Amanda Scott - [Dangerous 04] (27 page)

“Indeed, miss, she seems ever so taken—”

“Jenifry, if you want to ask me questions, you may. But since you do not understand British politics, I think perhaps you would do better to keep your opinions to yourself until you understand them better.”

“Yes, miss. If you’re finished now, I’ll fetch your towel.”

Letty said nothing more until she was sitting in front of the fire wrapped in her warm robe, and Jenifry had begun to brush her hair dry. Then, hoping to ease the tension between them, she said, “How are all those handsome men on your string behaving themselves these days?”

“I never said they were all handsome,” Jenifry said.

“You did say that at least one of them is.”

“Have a heart, miss. There’s only two.”

“I thought I’d counted three, at least.”

“That’s because you tease me about the Duchess of Sutherland’s footman, but I never thought much of him, though he was kind enough to us that first day. In truth, he’s so high in the instep that any sensible girl wants to stomp on it.”

Letty smiled. “And the others aren’t? I thought you said Raventhorpe’s man was the stuffy one.”

“And so he is,” Jenifry said with feeling. “Every time I see that man, he’s telling me how I should go on, who I should talk to, and who I shouldn’t. He had the nerve to come looking for me here today, when it’s not even my half-day. He’s a sight more puffed up in his own esteem than what that starchy footman is.”

“Well, I expect that leaves the third one, then. Walter, isn’t that his name?”

“Yes, miss.” Her tone was cool, and she said no more.

The only sounds in the room were the crack of a sparking ember and the rhythmic strokes of the brush through Letty’s hair until she said, “I apologize if my questions were too particular, Jen.”

“It isn’t that, miss.”

When she did not elaborate, Letty turned to see a troubled look in her eyes. “What is it, then?” she prompted.

“Nothing, miss.”

Gently Letty said, “Are you in love with Walter?”

Jenifry flushed. “I … I don’t know, miss. He’s as handsome as a man can stare, and the other women—they think I’m as lucky as he is handsome. When I’m with him, the way the others look at me makes me feel like a queen, because I’m the one he chose out of all the whole lot of them. But then …”

When it became clear that she did not intend to finish, Letty said, “Tell me.”

Jenifry drew a long breath, then said in a brisker tone, “Like as not, it isn’t anything worth telling, miss. He’s just a mite forceful in his nature, that’s all. When I’m with him, I don’t always know whether I’m on my heels or on my head.”

Startled, Letty said, “He hasn’t … That is, he doesn’t force you to—”

“No, miss.” Jenifry flushed more deeply than ever. “It’s just he slapped me once, is all. I daresay I deserved it, though, and he apologized straightaway, Walter did.” She smiled ruefully, adding, “He wants what any man wants, of course, but he doesn’t press me for favors I’d as lief not grant him yet. Nor ever, for that matter, without we get married first, but—”

“Mercy, has he asked you? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Well, that’s just it. He doesn’t ask for marriage. Not yet, at all events.”

“Then stand firm, Jen. You know how angry Papa gets if he finds that one of the menservants has seduced a maid. Some men even go so far as to let a girl think they want marriage when they only want to bed her, you know.”

“I do know that, miss, and I’m a good girl. It isn’t even that he gets angry or such. He just has a way of seeming sometimes to swallow me up when he talks.”

Letty chuckled, knowing that Jenifry had meant to lighten the mood with her phrasing, but nonetheless she felt troubled. They had known each other since childhood, and never before had Jenifry expressed interest in a man. Had the man in question sounded like one the young dresser’s parents would approve, Letty would have left well enough alone (or so she hoped). But this man sounded as if he could be more dangerous than Jenifry might suspect.

Deciding that it might prove necessary to put a spoke in Walter’s wheel, she said casually, “Have you ever learned who Walter’s master is?”

“Aye, miss. He serves a man called Charles Morden. A very important man, Walter says. Do you know him?”

“I don’t know him, exactly, but I know who he is,” Letty said. “He is aide to Sir John Conroy, Jen. I begin to suspect where you got your new political notions.”

Jenifry bit her lip, then said, “I’d best get your hair dry, miss. It will take some time, and you’ll need to be getting your dress on soon or you’ll be late to Sellafield House.”

Justin, too, was dressing for his mother’s dinner party, and he was not looking forward to it. Not only would Susan Devon-Poole be there with Sir Adrian and Lady Devon-Poole, but Sellafield and Ned would be present, both doubtless still harboring ill feelings toward him. Also, his great-aunts would be there, and he feared that one or the other might say something that would lead to their undoing. It was hard for him to imagine how they had avoided doing so long before now.

Examining the articles laid out on his dressing table, he said with a frown, “I want the ruby cravat pin, Leyton, not this trumpery thing you put out.”

“Sorry, sir, I’ll fetch it as soon as I finish shaving you.”

There would be other guests, too, including the prime minister, Lady Letitia and the dragon who generally accompanied her, the Witherspoons, Admiral and Lady Rame, and other friends of his parents.

His thoughts returned to Letitia’s dragon. At this point, he could not decide whether he was grateful for her absence from Chiswick or deplored it. What had she been thinking, to let her headstrong charge go dashing about London on her own? He was certain that Jervaulx had not engaged such a woman merely so she could turn a blind eye to Letitia’s activities.

Leyton, after putting away his shaving utensils, brought him the ruby pin. “I’ll bring your coat now, sir, shall I? You’ll want the dark blue one, I expect.”

“The black,” Justin said, studying the folds of his cravat in the dressing glass as he pinned the ruby in place. Though he generally gave his full attention to his attire until it satisfied him, then forgot it, he could not seem to control his imagination’s present annoying tendency to waft him back to Chiswick.

When he and Letitia had dashed back in search of the aunts, they had found them quickly, in much the same place they had left them. All three women had urged him to accept a ride with them, but he insisted that he had to find Puck.

Though Justin had cursed the carelessness that had caused him to leave his friend and the carriage without making a specific plan for finding both after the fete, he had been sure Puck would not leave without him. At least, he would not do so until he had waited long enough to be certain Justin had gone with someone else.

Justin, having recalled that on his arrival he had passed an area near the main gate clearly reserved for ticketed vehicles, hoped he would find his carriage there and that Puck had had the good sense to wait there with it. Therefore, upon learning that Letitia had left her coach in that area, he had accompanied the three ladies there and left them in the care of her capable-looking coachman and footman.

He had quickly located his own carriage and coachman, but it was some time before Puck returned, looking more like a drowned rat than a gentleman of fashion.

“Good Lord,” Puck exclaimed. “What a downpour! Tell them to whip up the horses, will you? It’s going to take me hours to make myself presentable again for your mama’s dinner party.”

Justin had complied; however, they had found themselves in a long line of traffic again, slowed even more when a coach ahead of them had bogged down in a rut and men had had to pull it out again. Still, he had no doubt now that Puck would be among the first guests to arrive, and he was thankful that he would be.

Leyton brought his coat, and Justin stood to put it on before he noticed that it was the wrong one. “I said the black, Leyton, not the blue.”

“Sorry, sir. I know you did. Don’t know where my mind is tonight.”

When Justin found himself thinking about Letitia again while Leyton helped him slip on the snug-fitting black coat, he firmly pushed the thought away. He could not imagine what had stirred him to kiss the willful chit. If Miss Devon-Poole had got notions in her head simply from his occasional notice of her, what on earth would Letitia be thinking now that he had kissed her? He was a fool, and no mistake. Nothing could come of such a relationship except heartache for her and damned inconvenience and censure for him. If her father got wind of it … But there his imagination boggled, and he made a vow to be more circumspect in future.

He still would have to discuss the Upper Brook Street house with her, of course. He could not let that imbroglio continue a moment longer than he could help. Common knowledge of such goings-on would ruin not only Letitia but also the aunts, and their social ruin would reflect badly on both him and his parents, as well.

Leyton brought him his cloak.

“What the devil! Leyton, have you lost your mind? I am not going out.”

The valet looked at the cloak and shook his head. “Sorry, my lord.”

“Look here,” Justin said curtly, “what the devil’s amiss with you? I can’t think of another instance when you’ve behaved like this.”

“Forgive me, my lord. It will not happen again.”

“Oh, cut line, damn you! I’m not going to turn you off without a character, but I want to know what’s going on. Is it a wench?”

The valet said stiffly, “I am sure that my personal affairs—”

“An affair, eh? Who is she?”

“It is
not
an affair,” Leyton said indignantly. “See here, Master Justin—”

“I thought it wouldn’t be long before you tried that on,” Justin said, grinning at him. “It won’t serve, though. If you’ve got into the petticoat line, damned if I
won’t
turn you off. I shan’t be able to depend on your knowing where
you
are, let alone where my things are.”

“I have not taken to petticoat-chasing, sir, and so you should know. If I have some concern about one particular young woman, because she is foolishly allowing her fancies to overcome her better judgment—”

“Good Lord, I can commiserate with you there,” Justin said. “Who is she?”

“I would rather not say, sir. Suffice it to say that she is allowing one who is not worthy to lick her shoes to winkle his way into her favor.”

“A real dog, is he?”

“His reputation with persons of the female gender is worse than that, sir. I tried to tell her. I even took the liberty of going to—That is, I took advantage of your absence today, and the fact that you had no duties at court, to pay her a call, with the firm intention of describing to her just what sort of a rogue he is.”

“Who the devil is this rogue?”

“He serves Charles Morden, my lord.”

“Does he indeed? Does he speak English? His master’s German, I think.”

“He does, sir, albeit with a dreadful Hanoverian accent. Fancies himself quite a buck, too. If I may take a further liberty, sir, he is not unlike his master.”

“
‘Tel maître, tel valet,’
*
as the ancient bard said. You might as well tell me now who the wench is, Leyton. I’ll find out soon enough, you know.”

“I expect you will, at that, sir.” Leyton sighed. “She is obsessed with him, I fear. Her name is Jenifry Breton, sir. She is Lady Letitia Deverill’s dresser.”

“Oh, Lord,” Justin said, staring at him.

“Yes, sir,” Leyton said, quietly taking the cloak away.

Letty and Miss Dibble were neither the first nor the last to arrive at Sellafield House for her ladyship’s dinner party, and when the carriage drew up before the lovely house at half past seven, it was still light enough in Grosvenor Square to see it. The three-story exterior of modest red brick sported white stone belt courses and window surrounds. Two unpretentious stone pillars mounted with gas lamps flanked the white front door, and the elaborate, well-polished brass knocker gleamed brightly with the lamps’ reflected light.

The interior of the house revealed a much more opulent classical look. The entrance hall, saloon, and front parlor through which they passed, as well as the magnificent great drawing room where the company had gathered, had all been embellished and gilded with excellent taste, if (in Letty’s opinion) with a rather heavy hand. Painted decoration and murals decked walls and ceilings, each room boasted at least one marble fireplace, and the huge crystal chandeliers in each room now provided modern gas lighting.

Letty had scarcely greeted her hostess and introduced Miss Dibble before Miss Abby descended upon her and pulled her toward a comparatively quiet corner.

“Letty, dear, do come and talk with Miranda and me. We simply must talk with you, for Justin did not tell you, did he, dearest?”

“Tell me what?”

“Oh, I knew it. I just knew it! We thought we would have time to break it to you gently, in just the right, well-chosen words, you know. But then Justin showed up at Chiswick—so unexpected, you know, and so very likely to tell you he knew, because of course we had told him that you did—and then the storm burst over us all. So when Miranda said she didn’t think he had, I just knew she was right. You would have said something to us, even with that din on the way home. She said you mightn’t, that you might be afraid to upset us. At least that was her first thought, but then when you looked so taken aback at her last question just before we went in—”

“Miss Abby, please,” Letty begged, stemming the tide. “I haven’t got a notion what you are talking about.”

“But that’s just what I’ve been saying, isn’t it? Does Miss Dibble know?”

Letty blinked, trying to make order out of the chaos in her thoughts if not in Miss Abby’s discourse. “Ma’am, pray begin at the beginning. Does Miss Dibble know what?” Even as she said it, however, she had an uncomfortable idea that she was not going to like the answer. “Wait,” she added hastily, turning to her companion. “Elvira, will you excuse us for a few minutes so that I can sort this out with Miss Abby? There is Catherine Witherspoon yonder, beckoning to me. Pray go and speak to her, and I will join you as quickly as I can.”