Lady In Waiting (6 page)

The brows of several matrons slammed the upper
r
i
m
s of their dowdy turbans. Still, their interested gazes trailed the handsome Scot down the column again, as wry smiles budded on their lips.

Jenny smiled too, her keen imagination creating what her own eyes had not the fortune to see.

Gads, dancing was enjoyable. She should do it more often. Why on earth had she worried so? The steps were the same as those she danced below stairs, on the off occasion that Mr. Edgar approved any sort of celebration —
w
hich wasn't often, what with all the work piling up the minute anyone looked away for an instant. Jenny watched the other young ladies demurely twirl and dance through the archway of arms.

Obviously she needn't have worried at all. Why, were she to cast judgment
,
she would have to say that her skill was far superior to those studied in the art of dance. Their movements seemed so restrained, so staid, compared to her own. Lud, they weren't even smiling!

Well, their loss, Jenny decided as she kicked up her

39

heels gaily and raced forward to pass beneath the bridge of clasped hands.

Even Lord Argyll noticed her natural affinity for dance. She could see it in his eyes and his amused grin.
They
were having fun, and isn't that what dancing was all about?

But then, the music ended. Drat it all. And here she was, just beginning to truly enjoy herself.

Lord Argyll raised his forearm to her. A broad smile still lingered on his lips and playfulness she hadn't seen before lit his eyes. "Shall we return to yer duennas?"

"If we must." A sigh fell from her lips as he guided her to the Featherton ladies.

Blast the rules.
She desperately wanted to dance again. "I do hope you will ask me to dance another time, Lord Argyll. I own, we make a fine pair. Did you see everyone watching us?"

The corner of his mouth twitched the very moment they rejoined the Feathertons and Meredith at the perimeter of the dance floor. "I did indeed, my lady."

"And I don't think it had to do with you not wearing anything under your kilt either," Jenny added matter-of-factly.

"Oh, my heavens!" Lady Viola wavered and leaned against her sister.
"Spel
l
. .
."

Lord Argyll, appearing somewhat startled, assisted Lady Letitia in dragging the frail old woman into a chair along the wall.

Meredith dashed forward and snared Jenny's arm. "Come with me, please."

"What? Is something wrong?" Jenny asked as Meredith hauled her through the wide doorway into the octagonal foyer.

40

"Jenny, you simply can't mention things like men's under things ... or lack of them ... in proper company."

"Oooh, I see. Well, you're quite right." Jenny nodded her head. "But I don't think anyone, save your aunts perhaps, noticed my slip, do you?"

Meredith's eyes widened and she held her breath for a moment. "Oh, surely not. 'Twas likely just me. Still, I thought it worth a mention."

"What did you think of my dancing? I've had no proper training, mind you, but I thought I did quite well."

"Yes, your dancing was very . .. uh . . .
enthusiastic
,
"
Meredith stammered.

Jenny grinned appreciatively. "Why thank you, Miss Meredith."

As the two young ladies slipped back into the assembly room, Jenny noted with some shock that their neighbor, Lady McCarthy, blocked the only pathway back to the Feathertons and Lord Argyll.

The widow showed her teeth as she recognized Miss Meredith and moved forward to greet her.

Oh, perdition.
Jenny's breath snagged in her throat. For certain she would be recognized! 'Twas not more than four hours since she'd been summoned above stairs to mend the widow's loose hem. Four measly hours! Why, 'twas not even enough time for her needle stab wound to crust over!

As Meredith and Lady McCarthy exchanged pleasantries, Jenny averted her face and affixed her widened eyes to the floor. Lud, she had to get out of here. She lifted her eyes a s
m
idge and sought out the double doorway. But then the widow's attention was upon her.

41

"Miss Meredith, would you do me the great honor of introducing me to your companion?" the widow asked. "I do not believe I've had the pleasure."

Jenny looked up and shot Meredith a horrified gaze.

Meredith appeared somewhat confused by the blatant look of alarm on Jenny's face and it was several seconds before she could summon her voice. "Uh, Lady McCarthy, this is my dear frien
d
—"

"From Miss Belbury's School," Jenny blurted.

"... Yes, from school, Lady Genevieve d'en Bas."

Jenny stared into the woman's eyes, so frightened that it took a nudge from Meredith to remind her to drop the widow a curtsy. "Madam."

"Charmed." Then the woman studied her for several overlong moments. "Lady Genevieve, have you been in Bath long? I have the distinct impression we have crossed paths."

Jenny was aghast.

Thankfully though, Lady Letitia had taken notice of the potential problem and was charging forward to take matters in hand. "Oh, good eve, Lady McCarthy. I see you have met Lady Genevieve. But I do beg your pardon. My sister has succumbed to a spell and I have come to fetch the young lady to her side. Do excuse us, please."

Jenny grinned. Lady Letitia was ever so brilliant, for the next thing Jenny knew, she was being pulled quickly away from the overly curious widow, leaving Miss Meredith behind as a distraction.

Meeting the widow could have been a complete disaster, save for her quite convincing performance as the refined Lady Genevieve. But it wasn't
really
a performance, now was it? Had her father placed a ring on her

42

mother's finger, she
would
be Lady Genevieve. Not a cowering imposter, but a lady true.

Lady Letitia led the way, at a rapid clip, toward her sister and Lord Argyll. But not so fast that Jenny could not catch a snippet of conversation between the two matrons they were passing.

"A kilt! Can you believe the nerve of that Scotsman? Why, his father would turn over in his crypt if he had any idea of what the current Lord Argyll is about."

Jenny stopped midstride and turned to look at the two starched matrons.
What the current Lord Argyll is about? Another piece of the mystery, is it then?

Lady Letitia jerked her arm and urged her onward.

"Did you hear what they said, my lady?" Jenny asked. "What do you think they meant?"

"Oh, I'm sure I don't know. Nothing probably. The viscount's kilt is causing a bit of a stir, but I see nothing improper. Just Bath gossip, I expect. One needs something diverting now and again to keep madness at bay in this sleepy little town."

Jenny grinned at that. At least to her way of thinking, the Scottish viscount was a most welcome diversion.

Barely a moment after returning and seeing Lady Viola fully herself again, Jenny found her arm atop Lord Argyll's and headed for the dance floor once more.

A waltz was called
.
Jenny could scarce believe it A waltz in staid old Bath. And she had not an i
n
kling how to begin. "
I
—
I
haven't permission to dance the waltz," she blurted.

Lord Argyll only chuckled at that. "Since when have ye fashed about obtainin' permission to do anything?"

Oh. Of course. The carriage incident.
A little smile lifted her lips. "Now, now, my lord. You do not know

43

me s
o
very well as to make such a sweeping and, dare I say, ungentlemanly comment. One might take you for a rake."

"Several have." He lifted a brow as if waiting for her reaction.

"Have they?" An admitted rake, was he? A real lady would consider walking from the floor immediately. But for some reason, his admission of being less than a gentleman intrigued her all the more. In fact, it made her belly do a little flip. "Well, I definitely should not dance the waltz with a known rake."

"
‘'Tis
not as if the Upper Assembly Room is A
lm
ack's." With that, he pulled her into his arms as the music filled her ears.

A shiver of pleasure raced southward, as his hand slid around her, rested in the middle of her back, and they began to move together.
La, the waltz is wonderful!

Still, she could certainly see why permission should be obtained. Why, she was a woman of three and twenty, and her sensibilities were positively aloft.

But who could blame her? Lud, here she was in a handsome, ta
l
l Scotsman's arms, feeling his kilt brush against a place that would make a fresh-faced debutante blush. Knowing that between her and his . . . sporran was naught but one delicate layer of paper-thin silk and one of threadbare cotton. Heat suffused her cheeks, and elsewhere as well, at the decadent thought.

"But I have not danced the waltz before."

"Och, dinna fash. Ye are doin' quite wee
l
. Just hold on to me and let me lead ye where I might."

Jenny nodded dumbly and tightened her hold on his muscled upper arm.
Cri
m
iny.
Even through his coat, it fe
l
t as hard and thick as a fire log.

44

As he whirled her around the floor, she lifted her chin and peered upward, surprised when she met his heated gaze. But she did not look away. Instead, she plunged into those warm eyes, as deep and brown as the mouth
of a river in spring. And there she swam, as the music played on, barely aware of the crowd ringing the dance floor, blurring and fading until there was nothing but him, and her.

And sensation. Her body was highly aware of every place that his body touched.

"Ye'
r
e beautiful," he told her in the honeyed tones of the Highlands.

"You're a rake."

"Aye, I am. But I dinna lie." His eyes were smoldering.
"Ever."

Blood raised into her cheeks, heating them.

"
''Tis our last dance. Another would declare more than I inten
d
—
r
ight now."

Jenny pinned him with her gaze.
Righ
t
now?
Just what did he mean by that? But since he seemed to be waiting for her to respond, she nodded. She must look like an idiot to him. Always bobbin' her head up and down. How she wished she knew what else to d
o
— what to say! She was so clearly out of her element here.

"So when might I cal
l
?"

"C-ca
ll
?" she stammered.

"Aye. If ye'll be remainin' in Bath a wee bit longer."

"Oh." Jenny frantically searched the ballroom for the Featherton ladies. This was only to be for one night.
One.
She could never maintain this ruse for more than a few hour
s
—
c
ould she?

But Jupiter he was handsome. Why just the sight of him made her belly swoop and her legs quiver like

45

quince jelly. Still, he was a rake. A rake who, for some reason, fancied
her.

To what end though? She had to concede that it was entirely possible that he saw through her guis
e
—
s
aw her for the servant girl she truly was. Worry plummeted into the pit of her stomach and sat there as heavily as a wedge of Cook's foul Candlemas cake. He likely thought her a light skirt, one with whom he could take his bodily pleasure, then walk away without thinking nary a thought.

Like her father had done with her mother.

Bah! What was she thinking? This was too ridiculous.

Besides, she reasoned, after this eve the ladies would have had their fun, and the novelty of dressing her up like a princess and sending her off to the ball to meet the handsome princ
e
—
e
rr . . .
viscoun
t
—
w
ould surely have lost its sheen.

Oh, perdition.
She didn't want this dream of being a proper lady to end! This is what she was
born
to. A grand lady was who she was meant to be.