The Westerby Inheritance (26 page)

Perhaps it was a good thing Lady Jane did not go anywhere.…

“You don’t go anywheres,” said Bella crossly. “It’s not right, my lady. And there’s that nice Mr. Osborne called in person to ask you to his musicale. It’s only across the square.”

“You forget I am in mourning,” said Jane stiffly.

“It ain’t a masquerade at Crocker’s, my lady,” grumbled Bella.

“Bella!” admonished Jane severely. “You must stop lecturing me. I cannot go in any case. Hetty is not at home.”

“Well, there you are!” cried Bella. “Lady Hetty do still be mortal cut up over my lord’s death but, ‘Life must go on, Bella,’ she says to me, she says. I could chaperon you, my lady.”

“No!” said Jane firmly, bending over an old sheaf of blueprints of the Chase. “Only look here, Bella. See where the back stairs for the servants were cunningly added on!”

Bella’s only reply was a tearful sniff.

Jane turned back and stared in amazement at the large, fat tears rolling down Bella’s face.

“Whatever is the matter, Bella?” she asked gently.

“I bought me a new gown,” sniffed Bella. “And when that Mr. Osborne ’cross the square first sent his invitation and I knew Lady Hetty was to be at the Duchess’s this evening, I told all my friends in the square that I had this fine gown and I would be going to Mr. Osborne’s as my lady’s chaperon and not as a maid. They all laughed at me, my lady, and said how I was making it up, and now I shan’t be able to go and they’ll all mock me ’cause I’ve bragged so. Oh! Oh! Oh!”

With that, Bella threw her apron over her head and sobbed her heart out.

“Oh,
Bella!
” sighed Jane, looking at this elderly Ashputel who could not go to the ball. “Oh, very well. Send John, the footman, over with a message to say I accept.”

When Bella joyfully left to find the footman, Jane made her way upstairs to commence her toilette. Well, it would not be so bad to go to Mr. Osborne’s after all. She would at last see the inside of the house that she had watched with such hungry eyes when she had first come to London. Although Mr. Osborne hailed from the untitled aristocracy, he had the unfashionable habit of inviting people to his home simply because he liked them, rather than for their high degree, so she should meet some new and interesting people. Jane sometimes still walked Wong in the square, and that was how she had met Mr. Osborne, when Wong had chased a cat into the Osborne house and then nearly died in the Osborne hall from overexertion.

Bella bustled in and set the curling tongs on a small spirit stove to heat. “Oh, run along, Bella,” said Jane, smiling, “and work on your own appearance as you are dying to do. You may have some of my feathers for your
těte
, and send Polly, the housemaid, to help me with my stays. Go! Or I shall change my mind!”

Jane decided not to powder her hair, and, with the help of Polly, arranged it in a simple style. She chose a gown of half-mourning, black taffeta with lilac bows, and wound several heavy strands of pearls around her neck.

Soon, Bella panting behind her with excitement, Jane crossed the square through the thick unreality of the fog, to where the yellow light streamed out from Mr. Osborne’s house across the cobbles. They were late, and the musicale had already begun. After what was left of the concert was over, Jane made her apologies for arriving so late to Mrs. Osborne, whom she had not yet met, that lady being already seated in the music room with her guests on Jane’s arrival.

Mrs. Osborne was a small, birdlike woman who always cocked her small head on one side, as if listening for worms. “Think nothing of it,” she told Jane. “We are to have cards and dancing, you know, and a great deal of people have yet to arrive. They are coming from the opera. My husband is addicted to parties,” she added, tilting her head to the other side and fixing Jane with a bright eye.

“A pleasant addiction.” Jane smiled.

Then she felt a light touch on her arm and, turning, found herself confronting the tight, neat features of Sir Felix Beaton. He swept her a pretty bow, genuinely delighted to see her. He had found to his surprise that he had missed her. He had assiduously courted several belles, but they had either shown immediate signs of taking him seriously or were rudely and pointedly uninterested.

Sir Felix desired the appearance of being in love, an emotion he did not fully understand, although he was well aware it was becoming increasingly fashionable—and sometimes, he feared, it might even be here to stay.

“Let me fetch you some refreshment,” he said after the preliminary courtesies were over.

“Safe, that one. Very safe,” muttered Bella in the background, and Jane threw her a quelling look.

Jane thanked Sir Felix and said she would take a glass of negus. When he had sped off on his errand, she turned once more to Mrs. Osborne, but the lady was already getting hurriedly to her feet, looking more like a sharp little bird than ever.

“The party from the opera,” she said and began making her way to the hall.

Jane looked around her with interest. Mr. Osborne’s house looked as if it had been expressly designed for parties, having a chain of elegant saloons on the first floor, filled with looking-glasses,
objets d’art
, and elegant furniture. Each saloon was a different color. The one she was in was pale pink, the adjoining one Wedgwood blue, and the farther one, which held the refreshments, crimson and gold. Above and under the babble of voices came the rippling sounds of a harpsichord as some musician performed the “Bourrée” from Suite 3 of Handel’s
Water Music
.

It was pleasant to be back in the world again, reflected Jane, listening lazily to the voices, enjoying for the moment the exquisite isolation of being
in
humanity and yet not having to converse with any of it.

The golden bubble of her mood burst and shattered. To see that curved smile of Mrs. Bentley was bad enough. Fanny’s porcelain malice was worse. But it was the three figures following them that made her stand very still and quickly turn her head away.

It had been a quick glance, nothing more, but the sight of Lord Charles Welbourne smiling down into Philadelphia Syms’s face struck her with a sharp pain and then left her trembling and breathless.

She had been so sure she had forgotten him.

Sir Felix appeared at her elbow with the glass of negus, and she took the mixture of hot sweetened wine and water gratefully.

“There is dancing in one of the far saloons,” said Sir Felix. “Would you care to watch while you sip your negus? And then perhaps we can perform.”

Sir Felix was an exceedingly good dancer, but he was extremely small in stature and so adored dancing with Jane, since she was the only lady he knew smaller than himself.

“Gladly,” said Jane, taking his arm. The hairs on the back of her neck were prickling, and she felt sure Lord Charles was staring at her.

As a matter of fact, he had not yet seen her. Philadelphia and the Bentleys had, but they were certainly not going to point that interesting fact out to his lordship. So had Sir Anthony.

Sir Anthony did not know whether to mention the presence of Lady Jane or not. He remembered that when Lady Jane was physically on the scene, his friend had a habit of turning twitty and morose. On the other hand, perhaps it would serve to distract him from the fair Philadelphia.

Sir Anthony looked to where, a few yards away, Lord Charles was flirting expertly with Philadelphia, and he felt downright hurt. Never before had Lord Charles tried to annex one of Sir Anthony’s passions. As if reading his mind, Lord Charles suddenly raised his head and threw Sir Anthony a long and searching look, and then he walked across to that gentleman, leading Philadelphia with him.

“I think I have
monopolized
Miss Syms enough, Anthony,” said Lord Charles lightly. He laughed down at Philadelphia. “You must forgive Anthony’s bearish appearance. He is not accustomed to his old bachelor friend flirting so assiduously. But hardened bachelor I am, alas, and so I will deliver you into the hands of a man who can appreciate your great beauty more than I.” Lord Charles deftly transferred Philadelphia’s hand from his arm to Anthony’s and strolled quickly away before Philadelphia could think of a ruse to detain him.

Philadelphia looked after him, her beautiful mouth drooping in a disappointed
moue
. But her head had been well and truly turned with the adulation she had received. She was sure she had only to crook her finger to bring Lord Charles back to her side. But then, there was the presence of Lady Jane. Jane had looked very grim and not at all pretty, but gentlemen had such strange tastes.

She turned to Sir Anthony. “Let us promenade a little,” she said. “I saw Jane Lovelace and would like to speak to her. We shall go in search of her.”

“I wouldn’t do that,” replied Sir Anthony hastily. “Thought you wasn’t on speaking terms.”

“I intend to remedy that,” said Philadelphia with a faint edge to her voice. “Come.”

Jane was performing the contredanse with Sir Felix and wondering how soon she could possibly leave. How absurd of her to have indulged a servant’s whim! But Bella looked so happy and so proud that Jane gritted her teeth and determined to stick it out for a little longer. Still, she felt, if only she could get away before she saw Lord Charles again! The wound had been beginning to heal. There had been hours during the past weeks when she had not thought of him at all.…

Over her partner’s shoulder, she saw Philadelphia watching her. Jane’s face hardened, and she looked away. She saw Philadelphia turn and say something to Sir Anthony, and then both left the room. “She is probably telling him I am a monster,” thought Jane.

Lord Charles had allowed himself to be led away into the more private part of the house by Mr. Osborne, who was anxious to secure his lordship’s opinion of a dinner service he had bought in Hanover. Lord Charles found himself liking Mr. Osborne immensely. He was a slight, elderly man with a childlike enthusiasm for the fine things he was able to afford. His life’s pleasure was in sharing these things with as many people as possible. His enthusiasm was infectious, and Lord Charles soon found, to his surprise, that he had passed a very interesting half-hour with Mr. Osborne, learning a great deal about the merits of china.

At last Mr. Osborne glanced at the clock and flushed guiltily. “You have indulged me, my lord,” he said apologetically, “and now my wife will be furious at me for keeping you from the other guests.”

“I enjoyed it,” said Lord Charles. “You have good taste and fine appreciation.”

“You think so!” cried Mr. Osborne, turning pink with pleasure. His delight in the compliment was endearing. All at once, Lord Charles remembered calling Jane “pretty,” and how naively pleased she had been.

His mind thrust away the thought, but he felt edgy and restless. He would return to the party and sun himself in Philadelphia’s beauty—making sure that he did not take too much of her attention away from Anthony.

He hesitated on the threshold of the public rooms that led to the saloons where the party was being held.

To the right, two rooms away, he could see Philadelphia, surrounded by a court of admirers. He looked to the left, over the heads of the chattering guests, and three rooms away, on that side, couples moved gracefully in the steps of a minuet.

He went to the left.

And, all at once, there was Lady Jane Lovelace.

The dance had just ended, and she was curtsying to Sir Felix Beaton and smiling up at him.

He let out a long, slow breath of relief.

The smile quickly left her face. She was sadder, and her face was thinner than he had remembered. He felt not a thing. The sickness was well and truly over. Cheerfully he turned on his heel and went in search of some refreshment. He secured himself a glass of wine and stopped to exchange gossip with several old friends. He decided after some time to pay court to Philadelphia and then leave. It was only two in the morning, but he thought that an early night would make a pleasant change.

At first he was unaware that the refreshment room had become very crowded indeed. But as he bowed to his friends and then backed away, he found his back pressed against someone in a group nearby. Ordinarily he would have immediately turned round and made his apologies.

But he stood stock still. He felt as if a charge of electricity had been run through him, and for a few mad seconds thought that someone might be playing a practical joke.

After all, electricity was all the rage. King Louis XV had only recently witnessed the administration of an electric shock to a mile-long line of monks, and had fallen about with laughter when the reverend brothers had leapt in the air—thereby proving to the common herd, who could not afford to indulge in such massive demonstrations, that science could be fun.

He turned around very slowly and found himself looking down at the scented brown masses of Lady Jane Lovelace’s hair.

Oblivious to the surrounding company, he gently put his hands on her shoulders and swung her around to face him.

He had forgotten how much the changing color of her eyes fascinated him. They were shining up into his own, very wide and very dark—and full of a shocked realization of love.

How could he have been so blind before? he thought wonderingly, he who had always been able to tell from a look, from a kiss, whether a woman was enamored of him.

He felt consumed by a rising, bubbling feeling of elation. She loved him! He was sure of it. And nothing else mattered. James Bentley’s brains, spewed across the coffee-room floor, dwindled in his mind to a tiny image seen through the wrong end of a telescope, and then vanished.

To Jane, his face seemed to blaze down at her, and, like a hypnotized sun-worshiper, she could not move or look away.

All around them, fans fluttered and painted faces stared and penciled eyebrows rose.

Sir Anthony followed the staring faces and stopped short in midsentence, his rouged mouth falling ludicrously open. Philadelphia quickly raised her fan to cover her look of disappointment. Her calculating mind carefully examined her own jealousy of Jane, tidied it firmly away as being a time-wasting emotion, and gave a mental shrug. Philadelphia noticed the jealousy on Fanny’s face, and the burning hate on Mrs. Bentley’s, and despised them both for not hiding their feelings. Anyway, excess of emotion caused wrinkles, and Philadelphia decided she would never indulge in anything that would mar her own beauty.