The Perfect Princess (45 page)

“I remembered that Piers had a sister who was a teacher at St. Bede’s Charity School. I went there yesterday and met the woman in charge.” This was the shortened version of events and he saw no reason to enlarge on it. “Miss Hepburn—that was her name. She said that when Miss Piers married and moved away, that was the last they saw of her. But you continued to visit the school from time to time.” He grinned. “I got the impression that you were the apple of Miss Hepburn’s eye. She told me that any letter addressed to the Ladies’ Library in Soho Square would reach you.”

“But you decided to come in person.”

“As I said, the matter is urgent.”

Jane waited until the door closed behind him, then she let out a huff of breath. Her hands curled into fists. There was something about Lord Caspar that rubbed her the wrong way. He hadn’t exactly coerced her, but he’d come pretty close to it. If she hadn’t given in when she did, he wouldn’t have given up. He would have found another way to get what he wanted.

He’d been to St. Bede’s. She wondered how much Miss Hepburn had told him. Not that the headmistress would have gossiped about her, but she might have let something slip inadvertently.

She’d told him where to find her.

No harm done, Jane assured herself. Lord Caspar hadn’t come for her. It was Letty he wanted to see, and Letty had nothing to hide.

There was no point speculating on what Lord Caspar wanted. Letty would have to see him, of course. He wasn’t the kind of man one could ignore. She’d known that even before she’d met him in person. Lady Sophy
was very proud of her nephew and the man she described didn’t know the meaning of defeat, whether he was pursuing his light-skirts or fighting battles.

A plainspoken woman was Lady Sophy Devere.

Jane wondered how Lady Sophy would describe
her
, Jane Mayberry. A young woman who never went out in society, but devoted all her energies to the cause? A bluestocking? At twenty-six, a confirmed spinster who went out of her way to avoid men? Someone who kept herself to herself? A lone wolf?

Mirrors reflecting mirrors, that’s what these glimpses of someone’s character were—not illusions exactly, but not revealing the whole truth either. She supposed much the same could be said about Lord Caspar.

A whining sound brought her out of her reverie. Lance’s watchful eyes were on her. “I’m not sad,” she told him. “I’m just in a reflective mood.”

She knelt down and scratched behind his ears. “Some help you turned out to be. I thought you had a sixth sense about people. Didn’t you hear what Lord Caspar said? He said he would shoot you.
Shoot
is a bad word.”

Lance thumped his tail on the floor.

“Well, at least you didn’t fawn all over him. Not that he would let you. Mustn’t spoil that immaculate tailoring with a few stray dog hairs.”

Lance gave her his doggie smile.

She looked down at her gown and made a face. Her skirt was covered in dog hair. “Did I forget to groom you today?”

Lance’s response was to cock his head to one side.

She sighed. “I know. I’ve been preoccupied lately, but not for much longer. We’re going home, boy. Just think of it—open spaces, meadows, trees, badgers, foxes. You’ll have a grand old time.”

But before that happened, she wanted to make quite
sure that she’d shaken off Lord Caspar. His lordship was a complication she could well do without.

Caspar went in search of Lady Octavia, but it wasn’t to ask where he could find pen and paper. He had not known that Mrs. Gray was a member here until Miss May-berry mentioned it. Now he saw a way of circumventing her. Not that he would have left anything to chance anyway. Mrs. Letitia Gray would see him whether she wanted to or not.

He found Lady Octavia in the library, overseeing the disposal of a portrait that hung above the marble mantel.

“Lady Mary’s father,” she said to Caspar by way of explanation. “The old earl, and a most objectional man. His treatment of his wife and daughter was reprehensible. We can’t have him presiding over our assemblies. He would act as a blight.”

To the two footmen who had removed the painting from the wall, she said, “Take him to the attic,” then to Caspar, but this time with a twinkle in her eyes, “There’s a lesson for you here, Lord Caspar. Consider how your wife or daughter will dispose of your portrait when you’re gone.”

He answered her with a smile, but he was thinking that Lady Octavia and her ladies were all touched in the brain. They had this thing about men.

“Lady Octavia,” he said, “I’m trying to find a lady who is a member here—Mrs. Letitia Gray, or perhaps you know her as Letitia Piers. Can you tell me where she lives?”

“We never give out that kind of information,” she said. “It’s the library’s policy.”

“But you know me! All I want is to speak with Mrs. Gray. What harm is there in that?”

She regarded him steadly. “We have these policies for a reason, you know. Experience has taught us that it’s safer this way. Anyway, before you try to persuade me to change my mind, let me say at once that no Letitia Gray or Letitia Piers has ever been a member of the Ladies’ Library. ”

“You’re sure of that?”

“Perfectly. Our membership list is small, and each lady on it is personally known to me. You’ve been misinformed.”

He’d been misinformed, all right, deliberately misinformed by Jane Mayberry. It had come down to a tussle of wills. There was no doubt in his mind who would win the contest. Then he’d find out why Miss Mayberry was so determined to protect her friend.

“Miss Mayberry,” he began, and let the name hang there, inviting a response.

“What about Jane?”

He smiled and shook his head. “She puzzles me. I don’t know what to think of her.”

“Oh?”

This was not the response he was hoping for, so he took a more direct approach. “How would you describe her?”

Until that moment, he had not known Lady Octavia’s placid, fading blue eyes could pierce like the point of a blade.

“Look away from Jane Mayberry,” she said. “She is not for you, Lord Caspar. You can have any woman you want. Leave Jane alone.”

And until that moment, he had not known just how far his jaw could sag. He took a moment to gather himself, a moment to rein in his formidable temper, to assume all the dignity and arrogance of his rank. “You are mistaken, ma’am,” he said. “You must be confusing me with someone else.”

“Jane,” replied Lady Octavia, regarding him thoughtfully,
“has not had an easy life since her father died. I think she has found a measure of peace with us. I don’t want to see that peace disturbed.”

He didn’t know where elderly ladies got their gall. It was the same with his Aunt Sophy. Once they passed a certain age, they thought they could say anything they liked to anyone.

“I doubt,” he said, “that Miss Mayberry and I shall have occasion to meet again, and if by chance we do, I shall endeavor to look the other way.”

“I’m very glad to hear it.”

Gritting his teeth, he stalked off.

Five minutes later, he returned to the pantry with the letter in his hand. Jane Mayberry was assiduously polishing a silver tray. The dog rose at Caspar’s entrance, but this time there were no bared fangs, only a bark of welcome.

“Your dog is very intelligent,” said Caspar as he handed her the letter.

“That’s a matter of opinion.” She pointed to her dog, who then sank to the floor and gazed at her with soulful eyes.

“Till four o’clock then,” said Caspar.

“Four o’clock,” she replied.

He bowed. She curtsied. The moment he left the room, however, his smile faded. Whatever had put that maggot into Lady Octavia’s mind? And what role did she think he had planned for Jane Mayberry, his mistress or his wife?

He tried to picture her in one role then the other, and when he realized what he was doing, cursed furiously under his breath.

THE PERFECT PRINCESS
A Bantam Book/November 2001

All rights reserved.
Copyright © 2001 by Mary George.
Insert Art by Franco Accornero.

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
For information address: Bantam Books.

eISBN: 978-0-307-42875-2

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