A Lord Rotheby's Holiday Bundle (94 page)

Mother and Father had allowed her to
use her earnings to pay for the education which they’d never been
able to provide her with. And after she’d completed her schooling,
she had stowed her money away.

They thought she’d saved it
to provide herself with a dowry. How little they truly knew their
own daughter. A dowry? Having a dowry would mean a having a
marriage
. What woman
really wanted to be married to a man—to become his property, there
to sate his needs and fill his nursery—but who cared nothing of her
own wants and needs?

And now—now, Jane might actually be
able to put her money to use. Much better use, if one should ask
her. She could open a shop and earn her own livelihood! She’d never
need to marry at all, nor would she be forced to rely on her
parents for the remainder of her life as a (blessed)
spinster.

Keeping her plans a secret was of the
utmost importance, however. If Cousin Henrietta learned of Jane’s
plan or suspected anything was amiss, she would surely alert
Mother. And if Mother found out what she was planning, she would
throw a fit and order Jane to return to Whitstable
immediately.

In order to keep the dowager from
discovering anything, she had to be sure none of the Hardwickes
knew what she was doing. For that matter, none of the servants
could learn of her intentions either. Which was yet another reason,
Jane brooded, that she would much prefer to have Meg settled into a
different position within the household.

No, Jane would have to be cautious
about finding a place to set up her business, so as not to alert
anyone. But now she had a plan, a goal, a dream—and she was so very
close to making it all become a reality.

She would become a modiste. She would
achieve her independence. There could be no doubts now. There was
simply no room for it.

But now, too, there was the
new hindrance of Peter. The
Duke
of Somerton. And quite the hindrance he
was.

The man was extraordinarily tall and
muscular. Why, he absolutely towered over her, and she had never
been short, even for a woman. His auburn waves were cropped
impeccably close to his head. She was not entirely sure, because
there had been so many new things for her to look upon, but she
believed his eyes to be two different shades. Still, she was quite
certain she couldn’t tell anyone precisely which colors they might
be.

For all his aristocratic hauteur, he
was a sight, to be sure. If only he had Greek looks like the dark
hair and olive skin, instead of his fair, slightly freckled skin,
she would swear he were one of the gods of ancient
mythology.

Not only that, but the boor seemed
intent upon intimidating her. Such a bully! The duke would likely
have insisted Mr. Cuddlesworth stay in the stables, too, if not for
his daughter falling head over ears in love with the
cat.

If that
had
happened—if he had banished her
sweet cat to spend their visit in such dreadful circumstances—Jane
would have stayed in the stables with him, whether His Grace
ordered it or not. The bloody man would not separate her from her
sweet boy, no matter how naughty the silly thing could be at times.
But
really
. His
suggestion that she do just that was beyond lowering, despite the
fact that she would have done it for Mr. Cuddlesworth without it
being ordered.

The nerve of him. She knew herself to
be quite beneath him as far as society was concerned—there was no
question of that. It seemed he adhered to all of the dictates of
society.

She should’ve expected as much. His
Grace was, after all, one of those very members of the elite who
had placed such impositions upon the world to begin with. Why
shouldn’t he meet all of her ideas of what was wrong with the
world, when one was considered to be better than another, simply
due to the privilege of one’s birth?

Jane abhorred the fact that she must
stay in the man’s house. What odious dreadful fate. If not for the
fact that she would need far too many baths, she just might decide
to move out to the stables anyway, just to spite the pigheaded
man.

She refused to let him see
that he
did
intimidate her. He could try as much as he liked, but she
wouldn’t concede and cower in fear of him. Oh, why must she suffer
from such an affliction?

As though her life were not
complicated enough from the fact that she feared horses, God
thought he would amuse Himself by giving her the fear of large men,
too.

This would all be so much easier if
the duke were old and balding, short and pudgy. Then she could
think of him as the lazy, profligate aristocrat she assumed all
aristocrats to be.

No, instead he was a demi-god...a
pugilistic, brutish, abominably rude demi-god, it was true, but a
demi-god nonetheless. All right, fine. She had never seen the man
come to fisticuffs, nor anything remotely resembling such a thing,
so pugilistic might be a bit more than he deserved. Just a
touch.

A knock at the door Meg had left
through had her splashing the water out of the tub from the force
of her jump. Drat, she must have been woolgathering while she
bathed for far longer than she intended. The water had gone from
steaming to icy while she sat and planned. “Just a moment.” She
jumped from the frigid water and darted to the stack of clean
towels. After wrapping one about her body, she sidled up next to
the fire in the hearth. “Come in, please.”

Meg ducked through the doorway from
the dressing room, carrying Jane’s periwinkle dress. “You are
expected downstairs for tea, ma’am. I didn’t find an afternoon gown
in your belongings, so I thought this one would suit the
best.”

Had she not told the girl she would
choose her own gown? She would definitely need to talk with Cousin
Henrietta about this. Sooner, rather than later. No one had ever
served her in such a manner in her life, so why should they start
now? But arguing with Meg would serve no purpose, though. She was
merely doing as she’d been instructed by her employer.

Jane forced a smile. “Thank you. That
will do just fine, I’m certain.” She allowed the girl to help her
dress, more because she couldn’t stop her than anything, before
another knock sounded at the outer door.

The dowager appeared there when Meg
opened it. “Jane, are you ready? I feel very much better now that
I’m clean. Do you as well?” She swept inside the room with the
elegance of a queen, wearing a gown in a peacock blue silk that was
far more fashionable in its styling than anything Jane had ever
owned. She could sew elegant gowns—but what would be the point,
with the way Mr. Cuddlesworth always damaged them? “Oh dear, don’t
you have anything more suitable than that? Never mind that, we
aren’t expecting any guests today. It’s only family, and we’ll rush
you off to the modiste to have them begin work on your wardrobe
first thing tomorrow. My girls and I also need to visit with Miss
Jenkins, so we can make a day of it.”

Why on earth would Jane need someone
else to sew her garments for her? Surely, after looking through
some fashion plates and seeing more of the styles in fashion, she
could manage to do the work as well as, if not better than, any
seamstress in London. “Oh, no, Cousin Henrietta. It won’t be
necessary to have someone else make clothing for me. I am more than
capable—”

The older woman stopped her with a
simple, raised hand. “You are my guest, Jane. You’ll allow me to
spoil you rotten while I have you here, and that’s all there is to
that. You are quite competent at your sewing. Your mother showed me
some of the gowns you had just finished for your friends Lady
Rhoades and Mrs. Slaughter. They are just as well made as any you
would find here in London. But, I don’t wish to have you work while
you stay with me. You are to be treated as one of my daughters. No
more arguments.”

“
Well, if you won’t allow
me to make them, I can at least pay for them myself.” The expense
would eat through her funds—money that she’d already spent in her
mind on other pursuits. Still, she would
not
accept any more of the woman’s
charity, irrespective of the spirit in which it was intended.
Charity felt like pity—something Jane most abhorred.

Why, they were housing and feeding her
for months on end, and taking her to countless balls, routs, and
other entertainments. She simply couldn’t stand for allowing the
woman to pay for anything more.

“
I’ll hear of no such
thing, young lady. You are my guest. Your mother and father sent
you here to be under my guidance. You
will
indulge me on this.” With that
pronouncement, the dowager spun on her heels and fled the room,
indicating with a very brief nod of her head that Jane should
follow.

And Jane hadn’t even managed to
discuss her appointed lady’s maid.

Drat, drat, drat.

Nothing was turning out the way she’d
expected.

Jane refused to think about what would
happen to her business if that trend continued.

~ * ~

Peter strode through his home,
attempting to ignore the gnawing ache settled deep in his belly.
Two days ago, on Tuesday, he had a prior engagement with Lord
Harbridge. The earl was kind enough to offer to share his meal
while they talked.

At least he ate that day.

On Wednesday, he took his tea and
dinner in his library, thereby avoiding the newest addition to his
household, alongside the rest of the inevitable female chatter that
seemed to dog his steps at every turn, thanks to his sisters. It
was handy to have business matters that could impede his ability to
perform unpleasant familial duties, at times.

However, he’d neglected to order
today’s meal delivered to his library as well, and couldn’t bring
himself to put Cook out in such a way on short notice. He also
couldn’t convince himself to eat with the women.

So he would suffer through the
morning’s meeting with Yeats—where he hoped they could collaborate
on the Carreg Mawr problems—on an empty stomach. Blast the woman
for upsetting the normal order of his life.

When he arrived at the
front hall, the lot of females were blocking the door and making an
utter scene in front of his home. Good God, they were already
drawing attention. A group of passersby out for a morning stroll
stopped and stared from across Grosvenor Square. He would have to
step in and do something about it, before his family became the
laughingstock of the
ton
.

Of course, such an
inevitability
could
make it easier to avoid the parson’s mousetrap his mother was
so intent upon forcing him into. What respectable father would wish
his daughter married to a man who was a social pariah?

He pushed the thought aside and
stepped inside the throng of feminine gasps and chatter to diffuse
the problem—not knowing, of course, just what, precisely, the
problem may be. Devil take it.

Some days he wished
he
could be a female and
not have to think with clarity about a problem, but could just
carry on, dithering about until someone else discovered a solution.
Alas, he remained a man, and a duke, and the head of his
family.

He brushed Char aside, as she was
blabbering about something rather incoherent and quite likely
unimportant. She was clearly not the cause of their delay. Mama and
Sophie knew how to handle Charlotte and her silly banter. He would
leave her to them. When he drew closer to the center of the group,
the crux of the matter became suddenly clearer.

Smack in the center of
their small circle, Miss Matthews stood as rigid as Peter had ever
seen a body stand, with only the faint sign of tremors coursing
over her frame. Her face shone as pale as powder and her eyes had
turned almost completely black and were filled to the brim with
fear. He was
still
unable to decipher their true color, even with her blonde hair
neatly pulled away from her face and secured in a haphazard knot.
At least, he noted with only a tinge of sarcasm in the thought, her
attire today was not nearly as ill-used as what she had worn when
she arrived. Though, admittedly, the sad shade of yellow did not
suit her complexion in the slightest.

Her coloring in that gown looked more
akin to the trunk of a birch tree than to a lady on her way out
into society.

Sophie fished through her reticule for
smelling salts, though Miss Matthews had obviously not yet fainted.
Still, even Peter had to admit it was entirely too possible that it
might come to pass, based upon her current appearance. Charlotte
was fanning Jane’s face with her hands for lack of a proper fan,
and Mama held their cousin in her arms and was attempting to
convince her to sit.

He didn’t have the time to sit here
and wait for Miss Matthews to faint, by Jove. “What, pray tell, is
the matter here?” They were in Mayfair, for Christ’s sake. It was
not as though they had just been accosted by a salacious footpad in
the slums of London.

Char gripped his elbow. “Oh, Peter,
Jane has had quite the fright this morning on our way to visit Miss
Jenkins. I daresay she’ll recover quite soon, but the horses did
startle her a good deal. Mama says not to worry, though, because
nothing irregular is afoot.”