June Calvin (14 page)

“He is as good as promised to another, Papa. Do not blame yourself. Any attention he paid to me was doubtless merely to amuse himself until Anna-Marie Allistair joined him for the season,” she had insisted. “I am well rid of him. I don’t care so much as I thought I would, anyway.” She had given a prideful toss of her head. “Mr. Fortesque is very amusing. Perhaps we shall suit.”

Sarah had a feeling she hadn’t convinced her father. It certainly wouldn’t do to let him see her crying. She couldn’t bear the humiliation of pursuing Alexander, even by proxy.

Thus they passed the anxious two days until Harwood’s messenger returned bearing a missive from Jennifer’s mother.

“I told you to stay and escort her back,” Harwood growled as the man appeared before him, exhausted and travel-stained.

“Yes, Your Grace, but the lady insisted I bring this message to you as fast as might be, and Lord Cornwall also sent one.”

Taking the two letters from the exhausted footman, Harwood relented. “Good work, Samuel. You will be well rewarded. Now go and get some food and a good night’s rest, man. You look to need it.”

“Aye, that I do, Your Grace.” Samuel tugged his forelock and then winked at Sarah, who was standing in the door to the blue salon, watching curiously. Jennifer and John stood right behind her.

Glancing at them as he broke the seal, Harwood disappointed the three by turning into his library to read the letters. But a few minutes later he came hurrying back into the drawing room, looking ten years younger, and swept the two young girls into an exuberant hug.

“She’s done it! Vincent has withdrawn the permission.”

“What does he say, Papa?”

“All that is proper.” Harwood’s mouth quirked ironically. “That he had no idea of Lord Morton’s character, that he looks forward to making my acquaintance and so forth. He says he plans to come to your ball, Jennifer. Don’t tell me he had not intended to do so?”

“No, sir, nor would he have been missed, but for this he may come, and be welcome.”

There was something in the fawning, insinuating tone of Vincent’s letter that set Harwood’s back up, but like Jennifer he was sufficiently relieved to overlook it.

“Your mother is going to rest a day before returning. She plans to be here in good time for Eberlin’s picnic. Here, you’ll want to read this.”

Harwood relinquished the letter to Jennifer and hugged his daughter against his left side as he extended his right hand to John. “Crisis over! We can get back to normal now.”

“Yes.” John sighed, his eyes following Jennifer’s lithe figure as she danced about the room with her mother’s letter held on high.

Chapter 15

After a tearful, joyful reunion with her daughter, Deborah urged her to get ready to leave. Eager to impart her plan to Jennifer, she declined an invitation to dine with the Harwoods, firmly asserting that it was time to take themselves off.

Jennifer and Sarah scampered away to find Mittens, leaving Deborah to sincerely thank the duke for taking care of her child.

“You owe equal thanks to John, who guarded her like a miser’s gold.”

This was troubling news. Deborah frowned anxiously. “I am grateful for his help, but I hope they’ve formed no greater attachment than friendship would allow. Morton had told Vincent that I was permitting Mr. Warner to court her. That was one reason he gave his permission for that vile betrothal. He made it very clear to me—”

“Pax, Deborah. I understand.” The duke’s smile was regretful, but not condemning. He took her hand and patted it. “I only hope these two young people can.”

“The duke? You must be bamming me, Mother!”

“Please do not use such improper terms, Jennifer. Cant sounds so unattractive on a young lady’s lips.”

Jennifer dropped her head. “Sorry, but . . .”

Deborah launched into an explanation of the reasons that Jennifer should set her cap for the duke. Her daughter listened quietly, the large brown eyes serious, as befit such a serious subject.

A deep sigh signaled Jennifer’s capitulation. “Very well, Mother. I don’t think it will serve, but I will try. But I am quite sure the duke has a
tendre
for you—”

“You know I will not—”

“And I can’t imagine a dignified, intelligent man like the Duke of Harwood being caught by a green girl like me.”

“I am not suggesting ‘catching’ him; I am suggesting engaging his affections.”

“He is like a father to me—like what I would have wished my father to be. And I am sure his feelings for me are strictly paternal.”

“I don’t doubt that they are, now. But you are a very attractive young woman. It is up to you to change his mind.”

“But what of Lord Threlbourne? Lord Eberlin? Or even Mr. Fortesque?” Jennifer’s heart was crying out,
What of John
, but she knew better than to give voice to this sentiment.

“I haven’t changed my opinion of Mr. Fortesque. Yes, you should continue to encourage Lord Threlbourne. Eberlin does not seem to be on the hunt for a wife, but perhaps I am wrong. If it becomes clear that you will fail with the duke, either of them would be acceptable to Vincent.”

Deborah tipped her child’s head up by gently grasping her chin and looked directly into the sad brown eyes, as if she had heard the silent cry of Jennifer’s heart. “Acceptable to Vincent, do you understand? He made it very clear that Mr. John Warner was not in the least eligible.”

“How did he know . . . ?”

“It seems Lord Morton told Vincent of John’s attentiveness. It is a man’s world, alas. We cannot direct our own affairs; all we can do is to try to modify the terms of our slavery.”

A mulish look chased the sadness from Jennifer’s face. “With John Warner I would not be a slave.”

“No, with him you would be a pauper.”

“I don’t care. It isn’t true, anyway. We would live modestly, but better than most people on the earth, you know. I would live in a hut and eat gruel rather than—”

“Jennifer! I must know if you are going to try an elopement.”

Jennifer looked away, hands fidgeting with the fringe on a sofa cushion. “Nothing has been said. But I would gladly . . .”

“My poor child. You must realize that a runaway marriage would doom Mr. Warner’s career in politics. That would be a great shame, wouldn’t it?”

Jennifer whirled around. “Oh, no! I hadn’t thought. But it would, wouldn’t it. The scandal . . .”

“Precisely.”

“But England needs moderate reformers like John.”

“Then you must act the unselfish part and choose another husband. If you cannot do this, then I must tell you that I think it is time to sell my jewelry and go to America.”

“America!”

Deborah stood and strode agitatedly about the room. “Yes. I have thought of it a great deal. Rather than let you marry Morton, I would kill him, if I could. But then I would go to prison, perhaps die, and Vincent would be left with absolute power to choose another husband as bad as he or worse. Do you understand, daughter? This is a very dangerous situation.”

“Lord Morton wants more than just me, doesn’t he?”

A deep flush stained Deborah’s cheeks. “My poor child. I wouldn’t have had you know that for the world. But can you think of the horror for both of us, each the hostage of the other’s misery.”

“Oh, Mama! That odious, odious man!” Jennifer launched herself into her mother’s arms. “I shall do as you say. I promise that either Lord Threlbourne or His Grace, the Duke of Harwood, shall be my husband.”

***

Jennifer had an opportunity to test her power over the Duke of Harwood the very next evening, when he escorted the three women to
The Merchant of Venice
at the Theatre Royal in Drury Lane. Jennifer subtly maneuvered, with her mother’s help, so that she sat next to the duke. During the entr’acte, she asked him careful questions about the play and his evaluation of the acting of Edmund Kean.

Somewhat startled by this sudden show of interest by Sarah’s young friend, Harwood tried to catch Deborah’s eye, but she avoided looking directly at him, instead employing her opera glasses to carefully study the boxes across the way and comment upon them to Sarah, who sat next to her.

During the supper that followed, Jennifer continued to engage the duke in conversation as often as she could. Sarah was beginning to notice something different, too. Perplexed, she stared at her friend, who had hitherto reacted to the duke just as she ought to a dignified older man. She was actually batting her eyes at him!

Why, she’s acting as if he were a man!
Sarah hadn’t questioned the likes of Lydia Smithfield trying to entice her father; after all, he was rich and unmarried, and she was old, too. But Jennifer? The notion of her friend seeking to attach her father seemed most odd.

There was no opportunity to discover her intentions, though, because when she arose and suggested Jennifer accompany her to the withdrawing room, Lady Cornwall quickly stood, too, and joined them. She kept them busy with mild gossip until they rejoined the duke.

At home Harwood asked his daughter if she had noticed Jennifer’s behavior.

“Yes, and I thought it quite odd at first. But I have been thinking. I believe she is grateful to you for helping her. Her new interest in you doubtless is the result of that gratitude.”

Harwood grinned ruefully. “Of course. You don’t suspect me of believing she feels any sort of attraction for me, do you?”

Sarah put her arms around her father, hugging him tightly. “You are a devastatingly handsome man, Father, for a man of your age. Any older woman would be mad for you.”

“Thank you, sweetheart.” The duke grinned. “You are so very good for my
amour propre
, my love.”

Seeing no irony in this statement, Sarah returned his smile.

The duke sadly watched his daughter mount the stairs. Smiles had been few and halfhearted for her most of the evening, for once again she had been forced to observe Lord Alexander Meade courting Anna-Marie Allistair. Once again she had turned to the eager attentions of Mr. Henry Fortesque, who probably didn’t guess what her father clearly saw—that she feigned most of those brilliant smiles at his witty repartee.

Still, he thought as he loosened his cravat before repairing to his library for a brandy, she hadn’t withdrawn into herself the way she had this summer, and he had Mr. Fortesque to thank for it.
Must see about inviting that young man for dinner soon
, he thought.

***

The next evening was a ball at the home of the Penton-Smythes. Again the Harwoods were invited to dinner and the Cornwalls were not. The ball was already under way when Deborah and her daughter arrived. To the duke’s great surprise Deborah accepted an invitation to dance after Jennifer left her side, partnered by Lord Threlbourne.

Harwood did not like the shaft of jealousy that pierced him. He hadn’t the right to feel it, nor was it wise considering how carefully the dowager viscountess kept him at arm’s length.

When the set ended, Sarah was returned to him, and to his relief Jennifer’s escort delivered her to him also. That meant Deborah would soon join him.

“I am so glad Mama decided to dance, are you not, sir? I think she deserves some pleasure. It must get very tedious for you, too, standing about all evening, watching Sarah.”

“It hasn’t seemed so, actually. I’ve had your mother to visit with, you know, until this evening.” The duke tried to keep reproach from his tone, not entirely succeeding.

“Oh, but then you must dance, too. It is as I told Mama—I am not a green girl, anymore, that she must watch my every move, and I am quite sure Sarah knows how to conduct herself, don’t you think?”

“Of course, but—”

“That’s settled, then. Will you dance this minuet with me? Most of my friends don’t like it. They think it terribly old-fashioned, but I like its elegance.”

“Oh, do dance, Papa. You know you want to. I’ll be quite all right. Gilbert and I are going to find the punch bowl.”

“That is, if you don’t mind, sir.” Threlbourne waited for the duke’s permission, but he was obviously eager to be off. “Truth to tell, I’m one of the ones who avoids the minuet. I always feel like a crane stalking through a marsh instead of a dancer.”

Chuckling, Harwood glanced from his three young tempters to Deborah, who was standing several feet away, looking up into the kindly, wrinkle-lined face of Sir Horace Darby. She clearly intended to allow the old knight to lead her out for the next dance.

“I would be honored,” he said, offering Jennifer his arm with a smile.

Jennifer returned the smile eagerly, and they joined another couple as the music began.

Jennifer danced well and looked exceptionally lovely this evening. Harwood felt a glow of pride in her, once again pleased and impressed with how far she had progressed since the first ball of the season. Lady Penton-Smythe would not find any reason for criticism now.

He enjoyed the dance and told her so quite sincerely afterward. But he managed to guide their steps so that they would be standing near her mother when the dance was ended.

“Well, it seems we have decided to dance.”

Deborah looked a little self-conscious as she turned to face the duke. “I am glad Jennifer talked me into it. You surely have been holding back out of kindness to me, and . . .”

“Nonsense. I had far rather visit with you among the chaperones than dance with anyone else on the floor.”

Deborah stiffened and looked serious. “You must not say so, sir!”

Harwood contented himself with a raised eyebrow. “The next dance is a waltz. Will you stand up with me?”

“Oh, I, uh, that is, I was hoping . . .” She glanced helplessly at her daughter, who was standing nearby with several young people. At just that moment Jennifer moved a bit closer to the duke.

“Thank you, Mr. Lanscombe, but you know I do not yet waltz. The patronesses of Almack’s have not approved me to do so yet. I have already agreed to promenade with the duke.” She put her hand lightly on Harwood’s arm and looked up appealingly into his face.

The duke could but agree and lead her away, grinding his jaw a little at seeing from the corner of his eye that Deborah was standing up with Lord Eberlin. Jennifer’s manner during this promenade was blatantly flirtatious. The duke felt a prickle at the back of his neck, almost like a warning of danger. And indeed, any man might feel himself in danger when a lovely young woman like Jennifer brought all her newly learned sophistication to bear on him. He frowned at the tall, slender girl at his side.

“What May game are you up to, Jennifer?”

“I . . . What do you mean, sir?”

“Dear child, do you not know that you are doing an excellent imitation of a young miss setting her cap for an old man?”

Jennifer flushed to the roots of her hair, but defended herself. “You are not an old man; you are a highly eligible
parti
and I am a grown woman. Why should I not let you know that I enjoy your company.”

“Why not, indeed?” The duke looked thoughtfully down into the limpid brown eyes. “If this is somehow the result of my championing your cause . . .”

“You were magnificent. I can never thank you enough.”

“I do not require your thanks, only the satisfaction of knowing that you are happy.”

“There! Who could not be all admiration for someone so kind and selfless,” Jennifer said with enthusiasm.

“I do not doubt the sincerity of this sentiment, but I have no wish to take advantage of your gratitude.” The duke patted her hand where it rested on his arm. “You save those fluttering eyelashes and flashing dimples for young Threlbourne or some other young blade, my dear.” The duke decided it was time to end the conversation, for Jennifer was beginning to look upset.

“Here is another dance, and a young swain approaching with a mission in mind.”

Reluctantly, Jennifer joined her partner for the next dance, looking back soulfully at the duke as she was led away.

The duke rubbed his chin thoughtfully, his eyes turning to Deborah. She was standing with Sarah, looking most uncomfortable as Sir Alfred Morley, a man with a rakish reputation, appeared to be attempting to engage her for the next dance.

“Excuse me, Sir Alfred, but I believe this was the dance I had reserved. Or was I mistaken in the matter, Lady Cornwall?”

Deborah accepted the invitation gratefully, though it seemed to him she looked rather torn by the necessity. It was a country-dance, never one of the duke’s favorites, but worth it to aid Deborah. He turned to check on Sarah and found her accepting Henry Fortesque’s invitation to dance with apparent pleasure, which relieved him greatly, for Alexander was nowhere in sight. Perhaps this might indicate she was starting to truly enjoy Fortesque’s company.

Beginning to dance opened a Pandora’s box for both Harwood and Lady Cornwall, for women of all ages began making a bid to dance with him, and without being absolutely insulting, he found he must offer to lead several young and not-so-young ladies onto the floor. It was much the same for Deborah, and he was not surprised to see her plead the headache and take a seat after supper.