Chills (15 page)

She didn’t want to think about the fool she had just made of herself with Jack’s cane. And of course, she had done it in front of Mr. Abernathy. Constance had never seen a bladed cane before. She’d almost sliced Miss Scaling in half with it. And Jack, well, he’d yelled at her in front of half the ton. That would not help her reputation at all.

As she slipped on her shoes again, the door opened and Miss Scaling swept inside, resplendent in her pale pink frothy gown, albeit a little sliced. The material was so light that her nipples were visible. Ghastly dress. Miss Scaling scowled at Constance, but kept to her side of the room. She had a maid stitch the rip Constance had made, then shooed the girl away as soon as it was done.

“Are you going to finish me off now that we are alone?” Miss Scaling asked.

“Of course not,” Constance assured her. “It was a complete accident. How should I have known the marquess’ cane contained a sword?”

“How indeed? Strangely, I believe you. The marquess would never confide in someone like you. I am sure he sees you as a servant available to carry things for him. You should remember that your services will not always be required, and that things have a habit of changing.”

Miss Scaling reached into her reticule, drew out a small perfume bottle, and dabbed the liquid to her wrists. Constance watched her, fascinated. She had no idea what was going on in the girl’s mind, but it clearly did not represent Constance’s reality. What was the woman suggesting?

Constance wrenched her gaze away and lifted her hands to her hair. Some pins were working loose and if she did not fix them now, the entire lot would fall down her back. While she worked, she kept her head down, working by feel alone to secure the mass.

“Here let me help you. You missed a lock.”

Miss Scaling tugged on her hair, but then the cold of liquid sliding down her back and beneath her gown made her gasp.

“Oh, I am so sorry. I must have forgotten to cap the bottle.”

Constance turned, the noxious scent of lilac assailing her. Satisfaction had lightened Miss Scaling’s features. She gagged. It was sickly, and her dress stuck to her upper back. Constance suppressed a shudder. She had the perfect excuse to leave now, with or without Virginia. She could not possibly stay smelling as she did.

Standing unsteadily, her whole body shaking in anger, Constance faced Miss. Scaling, but the door opened and Virginia waltzed in.

“There you are, my dear. Whatever has been keeping you?”

“A clumsy accident with perfume, Virginia. It is nothing of importance,” Miss Scaling answered for Constance, looking contrite and apologetic, then slipped out the door without a backward glance.

Once she was gone, Constance spoke. “Virginia, I am afraid I will have to leave early. I am drenched in perfume and I think it is going to require a bath to remove the stench.”

“It does smell very strongly. How did this happen? You don’t normally wear that scent.”

“It isn’t mine,” Constance said through clenched teeth. “I believe Miss Scaling poured the whole contents of her bottle down the back of my dress in retaliation for my mistake.”

Constance gathered her things and faced her friend.

“You believe?” Virginia asked with one eyebrow raised.

“Under the ruse of helping me with my hair.”

Virginia covered her nose. “I came to tell you Jack wants to leave early. Oh, that smells terrible. I much prefer your own scent.”

“So do I. It reminds me of springtime.”

“I don’t know where you acquired it, but it is far superior,” Virginia said, walking toward the door.

That was odd. The perfume had arrived for her sixteenth birthday and a replacement bottle had been hand-delivered at Christmas, and again on her birthday, every year since—always with a note penned in Virginia’s hand. Why couldn’t Virginia remember sending them? Was her memory affected too?

CHAPTER ELEVEN

“I HATE THIS, I absolutely hate this,” Virginia muttered, twitching her dress this way and that.

Virginia should not be upset that her brother had organized a private dinner with his closest friends, yet she had fretted all day. If Constance hadn’t snuck down to peek at the dining room, she would be far more uneasy. None of the invited guests included Constance’s three potential husbands, so she could relax and be herself tonight.

Since Constance knew who was seated where, she guessed Virginia knew, too. Hallam was directly across the table from her friend. He would be impossible to ignore. After Constance’s blunt suggestion yesterday, Virginia had been attempting to avoid Hallam. Constance sympathized with him. Virginia had turned as cold as ice toward him, and his eyes showed puzzlement. Like Constance, Hallam must have thought he had a chance to woo her, but Virginia’s manner now proved otherwise. Constance should not have said a word, and if she could apologize for meddling without embarrassing Hallam, she would.

Tonight Virginia would have little choice but to look in his direction for the whole of the meal. Since Hallam’s gaze devoured Virginia when they were together, his behavior in a small gathering of acquaintances would be noticed.

If her dress was any indication, Virginia was well aware of his interest. The hideous orange silk Virginia had chosen would repulse most men.

“You are being ridiculous,” Constance said bluntly.

Virginia stopped in her tracks to stare at her. “I am not ridiculous.”

“In that dress you are. What were you thinking? Do you want to embarrass Jack in front of his friends?”

“They are my friends too,” Virginia muttered, yet continued pacing.

Constance looked over at the pile of crushed gowns littering the floor. “Exactly. And as a friend, I want you to look your best. That dress just isn’t it. The neckline is higher than mine. You’re a widow—not a debutant,” Constance reminded her. “Do you think he will be put off by an ugly dress?”

“I don’t know what you are talking about, but I suggest you stop,” Virginia warned.

Enough was enough. She’d already made a mess. “Hallam watches over your every move. You cannot tell me you do not know this.”

“Please stop before you make a fool of yourself.”

Constance let out an exasperated huff. “He likes you, Virginia. You should at least think about it. You’re a widow—you don’t have the same rules anymore.”

Constance strode over to her wardrobe, ignoring Virginia’s huff as she looked over the remaining selections. “My word, what a beautiful color. When did this arrive?”

“Last week.”

“Oh, it’s gorgeous.”

“If you like it so well, perhaps you should have it,” Virginia snapped.

Constance pushed the dress back in place and turned to face her friend. Virginia stood stiffly, looking away from Constance and the wardrobe brimming with beautiful clothes.

Given Virginia’s posture, she was likely wearing a corset under the hideous dress too. Constance decided to find out. Virginia attempted to bat her hands away and drew herself up proud—an easy thing to do when squeezed between whalebone.

“I do not appreciate your interference, Miss Grange.”

“That is just too bad, Lady Orkney.” Constance smiled sweetly, using Virginia’s hated married title to distract her. She had promised never to speak it, but sometimes exceptions had to be made.

While Virginia’s mouth hung open inelegantly from shock, Constance attacked her gown. In two flicks, she managed to untie the sash. She grabbed two handfuls of dress high at the back, and tugged hard.

As she suspected, it was an old dress. The stitching was no match for her determination. She pushed the shredded gown from her shoulders before turning her attention to the corset. “While the gentlemen may appreciate your enhanced bosom, I think you are too beautiful to have need of this torture device.”

Ignoring Virginia’s strangled “no”, she pulled on the ties that bound her. Virginia dragged in a full breath as she tossed it away. Satisfied, Constance left her there and went back to the wardrobe. Instead of the pink silk she pulled out a blue, and redressed her swiftly.

Virginia was still in too much of a state of shock at Constance’s treatment to react. Perhaps not even the strictest of governesses had handled her this way before. It would do her good.

When Constance was done, she turned her friend to face the mirror.

“I cannot believe you just did that,” Virginia said, glancing at herself in the mirror. Her eyes were wide.

“You’re welcome.”

“I was not thanking you,” Virginia informed her.

“I know you wanted to, but the words escaped you,” Constance said brightly, pleased that her friend did indeed look better now. “Shall we join Jack and his guests? We are very late.”

“Yes, but …”

Constance was anxious to greet everyone and there was a Miss Birkenstock alone downstairs with a roomful of men. Given her reported shyness, Constance doubted the girl would be enjoying herself. Of course, Miss Birkenstock would have her grandfather’s protection, but she might be making eyes at the marquess as the other debutantes did. The idea rankled.

Constance reached for Virginia’s arm to hurry her from the room by force. Could Miss Birkenstock be Jack’s elusive future bride? “Come on, dearest, I am very hungry.”

~ * ~

To Constance’s way of thinking, Jack’s dinner party proved to be a high scandalous affair. He did not appear to follow current etiquette in any way, and if word of this dinner got out, his reputation for disdain would crumble.

Constance met the timid Miss Birkenstock and could not find any indication of preference from either Jack or the girl. He was polite but distant—a perfect host, anxious for his guests to relax. He appeared friendlier with the grandfather than the girl. After an anxious few minutes, Constance dismissed Miss Birkenstock and decided to let Virginia worry over Jack’s wife. After all, Constance was nothing but a charity case to the marquess. It wasn’t right to spy on him in his home.

A great deal of bantering flowed over the dining table, and Constance sat in stunned amazement for the first few minutes. Why had Virginia been so nervous? This was fun. When Jack’s leg bumped hers, she caught his wink and almost laughed aloud in delight.

Alcohol had loosened his tongue, and the gathering was noisy and absolutely fascinating to listen to. Jack sat at the head of the table, to Constance’s left. He didn’t remotely resemble the man she thought she’d be sitting beside.

He was foxed. He laughed loudly, talked frequently, and smiled a great deal. It was the most fun she had seen him have in years. Jack leaned her way often, describing what she did not fully comprehend, and frequently touched her leg beneath the table with his knee.

“I see our servants have picked up where they left off.” Jack nodded to where his valet and her maid stood in the background making eyes at each other.

“I don’t think she ever stopped,” Constance confided, turning her head toward Jack and almost bumping noses.

“So glad to make the servants happy,” Jack whispered. “How was your dessert?”

Constance giggled as his breath tickled her skin. “Delicious, thank you. Cook has done you proud tonight.”

“It is all in the details—she has my mother’s diaries to work from.” Jack stopped, a drink poised before his lips. “You know I am not capable of this level of mastery.”

“Well, I thought I had misjudged you,” Constance confessed, touching his leg beneath the table.

“You know everything about me. I would be very happy to hand such matters over,” he whispered in her ear. A blush heated her cheeks.

“Will you let Virginia run your home then?”

“No. She needs her own life. I had thought to give them to—”

Daventry, seated on her other side, interrupted, and pulled her into his conversation, a discussion of the latest crop of debutantes. Daventry smiled cheekily at Jack, and Jack brushed her thigh again under the table. Constance twisted away, certain he’d been about to mention his intended bride even while flirting with her.

~ * ~

Bernard toyed with his wine glass as Virginia spoke to the Marquess of Taverham to the exclusion of all others. She was doing a fine job of ignoring him tonight.

Frustrated, he turned to his dinner partner. “How has the young lad from Bruton Street settled in, Miss Birkenstock?”

Since the charity was her favorite subject, he could depend upon Miss Birkenstock speaking for some time. Perhaps it would distract him from brooding over Virginia’s continued snubs.

The girl responded as he hoped, and as she was speaking, he gave her half his attention. Miss Birkenstock was pretty, intelligent, and very dedicated to the orphans. Though it was not an interest he shared strongly, he did contribute to the charity.

“I must say, you are looking quite lovely tonight, Virginia,” Taverham remarked, his voice warm and full of praise. “Bringing Miss Grange to London appears to have been very good for you. I am glad Jack agreed.”

Virginia’s face flamed at the compliment, and Bernard forced his eyes to leave her.

But they fell on Lord Daventry—watching Virginia.

The burn of anger flared in his chest. The man had an insatiable appetite. If Daventry placed one hand, or anything else, on Virginia, he was a dead man. He supposed shooting his friend was in bad taste, but really, once Daventry had gotten through with any woman, there was almost nothing left of them.