Lady In Waiting Part 11

What had she done?

Jenny turned to the wall and rested her head atop her folded arms. When she had told Callum she would not leave him, she had meant it with all of her heart.

Now, despite her pure intentions, she realized too late the error of her words.

For though she may have intended to stand by Callum, to comfort him, dare she think it... to love him, he would never accept her.

Not when their entire relations.h.i.+p was grounded in a lie-the one thing Callum could not abide.

Lifting her head, she pushed a dangling lock of hair from her eyes, and was surprised to feel damp tears cooling on her cheeks.

Was it too late for her to admit all and hope he could forgive her? Or was it too soon-for though she was falling in love with Argyll, she could not be sure that his feelings for her ran quite so deep.

Oh, what was she to do?

"Jenny? What's wrong?"

Turning her head, Jenny saw Meredith standing just behind her, her brilliant copper hair gleaming in the bright sunlight.

She lifted a hopeful smile to her lips, knowing she could not confess to Meredith, or the Featherton ladies. They would only try to help, each in her own misdirected way.

No, Jenny knew she had to find her own way if she was to salvage any piece of her budding relations.h.i.+p with Callum.

And so, without a word, she linked arms with Meredith, and slowly walked down the road toward the carriages.

The journey back to Bath that early afternoon was brutal, at least for Jenny. Owing to a thin strip of gray clouds on the horizon, Callum suggested an early close to their picnic. Of course Jenny knew that the supposed coming storm was just an excuse to see the day through. The clouds were as thin as her old lace chemise and quite unable to carry the sort of storm he warned the Feathertons about.

And if she had any doubt as to his true intentions, which she didn't, all was made abundantly clear when Callum announced he would ride up top with the coachman, leaving Jenny alone with Meredith inside.

When they arrived at the Featherton household, Lord Argyll bid Jenny no more than a polite good-bye before quitting to return to his own lodgings.

"Is all well between the two of you?" Lady Viola asked as they entered the house and deposited their wraps with their footmen.

Jenny looked up at the two old ladies, who were waiting expectantly for her reply. Knowing their penchant for creative matchmaking of the most extreme nature, there was no way she could tell them the truth, but neither did she wish to lie. So she settled for the next best thing-a half truth. "H-he kissed me," she said as modestly as possible. "I suppose I am still a little shaken."

The Feathertons whipped their heads around to look at each other, their faces positively beaming with delight.

"You must come into the drawing room and tell us all about it!" Lady Viola caught Jenny's arm and urged her forward.

"No, my lady, please." Jenny remained firm in her stance. "My senses are still overwhelmed, and I need a bit of time to understand the great emotions I am experiencing. Would you mind if we chatted later... once I've had a bit of time to reflect?"

Lady Let.i.tia moved her walking stick forward and hugged Jenny close. "Of course, gel. One's first taste of love is often a mite difficult to digest. Give your feelings time to settle. But when you are ready, we'll be waiting."

And Jenny knew they would be.

But when she descended below stairs, eager to be alone with her thoughts, someone was already waiting for her. Her mother.

"Well, I am glad you've returned because there is something for you outside the door. Go on, have a look." Tapping her foot impatiently, her mother lifted her brows and puckered her lips as Jenny walked to the service door and depressed the handle.

Inside the basket outside the kitchen door were-mercy.

"No need to count. I've done it for you. There are thirty-two."

Thirty-two stones. Thirty-two orders for her to fill this eve.

Jenny gasped for air.

Chapter Eight.

As she strolled down Milsom Street later that afternoon, Jenny peeled off her right kid glove and pressed the back of her cool hand first to one cheek, then the other. "Feel my head, Annie. Do I feel overwarm to you?"

"Honestly, Jenny. You are making far too much out of this." The pair paused for a moment on the flag way.

Prefacing her fever test with a roll of her eyes that did not escape Jenny's notice, Annie removed her own glove and slapped her palm to Jenny's forehead. "No, ducks, you feel fine."

"Well, something is wrong." Jenny expelled a long sigh. "I mean, here I am shopping, with loads of money in my reticule, and I feel nothing. Nothing."

"Nothing?" Annie looked at her with some concern. "Not even a bit of excitement, a little tremble of antic.i.p.ation? We're almost to Bartleby's you know."

"I know. Look, look down." Jenny pointed at her boots. "My step hasn't even hastened-not one bit!"

"Now that ain't normal. At least not for you."

And it wasn't normal for Jenny, not at all! She adored shopping. Dreamed of shopping. Lived for shopping. But today, she couldn't care less about pillaging the shops of Bath.

"Maybe you're just distracted," Annie offered. "How many pots do you have to set up tonight?"

"Thirty-two."

Annie smiled then. "That's all it is then. You're just worried about such a large order. You'll be up all night long, I reckon."

"I suppose you might have something there," Jenny muttered. Of course, Annie wasn't right. The work, though exhausting, wasn't what was weighing on her mind. Wasn't what was distracting her so fully that she couldn't enjoy visiting the shops on Milsom.

Her mind was on Callum and the lie of all grand lies that threatened to destroy any potential for love.

Worse yet, she still didn't have the slightest notion of how to remedy the situation.

Confess her lie now, before love has fully set up, and she will lose him.

But wait for love to grow, so both their hearts are bound, then confess, she will lose him still. Perdition. What was she to do?

She had hoped that running her fingers over fabric and baubles would be enough to distract her from these thoughts-for it never failed to overtake her mind before-but it didn't divert her this time. Not at all.

"Jenny. I say, Jenny?"

She looked up and saw Annie holding Bartleby's door open for her.

"You are in bad spirits." Annie shook her head as Jenny entered the store. "Why, you almost pa.s.sed by your favorite shop."

With a forlorn sigh, Jenny stared blankly into a gla.s.s case full of new silk scarves.

"Now, they're nice aren't they? Just your style too," Annie added. "And here, look at the sign. Straight from London, they are."

Jenny nodded. She knew she really ought to have one of the scarves, even if she had no desire to make a careful comparison just now. She had the money after all. But as she blinked down into the case, nothing appealed.

Well, the red one with ivory border was nice. She could make do with that one. And maybe, just maybe, the simple act of buying something would shake her from her melancholy mood.

As Mr. Bartleby, the shopkeeper, came around, Jenny pointed at the scarf and opened her mouth to speak when another customer rudely interrupted.

"I'll take the red one."

Bartleby bent and touched a rose-hued scarf to the left.

"No, no. That one!" the woman insisted, poking her finger on the other side of the gla.s.s.

Jenny could not believe it. The shopkeeper was reaching for her red scarf with the ivory border!

"Stop!" Jenny very nearly shouted. "That one is mine. I saw it first and I was next to be served." She turned to the rude woman, a ready glare already set on her face. But when their eyes met, Jenny's knees nearly buckled beneath her.

It was the woman dressed in red that she saw at the Pump Room only the other day! "You," she hissed.

The woman behind her, who was at least a hand taller than Jenny, sneered down her nose. "I asked for the scarf first. It is mine."

Jenny snapped her head around and s.n.a.t.c.hed the scarf from Mr. Bartleby with her left hand, while digging inside her reticule for a coin. Then she handed both to the shopkeeper.

"Here you are, sir. You may wrap it up. I shall take it with me now."

To her astonishment, the man just shook his head. "I told you not to come back here-without all the money you owe on your account."

Jenny held up her reticule. "But I have paid you for the scarf."

"Can you pay off your account?" he replied in an odd voice that made her think his nose was blocked.

Blast! She had plenty of blunt with her, just not quite enough to pay off her account. "Not completely, but I can-"

Mr. Bartleby smiled as he wrapped the scarf in a length of brown paper.

Jenny turned around and gave a satisfied smirk to the woman behind her.

But then the shopkeeper did the unthinkable. He pa.s.sed the parcel over Jenny's head to the woman from the Pump Room.

"Why, thank you," the woman said, casting a laughing glance at Jenny as she tossed a gold coin to Mr. Bartleby.

Jenny's eyes went wide with absolute disbelief. Her facial muscles went slack and her mouth dropped open of its own accord.

"Come back with the whole account payment," the shopkeeper told her, "and I will be happy to do business with you again. Meanwhile, I'll apply the guinea you gave me to your debt."

"Ah!" Jenny exclaimed as she caught up Annie's arm and started for the door. "Well, I never!"

"I know you never-never pay, that is," the shopkeeper called out with a nasty chuckle as Jenny exited the establishment.

After visiting the dispensing apothecary for the supplies she needed, Jenny headed back to Royal Crescent. Eighteen more stones were piled in the order basket by the time she reached the house that evening. She nearly cried when she saw the teetering pile.

By morn, after spending her nocturnal hours toiling over a steaming cauldron, then setting up the blend of moisture cream and essential oils into no less than fifty gallipots, Jenny was exhausted.

Still, she sat in the drawing room with her employers, hands folded in her lap, patiently awaiting the dance master.

Lady Let.i.tia peered at her through the quizzing gla.s.s she wore on a golden chain about her neck. "Heavens, gel, you look positively ashen this morn. Did you not sleep at all?"

"Oh, Sister. How insensitive you can sometimes be. 'Tis obvious she has not slept, and who can blame her? Lord Argyll kissed her yesterday. A gel's first kiss is a momentous occasion."

At the comment, Mr. Edgar, who had just delivered a tray of tea and biscuits, cleared his throat loudly. "I beg your pardon, my ladies," he murmured. "Just a dry tickle."

I beg your pardon, indeed. Jenny shot a barely masked scowl at him. Go ahead, Mr. Edgar, tell the ladies that their protegee has kissed at least a half-dozen footmen on the Royal Crescent alone. I'm sure they'd be quite interested in that.

Lady Let.i.tia smiled empathetically at Jenny. "I do understand. Are you fit enough for a dance lesson this morn?"

"Oh, yes, my lady. Wouldn't miss my lesson for anything, for I do not wish to embarra.s.s either you... or Lord Argyll."

The old women exchanged pleased glances.

"Lord Argyll is a fine, fine catch, if I do say so myself," Lady Viola informed her. "His father was Lord Lyon, you know."

Jenny felt the skin above her brows wrinkle. "But Callum Campbell is the Sixth Viscount Argyll... Argyll, not Lyon. What am I not understanding?"

A guttural laugh burst from Lady Let.i.tia's lips, making her sister spill a grand splash of steaming tea on the silver salver. "No, no, gel. The t.i.tle *Lord Lyon' is an esteemed elected position in Scotland. 'Tis he who records and monitors Scotland's heraldry and governs her ranking peers."

"He worked for years to acquire the position, much to his wife Olivia's hards.h.i.+p and dismay, I'll have you know. And in the end, the a.s.sembly unanimously elected Callum's father, Lord Argyll, to the position."

"Oh, that is a great honor." But something about this revelation did not meld with Callum's view of his father. And so, Jenny decided to take the opportunity presented to her and delve a bit further into the Argyll history. "His family, therefore, must have been very important to Lord Lyon."

"More likely his family name." Lady Let.i.tia snorted. "The standing and continuity of Argyll was always foremost in his mind. In fact, it was his most earnest desire to see his son marry and produce an heir before he died."

"As we all know, that hasn't happened-yet." With a trembling hand, Lady Viola pa.s.sed her sister a cup of tea. "Oh, Jenny, dear, do not think the viscount is disinterested in marriage, for I do not believe this to be so."

"That's right," Lady Let.i.tia quipped. "He just hadn't yet met you, gel." She whooped with laughter again, nearly spilling her tea upon her outdated lavender gown.

When Lady Viola offered her tea, Jenny took it graciously and made a point to smile at her and her sister as if in agreement with their a.s.sessment of the situation.

Only Jenny's intuition told her there was something more to Callum's continued bachelorhood. She remembered hearing the two women discussing Callum's exploits at the Fire and Ice Ball and how the former Lord Argyll would be tossing in his grave.