The Light in the Darkness (24 page)

God, but she was lovely, he thought, looking at her hungrily. Her gown emphasized the deep green color of her eyes, and the sparkling gold sheen of the fabric glittered in the light from the lusters exactly as her hair did. The light dusting of white lead powder she wore on her face served only to emphasize the golden shade of her complexion. He felt a burst of pride and possessiveness. Clad in satin and lace, she looked like she belonged here, like she had always belonged here. She was beautiful and graceful and everything a planter’s wife should be.

Suddenly becoming aware that he had stopped dead in the hall, and that guests were giving him curious looks as they eddied around him, he regained control of himself and stepped forward. He could not believe the strong emotional reactions she provoked.

Damn it, but this attraction he had to her was most annoying.

With these hostile thoughts running through his head, he stopped by her side. Jennifer looked up at him, expecting a compliment on her appearance or at least a civil greeting. Instead, he said in a cool undertone, “For God’s sake, smile. No one here knows that such solemnity is your usual expression. They all must think you’re suffering from the headache.” And with that bit of helpful advice he made his way through the crowd toward the punch bowl, leaving Jennifer staring after him in dismay.

Beside her, Catherine groaned inwardly. She had seen the stunned look in Grey’s eyes when he stopped and stared at his wife. Obviously he found her more attractive than ever, and it was all too evident he didn’t care for it. And being Grey, he was going to drown his concerns in punch. She was not surprised, only very disappointed.

Hiding her anxiety, she smiled at Jennifer as brightly as though Grey had been civil. “Don’t forget that you and Grey are to lead off the minuet,” she reminded the girl.

Jennifer nodded, but she did not look as though the
prospect of dancing with Grey pleased her. In fact she hated the thought of it. The only way Grey could stand to touch her, after all, was if he pretended she was Diana. They would dance together, and he would pretend she was another woman.…

The thought made her want to run from the mocking eyes and sneering smiles that surrounded her. She felt as though every person in the ballroom knew that Grey despised her, and that they were all laughing at her. Remembering Grey’s pointed advice, however, she smiled woodenly at her guests, but it seemed to do little good. Apparently the gentry were determined to be polite only to their social equals. As a finely dressed tavern wench, she rated nothing more than a hostile stare. Even when she began to mingle, the groups she approached ignored her or actually turned satin-clad shoulders upon her, shutting her out.

At long last the music started, the stately strains of the minuet being played on the harpsichord, which had been moved into the ballroom for this event. As Jennifer began to make her way across the room, she was conscious that all eyes were upon her, and everyone seemed to be smirking. She was certain she was not imagining things. They
were
all laughing at her. No doubt, she decided, they knew she’d only recently learned to dance, and they expected to see her make a fool of herself.

Gallantly she squared her shoulders. She would show them that she could dance the minuet as gracefully as any woman in the room.

Then she came to a stunned halt, abruptly realizing why they were all laughing at her. Grey had already stepped into the middle of the floor to lead off the first dance. And Melissa was clinging to his arm.

Jennifer had not seen Melissa Lightfoot and her husband come in. Catherine had invited them, stating that it would appear odd if they were not invited, but she had added that it was highly unlikely that Melissa would dare to come. Yet there she was, dancing with Grey.

Melissa and Grey looked as though they were made for each other, Jennifer realized in an agony of jealousy and humiliation. Both were tall, graceful, and stunningly attractive. And both were cold and utterly heartless.

Feeling as though she had been struck by a bolt of lightning, Jennifer turned and made her way blindly across the floor, heading for the gardens. It was bad enough that all their neighbors were sneering at her, but now her husband was intentionally and deliberately insulting her. She could not tolerate the situation for another minute. Just as she reached the door, however, Catherine materialized next to her, catching her arm.

“Jennifer!” she said urgently.

Jennifer fixed her with a baleful glare. “I’m leaving,” she snapped.

“No, you’re not.” Catherine held her arm more tightly. “They’re all watching you to see what you do, Jen. Do you want them to laugh at you?”

“They’re already laughing.”

“They’ll laugh harder. Don’t leave, Jennifer. If you do, they’ll never accept you. Never.”

“I don’t care!”

“Do you care what Grey thinks?” Catherine shot back. “Because he’s watching you too. He’s watching to see if he’s won. Please don’t let him win, Jennifer. You have the advantage over him, I know you do. He’s afraid of you. He’s afraid of having you in his arms, or he wouldn’t have insulted you so badly. Even Grey has never been this inconsiderate, this outrageously rude, before.”

“I am delighted,” Jennifer retorted, “that I have inspired him to new levels of rudeness. Now let me go.”

“Jennifer—”

“This is all your fault!” Jennifer hissed. Tears burned her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. She was tired of crying over Grey. He simply wasn’t worth the trouble. “This was all your idea. Didn’t you realize how Grey would treat me?”

“No,” Catherine confessed, her eyes full of remorse. “I
thought—I thought perhaps if he realized just how beautiful you are he would fall in love with you.”

Jennifer looked up suddenly and met her gaze. Suddenly, unexpectedly, despite the tears scorching her eyes, she smiled, realizing that she had been wrong to snap at Catherine. Her friend had her best interests at heart.

“I see. That’s why you insisted on my ball gown being so low-cut. You hoped I would sweep him off his feet, is that it?”

Relieved and heartened at her friend’s sudden lightening of mood, Catherine smiled back. “You do look beautiful, Jennifer. If Grey had any sense at all—”

“He doesn’t.” Jennifer was no longer in a hurry to get outside. She was determined to turn this situation to her advantage. Catherine was right; she could not let Grey win. Not when his behavior was so outrageously vile. “But perhaps … How do you think I can get his attention?”

“I would have thought that ball gown would have gotten his attention.”

“It did, for a moment.” Jennifer thought briefly. “Perhaps I could make him jealous.”

Catherine bit her lip. “Perhaps you could,” she said cautiously, “except for one thing. The men are not exactly queuing up to ask you to dance.”

“No, they’re not, are they?” Clearly, she thought, trying to make Grey jealous would be impossible. Perhaps she could attract him instead. “Well … perhaps I should flirt with Grey.”

Catherine looked even more dubious. “I don’t know, Jen.…”

Jennifer shrugged. “I might as well try.” She was well aware that she might appear even more ludicrous to the avid onlookers, a pitiful wife seeking the attention of her disinterested husband, but she had to try.

The music stopped, and the dancers bowed and curtsied to their partners. Without stopping to think—for had she thought, she surely would have lost her nerve—Jennifer walked across the room to her husband’s side,
forcing a smile onto her lips. “Are you having a good time?” she inquired, batting her eyelashes as she had seen Melissa do. It was a ridiculous question, she knew, since Grey went out of his way to never enjoy himself. But she had to say something, and it was indicative of how superficial her relationship with her husband was that she could only mouth platitudes.

Grey looked faintly surprised, then pasted a patently artificial smile onto his face. “Of course,” he replied, sarcasm dripping from every word. “Mistress Lightfoot and I were just discussing what a charming rout it is.”

Horrified, humiliated beyond bearing, Jennifer tore her eyes away from her husband and discovered that he had been in the midst of a conversation with his mistress—most likely an intimate conversation, she realized. She had assumed that Melissa would return to her husband’s side after dancing with Grey. Obviously she had been wrong.

Melissa looked beautiful and sophisticated, clad in a midnight blue velvet gown that emphasized the porcelain quality of her complexion and had a neckline so low cut that it would have caused almost any man under ninety to stare. She was a picture of the perfect lady, from her hair, powdered gray and frizzed in the French
tête-de-mouton
style, to the blue silk slippers that peeped out from beneath the hem of her petticoat. Jennifer stared dumbly at the other woman, who looked back with amused contempt.

Rather than following her first impulse and running headlong into the anonymity of the crowd, away from the mocking smiles of her husband and his mistress, Jennifer somehow managed to turn to Melissa and inclined her head slightly. “Mistress Lightfoot,” she said with all the courtesy she could muster. “So good to see you again.” She turned regally back to her husband and added, “However, I did not intend to interrupt your conversation. If you will excuse me—”

Grey’s eyes had watched her with admiring amusement as she discovered her error but covered her mistake with aplomb. Now those silver eyes took on a mischievous
sparkle as his hand caught her arm in a grip that looked husbandly but was in fact unbreakable.

“Not at all, my love,” he said in a silky voice. “You were not interrupting in the least. Stay a moment and honor us with your presence. I have seen too little of you this past hour.”

Appalled, Jennifer realized that his arm was around her shoulders, and the entire room seemed to be staring at them curiously. Judging from the shocked expressions settling onto faces all across the chamber, everyone there knew Melissa was Grey’s mistress. And Grey’s actions put Melissa on display as surely as they did Jennifer.

Helpless, trapped by her husband’s powerful arm, Jennifer stole a glance at Melissa and saw anger and humiliation written clearly on the beautiful face.

Which one of us is he trying to humiliate?
she wondered desperately.
And why?

Grey went on cheerfully, and, it seemed to Jennifer, unnecessarily loudly, “Mistress Lightfoot is the epitome of social graces, my dear. If you wish to emulate a gentlewoman, let it be her. Her manners are impeccable, her behavior irreproachable. She is, in all ways, a perfect example of a lady.”

This lecture, delivered with a sardonic smile, caused Melissa’s eyes to glitter suspiciously. Of course, Jennifer realized with an unwanted pang of pity, Grey was poking fun at her. From the looks of derision and the outright snickers she could hear from around the room, the relationship between Melissa and Grey was obviously common knowledge.

“And Jennifer, of course,” Grey proclaimed into the midst of the mounting silence, “is the perfect wife. She never chatters about nonsensical subjects such as fashion—indeed, she rarely speaks at all. She exists only to serve me. I could not have asked for a better wife.”

The muted giggles chopped off abruptly and a horrible quiet settled over the crowd like a shroud. Once again Grey had reminded the gentry that he had chosen a tavern wench,
a nobody, over their charming and eligible daughters. Jennifer wanted to faint, simply to escape from the staring eyes, but instead, gathering her courage, she turned to her husband and smiled. In a voice that she somehow kept from shaking she spoke into the silence.

“It is excessively kind of you to say so, sir,” she said, smiling while she longed to kick him in the shin—or perhaps higher. Definitely higher. “Nor could I have dreamed of a husband as wonderful as yourself. Not everyone is as fortunate as I was, to wed such a model of gentlemanly behavior.” Wrenching her arm from his grasp, she left Grey standing in the middle of the room, a little dumbstruck and a great deal amused by the way she had retaliated.

Trying to avoid giving the avid watchers the impression that she was running away, she crossed the room slowly, with all the dignity she could muster, and paused by the punch bowl, as if to check that the amount of punch left was still sufficient. Only then did she permit herself to open the paneled door that led to the garden and escape from the onlookers. She sincerely hoped she appeared to be a good hostess, rather than a woman on the verge of tears.

In the garden, she found a bench and sat down, shaking, not because of the low temperature, but from distress. Once again she had been reminded of how cruel Grey could be, how willing he was to make her an object of derision among their neighbors solely to amuse himself. She shuddered, remembering the watchful eyes, the ghastly silence, and Grey’s hateful, sardonic grin.

And then she heard sobs. Curiosity compelled her to get up and wander quietly down the path that passed through the formal gardens. Not far away she found Mistress Lightfoot huddled on a bench, head in hands, sobbing as though her heart would break.

“Mistress Lightfoot?” she whispered.

“Go away,” the woman snapped, trying to sound like her usual haughty self, but her voice broke on a sob.

Jennifer ignored the sharp rebuke and sat next to her. Grey had selfishly humiliated both of them, and now Jennifer found herself in the ironic situation of trying to comfort her husband’s mistress. “It’s all right,” she murmured, laying a gentle hand on Melissa’s shoulder. “Don’t cry. He isn’t worth your tears.”

“I’m not crying because of him,” Melissa snuffled pathetically. “It was the others, watching. They were all staring. I couldn’t—I was so embarrassed—”

“So was I,” Jennifer confessed. “But you must stop crying, or when you go back inside, every one of those people will know that you were upset. And that will be an admission of guilt, of a sort.”

“You’re right, of course.” Melissa dabbed ineffectually at her reddened eyes with her fingertips, looked up, and gave a watery smile. “But why are you concerning yourself about me? You must hate me. Especially after he led off the dancing with me instead of you.”