Lord Wraybourne's Betrothed (5 page)

Mrs. Hawley took the girl’s wide eyes as indicative of distress, not relief, and was concerned. “Of course, my dear. I thought you knew that. I should have told you earlier. Now your betrothal is announced it would cause a great deal of talk if you were to draw back.”

“But how terrible to be forced to go through with a marriage when all desire for it has left.”

“Indeed it would be,” said Mrs. Hawley, now positively alarmed. “In such a case, to end the engagement might be the only honorable course. But Jane, do I understand you no longer wish to marry the earl?”

Jane’s eyes opened even wider, but this time the expression was unmistakable—surprise. “I? Of course I wish to marry the earl, Beth. But what if he no longer wishes to marry me when he sees how little I know of the ways of the ton? Then would I not be honorably bound to release him?”

Mrs. Hawley shook her head. “Jane, what maggot has got into you? Lord Wraybourne made his choice after becoming acquainted with you. You have not deceived him as to your nature. Why should he suddenly decide you are unsuitable, merely because you are unaccustomed to Society?”

That, thought Jane, was depressingly true. She supposed it did not matter how tongue-tied she was, how many
faux pas
she committed. If she still had her money and her pedigree, the marriage would go forward.

She desperately wanted to marry the Earl of Wraybourne on any terms, but she really did not think she could bear it if he did not want as desperately to marry her.

T
HREE WEEKS LATER a carriage deposited Jane, her father, and a newly trained maid, Prudence Hawkins, at the pillared coach entrance of The Middlehouse, the country seat of Lord and Lady Harroving. Being close to Great Missenden, this was a convenient place to break the two-day journey to London. As Lord Wraybourne had agreed to meet his betrothed there, Sir Jeffrey did not need to escort his daughter all the way to Town. It was also suitable because Lady Harroving was to introduce Jane and Lady Sophie to Society in the coming weeks.

As Jane and her father entered the impressive Italianate entrance hall of The Middlehouse, she was very aware of the danger of showing her naivety and worked hard not to gape at the lightly clad deities who played in the clouds of the
trompe l’oeil
ceiling. As their hostess approached across the vast tiled hall, Jane could not help feeling Lady Harroving would have been at home if she had suddenly found herself transported to those painted Olympian heavens.

Lusciously plump and blond, she was obviously fighting the fact that she was in her thirties and a wife of many years. Her weapons were a daring style of dress and skillful, but not undetectable, use of cosmetics. There was marked contrast between her delightful expensive day dress of dusky pink muslin and her guests’ dark and serviceable travelling clothes.

Some unpleasant emotion seemed to flicker across her face when she set eyes on Jane. This reinforced Jane’s unhappy belief that she must present the very picture of dowdiness, but Lady Harroving’s manner was bright and welcoming as she arranged for their comfort.

“I am sure you must be exhausted! I dislike travelling above all things. Our other guests are out at the moment, but I’m sure that is a relief to you, my dear,” she said sweetly to Jane. “You do not want to be meeting Lord Wraybourne again in all your dirt. I will have tea sent to your rooms and you may rest before dinner tonight.”

Jane recognized the false tone of this welcome. In fact, her hostess scarcely bothered to hide it. The lady was doubtless put out by the arbitrary increasing of her responsibilities.

Still, any ungraciousness was not reflected in the room Jane was given. She sighed with contentment at the feel of a velvety carpet beneath her feet and breathed deeply the delicate aroma of the
potpourri
in a china bowl on the dressing table. She had no need to be politic as she admired the yellow sprigged wallpaper and the matching hangings on the bed.

Once Lady Harroving had left, Jane continued her exploration. Lavender sachets in the drawers, rose-scented soap in the dish and, in the grate, an enormous fire despite the fact that it was May and seasonably warm. Such luxury seemed a sign of better things to come. Jane surveyed her new domain with satisfaction, trying desperately to ignore the shadowy fears which troubled her mind. Lady Harroving’s reaction had made it very clear that Jane’s betrothed would think her an unfashionable, tongue-tied bumpkin. It was intolerable rather than reassuring that he would accept her because of her money, bloodlines, and upbringing even while he despised her appearance.

How she wished Mrs. Hawley was here with her. That lady would have shared Jane’s delight in the unaccustomed luxury, but she would also have been able to advise and support. Alas, Beth was to stay on at Carne to help with preparations for the wedding and then would leave to take up another position. Jane missed her dreadfully already. Tomorrow her father would leave to return home and she would be alone with strangers. For a moment she was afraid she would cry, but she never cried. She had prayed for years to be allowed to escape from her home, to learn something of the world beyond Carne. Now that the opportunity was granted her, tears were uncalled for.

Resolutely, she drank the tea and ate the delicious cake sent up for her refreshment, then let Prudence remove her outer clothes so that she might lie down upon the soft bed. Heaven, a feather mattress! In moments she was asleep.

Some hours later, when Jane was awakened by her maid, she felt disorientated but she recovered to realize that she was, in fact, well rested and able to face what could be a trying evening. She had longed for new experiences. Now she would enjoy them. If anyone looked down on her, she thought wryly, she would remember her fortune, her bloodlines, and her moral superiority. As for her betrothed, she could only try her hardest not to make him ashamed of her. Above all, she must not moon over him or cling to him. Her mother had given her another lecture before departure, warning expressly against such ill-bred behavior.

Jane knew she would have faced her first contact with fashionable Society with more composure if she had clothes with some pretense to
à-la-modality.
Her measurements had been sent weeks ago to a fashionable
modiste
who was to make her
trousseau,
but the garments were to be collected on arrival in London. This had not seemed to matter when they were merely to stay with Lord Wraybourne’s cousin in the country; but now, having seen the cousin, Jane knew she would be a figure of fun. She gazed at her only evening gown, a plain white silk with a neckline neither high nor low and no ornamentation whatsoever.

“Oh, how I wish I had my London wardrobe,” Jane sighed. “I will look like a pauper cousin in this dress.”

“There’s the pearls, Miss Jane,” offered Prudence Hawkins in consolation.

Jane took out the long, perfectly matched string and let it trickle through her fingers. She nodded thoughtfully.

“And I’ll try your hair in a new style, Miss. You can’t keep wearing it down your back or in braids round your head.”

“Very well.” Jane looked up at the maid. “Have you become acquainted with any of the servants here, Prudence?”

“Lady Sophie’s maid was quite kind to me, Miss Jane. Above me, of course, but she showed me a few things.”

“Could you go and ask whether she knows of any white silk flowers I could borrow?” Jane was a little pink. “I dislike having to ask, but better that than to appear so . . . plain.”

Enthusiastically, Prudence hurried off and returned in a little while with a box of trimmings and flowers.

“There’s any amount of folderols in the sewing room here!” she exclaimed. “Stuff is worn once and thrown aside. Tomorrow, if you wish, Miss Jane, I’ll see about trimming your other gowns a little.”

They worked together, and soon Jane decided that she presented a tolerable enough appearance. She made no attempt to be fashionable, for she had little idea what the fashion was. She suspected neither the frilly gowns worn by Squire Masham’s wife nor the heavily trimmed style favored by the wife of the vicar of Carne represented the latest style. Still, she was confident that the discreet use of trimming had disguised the poor cut of the dress. Small white rosebuds decorated the neckline of her gown and larger open blossoms were fixed in her hair, which was now gathered in a knot on the top of her head. With the pearls wrapped round her neck four times, she believed she could hold her head high.

Nonetheless, she felt the need of moral support when she received a message saying that her father had one of his sick headaches and would not be down that evening. On shaking legs and feeling very alone, Jane followed the footman to the drawing room, where her name was announced to what seemed to her a large and glittering company. She froze for a moment, but the dreaded first meeting with Lord Wraybourne passed easily. He appeared to her not so much a critical judge as a gallant rescuer and refuge. He might only see her as a fortune on well-bred legs, but at least he was a familiar face and inclined to be kind.

“You are looking very well, Jane.”

He was not so familiar after all. After so many weeks of absence, he was a stranger too.

Jane studied him as if for the first time. He was handsome, she supposed, and very elegant. She did not remember his clothes being quite so fine at Carne. Doubtless he chose them to suit the company. There, in the evening, he had worn knee breeches and dark colors like her father. Here he was dressed in a deep blue coat and buff pantaloons molded to his body. His cravat formed crisp, white folds around his face to emphasize his well-shaped features. She stiffened as she became aware of the direction of her thoughts. She
mustn’t
start mooning over him, even if he was extremely handsome.

“I will look even better,” she replied prosaically, “when the London
modiste
has done her work.”

Lord Wraybourne’s finely shaped lips twitched slightly. “I am sure of it. As with the hairdressers and perhaps even the cosmeticians. But they will be gilding the lily.”

Despite her determination to be cool and sophisticated, Jane was shocked. “Face paint is totally improper!” Then she saw the gleam in his eyes. “Are you teasing me, my lord?”

“One of my privileges, I believe,” he said with a smile, tucking her arm in his. “Come along and allow me to present you to your host and the rest of the company.”

Lord Harroving was a solid man with red face and a leering eye. Jane did not like the way he looked at her and was relieved when he did not seem to find her worthy of continuing interest. He was considerably older than his wife and spent most of the evening with the
Sporting Pink,
ignoring the company.

A very tall, muscular man in his thirties was introduced as Sir Marius Fletcher, a particular friend. Be that as it may, his greeting to her was less than warm, Jane felt, but perhaps such a chiselled face could not help being stony. Unlike Lord Wraybourne, Sir Marius’s evening clothes were almost casual. He was most certainly not a dandy. When she became more familiar with Society, she would realize he belonged to the sporting Corinthian set.

After two such daunting introductions Jane was relieved to be presented to a young woman of her own age. Lady Sophia Kyle, Lord Wraybourne’s sister, seemed reserved at first, then she suddenly smiled and embraced Jane warmly.

“I
am
pleased to meet you after all. I am going to like you very much, I think, and we will be the best of friends as we are to make our curtsy together. And soon, of course, we will be the best of sisters!”

While relieved at the offer of friendship, Jane couldn’t help but think that Lord Wraybourne’s sister was not quite as her mother had expected. Her blue silk dress with its foot of embroidered fringing round the hem and star tlingly low—at least in Jane’s experience—neckline could only be called dashing. Jane was hard put not to stare at Lady Sophie’s hair, which was cropped short and bounced in auburn curls very like her brother’s. Blue ribbons were threaded through it, their ends hanging down one side to her shoulder.

“I admire your hair style very much, Lady Sophia,” Jane said warmly and was rewarded by a squeak of delight.

“How wonderful of you. It is quite the thing! I have just had it cropped. My stuffy brother does not like it, but he cannot stick the hair back on.” Her stuffy brother merely grinned and tweaked one of her short curls as Jane tried to come to terms with this offhand approach to authority.

“It’s nothing to do with me, pest,” Lord Wraybourne remarked, apparently unalarmed. “Doubtless you’ll soon capture some poor unsuspecting male to run your rigs with.”

He directed Jane’s attention to his sister’s partner. “This, Jane, is Lord Randal Ashby. He cannot resist the urge to flirt with a beautiful woman, so be on your guard. As you see, he has been unfairly equipped by nature.”

Jane was cast into great confusion by both the casual compliment and the sight of the most handsome man imaginable. Only a poet could describe Lord Randal. Sadly, the few poets who had attempted the feat had given up under threats of violence from the young man, who found his spectacular good looks a trial. To say that he was tall, slim, and blond was insufficient. Every feature was perfect, and each enhanced the next. Even without striking a pose, his stance was elegant. Jane was to discover that it was, in fact, impossible for his body to arrange itself in unpleasing lines.

In response to his greeting, uttered, of course, in a mellow and musical voice, she could only murmur polite nothings for fear she would blurt out that he was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen and she wished she could look at him forever.

Lord Wraybourne dragged her away, commenting good humoredly, “I see I will have to keep you out of Lord Randal’s orbit. Meanwhile, I would like you to meet the final member of our party, Mrs. Phoebe Danvers.”