Lady Pendleton reached out and tapped Jasper on the arm before pouring more tea into his tepid drink. “She’s beautiful, darling. Clearly one of the cream. And her lineage is wonderful. You’ll love her.”
Jasper curved his mouth into a sardonic smile. “Will I, Mother? Will I love her?”
Undisturbed by her son’s attitude, his mother smiled back. “Just drink your tea and try some of these ginger sandwiches. They’re becoming the rage. A little jolt to prepare you for the long evening.”
He took a cautious bite into the delicacy and choked, only just managing to avoid spewing the contents of his mouth out on their Persian carpet as the ginger burned his tongue. He took a quick gulp of tea, forgetting she’d just replaced the cooled liquid. Gasping, Jasper tried to regain control to the sound of his mother’s laughter.
“Surely it’s not as bad as all that,” she said as soon as he stopped choking. “Cook came up with the idea when I was so drowsy the other day.”
Jasper put his now mangled sandwich back onto the plate, shaking the crumbs from his fingers. “And how many of your guests have you tested this new rage out on?” he asked, swallowing hard and blinking to clear the liquid from his eyes.
“So far only you. What do you think?”
Glancing from her untouched sandwich to the suppressed laughter in her face, Jasper frowned. “If you need to ask, you need a pair of those spectacles I heard about to wear at events.”
Lady Pendleton shrank back, her tiny hand pressed to the front of her dress. “Never,” she declared. “I’ll stumble blind through the room before that day comes.”
This time laughter came from Jasper’s lips. “I can just see you bumbling through the debutantes, squinting at their faces in the hopes of finding one with the right countenance.”
She gave him a repressing look. “I won’t have to go seeking among the debutantes. I already found you your bride. She’s quiet, polite, and a rare find. You’ll suit each other very nicely, I think.”
“Mother, you make her sound about as interesting as a loaf of bread. It too as a form of beauty, is quiet, never says a wrong word, and suits me rightly after a long night. Only I would never consider sitting across the table from a slice of bread every morning.
His mother leaned forward and gave him a hard stare at odds with her fairy-like appearance. “As if that matters. Don’t try to kid me on this. I know full well you plan to install her in one of the outlying mansions and only see her to do your duty. You’d better get used to those ginger sandwiches. I’ll be ruling this roost for a long while the way your plans are going.”
Jasper frowned. “You know you’ll be welcome wherever I install my wife,” he said. “You don’t have to worry that I’ll let her cast you out.”
Lady Pendleton shook her head. “I don’t worry about that. You’d be hard pressed to lever me out of here.” She reached out a hand to grip his arm lightly. “It’s you I’m worried about. A wife is so much more than an inconvenience to tuck away in a corner. What will you do if she doesn’t fall in with your plans? She could make a mockery of you.”
Surprise filled him as Jasper caught a look of true concern. His mother never made any bones about her lack of affection for his father. They barely managed to treat each other civilly back when his father was still alive. He’d never expected her to bring emotion into the discussion.
“Having second thoughts, Mother? You want me to go out and woo some of these pale beauties to see if any can spark my hardened heart?”
His mockery brought a frown to her features. “Just because your father and I never found affection doesn’t mean such a thing doesn’t exist. But you have to give it a chance to grow.”
Jasper pushed to his feet, glowering down at his mother. “I doubt any of those girls has enough in her feather head to interest me. They’re all cut from the same cloth, interested only in clothes, titles, and money. I should be grateful I have the last to offer them, but I can’t find it in my heart to actually like any of the little schemers. As long as she goes her way and I go mine, I’ll be happy. She tries to touch my name or that of my children, and she’ll find the Tower a pleasant dwelling compared to what she’ll get from me.”
Not giving his mother an opportunity to add to the dark cloud hanging over his head, Jasper slammed out of the parlor, scaring the downstairs maid on his way to the stables. He only hoped a long ride would cut through this bad mood and let him put the idea of his mindless wife-to-be from his thoughts.
DAPHNE ACCEPTED A TOWEL FROM Willem and turned away before dabbing at the sweat marking her brow and dripping down the front of her body. She’d practiced hard, bringing together the most difficult steps she knew, and every single one came fluidly.
When she looked at Willem, he had a grin pasted over his face. “You did right well, my lady,” he said, taking the soiled towel from her. “Better than ever before.”
She accepted the praise with a nod, knowing he spoke truly even though he had no way to judge. “I think good enough to do something about it,” she declared. “I’m ready to find Monsieur Henre and offer my services.” She swept into a deep curtsy, imagining the applause rising to the high beams of the ceiling and filling the theater in her mind.
“You can’t be serious,” Willem gasped out, any attempt at a respectful tone lost in his distress. “Master will never allow it.”
Daphne put a gentle hand on his cheek and smiled at the man. “That’s why my father is never to know.” She spun away, her mind filled with plans she’d held to her heart ever since reading that book. “With your help, he’ll think I’m off visiting friends.” She turned back to Willem, pleading with her eyes.
He took a step back until he pressed against the wood paneling. “Lady Daphne, he won’t believe that. You never go visiting. You haven’t since Lord Scarborough brought you and your sister up from the country estate.”
Daphne frowned, recognizing the flaw in her plan even though she didn’t want to. She wanted to be able to slip away and see her teacher. How could things be so difficult?
The sharp sound of her dance slipper hitting the hardwood floor shocked Daphne. She jerked her gaze to Willem, embarrassed by the childish gesture. “I have to do this. I have to come up with something.” Tears gathered in her eyes as she stared at him, scrambling for anything her father would believe.
“Och, don’t cry now.” Willem put out the towel before pulling it back with a shake of his head. “Do you have to go and try to find this man? Isn’t it enough what you do here? Maybe if you spoke to Lord Scarborough he’d let you perform for his guests.”
Daphne slapped her clenched fists against her sides and glared at him. “You don’t understand. You don’t understand anything. You think I practice so hard to be a party treat?” She stomped over to where she’d left her overdress, having given up on dancing in the heavy cloth in favor of her shift. Suddenly, she felt naked in front of Willem as she never had before.
Clutching the overdress to her chest, she glared at the coachman. “Was that what all this was? You offered to play for me so you could watch me prance around pretending to be someone?”
Willem twisted the towel between his hands. “No, my lady. You are very good. It’s not your skill, but your father I worry about.”
Daphne stepped close and shoved Willem in the chest. “I wouldn’t have to worry about my father if you’d only help me,” she charged. “He’d never question where you brought me. I could get a hire coach back and he’d never know.”
Willem shook his head slowly back and forth. “You think your father a fool,” he said. “He’ll question me, and when I can’t give an address, he’ll suspect something right off.”
She could feel the truth in his words as her chest tightened in fear. “You’re right,” she said, shoulders slumping. “I can’t risk your job and my father’s displeasure without a better story. I only wanted to prove I really am as good as Monsieur Henre always said.” The last Daphne whispered, tears clouding her vision once more.
“How about that girl, my lady. The one your mother wanted you to meet with?”
Daphne looked up, trying not to hope. “What?” she asked, her tone faint. “What did you say?”
Willem smiled, as if finally finding some connection with her plan. “I think you called her Penelope?”
“Penelope?” Daphne echoed the name without comprehension, but then memory sparked of the scatter-brained girl mixed in with a crowd much too sophisticated for either of them. “Penelope.” This time, the name had a level of consideration. “My mother suggested I visit her. No one said a word when I stayed out so late.” Daphne nodded. “She’d calm any worries my father might have, thinking I’m only preparing for my coming out. That’s perfect.”
Overcome with enthusiasm, Daphne pulled Willem into a tight hug.
Willem jerked back, his features painted red. “Glad to be of service, Lady Daphne,” he muttered, turning away from her.
Daphne shook her head before reaching out a hand to brush his shoulder. “I am sorry, Willem. I didn’t mean to embarrass you. I was a little carried away. Your idea is perfect.”
He cleared his throat and spoke in a gruff voice, making him sound much older than Daphne though he had less than five years on her. “I still think this plan isn’t wise, my lady. Your mother will be crushed and what will your father do?”
Smiling, she dismissed his worries. “I can handle my parents. It’s just easier this way. No one will be hurt.”
“And what about when your name comes back to them? You don’t see hurt coming from a father hearing his daughter’s shown her underdress to everyone? Those dance halls are places nice ladies don’t frequent even to watch the dancing.”
Daphne laughed, tapping his chest. “You’re starting to sound as old as a grandfather, Willem. No one would mistake you for a young man with those tones. Monsieur Henre doesn’t direct in one of those places. You’ll see. His dance hall is frequented by all of the ton, men and women.”
Willem frowned. “And that’s better? Everyone knows what kind of woman exposes herself on the stage.”
She wanted to dismiss his concerns, but she couldn’t help thinking her mother and father would not appreciate becoming the butt of the gossip for whatever reason. “I’ll need a disguise,” she said, without thinking. Only after the words left her mouth did she hear the truth in them.
“A disguise?” Willem echoed. At first, his frown stayed as fierce as ever, then the boy who’d helped her through so many scrapes before found his way through the demeanor of the man grown. “Like a masked ball,” he said, excitement filling his voice. “No one would recognize you with your face covered. They’d never think to see you there.”
Daphne grinned, covering her lower face and peering at her reflection. “It would have to be something simple, something I could wear with any costume and that wouldn’t interfere with my dancing.”
Willem laughed. “You dance with your eyes closed half the time. Anything not stretching out from your head would work.”
She cupped her hands around her eyes, a frown of concentration puckering her forehead. “A simple mask. Black and just to cloak the eyes. Anything more and it would hint at my class. Don’t we have some from the last ball? The ones my mother provided for unprepared guests?”
With a slow nod, Willem agreed. “I’ll have to be careful, but I think I can get you one by the end of the day.”
“Perfect,” she said again. “We can go to visit ‘Penelope’ tonight then. Monsieur Henre should be there.”
“And if he’s not?” Willem asked, concern taking the place of his earlier excitement.
Daphne shook her head. “Don’t worry. If he’s not, I’ll come right back and you can take me to Penelope’s for real. It’s little enough to suffer for my art.” She thought of the worn leather cover enclosing another dancer’s challenges. She had little to give up in comparison. And once she made a name for herself, maybe her parents would delight in knowing their daughter’s prowess.
JASPER SLOWED HIS HORSE TO a walk, knowing he’d hear about his unrestrained canter through the gardens, but he’d needed the release. The gelding panted in rhythm with each step, not exhausted, but easily tired by the effort.
“Don’t worry, old boy. I’ll cool you down with a long walk before putting you back into the stables,” he promised the horse, still feeling the twist of energy in his gut. “We’ll just wander down and see the few folks up early to shop.”
The horse tossed his head, as if contesting the pleasure of that path, making Jasper laugh out loud.
“You have so little faith in those of my class, you old mule, you.” He tightened his knees and pressed on one side, steering his mount into the sparse traffic. Though he couldn’t protest the horse’s opinion, he did have a book to pick up at the bookshop. He’d requested the philosophy text when it came up in discussion with some of his old Oxford comrades. It wouldn’t stand for them to be more aware of the world than he, but they’d played a pretty game on him a time or two so he’d read the text on his own before claiming a permanent copy.
Few of the elegant stores had opened their doors, knowing full well mid-morning was not yet time for their clientele. Jasper enjoyed the relative quiet and only had to acknowledge a few friends or acquaintances, none of which were female.
“Heard you’ve been snatched up in the marriage mart, my boy,” an older friend of his father’s called up to him.
Jasper smiled, hiding his own thoughts behind a social mask. “It had to happen sometime,” he told the man who had not been to their house since his father passed.
“True enough. You need strong boys to carry on your family name. Only hope you have better luck than your father.”
Giving the man a fierce stare, Jasper kneed the horse past him, wanting no reminder of the wedded bliss his parents had suffered for nigh on thirty years, though like as not the comment referred to the loss of his brothers. The man had often enough praised the late Lord Pendleton’s perseverance. Unlike many of his generation, Jasper’s father survived to a ripe old age, ducking the hunting and riding accidents that claimed many of his peers. And yet, to live so long beside the harridan Jasper’s mother had become around his father would have been enough to test any man’s will to live.
Jasper swung down from his mount, his movements no less smooth for his bad mood. After tying the reins to the mounting post, he strode up to the bookshop, taking a firm hold on the door handle and jerking it open. The loud jangle from a bell secured above the door made him flinch as it announced his presence. Still, the musky scent of books crowded upon themselves in the close-packed space calmed him as little could. As a child, he’d spent many a favored hour in his father’s study, listening to the gentlemen’s discourse or pouring over the books filling the shelves.
“Be right with you. Just a moment.” The shopkeeper’s voice came from among the stacks, muffled by the press of books.
Jasper scanned the books on the counter, then leaned over the divider to see what the shopkeeper offered to those just passing by. He lifted a book on land rotation, skimming the first few pages and then flipping to the middle to study the methods more intently.
“Ah, Lord Pendleton. Come for that philosophy text I’d guess.”
He nodded to the shopkeeper, smiling a greeting. They’d come to know each other well in his Oxford days, and the acquaintance only deepened with Jasper coming into a modest fortune not too long after.
“I think I’ll take this one as well,” Jasper said, hefting the agriculture manual. “If its offerings are sound, you may have to request another copy.”
The shopkeeper took the book from his hand and looked at it almost despairingly. “And I suppose you claimed this from the window? I’m having the hardest time keeping that display, though with so few copies, I don’t see why I expect any different.”
Jasper laughed. “Oh? Another long-limbed boy come snatching up your inventory?” he asked, bringing to mind an old joke between them.
“No,” the shopkeeper said, without looking up. “A girl. Mere chit of a thing, but with a very good name. Wanted a novel.”
“Figures. No female would want something of substance.”
The shopkeeper stopped scribbling in the ledger and glanced up. “Oh, there you are mistaken. This book was no simple tale of love and woe. She’s yet to return it, but I had second thoughts about letting a Scarborough take it home. It read more like a biography than fiction, even claimed to be one. And it certainly did not skimp on the harsh parts.”
Jasper had been about to dismiss the contention when he heard a name he’d never expected. Scarborough. “A biography of whom?” he asked, intrigued at this sign that his affianced might have more to her than that he’d seen on the dance floors.
“Some dancer, my lord. The story ends well, but the path to that ending is very dark. Not what I’d expected to interest a young lady, let me tell you.”
Jasper smiled then shook his head at this grasping for straws. “I’m sure she skipped to the happy parts. She must not have known what she’d chosen.”
The shopkeeper laughed. “You may well be right. She seemed so fascinated and wouldn’t accept my cautions, but when she actually sat down to read it, well, it could very well have been different. She may just be too embarrassed to return it.”
Picking up the brown-wrapped package containing his two books, Jasper signed the promissory note with a flourish, having left his mother’s presence with little coin. “A man can spend a lifetime trying to understand the feminine mind only to discover it contains solely two thoughts: titles and money. I’ll be happy to stay with my philosophy texts.”
“As you say, my lord.” The shopkeeper gave a short bow.
Jasper returned the salute and headed back to his horse, unable to wipe the thoughts from his mind as easily as his tongue had dismissed them. Imagine the daughter of an earl reading something more taxing than a fanciful romance? He shook his head. “Fanciful is the right word for my thoughts,” he muttered, swinging into the saddle. “I know just how to handle my wife-to-be. It’s the best for both of us.”