Winning Lady Jane Page 12

  “No. I should not,” he agreed quietly. “I beg your pardon, Miss Bellevue.” He dropped his gaze to his plate, and pushed his fork around, chasing potatoes, but eating nothing.

  A noise in the hallway told them their moment of solitude was over. The other guests were awake. They burst in together, a large noisy bunch who settled themselves around the table in a jolly group, greeting one another and taking muffins and sausages from the copious platters passed before them.

  It was clear that the family did not stand on ceremony. A year ago, Jane would have loved the chaos and thrown herself into it with abandon. Was this not the event she had come for? She had left Bath thinking to enjoy her time spent amongst the lords and ladies. Only days ago she would have enjoyed the happy bustle. Now she could not bear it. The precious peace of her time alone with Lord Keegain had been shattered, and now everything was only so much noise.

  A tightness filled her throat. Jane knew now she was no longer in danger of falling in love with the earl. She had already fallen, and she saw no way to reverse the descent.

  She could not have him. She had known that from the moment she met him, but she could not stop her heart wanting him.

  “If you could but excuse me. I had…I had promised a letter to my sister. I should have written it long ago. I must write it now if it is to go out in the morning post,” Jane stammered and rose to leave.

  All the gentlemen around the table stood, with her rising, but only Lady Charlotte looked at her, her face full of questions. Still, Charlotte did not ask, a fact for which Jane blessed her silently. Charlotte sat between her sisters, Helen and Alice. Jane smiled politely and turned quickly, only wanting to escape.

  She felt more than saw the earl watching her as she left. Surely it was his eyes which she felt heavy upon her, those beautiful hazel eyes. She knew it was him though there were other young men present: Lord Barton and Mr. Fitzwilliam, and some of Keegain’s other gentlemen friends. Mr. Reynolds was near the door making droll comments to all and sundry.

  Jane had to step a little sideways to get clear of the group, and so nearly walked into Lady Margret who was only just coming through the door, the last to arrive. Margret paused, like a queen assessing her court, and wondering how a plebeian managed to block her path.

  It truly was the last straw. To be so clumsy as to walk straightaway into Lord Keegain’s intended seemed too much like fate laughing at her. Jane froze. She could not make her feet move, and yet she must. She must escape him, from these feelings, herself.

  Jane did the only thing she could think to do. She fled.

  “Pardon me,” she said pushing past Margret and heading for the door.

  As she reached the corridor she heard Margret say, “Well, I do believe my maid owned a dress quite similar to that one a few years ago, but she discarded it after I gave her a raise.”

  Margret’s friends all tittered with laughter at Jane’s retreating back.

  19

  Keegain fumed at the slight. He noted that of none of his sisters smiled. They were stony faced at Margret’s comment, as were Lady Patience and Lady Amelia. At least they are not all sheep, he thought as the servants cleared away the used dishes and laid a new place for Lady Margret.

  Lady Margret turned with a bright smile to the risen guests to accept their accolades as they laughed.

  Keegain had never felt such disgust.

  Charlotte started to stand, and then hesitated. Keegain knew he could not follow Jane himself, but he hoped, his sister would, as her friend. He gave Charlotte the most imperceptible nod.

  “Are you well, Charlotte?” he asked and there was a moment of communication that they had not had since they were children.

  “No,” she said succinctly. “Something has disagreed with me. Please excuse me.” She pushed in her chair and headed for the door.

  There was a moment of shared decision that passed over the other girls’ faces. Lady Amelia stood and then Lady Patience. “We will help you,” Patience said, and just like that the threesome was gone.

  Margret stood smiling, waiting at his side, for him to pull out her chair for her. Mechanically he performed the duty and she sat at the place next to him.

  Once the ladies had departed, and Margret was seated, the gentlemen all retook their seats, Keegain included. Lady Guinevere leaned over to say something to Helen, and even if his other sister wished to, she was no longer able to smoothly leave the table.

  Lord Keegain tried to calm his ire.

  He could not chastise Margret without causing a scene, but she would hear of his displeasure. He smiled at his other visitors and said the all right things for a polite and affable host, but inside he seethed. Margret’s rudeness to a guest in his home disappointed him greatly. This was not acceptable. This was not how a lady acted towards her guests.

  He had the ungracious thought that if someone were to be kidnapped perhaps Lady Margret would be an ideal candidate. It was an unworthy notion; borne of anger not rational logic. Keegain regretted the thought immediately.

  The Christmas season was a time of good will. He could wish no harm befall Lady Margret, but neither would he allow a guest within his house to be treated poorly. Any guest or only Miss Bellevue? A small voice in his mind chided him as the scent of lavender and the feel of crisp muslin invaded his thoughts.

  Why was he so distracted? He felt near besotted. He should have kissed her he decided, and not just her hand. He should have kissed Miss Bellevue thoroughly in the library where she stood looking up at him so dewy eyed and soft. Just the mere thought of her made his body react. He told himself he should have found out then and there whether his attraction was real. As it was, she haunted him.

  Jane was petite, but buxom, with dark hair and dark eyes that seemed to hold mystery. He wanted to discover that mystery. He could not deny that he had developed a fondness for the woman and he knew that was wrong. He was engaged. Still, he could not seem to quell the emotion. He should have kissed her and have had done, he thought. But would a kiss have been enough? He very much doubted it.

  Lord Keegain sighed. There were more important matters to think upon than his own muddled sentiment. His mind turned back to the duke’s warning. A dark cloud loomed on the horizon and there were villains within his house. He could not be so distracted.

  By the time the men were ready to retire to the parlor Lord Keegain had his body under control, and his mind. He had nearly convinced himself that it was only the thought of dire criminality and intrigue that had put him in such a foul humor. Lady Margret was his intended. The woman was his to protect, just as his sisters were his to protect, and he would shield them. Who then will shield Miss Bellevue? The thought left him bitter and he lingered over his coffee, nursing it as if the drink were something stronger.

  Jane felt entirely empty. She could not sit calmly at the table and watch Keegain with Lady Margret. She could not bear it, and so she had run and she had cried. She had poured her emotion out upon her pillow. Now she felt numb. Perhaps she was wrung out; wrung dry of tears. After the tears came lethargy. She felt as if she could not move. She lay on the bed now defeated. Perhaps she fell back asleep. Perhaps she just felt as if the world moved on past her, without her.

  She wondered what she should do. She did not want to see him again, or worse, see Lady Margret, but how could she not?

  Sometime later she thought, a cup of tea would be heaven, and she was a bit hungry. Understandable, since she had missed breakfast. Yes, she had gone to breakfast early, but she had not eaten. Jane considered ringing the bell, but she did not want company. She wanted to feel sorry for herself. She rolled over and buried her face in the pillow. She closed her eyes as if to shut out the world.

  At first Jane ignored the knocking on her bedchamber door, hoping to pretend she was still sleeping so she could just breathe for a few more minutes and once again recapture control over her emotions. But when the knocking came a second time, Jane knew she could not hide any longer. So she called
out to the person bidding them enter.

  “Miss Bellevue, are you quite alright?” Jacqueline said as she opened the door and stepped inside the room, her voice full of concern.

  Jane opened her eyes and blinked. “I’m quite alright, Jacqueline. Simply tired is all.” It was true after a fashion. Jane did not feel any more rested than she had at dawn, though she must have fallen back asleep. It was strange that the more she slept, the more exhausted she seemed. Jane finally sat up and moved towards the edge of the bed.

  Jacqueline met her there and pulled back the curtains, the sunlight glinting off snow caused Jane to squint for a moment. Snow, she thought. It had snowed and there was every indication that there might be a white Christmas. Still, it was England, and the snow might melt before midday, she thought. Then she realized it was midday.

  Once she stood, Jacqueline took one good look at Jane and released a heavy sigh. “The other ladies are worried about you,” the maid said.

  “They are?”

  “They came to check on you, but you were asleep,” Jacqueline said. “Lady Charlotte thought it best not to wake you.”

  “Oh,” Jane looked in the glass. Her face was red and puffy. Her dress was wrinkled. “I look a fright,” she said.

  “Oh, my dear. Come, let’s get you washed up. I know just what to do to brighten that pretty face of yours,” Jacqueline said and Jane nodded.

  She always was an ugly crier. Her face turned red and puffy and stayed blotchy for hours even after she had gained control of herself. It was one of the reasons she usually kept a tight rein on her emotions. Crying solved nothing.

  “Thank you.” Jane offered the French woman a soft smile as she followed the maid to the other side of the room where a water basin was positioned. The maid poured a pitcher of water into the basin and soaked a flannel before handing it to Jane. Jane looked at the cloth in her hand and thought of Keegain’s handkerchief. She had tucked it into her valise around her mother’s pearls. Oh she was a wretch!

  “The water might be cold, but it will help diminish the redness,” Jacqueline explained. “Just hold the cloth to your eyes.”

  Jane obeyed.

  It was colder than Jane had imagined as she placed the wet cloth over her face and pressed it against her checks and around her eyes. It was shocking at first, but then relaxing, almost numbing the soreness she felt. Jacqueline had Jane repeat the process several times before she helped Jane slip out of her wrinkled gown and apply the cloth to the rest of her body. Though it was cold, it felt soothing, and by the time Jane had been dressed in a clean gown, she was feeling quite refreshed. No doubt Lady Margret would think this dress ugly as well. Jane tried to convince herself that she did not care what Margret thought of her.

  “There now, Miss Bellevue. Magnifique!” Jacqueline said with a smile as she finished pinning up Jane’s long brown hair. “I shall take you to madam’s sitting room and bring a fresh pot of tea. The other young ladies have joined there. The musicians have come early so there will be music and perhaps singing.”

  Jane’s heart sank at the idea. She couldn’t do it. There was, of course, no easy way she could bow out, but she wasn’t particularly interested in allowing Lady Margret to make fun of her dress, nor did she relish watching Lord Keegain and Lady Margret spend another evening together. It would just hurt all over again. Jane tried to put the thought out of her mind. She did not want to spoil the other ladies holiday fun, with her morose mood. She only hoped that Lady Margret had found another occupation, but Jane doubted her luck.

  “I need a moment,” she told Jacqueline.

  “As you wish,” the maid said taking her wrinkled dress to press, and closing the door softly behind her as she left the room.

  Jane thought she could not appear so melancholy when arriving to the sitting room. It was Christmas. One must be jolly. With effort, she turned the corners of her mouth up into a smile, but she did not feel an excess of Christmas cheer. She was grumpy and hungry. She realized she had completely missed breakfast, and there would not be another meal for hours. Mrs. Muir would have something good to eat, she thought and Mrs. Muir would cheer her.

  20

  Jane had begged Mrs. Muir for the recipe for her crumpets, but she doubted that any cook she would be able to hire would do them justice. They were so light; they were like to float away. Perhaps she should have Mrs. Muir show her how to make them. It would be a wonderful way to spend the afternoon. Oh, that would cause quite a stir she was sure. She nearly giggled at the thought.

  A fire was already blazing in the kitchen and the morning meal for the upper house servants was prepared. The room was pleasantly bustling and smelled of Mrs. Muir’s wonderful baked goods.

  Today, the cook greeted her with more than her marvelous delectables. She had a small hand written book with a ribbon round it and handed it unceremoniously to Jane. “It’s a Christmas gift of sorts,” Mrs. Muir said. “It’s from the whole staff because they helped me by doing some of my work while I got it all written out. It was a shared effort. Most of these are just in my head, you see.”

  Jane opened the book to find a plethora of recipes for many of the delectable dishes she had been served in the past weeks at Kennett Park.

  “Oh how wonderful,” Jane said. “Thank you, but now, I am embarrassed. I have nothing for you, Mrs. Muir.”

  “Oh, never you mind,” Mrs. Muir said.

  Jane busied herself looking through the recipes printed in Mrs. Muir’s neat hand, and only looked up in surprise when Mrs. Muir said, “It’s enough you make his Lordship happy.”

  “What?” The comment startled Jane, but Mrs. Muir went right on talking while she rolled her dough.

  “His Lordship already does so much for us. Why he has been out every day this week delivering gifts. Just yesterday the master delivered a haunch of venison to my nephew and his wife.” Mrs. Muir smiled. “We will eat like kings this Christmas. Then he went about the town with rabbits and birds for the other’s dinners and sweetmeats for the children. Playing Father Christmas, he was, just like his own father used to do. God rest his soul.”

  So that was where the earl disappeared to, Jane thought, and the warm feelings that she had already entertained for the lord of the manor flared in her heart. Was there ever such a man? How could she not love him?

  Mrs. Muir was still speaking while Jane was woolgathering.

  “And you make his Lordship happy,” she said.

  The words tugged Jane sharply back to reality.

  “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

  Mrs. Muir fixed Jane with a stare. “The master has a generous heart. He deserves someone who will match him.”

  “Oh, no. Mrs. Muir no,” Jane said shaking her head. “He has a betrothed.”

  “He’ll never marry the ice queen. You’ll see,” said Jack, the kitchen boy, as he brought in more firewood for the stove. He dumped it with a crash on the hearth.

  Some of the kitchen maids nodded, but Gilly, Mrs. Muir’s assistant, hushed them. “Lady Margret will be our mistress,” she said, “You shouldn’t speak ill of her, Jack.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “You will find yourself wanting a job and no references about it. She would sack you in an instant, and your dreams of becoming a footman will be gone. Just like that.” She snapped her fingers under his nose.

  “He won’t marry her,” Jack muttered. “He doesn’t love her.”

  “Love rarely enters into society marriages,” Jane said sadly.

  “But his Lordship is a romantic,” Mr. White said.

  Jane was surprised that the kitchen clerk joined in the conversation. He usually held himself apart, as he was one of the upper servants, along with the housekeeper and the butler. She had not heard him speak more than a “yes, my lord or no my lord,” to the earl. Now, he sat at table with Jane and Mrs. Muir put his breakfast in front of him as some of the other upstairs servants took their places around the table. Jane recognized the warmed sausages from earlier.

&n
bsp; “That is true,” Mrs. Muir agreed. “His Lordship allowed Lady Sophia to marry Mr. Gibbon when the Viscount Cornish wanted to wed her. Even his lady mother was furious that he allowed it, but of course, he is the earl.”

  The staff was silent for a few minutes and Jane had a moment of feeling guilty for listening so unabashedly to gossip, and servant’s gossip at that, and yet she was learning more about the earl than Lady Charlotte had ever told her.

  “And yet,” Jane began. She stumbled to a halt. She could not outright ask, could she?

  “What is it, Miss?” Mrs. Muir asked.

  Jane hesitated, the very words causing her pain.

  “Speak Miss Bellevue,” Mr. White said softly. “Nothing you say shall leave this table. You have my word.”

  Jane spoke barely above a whisper. “It’s only that, if Lord Keegain is a romantic, he must love his intended. He asked for her hand.”

  “Oh no. It was not like that,” Mrs. Muir said. The staff stood, all around shaking their heads, but it was Mr. White who spoke.

  “I am sure it is not my place to say, but I think someone must. When the late earl fell ill, God rest his soul, he was concerned about the young master. He wanted him settled and so on his deathbed he made his son promise to marry.”

  “But he did not have to choose Lady Margret,” Jane said hesitantly.

  Mr. White’s voice turned hard. “No, but then Lady Margret was a friend of the family and companion to his sisters. She was an obvious choice.”

  “So she swooped in and took the spot,” Mrs. Muir spat. “And his Lordship is too kind to disavow her.”

  Jane had never heard the friendly cook speak so. The others were nodding all around. Jane realized that none of the staff liked Lady Margret, or relished the idea of her being the countess.

  “If he had actually wanted to marry her, he would have done it already,” Jack added. “The earl is not indecisive. After all there is no impediment, except that he does not want to set the banns.”