The Earl, the Vow, and the Plain Jane Page 2

  Jane had been struck by such remarkable loveliness only once before. She recalled how she had drunk in the beauty of her eldest niece the first time she saw her. Bess was six months old with creamy skin and wisps of fine blond hair when Jane first beheld her. She thought she had never seen anything more lovely. (And, uncharitably, she wondered how Lavinia could have given birth to anything so beautiful.)

  It was rather the same with Lady Sarah this evening. As lovely as she was, though, she clung to Jane like a frightened toddler to her nurse as the young ladies squeezed through the doorway and into Lord Spencer's overcrowded ballroom.

  "I am so very happy you have been through this before." Lady Sarah had virtually shouted at Jane in order to be heard over the roar of at least a hundred voices and the drowned-out strains of orchestra music. "You will be able to tell me how to act."

  Owing to the crush of people, Miss Featherstone did not immediately reply. They pushed themselves against the flow of bodies damp from the rigors of dancing. Miss Featherstone automatically went to her preferred corner—as far from the orchestra as possible. "You need no instruction from me," Jane said when they reached their destination. "Just smile and act as you do at any country assembly. Forget that this ballroom is adorned with gilt and silken draperies and pretend it's the council hall in Stockton-on-Wye."

  Lady Sarah exhaled. "An excellent plan! You're always so terribly clever."

  Part of Lady Sarah's apprehension, Jane knew, stemmed from the fact she was acquainted with very few of the two or three hundred people in Lord and Lady Spencer's bulging mansion. She was not on friendly terms with a single one of the other girls being presented with her that evening.

  Miss Featherstone patted her cousin's gloved arm. "By the end of the night, you'll feel old friends with half of those in this chamber, and the callers will start pouring into Clegg House at midday tomorrow."

  "I pray you're right." Lady Sarah watched the finely dressed dancers. "Have you ever tripped and fallen when you danced?"

  "No, nor have I ever witnessed such an occurrence."

  "I declare, that is most reassuring."

  Before Lady Sarah had the opportunity to sit in one of the unoccupied chairs lining the wall, an army of admirers swooped down upon her, and she was swept onto the dance floor.

  In her corner, Miss Featherstone was saved from humiliating isolation by the companionship of Miss Ophelia Lambeth. The unfortunate Miss Lambeth was even more plain than Jane. Miss Lambeth wasn't so much plain as she was . . . well, there was no other word for it. She was homely.

  She was taller than most men and had the misfortune of possessing a nose that would not have been so out of proportion had it been on an eighty-year-old man of large stature instead of upon Miss Lambeth's narrow face.

  "There is one recommendation for spending the better part of a ball seated," Miss Featherstone said to Miss Lambeth.

  "You must reveal it to me so I can tell my mother."

  Miss Featherstone smiled wickedly. "We need never worry about wearing holes in our costly dancing slippers."

  Miss Lambeth's satin-covered toe pointed out from beneath her pink skirts. "Indeed. These have held me in good stead these five seasons past." Not even a hint of bitterness tinged the good-natured young woman's voice.

  Lest Miss Featherstone be a hopeless wallflower, her cousin, Lord Harry, did her the goodness of standing up with her not once but twice. How fortunate was the girl who would one day catch the considerate young man.

  Later that evening, Jane stiffened when she saw Lavinia enter the room, pause, and scan the ballroom until she saw Jane. Then, glaring, she moved across the floor to where Jane and Miss Lambeth sat. Without being invited to do so, she sat beside her sister-in-law. "I must have a word with you."

  Jane forced a smile. "About what, dearest?"

  "About the company you keep."

  Surely she was not going to disparage poor Miss Lambeth in the lady's presence. "Pray, to whom could you be referring?"

  "That cousin of yours!"

  Since Jane had recently danced with him, she asked, "Lord Harry?"

  "Of course not! I refer to his sister."

  "Is there something about Lady Sarah to which you object?"

  A prodigiously menacing expression on her face, Lavinia said, "It's not her that's the problem, it's you."

  "Enlighten me, please."

  "I wouldn't be concerned were I not so excessively fond of you, dear Sister," Lavinia began, "but it simply won't do for you to be seen with anyone as beautiful as that cousin of yours! Why, you'll never snare a husband."

  "You must own I've failed to catch one these three years past. Have you not given up hope?"

  "I pray every day you will find a man who's as wonderful a husband to you as your brother is to me."

  Jane had no doubt the self-absorbed Lavinia did indeed offer up such a prayer. It was no secret she could not abide the idea of being saddled with Jane for the rest of her life.

  Lavinia's gaze whisked over Jane, and she shook her head sadly. "May I offer you another suggestion? Something for your own good?"

  "Pray, do."

  "Why do you not get your hair shorn? Long tresses are sadly outdated, and it's my belief the shorter style would show you to better advantage."

  "Would shorter hair render me as pretty as Lady Sarah?" It was most difficult for Jane to withhold her facetious smile.

  "Honestly, Jane, I thought you were more intelligent than that! You will never even hold a candle to your cousin."

  Lavinia's bejeweled hand wound into her own curly black tresses, revealing a handful of previously hidden gray strands. "I daresay had I shorn my hair as it is now I'd have been able to attract at least an earl when I came out."

  Fifteen years had passed since Lavinia had come out. Was she still embellishing her own unremarkable entré into society? Fashionable hair could hardly have compensated for Lavinia's bulging eyes and crooked teeth, Jane thought—most uncharitably. "No earl could have been as fine as the man who won your hand."

  "Of course, you're right." Lavinia sighed, then shrugged. "We'll have to wait three more years for our Bess to come out. We do have our hopes. With her beauty, a duke is not out of the question."

  "I pray that you don't fill my niece's heads with such thoughts. We would not want her disappointed if she fails to make an aristocratic marriage."

  "You sound exactly like Robert."

  Jane's brother was exceedingly wise. Even if he had chosen Lavinia for a wife.

  "I have decided to sit for a spell with you," Lavinia continued, "even though I heartily disapprove of the way you plop yourself down in the back corner, acknowledging to the entire ton that no man could possibly desire you for a partner."

  "Shh." Jane's eyes indicated Miss Lambeth. "Would you wish I draw attention to my ineligibility from center front?"

  "You need not announce your ineligibility at all. You may not possess fortune or beauty, but you are the granddaughter of an earl. That should count for something."

  The very mention of her husband's connection to so lofty an aristocrat evoked a smug smile on Lavinia's face. She was loathe to acknowledge that her own grandfather had been but a brewer.

  Jane shrugged. "Such inducements have not succeeded, I'm afraid." Secretly, Jane was congratulating herself that a man shallow enough to select a bride based on her grandfather's rank was not a man she would wish to marry.

  Lavinia paid her no attention. "Will you look at Miss Bullen? Her dress looks like something a deranged gypsy would wear!"

  "Shh! I fear the dancers will hear you." Jane was powerless not to cast her glance to the dance floor where Miss Bullen, dressed in a pink gown edged with three rows of purple ruffles, was gracelessly dancing down the longway with her partner, blissfully unaware of how truly hideous her dress was. It really wasn't fair that she could merit a partner when Jane couldn't.

  "It's far too noisy for anyone to pay the least heed to what I'm saying."

  The
n Lavinia did something even more unpardonable. She pointed at a portly young woman standing in the opposite doorway. "I don't care if Annabelle Sommers does have five hundred a year, the poor girl doesn't have a prayer of getting a husband."

  Miss Featherstone was mortified. "I beg that you not point, Lavinia. And, pray, please speak in a softer voice, though I'd as lief you not speak ill of anyone." She unfurled her hand-painted fan. It was getting excessively hot. And she wasn't even dancing! Lady Sarah's dress had to be drenched.

  Lavinia and Jane both watched Lady Sarah. Jane had not had the opportunity to speak to Jane since the first dance of the night. The young men were nearly at dagger points with each other, vying to stand up with the beautiful heiress, to procure ratafia for her, or just to get close enough to hear the melodious sound of her voice.

  If one could judge from the expression on Lady Sarah's face, she was most decidedly enjoying her first ball.

  "I understand the betting books at White's are full of Lady Sarah," Lavinia said. "Wagers are in on who she will marry as well as what date an announcement will be made."

  Miss Featherstone was not listening. Her attention had been captured by her friend Lady Wycliff. What a change had come over her since she married! She'd not only been close to a man-hater in those days before she fell in love with Lord Wycliff, but she'd also eschewed events such as this where she was presently dancing with an admiring man who was not her husband. Their eyes caught, and Louisa Wycliff's lighted with recognition.

  As soon as the set came to an end, she fairly flew across the dance floor to greet Jane. Louisa Wycliff rivaled Lady Sarah in beauty. She had always been beautiful, but since she had married Lord Wycliff, she'd become even lovelier. The somberness that had marked her previously had been replaced with a gentle look of perpetual happiness. Especially when she was speaking to her husband.

  And the clothing she had acquired since her marriage! No one could dress more beautifully. Tonight she wore an exquisite gown of pale blue muslin that was no thicker than a sheet of foolscap. Its bodice and train were embroidered with tiny white flowers, and a crown of white flowers adorned her silky blond hair.

  "I did not know you attended such functions, Miss Featherstone."

  Jane smiled. "Nor did I know you did."

  Lady Wycliff rolled her eyes. "Lord Spencer is very important in government, and my dear Harry wishes to court his favor." She shrugged. "I, too, have decided that to help Harry's political aspirations, I must make every effort to act as if I were born to these affairs--which you know I was not! I've decided to let his mother guide me."

  "But I thought Lady Wycliff died some years ago."

  "Yes. More than a decade--long before I knew Harry, but the woman was perfection. I want to do everything she did so Harry will think me the perfect wife."

  A pretty blond girl tapped on her ladyship's shoulder. She turned around and smiled. "You didn't tell me you were coming here tonight!"

  "I decided to when Edward told me you'd be here."

  Lady Wycliff turned back to Jane. "You remember my sister, Mrs. Coke?"

  A strong resemblance existed between the two, despite an age disparity of nearly ten years. The younger sister had married Lord Wycliff's cousin the same time Lord and Lady Wycliff married. "Yes, of course, she's one of our Tuesday ladies. How lovely you look tonight, Mrs. Coke."

  "It's lovely to see you here, Miss Featherstone. I hate to steal Louisa away, but I promised Lady Soames I'd introduce her to my sister."

  As Jane watched, the pretty sisters wove in and out of the crush toward the door. Then she saw him. Lord Slade entered the ballroom. He was accompanied by a handsome military officer who Jane recognized as his younger brother. Though his brother immediately latched on to an eager dance partner, Lord Slade moved into the crowd, then surveyed the room with a look of bored disdain. Owing to his height, his head of dark brown hair towered over a sea of paler heads.

  As he came closer, she was able to observe him in full, glorious length. This night he did not defy fashion but dressed perfectly in black, save for the snowy white linen of his shirt and cravat that tied simply beneath his square chin and matched the white in his teeth.

  Regrettably, his gaze followed Lady Sarah as she stood gracefully in the longway, her hands linked to the gentlemen beside her while she watched the couple move between the two lines of dancers.

  "I declare," Lavinia said, rising, "Lady Spencer is unattended. I must go speak to her."

  "Your cousin is exceedingly popular," Miss Lambeth said, half yawning as she spoke.

  "One as lovely as she will not be long on the Marriage Mart."

  "I daresay you're right." With a sigh, Miss Lambeth rose. "It's time to fetch Mama. She tires so easily at these events." With that, the docile Miss Lambeth excused herself.

  Jane did so hate her friend to leave for then she would be quite alone in her corner. Her gaze followed Miss Lambeth as she clomped around the perimeter of the dance floor.

  "Good evening, Miss Featherstone."

  She spun around, looked up, and saw the handsome man not two feet away, looking down upon her.

  "Good evening to you, my lord." Oh, dear, was he going to ask her to stand up with him? Her irrepressible pulse began to gallop.

  "I beg that you allow me to sit by you."

  She was almost relieved he was not going to ask her to dance. If any lady ever did fall down during the execution of dance steps, it would have been Miss Featherstone in her nervousness over dancing with the man she so worshipped. "I am honored, my lord."

  Tonight his dress was as elegant as the afternoon's had been careless. Both, Jane thought, were magnificent. Every aspect of his grooming spoke of cleanliness. Miss Featherstone could even smell his soap as he sat next to her.

  "Tell me, Miss Featherstone, are you still so passionately interested in government?"

  "I am, my lord."

  "I've very much missed those stimulating dinners at your home."

  "As we've missed you. I daresay Papa misses you even more as a colleague in the House of Commons."

  "Just because I've moved to the upper chamber does not mean I would not still be gratified to be included among your father's guests."

  "I feel certain I can speak for Papa when I say our door will always be open to you, my lord. As a matter of fact, we're a hosting a small dinner tomorrow night for some of Papa's fellow Whigs. We would be exceedingly honored if you would come."

  "It's I who would be honored to attend." His black eyes met hers. "I'm honored to be invited. My political philosophy did not suddenly change because I succeeded. I will always be a Whig."

  She remembered anew why she had begun to so admire him in the first place. Above all, he had always been a man of principle and high moral values. "You must own, most of your fellow lords oppose everything you have always promulgated."

  "That will never stop me from continuing to work toward reform."

  "I am very happy to hear that, though, of course, I already have surmised as much."

  "Because you still stay well informed over measures in both houses?"

  She gave a little laugh. "It's one of my hobbies." Obsession, really. But no maiden in search of a mate should ever admit to being a bluestocking.

  He favored her with his disarming grin. "And the other one, as I recall, is executing wonderful architectural drawings."

  The man's phenomenal memory continued to astonish her. "I don't know that I'd call them wonderful, but I love to draw classical buildings."

  "One day I shall have to entice you to make a rendering of Dunvale Castle."

  "It would take no enticement at all, my lord. Doing so would give me great pleasure."

  His long legs stretched out in front of him, and it appeared he was content to stay right there with her. Upon reflection, she realized Lord Slade seldom attended these gatherings, even though he would be considered one of the Most Eligible Matrimonial Catches in the kingdom. "Do you not like to dance, Lord Slade?"<
br />
  "Dancing and liking to dance are two entirely different matters."

  Her eyes twinkled. "Then it appears we are in agreement upon another matter." If he did not wish to dance, though, why was here?

  "It's most gratifying to be in the company of one who shares so many of my own ideals," he said. "In fact, Miss Featherstone, I came here to tonight expressly to see you."

  "Me, my lord?"

  He nodded. "Indeed. There is a very important question I must ask you."

  Chapter 3

  He'd always thought of Miss Featherstone as a girl, but as he sat beside her in the noisy ballroom it suddenly occurred to him she was no longer a girl. She had grown into a young woman. How shocking that she had not married. What was she now? One or two and twenty? The young men must be fools if they hadn't snatched her up. He knew nothing to her detriment and a great deal to her credit.

  Though her appearance did not dazzle like her cousin's, Miss Featherstone possessed a delicate prettiness that could easily be overlooked. Perhaps it was her slenderness that made him find her delicate—like a twig that could easily snap. He watched her long, graceful fingers restore a jeweled pin into her long, wavy, soft brown hair.

  Even her dress of pale blue evoked delicacy. He noted that its bodice was cut a bit higher than other women's. Most ladies who did so wished to conceal their overabundance of bosom; Miss Featherstone likely did so to conceal her lack of bosom. Yet despite her boy-like chest, the lady was unquestionably feminine.

  "What, my lord, is the question you wished to ask me?" She peered up at him with lichen green eyes, and he noticed the little row of freckles that sprinkled across her nose.

  He regarded her with amusement. "The first thing I must ask is if you're still reform mad."

  "Oh, most decidedly," she said.

  "And which particular reform do you see as being the most urgent?"

  "It's difficult for me to say, especially since you are . . ."