The Unlikely Lady (2 page)

Cartwright remained standing at attention near the door.

“Ensure this goes out today,” Garrett said pointedly to the servant, handing him the letter.

“As you wish,” the butler replied, taking it.

Garrett crossed back over to the large mahogany desk, pulled his coat from the back of his chair, and shrugged into it. The dogs watched him intently. Then he turned and strode out the door. The dogs followed close on his heels. He made his way past the butler, who fell into step behind him. He marched down the corridor and into the foyer. Cartwright scurried to open the front door for him as Garrett turned to pat each of the dogs on the head. Their tails wiggled vigorously.

“Take good care of them, Cartwright.”

Placing his hat on his head, Garrett strode out into the street, where he climbed into the waiting carriage. He settled into the velvet seat and gazed out the window, taking one last look at his London residence.

It was a fine house. Garrett might be the heir presumptive to the Earl of Upbridge, but the town house in Mayfair and its servants and contents were currently paid for by money his mother had brought to her marriage to the second son of an earl, and an inheritance from his maternal grandfather. Garrett was a wealthy man in his own right.

The coach started with a jerk. Mr. Garrett Upton was off to spend a week at a country house party in Surrey.

 

CHAPTER THREE

“Young lady, I refuse to allow you to leave this house until you answer these questions to my satisfaction.” Mrs. Hortense Lowndes's dark hair shivered with the force of her foot stamping against the carpeted floor in Jane's father's study.

Jane adjusted her spectacles upon her nose and stared at her mother calmly. Mama was in a high dudgeon today. She hadn't even mentioned the fact that Jane had arrived dripping wet upon her father's carpet and then hurried over to place her soggy book by the fire.

“Are you listening to me?” her mother prodded.

Jane glanced at her bespectacled father, who gave her a half-shrug and a sympathetic smile before folding his hands atop his desk and returning his attention to his book. Papa obviously wished this entire debacle was playing out elsewhere instead of interrupting his reading. Jane didn't blame him. She looked longingly toward her own book.
I do hope it dries and the pages aren't adversely affected
. Oh, wait. She should be paying attention to her mother.

“Of course I'm listening, Mama.”

Her mother crossed her arms over her chest and glared at her suspiciously. “Why are you wet?”

Jane pursed her lips. “I thought this was about Mrs. Bunbury.” Distraction. It always worked on Mama. Without taking his eyes off his book, Jane's father smirked.

“Yes. Mrs. Bunbury,” her mother continued. “That's exactly right. I have several questions about her.”

Jane took a deep breath. She carefully removed her spectacles and wiped them on her sleeve. Stalling. A second tactic that usually worked on her mother.

“Mama, we've discussed this. I'm no longer a child. I'm twenty-six years old. I'm a bluestocking, a spinster.” She refrained from pointing out that her mother's refusal to accept that fact was exactly why she'd had to invent this preposterous Mrs. Bunbury scheme. That would not be received well. Not at all.

“You most certainly are not!” Her mother stamped her foot again. “Why, I cannot believe my ears.” She whirled toward Jane's father. “Charles, are you listening to this?”

Jane's father's head snapped up. He cleared his throat. “Why, yes. Yes, of course. Bluestocking spinster, dear.”

“No!” her mother cried. “Jane is
not
a bluestocking spinster.”

“No, of course not,” her father agreed before burying his head in his book again.

Hortense turned back to face Jane. She pressed her handkerchief to her lips. “We've spent a fortune on your clothing and schooling. We've ensured you've received invitations to all of the best parties, balls, and routs. I do not understand why you cannot find a husband.”

“I don't want a husband, Mama. I've told you time and again.”

“If you'd merely try,” Hortense pleaded.

As usual, her mother refused to listen. Hence, the need for Mrs. Bunbury.

Jane carefully replaced her spectacles. “I'm going to the house party, aren't I?” Logic. It usually served to placate her mother, if temporarily.

Her mother made a funny little hiccupping sound. “You won't enjoy yourself. I know you won't. I think I should come with you and—”

“No.” Jane could only hope she successfully kept the panic from her face. If Mama came to the house party, it would be a disaster. It was bad enough that she would be arriving at the end of the week for the wedding itself. “Of course I won't enjoy myself, Mama. Not the party part, at least. I'm bringing a great many books and I intend to—”

Her mother tossed her hands into the air. “Books, books, books. That's all the two of you ever talk about, ever think about.” She turned sideways and glared accusingly back and forth between her husband and her daughter.

Jane stepped forward and put a comforting arm around her mother's shoulder. She felt a bit sorry for her. The poor woman hadn't given birth to a daughter who loved people and parties and clothing and fripperies like she did. Instead she'd given birth to a girl who took after her intellectual father. A man who'd been knighted by the Crown for his genius at economics, having successfully invested a great deal of money for the royal family. Jane even
looked
like her father. Dark hair, dark eyes, round cheeks, round face. The slightly round backside may have been more due to her love of teacake than her father's doing, but that hardly mattered. In all things important, Jane took after Sir Charles Lowndes.

“I'm sorry, Mama,” Jane murmured. She hugged her pretty mother. Hortense was sweet and kind and meant well. It was hardly her fault that she'd had the terrible misfortune to have a bluestocking for a daughter.

Hortense blinked at her. “Sorry for what?”

Jane let her arm fall away. “Sorry I spend my days reading Socrates instead of
La Belle Assembl
é
e
, reading the political columns instead of shopping for fabric and fripperies with you, attending the theater instead of visiting with friends.”

Her mother's shoulders drew up and then just as quickly relaxed. She worried the handkerchief in her hands. “Oh, Jane, if you'd only
try.
”

Jane sighed. She'd tried. Oh, how she'd tried. How many times had she wished she was petite and beautiful with good eyesight, someone who loved nothing better than to attend parties? It just wasn't her, and it never would be. The sooner Mama accepted that fact and let go of her dream of Jane making a splendid match, the better the two would get on.

Her mother had left her no choice. Today's little episode notwithstanding, Hortense had shown few signs of giving in. Hence, Jane was about to employ her secret weapon: one Lady Lucy Hunt, Jane's closest friend. Lucy had promised Jane she would use her considerable talent with words to convince Lady Lowndes that Jane should be left in peace. Jane wanted nothing more than to live out her days reading, studying, lobbying for the rights of women, and hosting the occasional intellectual salon. She wanted to be free, to no longer be forced to attend an endless round of social events that made her feel anything but social.

To that end, Jane had employed the second-best weapon in her arsenal, her new chaperone, Mrs. Bunbury. The idea had been inspired by Jane's other friend Cassandra Monroe's unfortunate incident last autumn when Cass had been obliged to pretend she was a nonexistent young lady named Patience Bunbury. It had been unfortunate only because in so doing, Cass had been forced to deceive the man she had desperately loved for the last seven years and … well, the entire charade had been a bit questionable after Captain Swift had discovered Cass's duplicity. It had all ended well enough, however, hence Jane's journey to their wedding festivities today and her subsequent need for a fictitious chaperone.

“I'm going to the house party, Mama. As for Mrs. Bunbury … didn't Lucy write and tell you all about her?” Jane stepped closer to the door.

Jane's father squinted up at her and arched a brow. He knew she was making her escape.

Her mother nodded vigorously. “Yes, but I find it highly suspect that I've yet to meet this woman and I—”

“Didn't Lucy vouch for Mrs. Bunbury's high moral character and excellent references?” Jane continued, with another step toward the door.

The frown lines on her mother's forehead deepened. “Yes, but I cannot allow my only child to—”

“Didn't I tell you I'm going directly to Lucy's town house where I shall meet Mrs. Bunbury and travel with her and Lucy to the house party and I shall be properly chaperoned by them the entire time?”

Her mother opened her mouth and shut it again, reminding Jane of a confused frog. “You did, but I refuse to—”

“Won't Eloise be with me the entire ride to Lucy's house?”

Her mother closed and opened her mouth a few more times. She'd apparently come to the end of her list of rebuttals. If one lobbed enough reasons at Hortense Lowndes without stopping to take a breath, one might overwhelm her with the sheer volume of logic and then … success was merely a matter of time. Jane could almost count the moments to her victory. One … two … three.

“I simply— I don't think—” Her mother wrung her hands and scanned about as if she'd find the answers she needed lying on the floor of the study. “Charles, what do you have to say about all of this?”

Jane's father looked up and adjusted his own spectacles. “I think Mrs. Bunbury sounds quite capable, dear.”

Jane nodded, a bright smile on her face. She could always depend upon Papa.

Hortense, however, continued to wring her hands. Hmm. Apparently, this particular situation called for one more volley.

Jane folded her hands in front of her serenely. “Won't you and Papa be coming for the wedding next week, where you'll be able to see for yourself how well I've behaved and meet all the new acquaintances I've made?”

This last bit was the most important. Jane's mother liked nothing more than for Jane to meet new acquaintances, preferably of the single, titled, male variety. Of course Jane had no intention of doing anything of the sort, but her mother needn't know that.

“I shall have the opportunity to meet Mrs. Bunbury next week?” A bit mollified, her mother lowered her shoulders and her face took on a bright, hopeful hue.

“Of course. Of course.” Jane nodded. Crossing her fingers behind her back, she made her way toward the door. “Now, I'm off to change my gown before Eloise and I go to meet that darling Mrs. Bunbury.”

*   *   *

Half an hour later, Jane and Eloise marched down the steps to the waiting coach. A footman trailed behind them carrying Jane's trunk. Jane breathed a sigh of relief. Apparently, Mama was mollified for the time being. Jane lived by a steadfast rule: solve one problem at a time, preferably the one right in front of you. Worry about the others later.

The footman helped both her and Eloise into the coach, where Jane settled in the forward-facing seat and looked out the window toward the house. Her mother peered out the front door. “Good-bye, Mama. See you next week.” She waved a gloved hand and smiled brightly.

Jane leaned back in her seat and let out a long sigh. She grinned at Eloise. “We're free.”

Eloise sighed, too. “It'll be nice to see the country, miss.”

“I'm greatly looking forward to it.” Jane wiggled her shoulders and cracked open her book. It would only be a matter of hours before she'd be in the company of her closest friends, Lucy and Cass. She did so look forward to seeing them. No doubt Lucy's cousin, Upton, would be there, too. So be it. She could handle him. She always enjoyed setting him back on his heels a bit.

The coach pulled away with a jolt. Miss Jane Lowndes was off to spend a blissfully unchaperoned week in the Surrey countryside.

 

CHAPTER FOUR

Surrey
The country estate of the Earl and Countess of Moreland

Thwunk.
The arrow hit the bull's-eye with a solid noise, and Jane opened her one closed eye and smiled widely.

“Another perfect hit,” Lucy called from across the wide lawn. Lucy, with her slim figure, black, curly hair, and different-colored eyes—one was hazel, the other blue—was perhaps the most beautiful lady in the land. To Jane she'd always just been her friend, her fellow wallflower, and the young woman with whom she was quite often up to no good.

“Well done!” called Julian Swift's younger sister, Daphne, who was also whiling away the afternoon with Jane and Lucy.

“I quite like shooting,” Jane replied, pulling another arrow from the quiver that rested next to her. “I can pretend that Lord Bartholomew is standing dead center.”

Lucy's crack of laughter bounced through the field.

“Who is Lord Bartholomew?” Daphne's brow was wrinkled.

“He's one of the most vocal members of Parliament in staunch opposition to the rights of ladies,” Lucy replied. “Let's just say that Jane is
not
an admirer of his.”

Jane shrugged. “I'm telling you, shooting is good for one's soul. I feel quite refreshed.”

Lucy laughed once more. “Hmm. Perhaps I should try it again. I've been a dismal failure at it to date. I confess I've yet to pretend an enemy is standing there. The thought definitely holds more appeal.”

Daphne laughed, too. “If that's the case you must allow me to try after you're done, Miss Lowndes.”

“First of all, you must call me Jane,” she said to the younger woman. “Secondly, you cannot possibly have any enemies at your age, dear.”