An Escapade and an Engagement (13 page)

Lady Penrose’s mouth gaped. ‘You cannot mean that!’ She looked
intently into her face. ‘Or perhaps you do.’ She laid her hand briefly over Lady
Jayne’s. ‘It was your grandfather’s idea you should find a husband this Season.
Not yours at all. And if you do not wish to marry Lord Ledbury then you are
quite right. We ought to refuse this invitation. It would not do to raise false
hope in his breast. That would be unkind.’

‘It is not that…’ There was no hope in his breast at all. But
how to explain her certainty without confessing the nature of their
entanglement?

Lady Penrose clucked her tongue and shook her head. ‘I see. You
enjoy his company but you are not ready to make such a momentous decision. Well,
I never did think you were old enough for a London Season. I told your
grandfather that it would have been better to take you to Bath, or Harrogate, or
perhaps a seaside resort this year—just to try your wings in public, without all
this pressure to settle down—but there. What could I do?’

Lady Penrose laid the invitation aside with evident regret.

‘Now, while we are on the subject of your grandfather, I think
I had better tell you at once that I have received a rather…unsettling letter
from him.’

Her heart sank. He must have finally announced that she had
fabricated prior knowledge of Milly, and Lady Penrose was going to take her to
task for the deception.

‘I am sorry if he is angry with you about Milly. But you see,
I…’

‘Milly? How can he possibly be angry about Milly when he knows
nothing about…’ Lady Penrose trailed off, looking a little uncomfortable.

‘You did not mention my friendship with her?’ Lady Jayne was
astounded.

‘No.’ She flushed. ‘I knew full well that your grandfather
would disapprove of her. But he left you here under my care. And in my judgement
the fact that she is of lowly birth is outweighed by the fact you enjoy her
company so much. I have noticed that you do not make friends easily. That, of
course, is because your grandfather would not allow you to mix with anyone
except long-standing connections to the family.’ She pulled a disapproving face.
‘Only when you are with Miss Brigstock do you unbend and become the carefree
girl you ought to be at your age. She makes you laugh. For that alone I would
defy a hundred cross old earls. But that has nothing to do with the case. Here,’
she said, thrusting the page towards Lady Jayne. ‘You might as well read it for
yourself.’

Lady Jayne’s astonishment increased. Lady Penrose had never
permitted her to look at any of the letters her grandfather had written before,
even though they referred to her. But then she was clearly still a bit flustered
after her admission that she’d deliberately defied Lord Caxton by omitting to
mention Milly to him.

Well, well. It seemed Lady Jayne was not the only one who
instinctively rebelled against her grandfather’s high-handed attitude.

With a little smile upon her face, she bent her head to peruse
his letter. But after she had scanned only the first few lines she felt as
though her world had been turned upside down.

He had received confirmation that her scandalous aunt, Lady
Aurora, had died some years previously. But her daughter had recently returned
to England and, due to what Grandfather referred to as a stroke of good luck,
had been made known to him. Her breathing grew faster, and more shallow, as she
read with increasing resentment how this girl, Aimée, had spent her childhood
jaunting all over Europe, having—just as she had imagined—all kinds of
adventures, before marrying the Earl of Bowdon and making her home in
Staffordshire.

But what hurt her beyond anything else was the list of
instructions he gave Lady Penrose regarding Jayne’s reception of this Aimée when
she came to Town.

As if she was not quite capable of knowing how to behave!

And to think of this cousin, experiencing the delights of Rome
and Paris and Naples, whilst she had been immured in Kent, hedged about with
draconian governesses! Or occasionally escorted to the houses of families she
had known from birth, where she was not even permitted to walk down a corridor
without a maid to dog her footsteps. And now he
admonished—
yes, that was the word he had used—
admonished
Lady Penrose to ensure her compliance with his plans to
reinstate cousin Aimée into Society. The family had to stand together in this,
he had insisted, underlining the word
together
twice. The girl was not to be held accountable for the sins of her parents.

Suddenly she knew exactly how the stay-at-home brother had felt
when his father killed the fatted calf to welcome the prodigal home. She had
always thought him a rather mean-spirited sort of fellow when hearing the
parable expounded before, but here was her grandfather, expecting her to drop
everything and—and
perform
for him like some kind of
trained poodle, with Lady Penrose flicking the whip to guarantee the quality of
her performance. Well, she would not have it!

‘This is rather inconvenient, is it not?’ she said coldly,
handing the letter back to Lady Penrose. Inside she was seething with resentment
and hurt. But nobody would ever have guessed. She did not know it, but she had
never resembled her father so much in her life.

‘Inconvenient?’

‘Well, yes. Because, having given it careful thought, I have
decided I ought to accept the invitation to Lord Ledbury’s house party. So I
will not be in Town when this long-lost cousin arrives, will I?’

Lady Penrose looked at the letter, then to Lady Jayne’s face,
and to the writing table by the window on which all the invitations lay
scattered.

‘You have changed your mind about the house party…?’

‘
Made up
my mind, Lady Penrose.
Don’t you think it is positively my
duty
to go?
After all, Grandfather sent me to London for the express purpose of finding me a
husband.’
Get the chit married off,
had been his
exact words, she recalled bitterly. ‘And I do seem to have captured the interest
of a man of whom he would thoroughly approve. If I do not attend this house
party,’ she said airily, ‘Lord Ledbury might slip right through my fingers.’

A smile of comprehension spread slowly across Lady Penrose’s
face. ‘Oh, indeed, yes. It
is
your duty to do all
you can to attach the kind of husband of whom your grandfather would approve.
And I,’ she said, taking up her pen with an air of unholy glee, ‘am going to
take great pleasure in writing to inform him that his plans to come to Town and
make us all dance to his tune will just have to wait a week or two.’

Chapter Nine

L
ady Jayne twisted her hands together in
her lap. She couldn’t believe she’d done it again. Had she learned nothing from
the scrapes she’d got into in London?

Making Lady Penrose her accomplice to get her into the
Lambournes’ masquerade was as nothing compared to this. It made not a scrap of
difference that her chaperone was thoroughly enjoying flouting her grandfather’s
wishes. She had let her temper get the better of her, and not only was she going
to Lord Ledbury’s house party but…

She darted a glance at the other occupants of the carriage, who
were chattering away as though neither of them had a care in the world.

She should never have dragged Milly into it. And yet at the
time, with her temper raging so hot, it had seemed like the perfect solution.
Well, that was because she hadn’t stopped to calm down and think rationally. She
had just told Lady Penrose that she would enjoy the house party much more if she
had her dear friend with her, and her chaperone had made all the
arrangements.

With the result that here they all were, travelling down to
Courtlands together.

She turned her head sharply and looked out of the window, lest
the other two should attempt to include her in their conversation. She didn’t
know what to say to them. How to deal with the guilt she felt at the disaster
that was looming. Lord Ledbury was going to be so…angry. Confused. Hurt.

Why hadn’t she taken his reaction that night she’d taken Milly
to the theatre into consideration? When she had thought it would be a lovely
surprise for him to see how beautifully Milly could cope with polite society.
But it had been no such thing. She might as well have taken a dagger and plunged
it into his heart. And this…this sneaking of her into Courtlands would be ten
times worse. For he was actually steeling himself to propose to someone. Only of
course she hadn’t thought of that in the moments immediately after reading her
grandfather’s letter. She had just thought that men were so
stupid,
and so
tyrannical
that what
could any woman with an ounce of spirit do but thwart them at every turn?

It wasn’t even as if she had been angry with Lord Ledbury,
either. But somehow her determination to thwart male stupidity had spilled over
into her muddled thoughts about his house party and before she knew it she’d
decided to get Milly down there to stop him proposing to any of those women who
were bound to make him miserable. She knew he wouldn’t listen to any arguments
she might put forth. But he surely couldn’t withstand the appeal of Milly
herself? Surely he couldn’t do anything so cruel as to propose to another woman
whilst Milly was under his roof?

And before she knew it not only was Lady Penrose up to her neck
in schemes to defy their menfolk, but Milly, too, was gleefully anticipating
seeing the look on Lord Ledbury’s face when she walked into Courtlands through
the front door.

So even when she’d begun to have second thoughts she hadn’t
been able to back down. Milly would have been so disappointed if she’d tried to
put her off. But it hadn’t been until they’d actually climbed into the coach
this morning that she’d begun to consider there would be even further-reaching
consequences. For that poor cousin of hers.

It was not going to be easy for Aimée to carve out a place for
herself in Society, even if she had now married an earl. And, had Grandpapa not
ordered her about in his usual overbearing, not to say insulting manner, she
would have been thrilled to be meeting her and hearing all about her
adventures.

Oh, bother her temper! Well, she would make it up to her cousin
once this house party was over. She would most definitely not stand for anyone
turning their noses up at her just because she was unfortunate enough to be the
product of a runaway marriage. Really, the rules that governed Society were
ridiculous! If not for those rules her aunt Aurora would never have had to elope
in the first place. And Lord Ledbury could just marry Milly, and then there
would have been no need for her to have resorted to such underhanded
tactics.

Though it was no use trying to lay the blame elsewhere. She
held herself entirely responsible for the disaster that was about to unfold.
Lord Ledbury was going to be so angry with her for meddling. He had been most
tolerant of her behaviour up to now, but this latest escapade was completely
unforgivable…

And then it was too late, for the carriage was slowing for the
turn between the two gateposts guarding the entrance to Courtlands.

Milly fell silent. Both girls pressed their noses to the
window, straining for their first glimpse of Lord Ledbury’s ancestral home.

It didn’t disappoint. Not that it was anywhere near as imposing
as Darvill Park, her grandfather’s mansion in Kent, for it was a scrambling
mixture of styles, as though it had been added to by successive generations in
accordance with the architectural style of the day. But it did look
welcoming.

Even the immense grey-stone
porte-cochère,
under which their carriage drew up, looked as though
it had been added for the comfort and convenience of guests, rather than to
blend in with the ivy-clad redbrick frontage of the house.

She was glad of its shelter, for it had been raining steadily
all day. But her knees were trembling as she climbed out of the coach, dreading
Lord Ledbury’s reaction.

She grasped Milly’s hand as they climbed the four shallow steps
to the front door. Her guilt redoubled. Milly had far more to risk from this
venture than she did. What had she done?

She went quite faint with relief when she saw a housekeeper
standing in the open door, rather than their host. It only delayed the
inevitable confrontation, but once Mrs Hargreaves had shown them up to their
suite of rooms at least she no longer had to fear the prospect of being turned
away altogether.

‘This is lovely,’ said Milly, wandering over to look out of
Lady Jayne’s window, which was right over the
porte-cochère,
at the front of the house.

‘What is your room like?’ Lady Jayne crossed their shared
sitting room and opened a door on the far side. ‘It is a bit small.’

‘I’ve slept in far worse,’ said Milly with a grin. ‘And at
least we’ve got this—’ she indicated the sitting room ‘—to escape to if things
get a bit uncomfortable downstairs.’

‘Oh, Milly, I’m beginning to think I should not have brought
you here. Lord Ledbury is bound to be angry. What if I’ve ruined everything for
you?’

‘I wanted to come here,’ said Milly, and turned away with a
pained expression on her face. ‘At least I can see what it would be like to live
as a fine lady, if only for a few days.’

Lady Jayne recalled Lord Ledbury’s words on the night of the
theatre, that it wasn’t kind to show Milly a world in which she could never have
so much as a toehold. And she felt more ashamed of herself than ever.

They had both washed and changed out of their travelling
clothes by the time Lady Penrose came to their room. She had her own suite of
rooms, she told them, on the same corridor, but with quite a different view. And
not nearly so large.

‘But then, I have it all to myself,’ she said, with a smile for
both girls. ‘Are you ready?’ She ran her eyes over their outfits, though Lady
Jayne knew she would find nothing about Milly’s appearance with which to find
fault. Only Lord Ledbury would know she was not a perfectly respectable young
lady, brought along to act as her companion. What was more, it was not only her
appearance that Lady Jayne had changed. She had spent hours drilling her, so
that she now knew as much about how to behave during a country house party as
any young lady who’d been bred to it.

Lady Penrose gave her nod of approval and rang for a footman to
escort them all downstairs to the rose salon, where Mrs Hargreaves had told them
guests assembled before going in to dinner.

Lady Jayne’s heart was pounding erratically by the time their
footman opened a door, bowed and withdrew, to indicate they had arrived. She
peeped anxiously past Lady Penrose’s shoulder. Lord Ledbury was standing just
inside the door.

When he saw Milly, the bland smile of welcome died from his
lips. His hand clenched convulsively on the back of the chair on which he’d been
leaning, his knuckles turning white. While he said all the correct things to
Lady Penrose, Milly sidled past him and scuttled into the room. Lady Jayne could
not blame her for running for cover. He was quite fearsome when his eyes turned
all wintry like that.

When he’d finished greeting Lady Penrose, he turned the full
force of his disapproval upon her.

Out of long habit of enduring blistering scolds from her
grandfather, she composed her features and looked straight back at him. Though
she fully accepted she was the one Lord Ledbury would blame for leading Milly
astray, she had no intention of cringing or making excuses. Not here, in the
doorway, with all those beady eyes watching avidly from behind their languidly
waving fans.

‘Lady Jayne,’ he said, through gritted teeth that from a
distance might have passed for a polite smile. ‘I had no idea you would be
bringing Mi…Miss Brigstock.’ He leaned in closer and whispered right into her
ear, in a furious undertone, ‘What on earth possessed you to do such a thing?
Are you mad?’

She smiled up at him, and playfully tapped his shoulder with
her fan, as though he had made some flirtatious remark. ‘Determined,’ she
replied.

‘Determined to do what?’

She shook her head and wagged her finger reprovingly. ‘You will
thank me later. I know you will. So don’t pretend to be cross.’

‘I am not pretending, da…dash it all. Oh, this is intolerable,’
he hissed, darting a glance over his shoulder to see exactly how many of his
guests were watching their interplay. Leaning in close again, he growled
threateningly, ‘We will have to speak privately about this. Later.’

She smiled up at him enigmatically, hoping he would take the
look as acquiescence. For she had no intention of getting into a tête-à-tête
with him.

‘I shall get a message to your maid. My God,’ he said, closing
his eyes briefly and shuddering. ‘To think I once said I would
never
sink to the level of smuggling notes to you via
your maid. And now you have got me saying I shall do exactly that. The minute
you set foot in my house, you have…’ He opened his eyes and stared down at her.
‘You are just like one of Congreve’s rockets. So small and innocuous-looking,
but if a man takes his eyes off you there is no telling what direction you will
veer, or where the next explosion will go off.’

Since she’d spent the entire journey bewailing her lack of
control over her temper, she could hardly argue with that assessment. So why did
it hurt so much to hear Lord Ledbury say it out loud?

‘One day you will apologise for speaking to me like that,’ she
said vehemently. And, raising her chin, she stalked past him and made straight
for the sofa on which Lady Penrose was sitting.

She sank onto the cushions with more necessity than grace. And
it took her some time to stop trembling. The confrontation with Lord Ledbury had
taken more out of her than she’d expected.

If she weren’t so well-trained she would fling herself back
amongst the cushions, cover her face with her hands, and wail with misery. For
there were still five days of this to get through.

Instead, she consoled herself by observing that the other young
ladies already down, Miss Twining and Miss Beresford, were also sitting beside
their own chaperones, looking just as edgy as she felt.

The gentlemen of the party were all standing by a window which,
to judge from the snatches of conversation she could overhear, overlooked the
stables. Amongst them was a tall, bulky, elderly gentleman who was telling them
about the various rides to be had in the vicinity. She assumed he must be Lord
Ledbury’s grandfather, Lord Lavenham.

Lord Ledbury was welcoming a latecomer to the room when she
eventually gave herself permission to look his way again. Lady Susan Pettiffer
was smiling up at him. And he was smiling right back, as though he didn’t mind
her
flirting with him. He wasn’t telling
her
she was like an unexploded bomb he dared not take
his eyes off, or castigating
her
for polluting his
orderly house with her unruly presence. Her fingers curled into claws.
I shan’t let you have him,
she vowed under her
breath.

And began to feel much better. All the people who’d come here
were playing their own game. And hers was no worse than anyone else’s. That cat
Lady Susan did not love Lord Ledbury in the least. She just wanted to be a
countess.

At least she was not plotting anything for selfish reasons. She
resolutely ignored the little voice that whispered how she always said it was
for a good cause when she was about to embark on some course of action she knew
was questionable. It had been her temper that had led her into this, not
duplicity! She’d gone and committed herself to this house party, and when she’d
known there was no way out of it she’d wished she could find some way to prevent
him from becoming a sacrifice on the altar of family duty. She couldn’t have
borne to watch him pledge himself to anyone but the woman she knew he loved.
Knowing she’d secured his happiness was the
only
thing that would console her for knowing
she
did not
even make the running. The one comfort she would take with her into the future
she saw unfolding before her. The future where she dwindled to an old maid,
living the life of an eccentric recluse, since
nobody
would ever want to marry Chilblain Jayne.

* * *

She managed to eat a respectable amount at dinner,
considering the tension that had her strung tight as a bow. Milly helped by
behaving impeccably. She conversed in turn with each of her dining partners,
making Lady Jayne want to nudge Lord Ledbury, and say,
See?