Chapter Seventeen #2
All these invitations. They crowded her mind, making it impossible for a brief moment to think of Lord Llyne at all. It came as a welcome relief, but the moment she noticed it, the relief was gone, flittering away like a butterfly that never quite came down to roost.
“You are popular,” said Reeny darkly. “The news of your engagement—”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
The statement had been made automatically, without a great deal of involvement from her brain. Jessica was not surprised, though, to hear the words uttered by her own lips.
The last thing she wanted to do was discuss the pain, the heartbreak of knowing that she had been directly compared to her sisters, her cousins, and had been found not the most beautiful, or the most interesting, or even the most useful. No, Irene or Frank or Lucy could claim those prizes.
No, she was the most desperate, according to Reginald—to Lord Llyne’s perspective, and that was why she had been chosen.
Was there anything in the world more mortifying?
“I did not ask you to talk about it,” said her sister mildly. “I merely pointed out that it is your engagement that was greatly increased the number of invitations we have received. Look.”
Jessica did so, examining the cards and letters of invitation more closely. Then she winced.
The Baroness Grasemere invites you to her afternoon tea. Miss Jessica Chance, the Baron Llyne, and her family…
The Duke and Duchess of Sharnwick are hosting a private ball and request the company of Miss Jessica Chance and family…
Viscount and Viscountess Walden would appreciate your company at dinner on the 9th. Miss Jessica Chance will be the guest of honor…
The Earl and Countess of Dalmerlington hope you are available for light drinks before a musical performance hosted in anticipation of the wedding between Miss Jessica Chance and Lord Llyne…
The Duchess of Axwick is welcoming a select group of friends and is delighted to include Miss Jessica Chance…
“Yes, I get the general idea,” Jessica said weakly.
Why she had not expected this, she did not know. It was precisely what had happened to Cousin Evelyn, and Cousin Lilianna, and undoubtedly to her male cousins too, though she rather doubted the invitations had been this numerous. Why, almost the entirety of the pianoforte lid was covered in them!
All sent to Viscount and Viscountess Pernrith on the occasion of their eldest daughter finally finding a suitor who had actually agreed to marry her.
Jessica’s stomach curdled. What on earth would they all say when the news of the broken engagement spread through all good Society?
Would the invitations addressed primarily to herself dry up?
Would the Pernrith branch of the Chance family find itself ostracized?
Even more so than it ever had been before?
It did not sound particularly like a bad idea to Jessica’s mind, but she knew her family may not concur.
“I do not know how I will ever go out again in public,” she found herself saying.
“Nonsense,” said Irene soundly, moving a few cards around in a sorting system known only to herself. “Engagements have been broken before.”
But not like this. That was what Jessica wanted to say, but that would necessitate an explanation she was simply not willing to give.
Her sister had not read the piece of paper that ranked all the Chance cousins, Jessica reminded herself. Perhaps Irene would be less blasé about the whole thing if she had done.
Or maybe not. She had come out quite well on it, had she not?
“What did he do, anyway?”
Jessica blinked. Her sister came back into focus, her expression inquisitive. “‘Do’?”
“Well, I presume the pest must have done something to attract your ire and your eventual rejection of his hand in marriage,” Irene said quietly, more softly than before. “You were so obviously in love with him, Jessy.”
Jessy. It had been a long, long time since anyone had called her that. It was almost impossible to remember how long, and it awakened in Jessica the softness that she had desperately attempted to stamp down.
She could not allow herself to cry. She had shed enough tears.
She had cried the instant that Reginald—that Lord Llyne had left the library, and she had cried from the morning room as she had watched his horse disappear down the drive at a gallop, the man not even waiting to leave by carriage with his valet, who followed after, and she had cried herself to sleep that night.
And she had told herself: no more tears.
“I was… I thought… I was in love with the man I thought I knew,” Jessica said awkwardly, knowing full well that all the statement was going to do was increase her sister’s curiosity. “And that’s all.”
“‘That’s all’?” Irene leaned against the pianoforte and narrowed her eyes. “It doesn’t seem like all. So what, he was a little less well-mannered without Papa looking over his shoulders?”
“No,” Jessica said, desperately hoping to change the conversation. “Which of these invitations do you—”
“He didn’t… He didn’t try to take advantage, did he?” Her sister’s eyes were wide. “Men are such pigs!”
Laughter was not the correct reaction to the statement, for it was earnestly said and in full support of her, Jessica knew.
But still. It was an amusing thing to hear coming from the lips of her sister Irene, of all people, whose best friend was one of those pigs. Men.
Besides, he had not taken advantage. She had wanted what they had shared, wanted it desperately. Even now, knowing they were parted forever, Jessica could not find it within herself to regret what had happened. He had been—he still was a very handsome, very charming man.
And that was the trouble, wasn’t it? Altogether too charming.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” Jessica said again aloud, forcing herself to look at the invitations. “Surely, we cannot be expected to attend all of these.”
“Papa suggested a divide and conquer approach,” Irene said softly, not following her sister to look at the invitations.
“He and you, Mama and I, and then Michael separately, if he can ever be encouraged to attend anything on the family’s behalf.
That way, the Pernrith Chances can attend triple the number of events. ”
Jessica nodded mutely. It was an excellent plan, save for the fact that it still required her to attend social functions.
And the topic of her engagement would undoubtedly come up.
Would she be forced, then, to tell each acquaintance, one at a time, that the wedding had been called off?
Polite society dictated that they be satisfied with that and not pry, but the moment she’d left the room, they would speculate.
Rumors would fly throughout Town by day’s end.
Ideally, she could just remain here and never leave the house again, though she couldn’t see her father agreeing to that.
He may have been the quietest of the four brothers, but he knew the family’s responsibilities to Society. Apparently, at least one of them was to be present, heaven forbid.
“Jess.”
Jessica blinked and saw her sister looking at her with such affection and concern, it rather shocked her. “Reeny.”
“You know I hate that name.”
“Sorry,” said Jessica, remembering all too late.
Her sister sighed. “You know you are going to tell me about it, eventually, don’t you? Why not do so now?”
It was difficult not to laugh. She was right. Naturally, Irene was right; Jessica was going to tell her about it, and the longer she held on to this secret, the more she felt as though she were going to burst.
It wore heavily on her, this knowledge that they had all been weighed and measured and had all, in some way, been found wanting.
Her, it seemed, most of all.
Jessica took a deep breath. “You remember when Reginald—when Lord Llyne first arrived at Stanphrey Lacey?”
“He stormed up on a white steed and swept you off your feet, if I recall correctly,” said Irene with a smile.
A roll of her eyes was the only appropriate response to such nonsense. “If you’re not going to be serious—”
“No, no, I can be serious,” her sister said hastily. “He turned up, unannounced and uninvited, and asked for your hand in marriage. Surprising all of us, I must say.”
“You were not alone in that,” Jessica said quietly, twisting her hands together and wondering how on earth she was going to explain this. “But as it turns out, there is a reason that I was the one who was chosen. I mean, obviously, there was, but I never imagined it would be… that.”
Irene tilted her head, awaiting further explanation.
Much to her surprise, it did not actually take that long to explain the whole sorry business to her sister, the longcase clock ticking away the seconds in the corner.
Irene was a good listener: appropriately silent, but gasping in all the right places, and even lifting a hand to her bosom when she heard about the list.
“The blaggard!”
“You know Papa doesn’t like that sort of language,” Jessica reminded her.
“Papa would say far worse if he had heard the story I just did,” Irene shot back, two pink dots flaming in her cheeks. “The nerve of the man!”
“And that is, essentially, what I said,” came Jessica’s reply. “Except…”
Except now that she had explained the whole thing aloud, she could see the sense in it.
Oh, it was nonsensical to the extreme, when viewed from the outside. But when viewed from the inside, knowing Reginald, knowing how greatly he cared for his family and his family name…knowing where he came from, the battles he had already faced in being legitimized…
And he spoke the truth, Jessica thought guiltily as she replayed their argument back in her mind.
Matches were made on far more mercenary terms. It was well known that the old Miss Ashbrooke—the Countess of Lenskeyn, as she now was—had always been sharp but fair in her assessments of potential matches, declining some due to a mismatch in taste, or fortune, or breeding.
No one had criticized her for doing such a thing.