, trying to hide a sudden fear that had risen to choke her, bent her head to adjust a slipper. When she looked up again, he had left the room. Why had he left like that? So abruptly? And right after Ingleton? But, as usual, there were no answers to her ques-tions.

And then Lord Proctor advanced toward her. His eyes already betrayed an overabundance of punch. God, thought Jen-nifer, holding back a frown, how she hated a man in his cups.

“My dear Miss Whitcomb.” Proctor enunciated the words carefully as though fearful that they might betray him. “Let us dance.”

“No thank you,” returned Jennifer. “I am rather fatigued at the moment, Milord.”

Proctor’s eyes narrowed. “Haverford
never fatigued
a lady,” he said with a strange intonation that Jennifer chose to ignore. What pretentious asses some men could be, she told herself, and they did it without half trying.

Finally Proctor, finding that his sallies remained unanswered, decided to look for other prey and took himself off, to Jen-nifer’s hidden but genuine relief. That relief was short-lived, however, for he was no sooner gone than Monsieur Dupin appear-ed. Jennifer recalled uneasily that she had seen very little of the Frenchman during the course of the ball. Of course, she had been occupied with the Viscount.

A sudden clutch of fear grabbed again at her heart. If Dupin had been watching her stand up with Haverford... could he have read her feelings in her eyes? She willed her face to reveal nothing. This man was her enemy, she felt that in her very bones.

Monsieur Dupin smiled. “Mademoiselle is quite
enchanteuse
this evening.”

Jennifer acknowledged this with a nod. How she wished Haverford were still in the room. His very presence gave her a feeling of security.

  “It is as I said,” continued the French-man, not at all daunted by her lack of response. “Mademoiselle was once the center of attraction for handsome young men. In this dress her beauty is quite apparent.”

“The dress is not mine,” Jennifer replied stiffly. “It was ... loaned to me.”

Dupin smiled knowingly. “Yes, so I have heard. But it fits Mademoiselle quite well, very well.”

That knowing smile made Jennifer blanch. Could Monsieur Dupin have something to do with her wearing this dress? But then she scolded herself for imagining things. Claudine had probably confided in him. That was natural, they were from the same country. Or perhaps he knew nothing at all. Perhaps the know-ing smile was another of his tricks, a ruse to make her think him more powerful.

“I have come to ask that you dance with me the quadrille.” The black eyes probed deep into hers and Jennifer knew that she dared not refuse him. She must treat him as she would treat the others. She must stand up with this man whose very glance she loathed.

She steeled herself not to wince as his fingers closed over her elbow and he led her to the floor. The steps she performed quite credibly, she thought, and she kept a pleasant, noncommittal smile on her face.

Finally it was over and he walked back to her place. “Mademoiselle still has some trouble with affairs of the heart,” he said softly. “I could help if she would but trust