The Ungrateful Governness

5

Jessica looked at herself full-length in the mirror once more. She had dismissed the maid fifteen minutes before. But she still deemed it too early to go downstairs.

What she saw in the glass did not entirely displease her, she had to admit. After two years in unrelieved gray, with her hair constantly pulled back into an unbecoming bun, she felt a certain delight to see herself in a colored gown. The apricot silk fell loosely from beneath her breasts. It was adorned with heavy flounces around the hem. The plain scooped neckline was daringly low, she felt, though both the dowager duchess and the dressmaker had assured her that it was quite conservative. The short puffed sleeves were trimmed with miniature flounces to match the hem. She wore apricot slippers and long white gloves.

And her hair! It had rarely been cut in her life, and then only because she had felt the ends were lifeless and split. Papa had held that a woman was intended to leave her hair long, and she had always respected his opinions. She still could not believe the lightness of her head without all the bulk. Her hair was still not short as the hairdresser had tried to persuade her was all the crack. It was twisted up into a topknot. But the severity was all gone. Soft curls framed her face and trailed along her neck. She really looked quite pretty, she thought privately, for all her four-and-twenty years.

And what an advanced age it was to be making her first appearance in society. And at a ball at that. She had never thought to attend a real grand ball. Indeed, she had been taking dancing lessons for the past five days, brushing up on the steps of the country dances they had performed on the village green at home, learning the more elegant dances, including the scandalous waltz, against which her father had spoken so strongly when he had heard of it.

And what was she doing, Jessica thought, turning away from the mirror again and toying with the brushes on the dressing table, in residence at Berkeley Square with the Dowager Duchess of Middleburgh, friend of her grandmother? And what was she doing allowing the duchess to clothe her and train her in the social skills and organize a social life for her? It was the very life she had refused to allow her own grandfather to provide for her two years before. She had chosen rather to make her own way in life. She had become Sybil Barrie's governess.

She had loved her grandparents while her grandmother lived. During the one week of each year that she spent with them, she had loved to explore the house with its many treasures and to roam the estate, both on foot and on horseback. And this despite the fact that her grandfather had never had anything good to say about her father. Her grandmother had been a gentle soul who was content to pour out the love of her lonely heart on her one grandchild, whom she saw so seldom.

After Grandmama's death, the visits had been less enjoyable. Grandpapa had been forever criticizing her drab appearance, her love of reading, her serious ideas on life, religion, and politics. He had wanted her to come and live with him so that he could make her into the lady she should be by birth. He had wished to send her to school. She had quarreled quite violently with him two years before her own father's death when he had accused Papa of dreadful things including stealing and then killing her mother. She had refused to visit him after that.

She might have gone to him after her father's death. Although she was of age, she had led a quiet and sheltered life. She was frightened by the prospect of being alone. Her father had left almost nothing beyond a pile of books. But the marquess had come to her and had angered her beyond bearing when he told her his plans for her. They included a Season in London and a dazzling marriage, both of which she had secretly dreamed of for years. But his manner had been irritating. He had not consulted her wishes at all. And he had loudly criticized her poor dead father yet again for holding her back from her birthright until she was already fairly on the shelf.

"It's a good thing I am able to offer a handsome dowry, Jessica," he had said, "or I do not know where we would find the man to take you at your age."

That had been the final straw. "I do not need either your dowry or a husband, Grandpapa," she had said quite firmly. "I am my father's daughter as well as my mother's. I shall make my own way in life without your help."

They had both said a great deal more in voices that had gradually risen in volume and increased in vehemence. But neither had shifted position. In the end the marquess had returned home in high dudgeon, and a frightened Jessica had taken up residence with some friends while the local squire's wife graciously agreed to help her find a situation.

And here she was, Jessica thought now, for all her fine words, doing what her grandfather had wanted her to do all along. She had found it less easy to defy the Dowager Duchess of Middleburgh. That lady did not lose her temper. She merely had a will of iron. Jessica had protested. She could not be so beholden to a stranger. She could not have hospitality and gifts showered on her when she had nothing to offer in exchange. She could not make an appearance in society when nothing in her upbringing had prepared her for such a life. She could not face the Earl of Rutherford if she accepted his grandmother's generosity. This last objection had been stated hesitantly, but in truth it was perhaps the most forceful in Jessica's mind.

The duchess had had an answer for everything. She was not a stranger. The Marchioness of Heddingly had been one of her dearest friends, if not the dearest. Jessica had a great deal to offer in exchange for the little the duchess could give her. She had her youth and her freshness. The duchess was a lonely old woman, who would be eternally grateful for Jessica's company. Jessica had a suspicion that this was quite a bouncer. The "gel" would do very nicely in society for all her lack of formal training. She had a natural refinement of manner. And as for Rutherford-the old lady had made a dismissive gesture-she rarely set eyes on the boy. They certainly did not frequent the same events. It was very unlikely that Jessica would so much as set eyes on him ever again.

Jessica felt somewhat comforted by the last assurance, though not entirely. Why had Lord Rutherford been so certain that his grandmother would help her if he rarely visited in Berkeley Square? And he clearly had been there before her own visit to tell his grandmother of her coming.

However, Jessica thought as she picked up the ivory fan that lay on her bed, it was rather too late to be having second thoughts now. Somehow she had been drawn into the duchess's schemes the week before, and since then she had been wrapped in luxury. The only irksome fact had been having to stay indoors until some presentable clothes could be delivered from the dressmaker's. Indeed, she had not even been allowed out of her room during those afternoons when visitors were expected. She was to make her first appearance, the duchess had decided, on this very evening, when Lord

Chalmers was giving a ball on the occasion of his wife's birthday.

And make her appearance she must, Jessica decided, taking a deep breath and realizing that her heartbeat was becoming painful and was interfering with her breathing. She turned resolutely to leave the room.

He really did not want to be here. Lord Rutherford looked up the staircase to where he could just see the beginning of the receiving line, and down the staircase to where several chattering groups had already gathered behind him. He glanced at Sir Godfrey Hall beside him and marveled at how his friend could always look amiable even in the most trying of circumstances. And this was extremely trying. It was not so much that he objected to being at Chalmers' ball. He supposed it was quite likely that he would have looked in on it anyway, such entertainments being sparse enough at this particular time of the year. What had really set him into a bad temper was having to come at such an hour. He could not remember when he had last been subjected to the tedium of a receiving line.

But he had to be present to lead this new protegee of his grandmother's into the opening set, she had said. It was not enough to assure her that he would sign the chit's card for two separate sets later in the evening. No, he must be there at the start so that she would be seen dancing with him and would be in demand for the rest of the evening. Was the girl so ugly that only such notice by him would induce other men to partner her? He had a premonition that she would be another Sybil Barrie, heaven help him.

But, he thought with a shrug, at least he would not be trapped in the country for a week or more with this particular matrimonial gem. A few days, he had promised his grandmother. He would dance with her twice tonight and lead her in to supper-he had been forced to promise that the second dance he had with her would be the supper dance. He would pay a call on her in Berkeley Square when there were plenty of other people there to take note of the fact. And he would take her for a brisk drive in the park-not such a mark of distinction as it would be in the spring, when there was always such a squeeze that a carriage could scarcely move. But still better than nothing. He would pay his respects at the Middleburgh box if she was taken to the theater.

And that was really about all his grandmother could expect. If that amount of attention did not fire the girl off, then there was little more he could do to help her. She would have to rely on hints dropped about the size of her dowry.

"My heartiest apologies, Godfrey," Rutherford said quietly to his companion. "I would not have dragged you here this early if I had known that there would be enough of a squeeze for us to be kept waiting on the stairs."

"Think nothing of it," his friend replied, smiling and inclining his head in the direction of an acquaintance farther down the staircase. "Being early does have its advantages, you know, Charles. One can find space on the cards of some of the prettier girls before they fill up."

"Hm," Rutherford said. He had never found difficulty in securing a set with even the prettiest girl after midnight if he just smiled at her or her mama in the right way. Perhaps his status as a wealthy, titled bachelor had something to do with the matter.

By the time the two men had made their way along the line ten minutes later, Rutherford was scowling, an expression that paradoxically drew even more female glances his way than usual. He clasped his hands behind his back and surveyed the scene around him, while Sir Godfrey beside him looked more pointedly with the aid of a quizzing glass.

His grandmother was not difficult to find, Rutherford soon discovered. Her tall figure and upright bearing drew one's eyes even without the purple satin gown and turban and ridiculously high plumes. And even from a distance he could see the rouge on her cheeks and lips. She had not yet seen him, or she pretended not to have done so. Probably the latter. No one had sharper eyesight than Grandmama, even without the spectacles.

Rutherford's eyes narrowed on the young person beside her. She was half turned away from him so that he could see only the barest profile of her face. The nose was straight, the chin determined, though not jutting. Pretty hair. It was no decided color, merely a light brown, but it was soft and shiny. Her figure, he guessed, was quite exquisite, though the fashionable gown falling loose from below her bosom hinted at rather than revealed the curves of waist and hips. One leg was slightly bent at the knee, a further hint of shapeliness. Her breasts looked full and high. She was perhaps on the low side of medium height.

Perhaps this would not be such an ordeal after all, he thought, his interest piqued.

"I must go and pay my respects to the dowager," he announced to Sir Godfrey, and began to stroll in her direction.

"Who is the beauty?" his friend asked, falling into step beside him. "Anyone I should meet, Charles?"

"Ah, Charles, m'boy," the dowager duchess said loudly as he approached, "what a surprise. I did not know you frequented ton balls."

"Indeed, Grandmama?" he said, eyebrows raised in some surprise. He took the hand she held toward him, executing one of his most elegant bows, and kissed her gloved hand. "I see you are looking quite as ravishing as usual."

"Impertinent boy," she said, rapping him on the sleeve of his brocaded coat with her fan. "Meet my guest, Charles. My grandson, the Earl of Rutherford, my dear. Miss Jessica Moore, Charles."

Strangely, he thought afterward when he had a chance to think, although he had turned to her and looked appreciatively into her lovely face even as his grandmother still spoke, it was only as she mentioned the girl's name that he was jolted into recognition. His hand was already extending itself, he was already in the motion of bowing. His face was already set into a smile.

He completed his actions, raised her hand to his lips, and murmured, "Hello, Jess," without missing a heartbeat, just as if he had known she would be there, had prepared himself to meet her again. In truth, he was stunned. There was an air of unreality about the moment.

His mind hardly registered the fact that she was very pale when he went into his bow, decidedly flushed when he came out of it, and that almost no sound escaped her as her lips formed the words, "My lord."

"Good evening, Sir Godfrey," the dowager duchess was saying graciously beside them. "How is your father? Recovering? I am delighted to hear it. Do meet my guest, the granddaughter of my dearest friend, who is staying with me for the winter. Jessica, my dear, this is Sir Godfrey Hall. Miss Jessica Moore, sir."

She curtsied to Godfrey and even gave him something that would pass for a smile. She had done neither for him. Rutherford looked at her and then transferred his narrowed gaze to his grandmother. The old fiend. How did she hope to get away with this masquerade? And why was she doing it? To punish him? To have a joke on the ton? It was quite a tasteless and certainly an insufferable joke.

She smiled blandly back. "How grand of you to be here so early, Charles," she said. "Do you plan to dance, or are you to spend the evening in the card room?"

"I came to dance, ma'am," he said, his voice icy. "Miss Moore, may I have the honor of signing your card for the opening set and the supper dance? If those dances have not been spoken for already, of course."

There was an awkward pause as she stared at him in almost open dismay. "No," she said. "I mean no, those sets have not been reserved. I thank you, my lord."

He looked her straight in the eye before bending his head in order to scribble his name against the two dances on her card. He bowed and turned away as Godfrey-poor fool-was reserving the second set with her. He clasped his hands behind him and surveyed the ballroom anew, without seeing anything. He concentrated on keeping his breathing under control. He could not recall ever feeling quite so murderously furious.

He was not given much time in which to either control his anger or allow it to build. Lord Chalmers was leading his wife out onto the floor to begin the opening set. Other sets were beginning to form around them. Lord Rutherford turned toward Jessica, bowed stiffly, and held out his arm for her hand.

Jessica was feeling flushed and inwardly excited by the time the ball was two hours old. Amazingly, she had been partnered for every set, though she had been fully prepared to stand on the sidelines with the dowager duchess for most of the evening as a mere spectator of the dancing. She had not expected to draw the notice of any gentleman, unknown as she was.

It was not just gentlemen to whom she had been presented. The dowager had taken her to meet her daughter-in-law, the duchess, and her granddaughter, Lady Bradley. Both were very different from Lord Rutherford, she noticed. The duchess had graying fair hair and was comfortably plump. Her daughter was a younger version of herself though not yet as ample in figure. Jessica felt deeply mortified at being thus presented to them. In other, slightly altered circumstances, she would be completely beyond their lowest notice, their son's and brother's chere amie, no less. As it was, Lady Bradley invited her to attend her soiree three evenings hence.

Jessica also met Lord Rutherford's other sister, unmarried though she was older than he. Lady Hope looked somewhat like her brother, tall, slim almost to the point of thinness, dark, rather handsome. But she lacked the haughtiness of either her brother or her grandmother. She had a habit, Jessica noticed, of smiling quickly and nervously, her hands fluttering aimlessly.

Lady Hope came to speak to her grandmother and to meet Jessica between the first and second sets and made herself agreeable. Sir Godfrey Hall was forced to interrupt her conversation with Jessica in order to lead the latter onto the floor for the quadrille. Lady Hope smiled at him and curtsied. He smiled warmly back and signed her card for the supper waltz before leading Jessica away.

Had she enjoyed the ball so far? Jessica asked herself when the dowager put that very question to her. The supper dance was next. It was a waltz, and the duchess had assured her that she might dance it though she had not been approved by the hostesses of Almack's. That was a ridiculous custom anyway, the old lady said, and one that certainly need not apply outside the months of the Season and to a lady well past her twentieth birthday.

Had she enjoyed the ball? Yes, of course she had. There was a thoroughly heady feeling of triumph in being at a ton event and accepted just as if she were one of their number by everyone present. She had not seen anyone frown her way or whisper behind a hand or a fan. There was satisfaction in knowing that she looked well enough that a whole succession of gentlemen had sought an introduction to her so that they might dance with her. And there was a delightful sense of freedom in being able to dance, to look her partners in the eye, to converse with them, smile at them, laugh with them. Only two weeks before she had been a governess, hemmed in by rules, expected to be seen and not heard outside the confines of the schoolroom.

And yet how could she enjoy herself fully? The dowager had assured her that Lord Rutherford did not frequent the same events as she. Was it merely an unfortunate coincidence that he was in attendance at her very first social appearance? Or had the duchess lied to her? Jessica suspected the latter. She did not want to be in his presence. She had been horribly embarrassed ever since she had first glimpsed him strolling toward his grandmother before the dancing started.

She had been unable to relax since, unable to ignore his tall, elegant presence in the ballroom. How could he be dressed all in gold and snowy white without looking to even the slightest degree effeminate? He had not once left the ballroom even though many other gentlemen noticeably came and went. She had not seen Sir Godfrey since the second set. And the Duke of Middleburgh and Lord Bradley were in the card room, their wives had explained.

Lord Rutherford had remained, standing beside his mother much of the time. He had danced with each of his sisters but with no one else, though even Jessica had noticed that a great deal of feminine attention was focused his way. In the few glances she had dared send his way, she had found that he was not looking at her. Why did she feel so very observed then, so very exposed?

What must he think of her? He must consider her a dreadful opportunist, staying at Berkeley Square as his grandmother's guest when he had sent her there for assistance in finding a situation as a governess. No, she did not need to ask what he thought. Looks had already spoken loudly enough. He had not said a word during that first set. Indeed, it would have been difficult to hold any sustained conversation as it was a country dance and they were frequently separated by the figures of the set. But he had looked dictionaries of meaning.

He had not taken his eyes from her throughout the set, she would swear, and she had found somewhat to her dismay that she could not withdraw her gaze from his. And she had read accusation, contempt, fury in his eyes. She had clamped her teeth tightly together and lifted her chin in an unconscious gesture of defiance. She might be embarrassed, dreadfully so, but she was not going to creep around Lord Rutherford, eyes constantly lowered to the floor, as she had done for two years with the Barries. Those days were over even if she found in the future that she had to go back to being someone's governess.

The dowager duchess was looking at her inquiringly. "Yes, your grace," she said. "I am enjoying myself immensely. How could I not when so many people are quite flattering in their attentions?"

"Here comes Charles to claim your hand for the waltz," the duchess said. "Do have a good time, dear. I have heard that the boy performs the steps with remarkable flair. In my day, of course, we would have thought it a shockingly forward dance. But there is a certain elegance to it, I must confess."

"Miss Moore?" the earl said, stretching out an imperious hand for Jessica's. "My dance, I believe, ma'am."

If he had two ice chips for eyes, Jessica thought, as she laid a hand in his, there would not be enough heat in him to melt them.

"Yes, my lord," she agreed, trying to ignore the voice of the dowager behind her assuring Lord Rutherford that she did the waltz most charmingly.

When he stopped among the other dancers, placed one hand at her waist, and clasped one of hers in the other, and when she lifted her free hand to his very solid shoulder, Jessica had to fight the urge to lower her eyes and hope to escape his notice by meek silence. She raised her eyes and looked into his. They still looked remarkably like ice chips, blue ice chips.

"I totally misjudged you, you know, Jess," he said, his voice as cold as his eyes.

"Did you?" she asked.

"I took you for a meek servant who was quite bewildered and frightened by the prospect of being turned off without a character," he said. "I thought you quite unable to cope with the wide world beyond your schoolroom."

"Did you?" she said. "And was that why you made the offer you did, my lord? Did you hope that I would have been irrevocably compromised and committed to being nothing more than your mistress for the rest of my life before I realized that there were other possibilities for the future?"

His hand tightened at her waist as the orchestra began playing and he led her into the steps of the waltz. He stared at her tight-lipped for the time it took her to count silently in threes and feel the rhythm of the dance. But such concentration was unnecessary, she discovered almost immediately. He was quite as expert as his grandmother had suggested. She could not choose but follow his lead.

"In a word, yes," he said. "And if that was sarcasm in your tone, Jess, I resent it. It is no insult, you know, for such as you to be offered the position of mistress to the Earl of Rutherford. There are many females above the rank of servant who would jump at the chance."

"In that case," Jessica said, "I am glad I resisted, my lord. I think it most unfair to jump a queue, don't you?"

His eyes narrowed. "You are impertinent," he said. "And you have no business in this ballroom. And even less speaking with my mother and my sisters. In fact, I find myself not at all in the mood for dancing. I have a great deal to say to you, Jess, and a ballroom is not quite the place to say it. Come with me. We will find somewhere more private."

He bowed elegantly to her and held out his arm. He even smiled. Jessica did not want to go with him. She did not wish to speak with him. But what could she do? she thought in the split second before she reached up a hand and laid it on his sleeve. He was the Earl of Rutherford, watched at that very moment, no doubt, by almost every lady in the room. And she was a newcomer, whom these people had accepted with remarkable kindness. To refuse to go with him would be to draw attention to herself. To begin some scandal, no doubt. She would be announcing to half the ton that she, a mere nobody, had had the effrontery to quarrel with no less a person than Lord Rutherford.

He led her out of the ballroom, along a hallway past several opened doors, all of which revealed rooms that were occupied. Finally he opened a closed door, glanced inside, and led her in. It was in darkness, the only light coming through the unshuttered window. It was some sort of small office, its only furniture a desk and chair and an old chaise longue.

"This," Lord Rutherford announced, closing the door firmly behind them, "will do very nicely. Now, Jess Moore, we will have a full explanation of this masquerade you and her grace have chosen to play."