My Dear Jenny (23 page)

Lady Teeve regarded her nephew with dislike. “Ah, you and
your soldier’s talk, Peter! Now do fetch me a glass of lemonade. I give you my
word, we are not going to vanish anywhere.”

Teverley’s look boded refusal, and Jenny, sensing a scene,
added her pleas to those of her hostess with a meaningful look that indicated
she was able to defend herself. He had no choice but to leave, a trifle
irritated with Jenny’s self-sufficiency.

“It is a most delightful party,” Jenny offered, when
Teverley was gone.

“It would appear to be, from the way that you enjoy
yourself.” Lady Teeve plainly disapproved of the enjoyment. Close to her prey
now, she could see that Miss Prydd was wearing a very fine gown for a poor
dependent, and that her hair was neither modish nor dowdy, either of which she
could condemn with equal facility, but simply becoming. “I see that your charge
is enjoying herself also.” Her words were heavily weighted, and Jenny, who had
not seen Emily since her first glimpse earlier, wondered uneasily why Lady
Teeve was dwelling so much upon the point. “There, you see her,” the lady
insisted.

And through a parting of shoulders and heads Jenny could
indeed see, with a sinking heart, Emily. She was not castaway, not even
obviously under the effect of drink, but her manner, her carriage, the very
slight disarray of her hair and dress, bespoke a hectic, reckless behavior that
made Jenny suddenly guilty, conscious of her lack of attention to Emily’s mood.

“Indeed, ma’am, so I can. I think perhaps I ought to join
her and—” She faltered. “And ask her aid, for I can feel one of my
flounces is in danger, and—”

“No need to bother Miss Pellering,” Lady Teeve said with
sweet venom. “After all, you have neglected her thus far. Surely a few minutes
more will not harm her.” The first shot fired. Jenny looked at her dainty,
elegantly dressed foe and realized that the battle she had dreaded was at last
joined.

“I have not neglected her, ma’am, except by staying in my
room, which was only following the orders of the physician you so kindly
ordered for me. After all, I expected that, surrounded by such kindness and
wisdom as you and your family could be depended upon to exert, she could hardly
feel
my
neglect.”

“My dear Miss Prydd, I suspect that very little of kindness
and wisdom would have any effect on that hoyden. I have seen her throw herself
at my nephew, at my son, at my guests, and now she is disgracing herself, not
mentioning her family or mine, by dancing in that fashion—” She gestured
grandly toward Emily, who was indeed waltzing with her partner in a manner
which would have been highly censured by the patronesses of Almack’s. “I have
had a hussy in my sickroom and one in my drawing room for a week now, and have
been mightily amused, I may tell you. But the effort of both of you to win any
male within your grasp to your side cannot be called pretty behavior.” Lady
Teeve had forgotten to lower her voice (if she had ever intended to) and Jenny,
replying, found that she had similarly few compunctions. If she was to be
slandered and reviled in public, she would make her defense publicly as well.

“Miss Pellering may be young, and still testing, as a young
girl might, the charms and manners which will later suit her to grace her home
and salon, but a hoyden she is not. She is impetuous, and inclined to be too
little guided by the advice of others, but she has a generous heart, and—”

“A generous heart indeed!” Lady Teeve sneered satirically.

Jenny drew herself up to her full height and took a breath,
making of herself as dignified a figure as she could. There was a wild ringing
in her ears that reminded her that she was not long from the sickroom.

“My lady, I will say only this, and then I will say nothing
further to the subject. You have chosen an oddly public moment to upbraid me
for a neglect which it was not within my power to remedy. You have taken me to
task for another’s headstrong faults, mild though those faults be. And you have
taken care to do it here, where you judge my humiliation to be the greatest. I
will not submit to this treatment, for, even if my family is merely ‘respectable’
and my fortune nonexistent, I am as good stock as you, and need not listen to
such a tantrum. I have no designs on your family; I had no wish to make this
visit at all, but was only persuaded by Miss Pellering’s urgings and your son’s
assurances that you were willing to let bygones be bygones. I strongly
suspicioned that I should be ill-used at every opportunity, and my suspicions,
it seems, are realized. And since you have contrived to make Emily miserable
enough as well, to turn her against me and against her own self-interest, I
think I may judge myself released from all responsibility to her. If I may beg
the indulgence of your dog-cart and a groom to see me to the village in the
morning, I will be gone. And if you cannot spare me that, I assure you I will
walk.”

Lady Teeve gawked.

“And since I am bent upon ruining myself here,” Jenny
finished tremulously, “I will only mention that your son is one of the dearest,
best boys I have ever met, and can only take after your husband in that, since
he certainly gets none of his temper from you.” She shrugged angrily,
determined that no tears should fall until she was clear of the room. “Good
evening,” she managed at last, and turned away to walk through the interested
and sympathetic crowd toward the hallway.

Lady Teeve remained where she was, her throat quivering
urgently. Then she looked about for support. Miss Brickerham was dancing. Miss
Sarah Brickerham was entertaining an elderly gentleman with an account of
something or other. Mary Quare—here the lady drew a satisfied breath, for
her companion had made her way to Miss Pellering’s side, and was no doubt
relating to her all that had passed in the scene—from the proper perspective.

“My dear?” Lord Teeve, at his wife’s elbow, spoke with a
voice of mingled pity and iron. “Come now, let me fetch you a glass of
lemonade. And will you sit for a moment? I realize that holding a party is a
taxing business; you should take better care of yourself.” He offered her a
chair. “Now, no more mischief this evening, hey, my dear?” he ordered with
rueful kindness, and went to fetch her drink. Lady Teeve, suddenly small and
insignificant against the wall, was too tired even to cry.

o0o

Jenny made her way successfully from the room, passed the
salon, where a crush of people were exclaiming at a lucky turn of a card,
skirted the great dining hall, where supper was being laid out in the promised
lavish proportions, and found, at last, a small receiving room with no one in
it. Her ears were ringing still and her heart was thumping uncomfortably. She
was miserably aware that she had ruined herself, may have ruined Miss
Pellering, and.... She began to weep, great tearing sobs which made her head
ache the more. She didn’t even hear it when the door opened and someone entered
the room.

“Well,” Emily Pellering began somewhat shakily. “You weren’t
content with making a fool of yourself, but must ruin my credit as well. And in
the middle of a party, too! I wish you had stayed upstairs in your room as you
ought to have done!” And she burst into tears almost as furious as Jenny’s.

Gradually Miss Prydd managed to calm Emily, and her sobs
were reduced to mere watery cluckings. But as soon as she regained that much of
her senses, she shrugged Jenny’s hand from her shoulder and cried, venomously,
that she had rather be held by a snake, a toad, by.... Here she ran out of
comparisons and could only sob again, weakly.

“But Emmy, love, what has—”

“Don’t call me that! It’s not your place to call me that!”
Emily snapped angrily, struggling to stand up against her own fuddled sense of
balance.

“Not my place?” Jenny blinked.

“No. I should be Miss Pellering to you, or Miss Emily, or—”

“When we banished such formality with each other some three
months ago at Mrs. Hatcher’s?”

“And you have been interfering with me ever since!” Emily
cried quickly, afraid that her sense of ill-use would desert her.

“Only at your request, in most cases. Would you rather have
married Adrian Ratherscombe?”

“No, but I—that’s not the point. Always interfering with
Mr. Teverley, and saying things—l’m sure you must have said things to
turn him away from me, because you wanted him yourself, and were too plain and
old and—and you had to say things about me which—”

“Emily, never in my life!” Jenny cried, stung. “My God,
child, what have you been thinking, nay, imagining, these months? I admit I
thought the gentleman had very little partiality for you, and felt it a
kindness to hint as much to you—but as for discouraging him ... my God!”
She began to laugh. “Oh my God, what a thing to say to
me
!
” She went off into a fit of laughter,
more than a little hysterical. Emily, startled from her own hysterics by Miss
Prydd’s far more uncharacteristic ones, stared. Jenny regained herself. “All
right, then. What other crimes have I done against you?”

“Telling Lady Teeve that I was foxed. And starting a
shouting match in the middle of the room just now. Yes, and making me the
villain for that fall you took, when you
had
to ride that stupid horse,
and Domenic hated me, and Lord Teeve hated me, and Sir John ... and Teverley
hated me!”

“Nonsense! I
told
you, as I told Teverley—if it
come to that!—that I was to blame for my own stupidity. As for telling
Lady Teeve that you were foxed—”

“I believe it was my aunt who informed Miss Prydd of your
condition. And, as it seems to be still very much the case, I suggest that you
quit the party for this evening, Miss Pellering, and retire to your room.”

Both women looked up. It was Peter Teverley.

Jenny was the first to recover. A picture had formed in her
mind of how they must appear: Emily, disheveled by dancing, her face streaked
with tears, her eyes red and her mouth unbecomingly twisted in anger; and
herself, gown creased and stained with tears, still shaking from hysteria. She
began to giggle.

“No!” She held her hand up to stop him as he approached her.
“No, I am quite all right, really, only it just seems a trifle—a little
ridiculous. My aunt Winchell would never credit this if she heard the story!”
She chuckled a moment Ionger.

Emily seemed unable to find any humor in the situation. “I
have no doubt that she
will
hear the story.” She glared.

“And who will tell it to her?” Teverley asked easily. Emily
quailed before that look. “I rather think that you should follow my suggestion,
Miss Pellering, and as soon as possible. Can you stand?” he asked Miss Prydd.

“I am perfectly myself again,” she assured him. “Please, if
you would only see Emily to her room, and make sure that her maid—”

“That’s what you always do!” Emily spat angrily. “Act as if
you were the kindest, most sacrificing, person in the world, and then steal
another person’s—” She stopped, hand over her mouth, realizing what she
had almost said, and in whose presence.

“Another person’s what?” Teverley asked casually.

“No matter.” Emily stammered. “I’ll go now.”

“No, no.” He smiled. It was not a pleasant smile. “I am all
attention. What
new
crime is Miss Prydd credited with now? After
defending you against my aunt, not only here but in London; after making up a
large part of your rescue from Ratherscombe; and after contributing largely to
your comfort these last few months, as well as defending your name against the
scandal when you committed the asinine foolishness of going to meet Adrian
Ratherscombe in Hyde Park—yes, I do know about that.” He nodded calmly. “What
new ‘crime’ are you laying at Miss Prydd’s door? Perhaps the disaffection of a
lover? Or a hoped-for lover? It could not have been myself, could it?” He smiled
grimly. “Certainly it could not have been myself, Miss Pellering, since I was
never attached in the first place—”

“I beg you, Mr. Teverley,” Jenny began.

“No, damme, Prydd, it’s time the chit understood. My dear
Miss Pellering,” he began formally. “I must regret to be the one to inform you
of this, but it appears that I must. You are, certainly, a pretty chit. You are
on occasion pretty mannered, as well. You are often amusing, in the
inconsequential way of a kitten or a small, spoilt child. But you are hardly
the sort of woman I would wish to wife.”

Emily looked at him piteously.

“Come now, child,” he said, more kindly. “Dom is waiting in
the hall to see you to your room, and your maid will bring you a cup of warm
milk to make you sleep; you’ll have a devilish head in the morning, but you’ll
be right enough by tomorrow evening, and on your way, returning to your parent’s
house, if I recall rightly. Ah yes, my aunt rarely likes her victims to linger
when she has done with them. And in two weeks I will only be that dreadful
Teverley fellow, and in a month you will have a new beau, or several beaux, to
occupy your time more fully, and to much better effect, than ever I could.” He
strode to the door and opened it to reveal Domenic Teverley, looking sober and
somewhat alarmed.

“Dom, your charge. Make sure you tell her maid to bring her
a cup of warm milk.” He transferred Emily to Dom’s arm gently and stood in the
door.

“Warm milk, like a baby!” Emily cried, disgusted. “I hate
you!” She glared at Peter Teverley but did not look at Jenny at all. Domenic
took her from the room.

All was silent.

At last, with a great sigh, Jenny righted herself. “Well,
now I must figure what I must do.”

“Do?” Teverley asked.

“Good heavens, sir, that poor child is upstairs, probably in
tears, and I have as much as told your aunt that I would be gone from the house
by daylight, and—”

“You needn’t worry about Aunt Teeve; my uncle is seeing to
her. He asked me to make his profoundest apologies for the disgraceful scene
she embroiled you in—neither of us foresaw such a thing.”