Louise Allen - Those Scandalous Ravenhursts Volume Two

‘Of course not,’ Bel soothed. ‘I will have a quiet word with Hedges. He and Mrs Hedges already understand that you are helping Gareth with a tricky family problem.’

‘Thank you.’ Jessica brought her agitation under control with an effort. If she was going to make a public spectacle of herself with Gareth Morant, it might seem out of proportion to worry about what the servants thought, but she had to live with them for several weeks and the prospect of reading contempt or condemnation in their eyes was not easy to bear.

‘What are you going to wear?’ Eva put down her tea cup and looked thoughtful. ‘What a pity so many of your gowns will take several days and we only have the ones we bought ready made.’

‘Well, obviously I will dress for dinner, but would Gareth expect me to make a special effort?’

‘I imagine that Gareth is intending to teach you the arts of dinner-table flirtation,’ Bel observed.

‘And remember,’ Eva interjected, ‘Francesca Carleton always makes an effort. She would not be seen outside her bedchamber less than exquisitely gowned and coiffed and with a subtle use of maquillage. Or in it, come to that,’ she added, ‘if she has a companion.’

That is not going to arise , Jessica reassured herself. The only man I will appear to encourage is Gareth and he will not want to enter my bedchamber in any case . After all, he had kissed her only to satisfy his curiosity and he had already seen her, stark naked and covered in goose bumps. There was no erotic mystery there. Thank goodness.

‘From now on you will never appear except in character, although you will not be ready to burst upon society until Maude’s ball in three weeks’ time. Meanwhile, you must practise with us, with Gareth and with your new dresser until your image and your story is perfected.’ Eva’s smile held sympathy as well as kindness. ‘I do not expect you have ever been encouraged to be thoroughly selfish, have you?’

‘I have not had that luxury,’ Jessica confessed. ‘I have been earning my own living in a way that does not allow for mistakes or self-indulgence. Common sense, practicality and self-control are my talents.’

‘But Miss Jessica Gifford, superior governess, is an act too, is she not?’ Eva turned her dark, intelligent eyes on Jessica. ‘It is an act you have worked on and perfected, but it is not you. What were you before you made that decision, chose that path, I wonder? If you could subdue your real self to become her, you can free something of you to become Francesca.’

Bel, nibbling on a macaroon with a faraway look on her face, was not listening. ‘The pale green silk,’ she pronounced. ‘It needs taking in, but with a sash it will be perfect for this evening.’

‘Yes, thank you.’ Jessica turned, eager for the distraction from Eva’s disconcerting theory. Was there really something in her of the wanton, daring creature she needed to portray?

Mama …Wide green eyes peeping provocatively over the edge of a fan, the soft teasing voice that could charm birds out of trees, the careless shrug of her shoulders when Jessica, aged thirteen, had worried about the rent being in arrears yet again.

‘Oh, I’ll go and smile at Mr Gilroy, darling,’ she would say. ‘He’ll give us another week.’

Jessica had vowed she would never be in a position where keeping the roof over her head relied on her ability to smile at a man until she turned him into a fool. But then, Jessica had never had one-tenth of her mother’s natural charm, so she had believed. Or had Miss Miranda Trevor, banker’s daughter, learned those arts out of sheer necessity when she had run away with Captain the Honourable James Gifford and found herself living the life of a gambler’s wife?

‘Shall we help you change before we go?’ Bel offered and the disturbing thoughts vanished, obscured by the immediate worry of what Gareth Morant, Lord Standon, was going to make of her first steps in the shoes of Mrs Francesca Carleton.

Chapter Eight

Gareth mounted the steps to Jessica’s new front door with an anticipation that surprised him. He already knew that he enjoyed her company but the necessity for this masquerade was a tiresome interruption to his life and he should be resenting it. He paused, his hand on the knocker, examining his feelings.

He was not resentful, he was not even vaguely irritated. He was stimulated and he rather thought he was going to be amused. Was Rotherham right? Had he become bored and jaded with the round of careless pleasures and unavoidable duties?

The door opened and he let go of the cast metal with a thud.

‘Good evening, my lord.’ Hedges regarded him benevolently. Gareth decided that the staff must approve of their new, temporary, mistress. ‘Mrs Hedges has followed your instructions for dinner to the letter, my lord.’

‘Excellent.’ Gareth shed his heavy coat and handed the footman his hat, cane and gloves. He did not know whether Jessica would have the gowns to enable her to dress for dinner yet, but he had done the occasion justice with silk knee breeches, striped stockings and his newest swallowtail coat.

‘Lord Standon, madam.’ Hedges threw open the drawing-room door and Gareth walked through.

‘My lord.’ A slender lady in pale almond green silk rose from the fireside and dropped a slight curtsy. ‘A most inclement evening, is it not? I do hope you did not become chilled.’

Gareth returned the courtesy with a bow, unable to repress the smile that curved his mouth. It was Jessica, but not the Jessica who had left his house that morning, wide-eyed and in the more than capable grasp of his cousin and Sebastian’s new wife.

‘Mrs Carleton. It is indeed very raw out, but I took the precaution of wearing a heavy coat.’

The door closed softly behind him as he walked to the fireside. ‘Please, do sit.’ She extended a hand as though to show him which chair to take, pale fingers emerging from the tight ecru lace sleeves, and the tips just brushed his knuckles.

So, she had remembered one lesson from the night before. Gareth said nothing, but caught and held her gaze for a long moment as they both sat. The colour rose, charmingly, under her skin, then she laughed. ‘Oh dear, I am afraid I simply cannot control my blushes.’

‘They are charming,’ he said, meaning it. Her hair was astonishing, the soft curls opening up her face and taking at least two years from her appearance. The severity and the attempt to look older had been deliberate, he was sure; now Jessica was the most intriguing mixture of sophistication and innocence.

‘What is it?’ she asked, her eyes narrowing at him. All of a sudden she was the governess again and he reminded himself that she was neither the innocent nor the sophisticate. Jessica was a respectable, intelligent woman who was making her own place in the world and had been managing that very well until the rotten underbelly of polite society had ensnared her.

‘I was admiring your hair,’ he said, with partial honesty. ‘It is delightful—exactly the look I think we should aim at, yet it is still you.’

‘I am not certain about the colour.’ Gareth found himself watching the play of expression on her face: the frown as she worried about the colour, the look of rueful acceptance that it was suitable for their masquerade and then the amusement at her own doubts banishing the seriousness from her eyes. ‘I know it is exactly right for our purposes. I will get used to it and it will wash out in time.’

‘I like the style. You will keep that, will you not? Afterwards?’ He wondered if there was any length left in it—the back was elegantly pinned up provoking an inconvenient fantasy of unpinning it.

‘Perhaps.’ She was silent while he wondered whether a comment on the gown she was wearing might push her from frankness into reticence. She was wearing a fine lace fichu around her shoulders. Was the subtle glimpse of flesh through the lace deliberate or modesty? He decided to keep silent on the subject, although he was admiring the effect of softly draped silk on a form he was only too aware was sweetly rounded and warm.