My Dear Jenny (22 page)

“I know. I’ll get my girl to dress your hair.” Emily darted
for the door and called for the maid. “Now, you do Miss Prydd’s hair just as
she bids you,” she instructed. “Do you mind that I go downstairs without you,
Jen? There are people come already, and I—”

“You are longing to begin the party. Run along, dear. I’ll
find you when I’m ready.” Emily paused only long enough to observe herself once
more before the glass, charming in primrose gauze and satin, then was gone,
leaving Jenny under the hands of the maid to deal with her own nervousness
about this particular party.

Emily was met at the bottom of the stairs by Sir John, who
asked with the familiarity of an old beau if he might lead her into the
dancing. She cast a quick look about for Teverley, but Teverley was not to be
seen, so she graciously assented, “As soon as I make my curtsy to Lady Teeve.”
Sir John offered his arm and they went to find their hostess.

“My dear, you look charming,” Lady Teeve assured her. “And
where is your friend?” She lingered delicately on the word friend, and the
effect was not lost on Emily.

“She will be down in a few minutes, ma’am. I left her with
my maid to do her hair.”

“How very generous of you, my dear. Now, run along. The
dancing will begin in only a short while.” Emily, chattering to Sir John, took
leave of her hostess.

Jenny followed Emily downstairs five minutes later, hair
looped up, at last, in a compromise between her usual style and the grand
coiffure
à la grecque
which she had worn to the opera. At the bottom of the stairs
she controlled the impulse to bolt back up again, and as she cast about for
Emily, Peter Teverley appeared.

“Now, Miss Prydd, will you dance with me?” he asked, bowing
low over her hand.

“Why,” she thought for a moment, as unable to resist the
temptation to dance with him as she was to think up a plausible excuse for not
doing so, “yes, Mr. Teverley, I should like that very much. I should find your
aunt first—”

“My aunt has surrounded herself with twenty of her closest
friends, and is holding court near the card room. No,” he cautioned her as she
looked about. “You are not to look for your charge, or for Domenic, either. You
are to enjoy this party. You are to enjoy
yourself
.”

“Yes, sir.” She mocked his martial tone.

“Do you know, I believe you take that Gothic horror of a name
too seriously, and that is the problem with you.” He led her out to the floor
for the first set.

“I wasn’t aware that there was a problem with me,” she said
crisply. “And if you mean Iphegenia, it is not a Gothic horror but a Greek one.”

“My profound apologies, my dearest Prydd! No, there is no
problem with you, but merely a—a puzzlement.”

“Well, then, what is the puzzlement of my name? Aside from
the fact that it is a perfectly horrendous one. “

“Your parents caught the rage for the classics, but did they
ever tell you for whom you were named?”

“I should think that would be perfectly obvious. A lady
named lphegenia.”

“Nicely turned, my dear. But—” He broke off as the
figure separated them, then brought them back together again. “Why did you come
to London?”

“‘I beg your pardon? You were explaining who my namesake
was, were you not?”

“I was. But in order to do so, I will need you to refresh my
memory on some particulars. You came visiting?”

“Yes, and to help my friend Mary through her sister’s
wedding, and through the setting-up of her nursery and her confinement as well,
although Aunt Winchell had no idea that I should be gone such a time.”

“No doubt.” Teverley smiled.

“Well, I could not have anticipated the stop at the Green
Falconer, or meeting Emily or any of you. And even at that, I didn’t really
tell my aunt the whole, which was easy enough to do, since the note arrived
from the countess so impressed her that—”

Teverley blinked. “Countess?”

“Mary’s sister’s aunt-in-law.” Jenny explained patiently. “This
must sound like the most maddening history, but recall that you did ask me.”

“Which countess is your friend’s new—er—aunt-at-law?”

“Lady—humm—Boskingram. Or something. Yes, I
believe that is right.”

“So this Lady Boskingram invited you to London?” He smiled. “I
confess that I grow more and more confused.”

“I shall endeavor to make it clearer. Mary Bevan’s sister
Ally was wed to Lady Boskingram’s nephew, and I was invited to the city to
companion Mary for a while.”

“Rather than companioning your aunt,” he said gravely. “I
see. Just as I imagined. Mary Bevan ... she’s a pretty, flighty thing with fair
hair, isn’t she?” He cast a look across the room to where Emily stood,
conversing cheerfully with half a dozen young men.

“Exactly so! I noticed that Maria and Emily are rather in
the same style some time ago. Of course, there is no relationship, so—”

“And rather than attend that wedding, you have been dancing
attendance on Emily Pellering and her family, taking their orders, and
outmaneuvering my aunt Teeve. Quite a holiday for you.”

Jenny missed, or ignored, the dry tone he used. “Why, it’s
been quite an adventure for me. If you were used to mending shirts and writing
letters and making visits to Dumsford parsonage, and teaching in the nursery,
and living altogether the most countrified sort of life, London is the most
prodigious adventure you can imagine. Even had I been confined to my room the
entirety of my visit, I should at least have been in a different room!”

Teverley did not smile in response to her joking. Instead,
his hands gripped her more tightly as he swung her round in the figure.

“I’ll tell you who lphegenia was. She was a woman in Greek
myth, the daughter of Agamemnon, one of the Greek kings. And just before he
went to fight the battle at Troy he was advised that the only way to assure his
victory was to kill his eldest daughter—Iphegenia.” Teverley’s voice was
rough. “What I mean, Jenny my dear Miss Prydd, is that you must stop letting
people ride roughshod over you. Your aunt
lets
you mend shirts; your
mamma
let
you wait upon her; Emily Pellering is in a fine way to
let
you reduce yourself to genteel—and unpaid—slavery. And even your
friend Mary seems to have no other use for you than to companion her and help
her fit out her nursery. Don’t you want anything for yourself?”

Jenny looked at Teverley with amazement; it was she who lost
the step, and he who guided her skillfully back into the pattern.

“My dear sir, I—why, I am so much more fortunate than
I had ever thought to be! You cannot understand: you’re a man, and have your
business; even had you been left penniless you might have had some chance to
make your fortune, whereas a woman has very little unless she marry it. You
cannot have any notion of what it is to be plain, without a dowry above thirty
pounds per annum, and rising on thirty years old! Even Mamma, when she saw that
I was not likely to turn a beauty, sent me to the school where I met Maria
Ervine—Maria Bevan, now—so that I might have some education to fall
back upon later in making my way. And now, why, to go to
ton
parties, to
be accepted without comment, almost as if I were handsome or wealthy or only
seventeen ... Surely if I were a different sort of woman, these would seem very
poor triumphs, but, situated as I am, I never expected such riches!”

Teverley stared down at her, his mouth tightening as if he
were trying to restrain a reply. The music was coming to a halt and Jenny
realized that the room was terribly hot; it was all she could do to return his
look.

“Peter!” The voice broke them from their sudden
concentration. “I wonder if I might have Miss Prydd’s company for the next
dance?” It was Lord Teeve, splendid in formal evening dress, peering mildly at
his nephew.

“Certainly, sir.” Teverley bowed politely. “Miss Prydd?”

With a wavering smile for her last partner, Miss Prydd took
her place with Lord Teeve at the head of the chief set.

“Oh, no, sir, there must surely be someone with whom you
ought to dance,” she demurred when she realized that they were to start the
second set, of dances.

“My dear, one of the great good fortunes of growing old is
that you can have your whims—say, dance with whatever pretty young woman
you choose—and no one can say you nay or yea about it.” He smiled; the
music began.

o0o

Emily Pellering, surrounded by Domenic’s school friends, one
or two of the local sons, and some other various gentlemen, reflected grimly
behind her smile that the
only
gentleman who had not yet begged the
favor of a dance was Peter Teverley. Instead—and she remembered all Lady
Teeve’s hints upon the subject—he was dancing with Jenny.
Her
Jenny. And worse than that, her Jenny was dancing with
him
, when she
knew…. It was all simply too much. Even Domenic, her faithful, oft-scorned
beau, was making duty dances with the older ladies and behaving in an exemplary
fashion, which irritated her beyond bearing. The loud, good-natured attentions
of Mr. Willson, Mr. Keally, and Mr. Authernot only served to fan the flame, and
Emily became, in a burst of rage that shone inexplicably behind her smiling
mask, unquestionably the most beautiful girl at the ball. Mr. Willson offered
to fetch her lemonade. Mr. Keally offered to fan her. And poor Frog Authernot
offered to fetch her
two
glasses of lemonade, in an effort to outdo both
of them.

“No, it will take you an age to fetch the lemonade, and I am
perishing of thirst
now
.” She shrugged. “What is it you are drinking,
sir?”

Mr. Keally, the gentleman so addressed, looked up, somewhat
startled. “It’s the sort of punch kept for the gentlemen, ma’am. A mite too
strong for the ladies, of course—”

“Fiddle!” Emily took the glass from him and drained it. “I
doubt it will do me any harm at all. And it tastes much nicer than that
dreadful insipid lemonade, anyway.”

Mr. Keally and his friends, enchanted by such bravado,
applauded mightily, adding that Miss Pellering certainly was a game sort of
female.

“And I will drink as much of that stuff as you set before
me,” she insisted. “Or anything, I am so dreadfully thirsty.” Mr. Keally at
once hurried away, intending to fetch lemonade. It was not his fault that, by
the time he reached the punch bowls, the lemonade was momentarily depleted and
the punch just now refilled. He brought back three cupsful, with a look of
chagrin, and was rewarded by Emily’s fervently expressed thanks, her hand to
kiss, and her smile. Then she took two of the cups from him (before he could
indicate that one was for himself, another for Mr. Willson, and only one
destined for her) and drained both, in time to be claimed for the dance by Mr.
Authernot. Her step was somewhat unsteady as she was led out to the floor, and
Willson and Keally alternated between contrition and delight at having—mildly—foxed
the reigning belle of the evening. Finally, since there was nothing to do for
it any longer, they went off to claim other partners until their respective
turns with Emily should come.

o0o

Lady Teeve, with her friends, had observed Miss Prydd’s
entrance, had seen her dance, first with her nephew, then with her husband. As
Lord Teeve relinquished her, another gentleman appeared to request the honor,
apparently encouraged by his host’s sanction. Lady Teeve clenched her hands
together tightly and conversed with the ladies and gentlemen in her group, and
watched. She saw, to her surprise, that Emily Pellering seemed somewhat uneasy
on her feet, and at first wondered if this one would faint at her feet. But a
little more observation brought the truth to her: Emily Pellering was foxed.
Not truly drunk, but somewhat more than mildly inebriate. Lady Teeve’s smile became
wider, more genuine. She searched out Miss Prydd again and found her, at the
beginning of the fourth dance, partnered by Peter Teverley again.

“You’re smiling, Prydd. I believe that you are enjoying
yourself.” Teverley regarded her mockingly. “Can it be that you have forgotten
that exasperating piece of nature that you call friend, and are actually
thinking of yourself?”

“What a saint you would make of me, sir!” She laughed.

“Certainly considerably more sanctified than ninety percent
of the people of my acquaintance—male or female.”

“Faugh, I believe you are trying to put me out of
countenance.”

“Of course I am, Prydd my dear. You are so much more amusing
when you are out of countenance. I believe I might almost make you blush if I
tried.”

“But you will not, will you.” It was not a question.

“I suppose I will overcome the temptation—for the
moment.” He smiled down at her.

Lady Teeve, watching the whole of this exchange, stopped in
midpronouncement to stare at her guest and her nephew. “I believe he
likes
her!” she marveled. “I believe he has a
tendre
for her!” She had made
hints of such a state of affairs to Emily Pellering, but had thought them
created from whole cloth. “My God, if he were to offer—” It was no longer
a matter of personal satisfaction. It was an imperative required by family
honor. She made her excuses to her friends, passing through the crowd, which
continually produced some person who had to congratulate her on the success of
her party and so slowed her progress.

At last she was near enough Jenny so that she could stop her
when she and Teverley left off dancing. “My dear Miss Prydd.” Lady Teeve smiled
a smile that almost drove Jenny’s answering one from her face. “You look to be
enjoying yourself, which I am glad to see, since so much of your visit here has
been so sadly confined. It is not every day that you attend a ball, I would
wager.”

“On the contrary, ma’am, I have seen Miss Prydd and Miss
Pellering at several balls during my stay in London. Miss Prydd must be an old
campaigner by now,” Teverley submitted blandly.