Debutantes Don’t Date (17 page)

There was a knock on the door and Grace gladly called out “Enter.”

When Jasper walked into the room, she realised she should have asked who the person
was on the other side of the door before granting admission. Two things happened at
once: she saw his eyes go to her scantily clad body and then to the seamstress and
back again. He visually paled and then his face became an interesting shade of purple.
For a moment she thought he was having an aneurysm on the spot and took a step towards
him. Unfortunately for her, she forgot she was on a platform and proceeded to fall
flat on her face when the ground disappeared from under her feet. It all happened
in slow motion but she couldn’t get her arms out from the fabric for her wedding dress
that was draped over her shoulders.

The room stayed in stunned silence for a millisecond. Grace enjoyed the first moment
of peace she’d found all day. Then the room exploded into activity, her every sense
heightened. Victoria’s ear-splitting screams threated to burst her head right open,
the seamstress with the fake French accent bustled around her in mock concern. In
reality, all the lady managed to do was stand on the back of her leg and stab her
with more pins. Victoria’s maid made tutting noises and wrung her hands in dismay.
But through all this noise and commotion there was Jasper. He had recovered from his
shock of seeing her mostly unclothed and silently stepped forward and lifted her gently
to her feet.

His hands were warm as he tilted her face up towards his. “Heavens, Grace, look what
you’ve done, you silly chook,” he murmured to her softly. He removed his handkerchief
from the pocket of his jacket and gently but firmed held it to her bloody nose.

Her body was recovering from the shock of meeting the floor so quickly and her nose
throbbed with each heartbeat. Jasper’s crisp white handkerchief was soon soaked through.

“Isabel,” Jasper said to the maid, “get me something to stop this with please. Victoria,
you can stop screaming, one would think you had never seen blood before. And Mme Beauparlant,
you are no longer needed for today. Thank you for your time, please go ahead with
the dresses the ladies have already decided on and we will be in touch regarding any
others that are needed.” He paused for a moment as everyone did his bidding. Grace
marvelled at his presence over people; they all followed his directions without question.
She supposed that was why he was a Lord.

“Now, Grace, come and sit down. We need to get the bleeding stopped.” He led her to
the window seat and made her sit down on the supple cushions. The view was quite nice
here. She often spent time in this exact spot looking out to the gardens or reading
a book.

She watched as blood soaked through the handkerchief and dropped onto the silk underdrawers
she was wearing. There was so much blood. Her world slowly faded in and out of focus.
She tried to concentrate on Jasper’s voice as he talked soothingly to her but his
voice sounded far away. She had fainted once before and she was afraid she was about
to do so again. She closed her eyes and let the darkness come.

She heard the voices before she could understand the words. Where was she? Had she
fallen at work? Was she in the hospital? She listened closely but she couldn’t hear
the familiar beeps of machines and the smell wasn’t quite right either, although she
did smell blood. The metallic scent hung in the air. She tried sniffing but air wouldn’t
travel up her nose.

“I think she’s waking up,” one of the voices said.

“Grace, can you hear me?” another voice said softly into her ear.

Her eyes opened and took in her surroundings. Not a hospital. There was no accident
at work. In fact, there was no work, just the 19
^th
century and strangely dressed, concerned people. People that somehow had come to
mean more to her than anyone in the whole world, in this time, and or hers. She closed
her eyes again and drifted back to sleep.

Chapter Eighteen

Later in the afternoon Grace sought Jasper out. There was something niggling in her
mind that she needed to ask him about. She found him in the library with a newspaper
and a cup of tea.

“Jasper?” Now she’d found him, she felt incredibly nervous. Surely she was being ridiculous.

He looked up from his paper at her voice and rose to greet her. “You shouldn’t be
out of bed, should you?”

“It was only a nasty fall, Jasper, I’m not ill.”

“But you did faint.” He met her at the door and she placed her hand on his arm. The
muscles bunched under her touch and she marvelled at their strength.

“It was only all the blood which made me woozy. I’m fine now, I promise.”

He settled her in the chair closest to the fire before pouring her a cup of tea.

“Thank you, I’ll have to hurt myself more often, if this is the way I get treated.
Victoria sent up a box of sweets from her favourite shop earlier, a girl could get
used to this.” She leaned back with a contented sigh.

She took a sip of hot tea to gather her courage. “Jasper?”

“Yes, Grace?”

Was it her, or was he bracing himself about something? He looked very tense.

“When you came into my room earlier today, was it me or did you seem surprised at
seeing the seamstress there?”

Jasper cleared his throat and shifted slightly in his seat. “I was hoping to find
you alone, if you know what I mean?”

“That’s not what I meant. And you really shouldn’t try to sneak into a lady’s chamber
uninvited,” she chastised with a smile. “No, what I mean is, when you walked in, you
looked with shock towards Mme Beauparlant. Is there something I should know? Can you
tell me why she spent a better part of the hour stabbing me with pins? On purpose,
I might add. I’ve still got pin pricks all over my back from that mad woman!”

“This is not a conversation I should be having with my bride-to-be.”

“What do you mean by that? Jasper, I would really like to know.”

Jasper got out of his chair and walked over to shut the door of the library before
he spoke another word. “Mme Beauparlant, or Mrs Par which is her real name; she’s
not even French…she and I had a very short um…arrangement late last year and I’m afraid
she may have taken her frustration at not snaring my title, out on you.”

“And by late last year, you mean…?”

“Just before Christmas.” Jasper ran a hand down his face. “I’m sorry, Grace.”

“To me? Whatever for? You were with her before you ever met me, it’s not as though
I had a claim on you. No wonder she’s still mad; just before Christmas? Poor woman.”
A thought popped into her head, “Does your sister know?”

“Good Lord, no. If she knew, Mme Beauparlant would be out of a job. Victoria would
never hire a seamstress who involved herself with high society men, especially one
involved with her brother. No, we made sure we were very discreet. Victoria would
have ruined Beauparlant by telling all her friends. They wouldn’t have used her any
more either. Victoria holds a lot of stock with the
ton
.”

“So she took her revenge out on me then?” Grace hid a smile behind her tea cup; this
was just too funny.

“I’m afraid so.” Jasper was still agitated, he kept tugging on his hair and rubbing
his face.

Grace couldn’t contain herself any longer and laughter burst through her lips. In
moments she was laughing so hard tears were running down her checks.

“I really don’t see why this is so funny.” Jasper looked at her from his chair.

“It’s OK, Jasper,” she gasped between gales of laughter, “it’s a woman thing…pins!
Ha!” Grace struggled to bring herself under control. The image of Mme Beauparlant
stabbing her in the backside with her pins sent her into another fit of laughter.
Oh, the poor lady.

After a few minutes she’d calmed down enough to say, “I wonder what kind of dresses
I’ll end up with? Do you think she will take her revenge on those as well?”

“She wouldn’t dare. Like I said, if Victoria found out…But you may want to check for
stray pins before you put them on.” Jasper’s eyes crinkled as he was finally able
to see the humour in the situation.

The days that followed their library visit were really pleasant. Jasper met her every
day in the library after lunch for tea to talk. It was something she began to look
forward to and she found herself humming to herself for no reason throughout the day.

Jasper waited in the library for Grace to appear with the tea trolley like she had
done for the last week. It still amused him to see her pushing it in front of her
as she entered the room, but she saw no reason why she couldn’t bring the tea from
the kitchen herself. He wondered what array of biscuits, slices and cakes she would
have today. His mouth watered at the very prospect of procuring some of Victoria’s
cook’s famous jam tarts. He hoped she’d made raspberry. They were his favourite.

He could hear her coming down the hall and he sat up straighter in his chair and quickly
picked up the book next to him. No need to look too eager.

“Lord Bingham, what is the meaning of this?”

He looked up from his book in surprise. It wasn’t Grace at all, and instead of jam
tarts she was waving a piece of paper in front of her.

“Lady Anne, what seems to be the matter?” Jasper rose from his seat and moved towards
her in concern.

“Would you care to tell me where this money has come from?”

“What money, Anne?” Damn, Grace had just arrived with the tea and the jam tarts. Her
timing couldn’t have been worse. He couldn’t see how this was going to end well.

“Sorry, Grace,” he said, grabbing her by the arm and drawing her into the hallway,
“this is a conversation I need to have with Lady Anne alone.” He let her go and then
gently shut the door in her face. If it wasn’t for the mess he just found himself
in, he would have found her mouth opening and closing without any sound coming out
hilarious, but as it was, all he could manage was a pained grimace as he turned back
to Lady Anne.

“I can explain.”

“I should hope so.” Lady Anne uncrossed her arms and walked towards him, still brandishing
her paper. “Why did you transfer money into my account, Jasper?”

The shock of hearing his Christian name on her lips prevented him from responding.
In all the time he’d known her, she always addressed him as Lord Bingham.

“Well? What do you have to say for yourself? Why have you transferred money into my
account?”

Jasper cleared his throat. “Consider it compensation for not proposing to you.”

“For not proposing? Are you mad? If you paid me for that I should be the richest woman
in England! Imagine the amount of money I could collect from all the other men also
haven’t proposed to me over the last three seasons!”

“Yes, but it is because of me no one else did propose to you over the last three seasons.
Everyone thought we would wed, myself included. You know as well as I do, that is
the reason that has kept you unavailable for the last three seasons, everyone thought
you were as good as betrothed.

“If someone actually wanted to marry me they would have asked despite the fact I was
spoken for. And it still doesn’t explain the money. Why have you given me money?”
A look of horror crossed her pretty face. “You don’t…don’t want me to…?”

“I don’t want you to do what?” he asked carefully.

“I am not that kind of woman!” Lady Anne had been pacing the floor, but she stopped
now, scrunched up the paper in her hand and threw it at him.

She was nowhere near hitting him, but he ducked anyway. “Could you tell me what on
earth you are talking about?”

“I am a lady!”

“I never said otherwise, Lady Anne.” He took a cautious step towards her.

She turned and fled across the room to the door and wrenched it open. “I will
never
be your mistress!”

Before Jasper could respond, she stormed out, her head held high, graceful as a queen,
albeit a very angry queen, but a queen none the less.

“Jasper?” Grace’s voice reached though his shock and he looked to see her standing
at the open door, still holding onto the tea trolley.

“Grace, I can explain.”

A lone tear rolled down her cheek before she ducked her head to hide it. She cleared
her throat. “No need, Jasper, we only have a fake engagement anyway, it’s not my concern
where you take your pleasure. I will go and get some fresh tea for us, shall I? I’ll
just take this back down to the kitchen.”

The tea cups rattled violently on the tray as she pushed the trolley down the hall.
She refused to look over her shoulder at Jasper’s stricken face. Once she made it
around the corner from the library she was grateful to sink down on the bench seat
placed against the wall outside the sitting room. The cups on the tray were still
rattling on the trolley even though she had stopped walking. She looked at the tray
and was surprised to see it shaking. She released the handle and clasped her hands
in her lap. She was in danger of smashing all the cups on the tray.

She wasn’t just mad, she was livid.

Anne may not have wanted Jasper, but he still wanted her. How was she supposed to
compete with that? After all she had given him? It made her blood boil to think of
their time in the secret passage and of the intensity of her need for him. He made
her forget things she was better off remembering. Like how in 1814 women were worth
nothing and that in 2014 she had a career waiting for her to return to. She was somebody
and she was going places. It had been a long time since she had let anyone close to
her. See where it had gotten her. It served her right. She should’ve known better.

She kicked the trolley and the cups rattled again.

What she told Jasper was right; theirs was only a fake engagement. The thought of
Jasper touching another woman, let alone her friend, like he had touched her made
her see red. Anger she understood, but the pain she felt in her chest was unexpected.
Why did she feel this way? Why was she so…so…jealous? She always knew this was a short-term
thing. She was going home, wasn’t she? She realised with a start that since her fall
and their daily meetings in the library, she’d stopped looking for ways to get home.
She stood back up and walked a couple of paces towards the kitchen and then stopped;
she’d forgotten the trolley.