Red Jack's Daughter (2 page)

His curling light-brown hair was far too long for fashion. Yet while most of the young ladies present would tease their fathers for clinging to so antique a style, the thought of Lord Leith catching up those wayward curls with a black riband was enough to make them catch their breath. He wore no such thing, though, for he was always just in, while out of fashion. The Beau himself had said that with that face and those funds, Leith was his own fashion.

As Sir Selby watched and Lord Leith appeared not to, the Incomparable Miss Merriman tossed her raven tresses and turned her back upon the most eligible of her suitors so that the tall gentleman could catch her best profile. Lady Emmet emitted such a shrill giggle that her
fianc
é
thought she deemed him a great wit, although her smile was all for Lord Leith’s amused regard. Miss Timmins, who had nearly worn out her dancing slippers this evening with her vivacity, sat demure as a gray mouse and willed an air of forlorn dejection as Lord Leith’s glance swept by her, for she had heard he had a secretly tender heart. Sir Selby felt his own heart sink as he saw the ravishing widowed Countess of Keswick give his young friend a look of unmistakable invitation.

“Now,” Sir Selby said hurriedly as he noted Alexander’s appreciative reciprocal smile, “you promised.”

“Yes,” Lord Leith said bemusedly, “so I did.”

As the two made their slow and seemingly aimless way into the crowd, the taller inclined his head and said softly, “Really, you and Aunt do me much honor. You truly believe that if I ask the chit to dance, it will launch her into the social whirl?”

“Not
a
dance, Alex. Two. And so it shall. For she hasn’t a prayer otherwise. Mind, you are not to dance with any other twice neither, for that would take the shine out of it. And,” the older gentleman said, pausing for a moment as their path was blocked beyond even his maneuvering ability, “act as though she’s your idea of something wonderful. And so she is. Can’t judge everyone by outward appearances,” he added on a note of complaint, never seeing the taller gentleman’s slight grimace at his words.

“I’ve known her since she was breeched, and she’s a lovely child. She’s only come to town a few weeks past and I want to do everything in my power to see her make a good match. Mind, she’s not to know a word of this,” Sir Selby said, suddenly wheeling around and facing his companion, “for she’d have my head if she knew.”

“She doesn’t wish to be brought into fashion, then?”
his
companion asked with disbelief.

“Not she,” Sir Selby said, shaking his head emphatically. “All she’s got on her mind is coming to London to find the legacy her father’s supposed to have left her. But if I know my man, he’s not left her a campaign medal to polish up. No, if she’s here to seek her fortune, it’ll have to be on the marriage mart or not at all. And you’re the lad to get her noticed. But don’t drop a hint of my part in this, she’s sharp as tacks.”

“I’ve a lamentable memory, sir. I’ve forgotten just why I’m so enamored of her.” Lord Leith smiled easily. “Which one is she?”

“Over there, in the
corner
, next to your aunt. In the shadows. Blast the girl, a fellow would have to have a torch in hand to see her properly, much less notice her enough to scrape up an introduction.”

Lord Leith glanced casually to the sidelines, where he at once recognized his aunt, Lady Grantham, attired in several shades of purple. A young person sat
at
her side. She seemed to be dressed in too much gray fabric and to have no hair at all, rather only a gray lace cap atop her head.

“I thought she was a companion,” he breathed. “Tell me
,
is it the light or is the young lady I am about to lose my head over scowling? No, not scowling, sneering?”

Sir Selby employed his limp handkerchief again and blurted, “Devil take it, Alex. You’re too used to females throwing themselves at your feet. No reason she should be simpering just because you’ve tossed her a look.”

“No, indeed,” Lord Leith agreed calmly. “Just give me a moment to collect myself.” He gazed over at his aunt again. “Tell me,” he asked Sir Selby, “you say her father saved your life when you were soldiering together?”

“Twice,” Sir Selby said tightly.

“Ah, well, twice,” Lord Leith sighed. “Then I fear I am about to experience that phenomenon I have always scoffed at—love at first sight. But,” he cautioned as he approached his aunt and the white-faced solemn figure seated by her side, “only to
th
e tune of two dances. Not even if he had saved
my
life thrice will I do more than to lead her in to supper after that.”

“Aunt,” said Lord Leith, coming forward with every evidence of delight, “I had no idea you would subject yourself to this crush. When Selby told me you were here, I hastened to your side. What brings you here? I thought you were through with such pastimes.”

“And so I was,” Lady Grantham said in a clear carrying voice, “after I got Nettie and Lydia popped off. But I wanted to show my dear young friend here some of the high points of London fashion. She has only just arrived from the country and I thought she might be amused by tonight’s entertainment.”

Lord Leith looked over toward Lady Grantham’s companion and thought that so might one show amusement at one’s own execution. The light was too dim for him to make out her face with clarity. What he saw, however, was not encouraging for the charade he had promised Sir Selby. Her face was a white oval, the nose seemed small and straight enough, the lips compressed as if by effort; it was only her eyes, large and dark with a curious upward slant, that promised any attraction for him. But they were wide and unblinkingly assessing him. As he had noted before, her hair had been skinned back and was covered with what looked like a table doily, but was most likely some sort of lace cap. Curious, he thought, for the face was young, yet the cap signified spinsterhood.

Seeing the two younger parties appraising each other in silence, Sir Selby broke in. “Alexander, I’d like to make you known to my dear old friend, Captain Jack Eastwood’s daughter, Miss Jessica Eastwood. Miss Eastwood, may I present Alexander, Lord Leith.”

“My nephew,” Lady Grantham assisted.

“Delighted.” Lord Leith smiled and bowed, taking the young woman’s hand.

But Miss Eastwood sat dumb as a stone and only gave a sharp nod.

As another small silence threatened, Sir Selby prepared to leap into the breech again. Damn, he thought, fellow’s supposed to be a terror with the ladies, and he makes me do all the work. Lord Leith, however, for once disconcerted by the fierce and uncompromising stare he was subjected to, was trying to think of some way to approach the young woman conversationally so that he could then smoothly ask her to
dance with him. It was difficult, he thought, a small smile forming on his lips, to feign sudden rapture for a basilisk.

“ ‘Red Jack,’ that’s her father, y’know, served with me for many years ... on the continent, on the peninsula. He was a hey-go-mad fellow. Best of fellows. I miss him frightfully. Fell at the Battle of Vitoria. Just last year, you know,” Sir Selby put in.

“So sorry,” murmured Lord Leith while Lady Grantham glared at the perspiring Sir Selby, who had all unwittingly brought down a funereal atmosphere upon them. Miss Eastwood bowed her head for a moment to acknowledge Lord Leith’s sympathies. In that brief moment Lady Grantham fixed a look of such annoyance on Sir Selby that he began to talk further in a hearty voice that sounded foolish even in his own ears.

While Sir Selby improvised wildly about battles and sport he had shared in the ranks with his dear “Red Jack,” he became aware that there was once again a great press of people around him. A great many, it appeared, were curious as to what could be holding Lord Leith’s attention for so long. An interested crowd had formed in their vicinity, and even the Incomparable Miss Merriman was now holding court not two paces away. Now, Sir Selby thought as he wound his reminiscences down to a halt, now would be the time for him to haul her off to the dance floor.

“Miss Eastwood,” Lord Leith said quietly, a moment after Sir Selby had subsided, “the musicians are tuning up again.
”

Miss Eastwood looked up mutely at Lord Leith. A strange quiet had fallen in their
corner
of the room. It seemed a fair number of the guests in their vicinity had muted their own conversations and a few were frankly goggling, trying to see whom the lofty Lord Leith was addressing.

“Never saw her there at all,” one vagrant masculine whisperer complained.

“Miss Eastwood,” Lord Leith continued, “would you do me the honor of taking this dance with me? It’s not a waltz, so there can be no question of impropriety,” he added to fill the silence Miss Eastwood seemed to have no idea of breaking.

At length, she spoke. Her voice, though low and husky, was clear enough to carry in the eerie stillness.

“Lud, no,” Miss Eastwood said abruptly. And then, after a hesitation, “Thank you.”

She had done what no debutante in three Seasons had achieved. For a moment Lord Leith’s gray eyes opened wide, but he made no other movement for a small space of time. Then, recollecting himself, he bowed and without another word strode off as the voices around them rose to a babble.

Sir Selby, however, was not struck speechless.

“Damnation!” he blurted.

“I think,” said Lady Grantham, who was now truly in several shades of purple, “we shall leave.”

Miss Eastwood looked about in confusion as she rose to accompany the elder woman. “How else should I have said it?” she asked.

“As ‘yes,’ ” Lady Grantham said through clenched teeth, “
‘
Thank you.’
”

2

“The cut direct,” Lady Grantham moaned as she sat upright and held on to the door strap in the swaying carriage.
“It only needed that, the cut direct.”

“But,” Miss Eastwood said softly, sitting across from Lady Grantham and watching her in the glow of the coach lamp with growing consternation, “I truly did not wish to dance with him.”

“One might have said,” Lady Grantham went on, addressing air, “ ‘Oh, but I cannot, for I’ve hurt my ankle.’
Or one might have claimed one was still in mourning, although that is patently untrue, or one might even have laid claim to dizziness.”

“Could even have pretended to swoon,” Sir Selby grumbled from his
corner
of the carriage.
“Or one might have claimed fatigue,” Lady Grantham went on, “or declined sweetly and requested a lemonade instead. Or cited the excessive heat, or even”—and here even Lady Grantham’s voice grew a trifle wild—“claimed a prior commitment. But a bald, ‘No, thank you.’ It is beyond comprehension.”

Miss Eastwood’s pale face grew whiter.

“Terribly sorry ... I didn’t realize,” she began, but then hesitated, for she did know and was thoroughly ashamed of herself for lying. “The fellow popped up from nowhere. He startled me badly, frightened me, in fact,” she said.

And so he had. She had spent the interminable evening sitting next to Lady Grantham, scarcely heeding all the gossip she was receiving about the unknown persons who swam about the overheated room before her. She had grown by slow degrees from startled panic at the sight of so many exquisitely dressed people, to silent criticism of their obvious flirting and maneuvering, to contempt for their giddiness, to
grudging admiration for their social grace, right back to startled panic when the imposing figure of Lord Leith had loomed up before her. She had long since reconciled herself to being an observer, an invisible person who could not be touched by anything but the warmth of the room, when he had startled her badly by asking her to dance. It had been the farthest thing from her
min
d and had chased away all judgment. She accepted that she was not the sort of female to attract such a gentleman, felt that there must have been some mistake, and knew only one thing for a certainty: that she could not stand up with him.

“Nonsense, Jess,” Sir Selby said. “You’ve more bottom than that. Never saw you frightened yet.”

“I shall dash off a note of apology,” Miss Eastwood declared staunchly.

“Saying what?” Lady Grantham asked acidly.

“That I am sorry I discomposed him, that I—”

“Discomposed him?” Lady Grantham hooted. “Alex? As if some chit refusing him a dance could even touch him! When he’s got the pick of the crop panting after him. No, you’re best off to forget it. But you’ve knocked all your chances into a cocked hat, my dear.”

“Ma’am,” Miss Eastwood said quickly in a gruff little voice. “I’m terribly sorry if I’ve overset your plans, but it wouldn’t do for you to think I’ve overset mine. For I’ve no illusions upon that head. It was kind of you to seek to assist me, but I well know that I’m not cut out for the social life. I’ve come to London solely to clear up matters of my father’s estate. I told you how it would be, and though I thank you, and truly, for your attempts in that direction, and for putting me up, I pray you understand that I know I’m not cut out to be a figure of fashion.”

It was a neat gentlemanly speech, but as it came from the lips of a young lady who had not even reached her majority, Lady Grantham only heaved a great sigh.