Jessica (6 page)

“You say that Sir Francis put up the money for the necklace?”

He cleared his throat. “Not exactly. The money came originally from Varangian
—
more than that I cannot say. See, it is here in my little book.” He fished a small leather book from his pocket and flipped the pages until he came to the one he sought. “There.”

She took it and saw the neat writing. There was no mistake
—
Philip had indeed paid with money from Francis. But why? Why on earth would Francis have dealings with Philip whom he neither liked nor respected? And why so vast a sum for such a purpose? She closed the book thoughtfully.

The newly raddled floor was slippery, and Mr. Slade’s equilibrium most certainly suspect now. He took a step toward the door and his boot slid alarmingly. Tamsin squeaked as she reached out to steady him, and Jessica forgot the book as she accompanied the jeweler to his patient cob.

He had left Applegarth on his return journey when she realized that she still had the book. Neither she nor Tamsin spoke in the quiet kitchen where the only sound was the steady slicing of the beans. A sense of unease pervaded Jessica as she looked at the book and the necklace. How much was there that she did not know? She locked them both in a cupboard and put the key in her reticule.

“Tamsin?” She turned to look at the older woman.

“I don’t know, Miss Jess, I just don’t know. And that’s a fact.”

“How do I look, Tamsin?”

Jessica surveyed her reflection in the long mirror. The high-waisted, sheer, yellow silk gown clung revealingly and she bit her lip. Was it perhaps a little too daring for Henbury society? But Philip had so liked her in it; the yellow, he had said, had set off her chestnut hair to perfection.

“Well, Miss Jess, I don’t rightly know.”

“I shall change it then.”

“No, no, don’t take on so. I was thinking that perhaps a little less blanch and a little more of that there Portuguese rouge or whatever it be called. Right now you looks a little as if you’m ill.”

“It’s the fashion. One must look pale and fragile.”

“Well you looks that all right, and no mistake. But it do seem a pity, toning down your pretty coloring merely to follow a fashion.”

“And did you never follow fashion, Tamsin? Not even in your giddy youth?”

“My youth weren’t giddy. But happen you’re right, I didn’t feel as how I were dressed lessen I had the latest falderal, whether it suited me or no.”

“What about my hair then?”

“Well, ‘tis short and wavy and it do shine a treat.”

“Yes, but what ornaments shall I dress it with?”

“The gold band with the low-curling ostrich feather, that were the one I liked best.”

“I agree.” Jessica picked it up from the dressing table and set it carefully over her curls, tweaking them into place around the simple gold fillet. The fluffy ostrich feather curled in exactly the right way to draw attention to the diamond necklace. How the stones flashed and twinkled in the evening sun streaming through the window.

She drew on the fine white evening gloves, stretching her fingers until all was comfortable, then she put on the dress rings she had earlier decided upon. “Now, Tamsin, what else is there?”

“The fan, your reticule, your slippers and the mantle.”

A moment later they heard the crunch of wheels and the stamping of horses outside. Then someone knocked smartly at the door.

“Tamsin. The chaise is here already and I’m not ready!”

“Don’t get in a tizzy now, for he’ll not go without you, ‘specially as he wants his ten shillings yet.” Tamsin slipped the red-lined evening mantle over Jessica’s shoulders and tied its ribbons carefully.

Jessica lowered her eyes. “I have not worn this since Philip took me to Drury Lane last spring, just before....”

“Don’t think of such things now, for you’re going to enjoy yourself.”

“I still wonder if I am doing the right thing. They won’t like it.”

“Then they can go and do the other thing then, can’t they? All of ‘em!”

The postboy’s yellow jacket was spotless and the yellow post-chaise was polished until it gleamed. The innkeeper of the Feathers had turned the vehicle out smartly, no doubt knowing that it would be a fine advertisement at so important a function as the summer ball at Varangian Hall.

She sat back on the brown velvet upholstered seats, swallowing as the postboy shut the door with a loud bang. This was a foolish notion; she should be paying more attention to her instinct that was telling her to get out and return to the safety of Applegarth. But already the team was drawing the chaise in a large semicircle over the orchard, and she just had time to lean out to wave to Tamsin before it gathered speed to climb the incline behind the cottage.

A dog barked at the noise and she looked out to catch a glimpse of Jamie Pike walking along a path that led into Ladywood, turning to call Nipper who was capering around the wheels of the chaise. After a final demonstration of his ferocity, Nipper turned obediently to pad after his master. Jessica saw Jamie vault lightly over a stile in the fence bounding the wood.

The long driveway leading across the park of Varangian Hall was lit by colored lanterns in the trees, and on the lake the boats carried torches that flickered brightly, sending reflections dancing on the water. Closer to the Hall sparkling lights illuminated the fountains and statues, and the tall windows of the house were ablaze. Strains of music drifted on the warm air as the chaise joined the throng of coaches and gigs forming a crush before the house.

Jessica clasped her hands nervously in her lap, glancing to the side of the great house where she could see people walking in the orangery. She smiled, for Francis had been so proud of the orange trees, and even in the half-light of evening she could see the fruit hanging heavily on the green branches. A footman was lighting Chinese lanterns that were laced among them, and another was spraying a fine mist of water over the blossoms. Even so important an event as the summer ball must not interfere with the care of the precious oranges.

She turned her attention to the other window of the chaise, and to her surprise found herself looking into Nicholas Woodville’s startled face. The Woodville barouche had drawn alongside, and a quick glance told her that he was accompanied by Rosamund who, as yet, had not seen her.

Nicholas inclined his head coolly and then looked away. His profile stirred her memories painfully, for he was so like Philip. A little older and sterner, yes, but still it was Philip she could see echoed in the fine lips and dark eyes.

Rosamund was looking up at Varangian, her eyes shining. Was she perhaps thinking of Francis, wondered Jessica, sitting back farther into the shadows of the chaise. Rosamund’s pale golden hair was hidden beneath a green silk turban that was hung with pearls, and thick strands of pearls glowed at her throat where her mantle was loose. She had an almost ethereal beauty, decided Jessica enviously, and could so easily have been the toast of London had Philip so desired.

The door of the chaise opened suddenly and the postboy leaned in. “Begging your pardon, miss, but you had best get out here and walk the last few steps. There’s a landau up by the steps with a broken axle and I doubt if you’ll reach the steps in under an hour if you wait here.” He turned to look at the clock over the stables and cleared his throat a little.

She followed his glance. “You have another customer to attend to,” she accused.

His eyes wavered away from her face. “Only a small fare, miss. Just from Henbury out to Beckitt’s End, I’ll be back well in time to return you to Applegarth.”

“You had better be or there will be no ten shillings for the Feathers!”

“I’ll be back, miss. I swear I will.”

Angrily she climbed down. “I shall have something to say about this, and you may tell the landlord as much. Ten shillings is for the hire of the chaise for an entire evening, not merely to accomplish the journey either way.”

“Yes, miss.” The postboy touched his cap respectfully, but then was up on the seat with the reins in his hands. Jessica moved swiftly away from the chaise, for she did not want to be seen from the Woodville barouche. She had reached the steps when at last the postboy managed to maneuver the chaise out of the long line of vehicles by turning it across the smooth green lawn where the wheels left ruts and the horses’ hooves kicked up clods of earth. She heard a footman shouting angrily and waving his fist, but the chaise did not stop, it merely increased its speed until it was swaying dangerously toward the wrought iron gates, out of sight at the end of the avenue of trees.

Fresh laurel leaves and flowers had been strewn like a meadow over the wide steps, and a little Negro boy dressed in blue satin bowed sweepingly at each guest entering the circular entrance hall with its black and white tiles and marble statues. As a maid took her mantle, Jessica looked up at the magnificent ceiling painted to resemble a scene from Greek mythology. She smoothed her gown and pulled on her gloves more tightly. The very size of Varangian she had somehow not remembered. She felt almost lost in that immense vestibule where at least twelve liveried footmen stood lining the way to the ballroom and where maids received the mantles and cloaks of each new arrival. She had so nearly been mistress of all this.

She walked up the red-carpeted steps to the gold and white doors of the ballroom. This was the worst moment now, the moment when everyone would realize that she was a guest here. The notorious Miss Jessica Durleigh, the fallen woman who had so brazenly lived with another woman’s husband and had had the nerve to return to the town she had so scandalized. Taking a deep breath, she gave her name to the master of ceremonies.

“Miss Jessica Durleigh.”

The name rang out over the ballroom as if accompanied by a thunderclap. Immediately every head turned toward the head of the stairs. Almost, thought Jessica, as if drawn by invisible strings.

Francis turned from his conversation with Mr. Palethorpe, the magistrate, and walked slowly up the steps to greet her. She was shocked by the way Francis had changed. His good-natured face was cold and he did not smile as he bowed over her hand.

“Francis?”

He said nothing, but took her hand to lead her down the steps. He looked splendid in a black velvet evening coat, and the silver threads of his high waistcoat were shining and costly. A large and complicated cravat bloomed at his throat, and she was surprised at the extreme height of his modish collar.

“Miss Durleigh, I trust that you will enjoy yourself, although I fear that Somerset cannot offer the pleasures and delights of London.”

She inclined her head slowly, noticing how swiftly he dropped her hand. He was so cold and distant, and so very unlike the Francis she had spoken to last that she could only stand alone watching him as he went to greet the next guest.

Curious glances were thrown in her direction and she was conscious of the whispers spreading through the crowded ballroom as she took a glass of punch from the tray held out by a footman. She moved away from the conspicuous area by the tables and went toward a more shadowy area by a decorated pillar. Green leaves and flowers had been carefully twined around the columns in sweet-smelling garlands, with spicy pomanders regularly spaced between. The chandeliers glittered brightly, reflected in the mirrors that lined the walls of the gold and white room. At the far end a fashionable Bath orchestra played a mazurka.

An interested buzz rippled through the crowd as the master of ceremonies struck the floor with his staff to announce Nicholas and Rosamund.

Again the string pulled and all eyes swiveled toward Jessica and then to Rosamund, a vision in gold and green striped silk that shimmered as she descended the steps on Nicholas’ arm. Then it happened. She happened to look across the ballroom straight at Jessica. Her steps faltered and she stopped, her fingers digging into Nicholas
’
arm so that he turned in surprise.

Rosamund stared at Jessica, her face suddenly pale and angry, and without a word she turned around and left the ballroom. Nicholas stood alone, undecided whether to go after her or to continue down the steps. After barely a moment he decided that Rosamund must do as she pleased, for he continued the descent to where a startled Francis waited for him. The moment hung, then the orchestra struck up a cotillion and the concentrated attention of the gathering was distracted.

Jessica closed her eyes weakly. However had she been fool enough to come here? It was grossly unfair of her to inflict herself upon Rosamund, and now it was obvious that Francis had thought better of his earlier kindness. She watched Nicholas bowing to Francis, noticing how refined and tasteful he looked in a coat of dark brown velvet and cream trousers that looked straight from Old Bond Street. His hair was fashionably curled around his face, and a discreet cravat burgeoned at his throat. Lace spilled from his cuffs as he sketched another bow and left Francis.

Her heart sank, for it was immediately obvious that he was coming to speak with her. There was nothing she could do but stand by the column and wait for him.

“Miss Durleigh.”

“Sir Nicholas.”

“Perhaps I should have told Rosamund about your being here before she entered Varangian, for then she would have turned away without making so damnable a scene.”

She colored. “She is within her rights to act as she did.”

“No one is within any rights to behave so tactlessly, Miss Durleigh. Surely the fashionable drawing rooms of London taught you that.”

“The fashionable drawing rooms of London were not open to such as I, Sir Nicholas, as you very well know.”

He smiled thinly. “I see no reason why not, for they open their doors to those who conduct their private lives in far more disreputable a manner than you. At least you were honest and open about your affaire de coeur.”

“To be honest was the mistake, Sir Nicholas. Had I married Francis and then commenced an affair with Philip, then, no doubt, all would have been well. But that is a reflection of our times, is it not?” She looked at him without smiling. If he wished to speak of such things, then she would give as good as she got.