Page 35 of The Defiant Governess (Intrepid Heroines #6)
Twelve
J ane smoothed the rich silk around her knees then fidgeted once more on the stool.
“La, Lady Jane. Hold still or I’ll never finish your hair.” Sarah made a few more deft adjustments then stepped back to admire the effect. “There now, that’s perfect. If you aren’t the most beautiful lady in the land!”
“Oh, Sarah, stop, or you’ll turn me into a conceited monster.” Jane regarded her own image in the mirror and had to admit she was not displeased. “But you are a magician.”
Her maid beamed with pleasure. “As if you’d ever be a monster like your cousin?—”
“Sarah,” warned Jane.
“Well, it’s the truth,” sniffed the older woman. A sly grin crept over her face. “Won’t Lady Fisher be mad as a wet cat when she sees you. What I wouldn’t give to see it!”
“That’s very uncharitable,” scolded Jane, but she couldn’t repress a smile. Her aunt did her best to make everyone at Avanlea miserable, so she couldn’t blame the servants for taking delight at the thought of her comeuppance.
“What a grand evening it should be,” continued Sarah. “The ballroom looks like it’s right out of one of those fairytales your nurse used to read to you.”
Jane’s hand were knotted in her lap. “Yes,” she sighed, trying to sound enthusiastic.
“What’s this? Blue-deviled on a night like this? For shame!” She shot her charge a shrewd look. “Why, I hear that all the young bucks have come up from Town. Lord Astley is at his estate, and it’s said Lord Hawthorne is staying with him. You’ll have no lack of dancing partners.”
Jane smiled as she opened her jewelry case.
“And of course there’s that handsome lord what’s staying here. Devilishly attractive is that one. Quiet he is, and a bit mysterious if I do say so. Surely he’ll be there as well.”
Jane fumbled with the catch of her necklace, a double strand of pearls with a starburst pendant of cut sapphires. A knock on the door saved her from having to reply.
“Don’t be all evening! The guests will be arriving any moment.” Thomas poked his head in the door and gave an appreciative whistle. “You look magnificent, my dear.”
“Fustian,” she murmured but was secretly glad that he thought she looked well.
She snapped the clasp in place and pulled on her kidskin gloves.
As she hurried to the door, she stopped to plant a kiss on her maid’s cheek.
“Don’t bother waiting up for me. I shall tell you all about it in the morning. ”
Sarah had been right. The ballroom looked absolutely enchanting.
Even though Jane had helped supervise the gardeners in arranging the garlands of evergreens and the fragrant flowers from the greenhouses, the glittering of the chandeliers along with the hundreds of snowy candles placed among the greens brought a special magic to the space.
At the far end of the room, on a platform nearly hidden by sheaves of wheat and arrangements of cabbage roses, the musicians began to tune their instruments.
The ballroom was fast filling up with guests.
Some of the older gentlemen made no pretense of being uninterested in the dancing and made straight for the card room.
A few old dowagers and apprehensive Mammas sat grouped together where they could keep their basilisk stares on the dance floor.
Jane was relieved that her aunt had insisted on doing the honors with her father in the receiving line.
It gave her time to look around and compose her thoughts.
“Welcome back, Lady Jane. I trust your relative is quite recovered.” Jane turned to a familiar face, framed by short auburn curls carefully arranged a la Brutus.
“I know we shall never recover from your lengthy absence from London,” continued the smooth voice as her hand was lifted towards his lips.
She managed a smile. “How kind, Your Grace, though I’m sure life was not quite so sadly flat as you hint.”
“Oh, it was.” The Duke of Branwell held her hand longer than necessary and she had to restrain the urge to yank it away. At that moment she thought him a conceited prig! Was he so sure of himself that he was oblivious to the fact that she didn’t return his regard?
He reached for her dance card. “Ah, the rewards of being unfashionably early,” he smiled. “I shall claim the first waltz, as well as?—”
“I’m sorry. I’m promised for the first waltz.”
His eyes flickered with annoyance. “I see no name there.”
“Nevertheless, it is taken.”
“Who...” began the young duke, when a group of other gentlemen descended upon them. Jane was saved from further conversation with him as she exchanged greetings with her well-wishers.
Within minutes, her card was filled for the evening, Branwell having had to satisfy himself with the supper dance and a later waltz.
The music began and she was led out for the opening set of country dances.
Her partner, Viscount Stoneleigh, was an old friend who also chided her on her long absence from Society.
With a twinkle in his eye, he promised to bring her up to date on all that had happened.
But despite his droll observations on the latest ondits , Jane found her attention wandering.
Her eyes searched the crowded room. Surely he must be here by now. Unaware of the music, she made a glaring misstep, causing her partner to tread on the toe of her slipper.
“Your pardon!” Stoneleigh apologized, peering at her startled face. “Lady Jane, I fear you haven’t heard a word I have been saying!”
Jane blushed guiltily and forced herself to banter with him until the dance ended and he led her back to the group of her admirers.
Her next partner was sent to fetch lemonade, giving her time to look around once more.
She caught her breath as she saw Saybrook standing alone, arms crossed, surveying the room.
He looked magnificent in his evening clothes.
The other lords suddenly seemed like a flock of poppinjays with their striped waistcoats, bright colors and dangling fobs and seals.
The marquess was dressed entirely in black, save for the snowy cravat at his throat and a single gold signet ring on his finger.
He seemed not to notice her at all, his eyes sweeping past as if she were merely one of the decorative blooms. With a tiny sigh of disappointment she turned back to her partner with an animated smile and feigned a lighthearted gayness.
After yet another dance, Jane begged to sit down for a moment.
She knew what was coming next. Already the musicians were running through the first few bars of the lilting melody in prelude to the first waltz of the evening.
Resisting the urge to look around yet again, she made herself listen with a smile to the Vicar’s wife prose on about her weak constitution.
“What sort of muttonheaded fool leaves a Diamond of the First Water sitting out a waltz?” growled Branwell as he approached and bent close to her ear.
“I am quite exhausted. I prefer to sit,” she answered quietly.
“Nonsense. I won’t allow it.”
“Your Grace, please. I do not wish to,” she said, trying to evade his hand.
However, he had succeeded in taking hold of her and rather than make an unpleasant scene, she rose reluctantly.
“I believe Lady Jane is promised for this dance.”
The deep voice sent a thrill down Jane’s spine.
Branwell turned to face the tall stranger. “Since you, sir, have been so rag-mannered as to leave the lady waiting, I believe you have forfeited your right.” He glared with a smug expression, confident that such a ringing set down would send the man slinking away.
“I think not.” Saybrook’s voice was still low, but with an icy coolness that made the other gentleman draw back in surprise. Saybrook’s hand was already on Jane’s elbow and he guided her to the dance floor before the startled duke could say another word.
They took their positions silently and the musicians began to play.
Like before, she followed him effortlessly, instinctively.
As they floated along with a natural grace that drew admiring glances from the couples around them, she was intensely aware of his hand on the small of her back, the heat emanating from the closeness of his body, his earthy, masculine scent.
Unconsciously she squeezed his hand. In response he pulled her a fraction of an inch closer.
At that, she summoned the courage to look up at him.
His eyes were riveted on her face, his expression intent yet inscrutable.
“You … you remembered,” she managed to say.
“As if I could forget,” he murmured in a husky whisper.
Nothing was said for another few moments. Then he spoke again, still in a near whisper. “Let me say that your gown is infinitely more becoming than the one you were wearing last time we danced.”
A smile came to her lips, and she saw an immediate softening of his features. “Don’t remind me of how hideous I must have looked. Thank goodness you are well rid of such a sight.”
“You are very wrong. It is a great sadness to me that Miss Jane Langley has disappeared.”
“B-But she hasn’t, sir. She is here.”
“ Is she? ”
Before Jane could answer, he tightened his hold on her waist and swept her along at a quickened pace.
Her heart was racing, whether from exertion or the sudden wave of emotion she couldn’t tell.
She couldn’t tell much of anything. The rest of the dance was a blur, and when he released her to lead her back to her next partner she was amazed to find that her legs were steady enough to support her.
There was already a cluster of gentlemen awaiting her return.
They eyed Saybrook with a range of expressions that ranged from speculative to downright hostile.
Suddenly Jane couldn’t bear the idea of anyone else’s touch.
As Saybrook left her with a slight bow, she turned to Lord Morton, the next name on her list.
“Please excuse me, sir,” she said as she fumbled with the fold of her gown. “I seem to have a small tear at my hem that simply must be mended.”