Scandal's Deception Page 8

  “Papa took me to educational lectures he thought would expand my knowledge. On our one trip to New York we did attend a play.”

  “No picnics or assemblies?”

  She shook her head. “There wasn’t time for frivolity. Work filled most of the day, and at night I did the household accounts and helped Papa with research.”

  She swung her legs against the stone. “Remember, my country was at war from 1812 to 1815, and the Battle of Baltimore was fought near my home. Many Federalists were sympathetic to the British. Papa was not. He embraced his new country with pride. If those years had been peaceful, I might have ventured out more. When the war ended, Papa became unusually busy and then his illness took hold.” She paused and took a deep breath, a haunted look in her eyes. “I found myself helping my father write his legal opinions until he couldn’t work any longer.”

  Bollocks. No wonder the girl resented the restrictions placed on her. She’d been running a farm, doing the work of a law clerk, and tending her sick father.

  “What do women do here?” she asked.

  “Women of your class are mostly raised by governesses who see to their education. They are taught manners, etiquette, and how to run large households. Some learn to paint or play the pianoforte. Almost all learn stitchery at an early age. You must ask to see some of Aunt Amelia’s work. It is quite ornate.” He paused.

  “If not attending a morning event or a garden party, they might make calls or go shopping. In the evening, they might attend a ball or musicale or go to the opera or the theater.”

  “Are there no intellectual pursuits?”

  “A few ladies accompany gentlemen to lectures. I know a lady who once hosted a salon with artists and writers and free thinkers every Thursday. I attended a few.”

  “Does she still? Might I go?”

  “She lives in Yorkshire and is now married with two children.” Ralston turned to look at his charge. “I think you would like Lady Gwen. She’s a no-nonsense type, just as you are. In some ways, she’s a true bluestocking.”

  “If she’s your friend, you shouldn’t call her that. She might not appreciate it.”

  “Bluestocking is not a derisive word in itself, although some may use it as such. Lady Gwen’s salon was filled with learned people wanting to share ideas. As I recall, it was quite entertaining.”

  “I looked up the word. Apparently it was first used in 1790 and was applied to a woman who founded a salon forty years earlier which also featured intellectual discussions. They wore simple clothes. From what I read, blue stockings were once worn by tradesmen, not ladies. So I am still confused by the definition.”

  “I’m sure there’s more to the story. Research further.”

  A cart and driver inched along the lane toward them. Ralston slid off the wall and turned toward Jane. “Here, let me help you.”

  “No need.”

  “There’s every need. If you slide as I did, part of your skirt will be left at the top until you hit the ground.”

  He placed his hands on either side of her waist and gently lifted her to the ground. He’d been close to her during their waltzing lessons. This time her body touched his as she slid, sending a bolt of heat through him. When her feet reached the ground, their faces were only inches apart.

  A yearning he’d felt once before invaded his senses, a need so great he wondered if he was losing his mind. He slowly lowered his hands and backed away without losing eye contact. She had beautiful long-lashed eyes that seemed to hide an inner sadness. He sincerely hoped he was not the one who put it there.

  A horse neighing in the distance brought him back to his senses. He shielded Jane from view as the cart turned off and entered a gate.

  “Come. We must get back. And from now on, when you feel the need to walk out in the open, please wear proper attire. Someone might get an erroneous impression.”

  “What would it be? That a girl likes to feel sunlight on her face? Honestly, Ralston, the rules you English have are ridiculous.”

  You English?

  “Might I remind you that you, too, were born in this country?”

  “It’s hard to think of myself as belonging here.” They strolled back toward the house. “Four years ago when the British invaded Fort McHenry, we all thought we’d be murdered in our beds. Papa hid Maddie and me in the cellar with pistols primed. We didn’t need them. Baltimore held. The war ended soon after the burning of Washington. I was very much an American then, and I fear I am one still.”

  She strode off, making him lengthen his steps to keep up with her. What a perplexing situation this must be for her. He’d have to think about how best to convince her she needed to set aside the only heritage she’d known and embrace her new role.

  When they reached the paddock area, he put out his hand and stopped her. “Come with me. I want you to make friends with the mare you’ll be riding.”

  Jane followed him to the fence. “Is that the one? She seems quite docile.”

  “It is, but she can be cantankerous if she’s in a mood.”

  “Ah, she’s like me. I suspect we’ll get along famously.”

  He patted the fence and garnered the mare’s attention. She trotted over and nuzzled his outstretched palm, her mouth tickling. “Here, you try it.”

  Jane reached out and patted the mare’s muzzle. “She has beautiful eyes. I like her.” Her lips formed a slow smile, and that odd protective feeling engulfed him again. Lord, what on earth was happening to him?

  “As soon as your riding habit arrives, we’ll go out to a place near here where the horses can have a good run.”

  “Can we not go today? Why must I wait for some silly garment?”

  “Ladies must be properly attired before they go riding. And you are a lady, whether you like it or not.”

  She stuck out her lower lip in a fake pout, and he found he wanted to lower his head and take it gently within his teeth before covering her mouth with his.

  He took a deep breath and turned his back, aware that a certain body part was growing with his interest. “Shall we go inside? I believe you’ve had enough sun today.”

  She nodded. “Could we go into the library? There’s a book on a shelf, and it is too high for me to reach it.”

  “Of course.”

  “Thank you.”

  This guardian business was turning into more than he thought it would be. Would either of them survive? He was beginning to wonder.

  Chapter 12

  They entered the house through a side door and made their way to the library. “Which book did you wish me to retrieve?”

  “The one on the top shelf with the dark-red binding. There’s gold lettering on the spine.”

  Ralston reached as high as he could. The ceilings in this house were elevated, and he could only reach the books on the second highest shelf.

  “The only one I see is in Latin.”

  “That’s it.”

  “You read Latin? Do you read Greek?”

  “Papa didn’t think it necessary. He employed an officious tutor called Bramwell for my language instruction. The man was indignant that he had to teach a female. We learned to get along. Papa paid him well.”

  Ralston pushed a sturdy wooden chair against the bookshelf and hoisted himself onto it. He pulled the book from its place, jumped down, and handed it to her.

  For a moment all she could do was stare into his eyes, aware of the same fluttering in her insides that she’d felt when he’d lowered her from the wall. What a beautiful man he was with his aristocratic nose and magnetic grin. Today his tawny hair was rumpled, and one lock fell over his eye. She resisted the urge to brush it back as he gave her a mock bow and sat in the chair across from her.

  “You said you had more questions.”

  “Why do you think my moth
er has not come? Preparations for a ball isn’t a good excuse.”

  He shrugged and shook his head. “I only wish I knew. My task was to gather you, bring you here, prepare you for your entrance into society, and await further instructions.”

  “Are you usually so compliant of her wishes?”

  He grinned. “I hardly know the woman. As I mentioned the first day you arrived, she’s my sister’s friend. I’m trying to do my best in an awkward situation.”

  “Take me to London. If she won’t come here, I shall go to her.”

  “I cannot do that. I may not agree with how your mother is handling things, but I appreciate her wish to give you some polish before you appear in society. I wasn’t jesting when I said there were vicious tongues in the ton.”

  Jane shifted to the edge of her chair and placed her elbows on her knees and her hands under her chin. “Tell me the truth. What exactly is wrong with me?”

  He leaned forward in a similar pose. “Nothing that I can see. You are well-educated, and your accent has softened. You have a beautiful face, lustrous eyes the color of a summer sky, and a pert nose above full lips.” He angled his head as if studying her. “A man might call them kissable lips. Kissing is something we haven’t yet discussed, and as your guardian, I will have to caution you about men who might say such a thing.”

  “But you just said it.”

  The room was quiet. Ralston rose and stood in front of the bookshelf, his back rigid. “The conversation about the difference between gentlemen and rogues will be for another day. I need to get back to the stable.”

  “How old are you?”

  He turned and faced her. “What?”

  “Your age. What is it?”

  “I’m nine and twenty.”

  Not too old then for her to be attracted to someone like him. Heat swept through her body every time his gaze focused on her. She’d been mistaken about him having an arrangement with her mother. Perhaps he was interested in someone else. She sat back in the chair, opening the book to the first page, not seeing the words written there.

  “I’ll see you this afternoon,” he said.

  “Should I prepare for the awkward conversation?”

  “When we get closer to the time you go to London. You still have much to learn.”

  He left the room, closing the door behind him.

  Jane sat unmoving in the chair, reflecting on the events of the morning. He clearly took his role seriously, trotting after her in the lane, shielding her from view when the man in the cart approached, helping her descend from the wall. She could have asked a footman to retrieve the book. She preferred Ralston. Maddie would say he looked as tasty as an éclair. Oh yes, he definitely did.

  When he’d held her gaze and told her she was beautiful, heat shot through her body, making her tingle in all her private places. Lordy, it wasn’t just his words, it was the soft, dreamy expression on his face. No one had ever made her feel breathless and quivery with a word or a look.

  Perhaps it was her clothes or lack of friends or her lifestyle, but she’d always considered herself ordinary. When she reflected upon it, her life had been solitary, as if Papa had hidden her away. Had he been afraid someone from England might have seen her twin? The thought had crossed her mind before. Dinner guests were usually American friends, even though many English businessmen visited Baltimore. Papa met those gentlemen in town.

  How I wish Maddie was here so I could quiz her.

  She tucked her book under her arm and rushed to the dining room. She’d slipped out early this morning without dining, and her stomach was protesting in a loud, unladylike manner. A footman waited by the sideboard and sprang to attention as she approached, rushing to pull out a chair for her at the table.

  “Has Lady Amelia broken her fast?”

  “No, milady.”

  She must still be abed. Jane instructed the footman to bring coffee and toast, not being in the mood for eggs or kidneys or anything else the English had for breakfast.

  When her meal was served, she picked at it, fighting the need to go out to the stables in search of Ralston. When she thought of him, a warm glow seemed to settle around her, as if he brought sunshine into a room. What had he meant when he’d said her lips were kissable? She brushed her fingertip over her lips, finding them the same as everyone else’s. And who were the rogues he needed to warn her about?

  Lady Amelia flounced into the dining room. “You’re up early. I see that you have already finished.” She gave her order to the footman who dashed off to the kitchen. One thing they did in this household was keep food warming in the kitchen. Larger households often set out all the dishes on a sideboard, she was told. Theirs was a small group who ate at different times. Jane thought it quite sensible.

  She hesitated, summoned her courage, and faced her hostess. “Lady Amelia, can you tell me about rogues in the ton?”

  The woman’s eyes widened in surprise. “Who said there were rogues?”

  “Lord Ralston.”

  She bit into a piece of toast and chewed. Jane loved watching the woman think, as if carefully choosing her words before she spoke.

  “There are evildoers everywhere, and I suppose the ton has its share. He was probably referring to gentlemen on the brink of impoverishment who woo ladies for their dowries.”

  “I don’t want to marry.”

  “Nonsense. All young ladies want to marry. You won’t have to worry about having an unsuitable gentleman foisted on you. That, my dear, is why you have a guardian.” She emphasized her point by waving a fork in the air.

  “Does Jocelyn want to marry?”

  “Of course. And it is my understanding from my niece, Elizabeth, she has the son of a duke on the hook. She’s expecting a declaration at her birthday ball.”

  Jane’s eyes widened as a thought popped into her head. “Is that why my mother is keeping me hidden away? She’s afraid a long-lost daughter will make the suitor have second thoughts?”

  Lady Amelia put down her fork. “It wouldn’t surprise me. A duke’s son and heir marrying the granddaughter of a cit would be quite a coup. I’m sure Lady Siltsbury wants no distractions or complications until after the betrothal is announced.”

  “What’s a cit?” Another interesting word she didn’t know. The word sounded like something nasty, although it could be short for citizen or city dweller. She must add it to her list of new words.

  “A cit is a man who has made his money in trade.”

  “Like a businessman.” Jane nodded. “It’s a good thing then.”

  “Yes and no. Your maternal grandfather made a great deal of money in shipping. He owned a fleet of ships that carried cargo all the way to the Orient. But people who are born into the aristocracy do not accept cits into their society. They consider them mushrooms, people without proper upbringing.” She patted her lips with her napkin. “I’m putting this badly. Perhaps Gilbert can explain it better.”

  “All right. I shall ask him when we have the discussion about rogues and kissing.”

  Lady Amelia gasped. “Kissing? Oh dear, he’s going to have that discussion. I was sure he would leave it to me, and I must say I was avoiding it. I’m a bit out-of-date as to the perils faced by young girls these days.”

  Now Jane was more curious than ever.

  She sipped the last of her coffee and excused herself. She must write down this new word and consult the lexicon she now kept in her room. So far she’d learned bluestocking, cit, and a host of other words that she hadn’t heard in America, but then she’d never gotten out overmuch. She must also add mushroom.

  She bounded up the stairs before remembering she must walk sedately, head held high, shoulders back, with slow, sure steps. She wanted to pen a few more thoughts before she forgot them. The supply of paper and ink Lady Amelia had provided for her to use
was still plentiful.

  She sat in the chair in her room and opened the lap desk. With everything she’d learned, she was beginning to believe she had led a sheltered life. A young lady on the next farm over had gone to a girls’ school in New York. When she’d asked Papa about it, he’d said it was too far away. He’d miss her.

  She recalled only twice when she’d observed dancing at a party. Both times the guest of honor had been celebrating a birthday. Gentlemen her age had been present. She’d preferred to observe, sitting sedately in a corner. When she returned home, she’d practiced the steps. There had been no waltzes.

  Had she been lonely? She’d been too busy running the farm so Papa could concentrate on his legal business. Maddie had been her only companion—she and a few ladies from Maddie’s church who had visited on the first Sunday of the month to chat and crochet. Papa had never been home, although he wouldn’t have cared. Sunday had been Maddie’s day off. She often worked anyway if something needed to be done.

  I miss you so much, Maddie. She missed Papa, too, and was no longer angry with him. She had transferred her anger elsewhere, to the woman who still hadn’t come.

  Her mother.

  Chapter 13

  Ralston found Aunt Amelia sipping the last of her morning tea when he came in. “There you are. I hoped to find you before I left.”

  “Left? Where are you going?”

  He sat next to her on the settee. “I just received word that I have urgent business to attend to at Ralston Park. I shall be gone less than a week.”

  “Who will see to Jane’s instruction?”

  “You will have to do it. Perhaps she can learn to do a needlepoint sampler. Most girls here do those at an early age. I daresay her education in America was not focused on such skills. If she resists, have her practice her French. She claims she was tutored in the language. I know not if it was reading or speaking, and they are not the same.”

  Aunt Amelia nodded. “Are we making sufficient progress with the girl, Gilbert? I have to admit I was leery of this task, expecting a complete hoyden. I’ve come to admire her, and I confess I am quite fond of her. Will she survive the ton?”