Page 153

T he generously greased hinges of the heavy oak door that closed off the ground floor family quarters from the remainder of the house opened silently.

Jane crossed the threshold soundlessly and turned to pull the door closed behind her.

Suddenly she stopped, one hand on the ornate brass latch.

A frown pulled at the corners of her mouth.

There, not twenty feet away, stood Jeremy—or rather, crouched Jeremy.

The young footman was bent down to the keyhole, listening to the conversation in the parlor!

“Jeremy!” she called in a strident whisper. She pulled the door closed behind her with a snap.

Jeremy jumped and fell backward. His face flushed bright red. He unfolded his long legs and scrambled to his feet.

“Oh, Miss Jane!” he said excitedly as he hobbled toward her while brushing his backside. He paused to twist the tails of his coat forward, checking for telltale signs of dirt. Satisfied, he dropped them and hurried forward, skittering awkwardly to a stop before her.

Jane stood with arms akimbo, glaring at the footman.

“Miss Jane! I heard them! I heard Lord and Lady Willoughby and Lady Tipton.”

“I’m certain you did. Haven’t you been warned against eavesdropping? You shall never get a full butler’s position if you continue in your present manner!” she remonstrated him.

"Yes, ma’am, but?—”

“I don’t want to hear any excuses! If I catch you once more, I shall be forced to demote you and put David in your place until Mr. Nagel is well enough to resume his duties."

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but?—”

Jane’s patience fled. "Enough! All I want to know is if you understand me?”

“Yes,” the young man said miserably. He shifted from foot to foot, one hand clasping the fingers of the other, stroking them like worry beads.

“Now, I was coming to tell you I wished you to accompany us on this picnic today. It shall be your responsibility to lay out the blankets, set out the food, and serve everyone. You may choose one assistant. It shall also be your responsibility to watch over my nephews and keep them from mischief.”

“But who’ll be in charge here?” he blurted out.

Jane smiled thinly. "I think I shall appoint David. It will be good experience should he need to replace you in your duties.”

Jeremy blanched. "Yes, Miss Jane.”

“Go see that Cook has everything ready and arrange for its transport. Then I want you to check on the boys, see that they’re ready. Bertram will be riding a horse Lord Royce has provided. See that he is properly attired. You may go.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, bowing carefully. He turned to go, then stopped. "About Lady Tipton—” he began.

“Jeremy, I do not want to hear gossip! Particularly any garnered by an eavesdropping footman! Look at the trouble Henry Culpepper caused! Gossip only causes pain. You’d do well to remember that.”

He compressed his lips and hung his head. "Yes, ma’am,” he muttered and went off to finalize arrangements for the picnic.

Jane shook her head as she watched him walk toward the nether regions of the house. If she could only break him of the habit of eavesdropping, he’d make a fine butler. It would hurt her as much as him to see him demoted and demeaned. She sighed and walked toward the parlor.

When she opened the door, the conversation abruptly stopped.

Seated close together were her aunt and the Willoughbys.

Millicent, a bored expression on her face, was making a circuit of the room, touching this object, then that.

She looked expectantly toward the door, rolled her eyes, then resumed her aimless walk.

The Willoughbys leaned back in their seats.

Lady Willoughby picked up her workbag and began rummaging through it. Lady Serena rose to her feet swiftly.

“Jane, dear! There you are. We were just having a comfortable coze while we waited for you and Elsbeth. Lord Willoughby was telling me how much you remind him of a young niece of his. He says she has the same eyes and manner. Isn’t that quaint?”

“Quaint?" Jane asked with a laugh. "If you insist, Aunt.”

Lady Serena grimaced. "Please, Jane, do not call me Aunt. It makes me feel positively ancient! Just call me by my Christian name, as you do Elsbeth.”

Jane inclined her head in silent acquiescence.

She walked over to the settee near the Willoughbys and sat down.

"Everyone should be gathering shortly.” She turned toward Lady Willoughby.

"I’m sorry, ma’am, you must think me a terrible hostess, for we haven’t had much opportunity to talk.

Lady Serena wrote you were from the north. What part?"

"Yorkshire.”

“Northumbria."

The Willoughbys responded in unison, her harsh rasp in odd harmony with his military crispness.

A hiss of sound came from Lady Serena. The Willoughbys looked at each other, disconcerted, then laughed thinly.

“Actually, Miss Grantley, we have two properties. One in Yorkshire near York proper, and the other in what you would term the wilds of Northumbria,” explained Lord Willoughby with strained joviality. He drew a handkerchief from his pocket and mopped his brow.

Lady Willoughby nodded. "The York house is my favorite. Probably because I come from York,” she said, hesitating over each word.

“I see,” Jane said, smiling at them. Lady Willoughby struck her as a frightened little mouse of a creature, her husband a domineering bluff fellow. A strange couple to be so devoted.

In the light of day, it was easy to tell Lady Willoughby wore an excessive amount of cosmetics.

Her skin was caked with layers. Her hair was also powdered in the old style, but under the lace cap she wore it was evident she had applied the powder unevenly.

Her hands particularly caught Jane’s attention.

They were smooth and delicate, out of keeping with her age.

Jane found herself staring at them where they lay, clutching the tapestry workbag.

“Tell me, Miss Grantley, have you ever been to the north country?” asked Lord Willoughby. He cleared his throat and mopped his upper lip, then rested the hand clenching the handkerchief on his ample stomach.

“No, Lord Willoughby. I haven’t had the pleasure. You shall have to tell me about it.”

The sound of the doorknocker saved Lord Willoughby from answering.

“If you’ll excuse me, I sent Jeremy on some errands. Consequently, I’d best go see to the door myself,” Jane said, rising to her feet.

Millicent snorted inelegantly. "Oh, really, cousin,” she said with exaggerated disgust.

Jane ignored her, glad for an excuse to get away from their company.

She hurried out of the room, her mind mulling over the strange situation.

If the Willoughbys were from the north, then she was an Indian.

She also doubted their claim to a peerage.

The question was, did Lady Serena? She bit her lip.

She shouldn’t have been so hasty to silence Jeremy, but she could not now ask him what he'd heard, for that would be granting him tacit permission to continue in like manner.

Were the Willoughbys, in the vulgar cant of the streets, caging the lay?

No, that couldn’t be the answer. They were not unrefined, yet there was a certain studiedness about their speech and manner.

She shook her head. She could not fathom the set-up. Perhaps she’d best discuss it later with Elsbeth.

She was surprised and amused to see young David already assuming Jeremy’s position.

The young man was acting ridiculously proud as he escorted Lord Royce and Lord Conisbrough into the house.

He was trying too hard to fill the oversized shoes she’d asked him to wear.

Jane sighed. Perhaps she’d been too harsh on Jeremy.

She went forward to greet the earl and his friend.

In light of Elsbeth’s story, her curiosity was piqued as to the personality of the Marquis of Conisbrough.

All niggling thoughts of the Willoughbys and Jeremy vanished as she approached the gentlemen.

She went forward, smiling. It was a smile that pierced and melted the frost mantle that habitually swathed her. It was the smile she unconsciously used whenever she greeted the Earl of Royce.

Royce was glad to see her smile so. He went forward to take her hands in his and kiss the tips of her fingers.

His manner was formal, though his eyes gleamed with carefully banked fires.

A little shiver ran down Jane’s arm, and she knew a momentary confusion.

She inclined her head at Lord Royce, her smile slipping as she murmured a little inarticulate greeting that brought a grin to the earl’s face.

Then she struggled to regain her composure.

She turned toward Lord Conisbrough and held out her hand to him.

“My lord,” she said, bowing her head slightly. She looked up at him, her head tilted. "I’m delighted to see you again. A pity we did not have a chance to converse last evening. I understand you once held an interest in herbs,” she said evenly, though her eyes glittered with warmth.

Lord Conisbrough’s fair brows rose, and years fell away from his expression.

He smiled. "Yes, I still do. I maintain a large herb garden at my estate in Leicestershire. But I am afraid it is more for ornamental purposes than anything else. However, the honey we collect is superior, owing, I am told, to the abundance of herbs on the property.”

“How fascinating. You must tell my aunt, Lady Elsbeth, about your garden. She has a great interest in herbs also, you know. Do not be surprised if she plagues you with permission to see it,” Jane said carefully.

An arrested expression came over the marquis’s face. He looked at Jane intently, his face serious, his eyes dagger gray.