Those Scandalous Ravenhursts Volume Two. Louise Allen

except for my dresser, and that is going to be an important position under the circumstances.’ Bel sank into a chair and put her feet up on a beadwork footstool. ‘Ooh, why is shopping so tiring?’ She did not wait for an answer, her brow clearing as an idea seemed to strike her. ‘I wonder if Lady Catchpole’s dresser has found a new employer.’

      ‘Lady Catchpole?’ Eva frowned. ‘I do not know her.’

      ‘She was Rosa Delagarde, one of the leading lights of the stage for the past three years, but she caught herself a baron and they married last week. Now, knowing George Catchpole, he might have married an actress, but he is going to want a command performance as a lady from her in future. I would not be at all surprised if he will insist on a starched-up dresser of the highest respectability.’ She got up and went to the French writing desk at the side of the room and drew out some paper. ‘I will write at once. La Delagarde was always turned out in the most dashing style—just what we need.’

      ‘But would she be discreet?’ Jessica wondered.

      ‘There was never any gossip about the Catchpole romance before the announcement, and that would have made her dresser some good money if it had been leaked to the scandal sheets.’ Bel folded the note, stuck on a wafer and addressed it as Hedges brought in the tea tray. ‘Hedges, please see this is delivered as soon as possible.’

      They sipped tea in companionable silence for a while. Jessica had no idea what was passing through the minds of her two companions, but her own thoughts were a muddle of impressions, worries and, lurking under everything else, excitement.

      I am taking tea with a countess and a Grand Duchess, I have been shopping in the most exclusive shops in London and I am about to embark upon a Season of scandal with a man who has a completely reprehensible effect on my pulse rate.

      ‘Can you dance?’ Bel asked, cutting across Jessica’s ruminations on just how Gareth Morant made her feel and how shocking it was that he should have such an effect.

      ‘Yes. In theory,’ she added with scrupulous honesty. ‘I have taught all the country dances and so forth, but I have never waltzed, nor have I danced a cotillion.’

      ‘A dancing master, then?’ Eva reached for her reticule and extracted her note tablets. ‘Another list is called for, I can see.’

      At least, Jessica consoled herself as she surrendered to having her life, her appearance and her wardrobe organised, she would be able to spend this evening in peace and quiet reflection.

      The door opened and Hedges coughed. The ladies turned to regard him. ‘Lord Standon has sent to say that he hopes it will be acceptable if he joins you for dinner tonight, Mrs Carleton.’

      Jessica realised with a start that he was speaking to her. ‘Where?’

      ‘Here, ma’am. He has sent Mrs Hedges instructions for a detailed menu.’

      ‘Has he, indeed?’ Jessica meant to sound sarcastic, but the butler merely inclined his head.

      ‘Yes, ma’am. Mrs Hedges has sent the footman out with a shopping list now.’

      No one appeared to think that she might refuse this suggestion. Or was it an order?

      ‘And how many people is his lordship intending that I entertain to dinner this evening?’

      ‘I understood from the note that it was to be a private occasion, ma’am.’ Hedges bowed himself out.

      ‘He is impossible!’

      ‘Hedges? But I always found him—’

      ‘Gareth. Impossible. What on earth are the staff to conclude from him inviting himself here for a dinner à deux? That we are lovers?’ Bel and Eva both smiled and Jessica felt the colour rising up her cheeks. ‘Whatever he wants people to think for the purposes of this masquerade, I have no intention—’

      ‘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