3. Chapter 3
three
T he night of the engagement party dawned clear and crisp.
Guests had been arriving steadily for the past hour.
Servants in full livery passed by, trays of champagne and canapés held aloft.
Musicians played soft music that carried throughout the house.
The air was alight with laughter and good cheer.
Jenny hadn’t heard from Lord David in the nine days it had taken to plan this event.
A flurry of letters had flown between Devonworth and the Duke of Strathmore as they worked out the finer points of the guest list. What had originally been a gathering of twenty-five of their closest friends—friends Jenny knew would support her—swelled to well over fifty.
All important people who needed to be included to give credence to this engagement.
Thankfully, it was late August and many were out of town or the guest list would be even longer.
The only thing missing was Lord David. Over an hour into the party and Jenny’s intended and his brother had yet to appear.
Jenny stood along with Fanny, Cora, Devonworth, and Devonworth’s younger brother Harry in the drawing room, putting on a united front and greeting guests.
In greeting them, Jenny had weathered all sorts of withering glances.
They ranged from vaguely hostile to wondering what she’d done to the poor man to get him to acquiesce to her demand.
In the days since their betrothal had appeared in the newspaper, some were whispering that she’d tricked him into this betrothal, as if the notoriously independent Lord David Felding could be forced into matrimony—Lord knew more determined women than she had tried.
Still, his enthusiastic presence here would go a long way to dispel that rumor.
“Are you feverish, dear?” her mother whispered from next to her and pressed a hand to her cheek. “You’re flushed.”
“Feverish? Not at all.” Jenny touched her face to confirm that it was indeed warm.
But she felt fine. To prove it to Fanny and herself, she took a sip of her champagne.
The drink was a mistake, however. It fell flat on her tongue and was much too sweet.
When she swallowed, it curdled her stomach.
Heat prickled down her neck and over her bare shoulders, making the silk of her gown cling to her skin.
Where was he?
The doorbell rang yet again, the dulcet tones wrapping around her heart and squeezing in a way that even Verdi’s Aida had never managed. Her fingers clenched the champagne glass and she waited to see if her fiancé had finally appeared.
She forced a smile at the couple making their entrance, the Duke and Duchess of Rothschild.
The duke was a friend of Devonworth’s and his wife, August, was an American heiress.
The two were madly in love, despite the rather mercenary beginning of their marriage, and their opinions held sway in society.
Jenny was beyond grateful for their attendance and support, but she couldn’t deny the tiny twinge of disappointment that it was them and not her fiancé making an entrance.
She set her glass on the nearest horizontal surface for a footman to take away before she broke it.
“Good evening, Your Graces.” She curtsied politely to both of them in turn. “Thank you for coming.”
“We wouldn’t miss it.” August smiled warmly. Leaning in so her words wouldn’t carry, she added, “You know, Lord David conveniently absented himself from the country when I made my debut. He had no interest in marriage at the time. I’m curious how you managed it, my dear.”
Jenny laughed. She knew the duchess well enough to know her comment was in good humor. “Oh, well, I can’t spill all my secrets.”
“Of course not. I suppose it worked out.” August gave a dramatic sigh. “I ended up with the duke I was meant to have.”
Her husband gave her a mock glower and put a hand at her waist while whispering something in her ear that made her giggle. They moved on to greet Devonworth and Cora, and Jenny’s gaze roamed to the window, hoping to see David and his brother approaching on the pavement outside. He wasn’t there.
Cora’s words at breakfast that day had been on her mind ever since.
Lord David had agreed to the marriage with very little provocation.
She’d expected more reluctance and had managed to convince herself that a night in her bed was enough to win him.
But had she been fooling herself? Had his plan been to accept her offer only to humiliate her by not following through?
She’d rejected his advances many times over the Season. Perhaps this was payback.
A divorce would be difficult, though not impossible, to obtain. She couldn’t help wondering why he would ever put himself through that to help her. Had she been a fool to think he’d ever marry her?
She quietly made a count of the guests who had already arrived and the doorbell rang again. Her heart stuttered, throwing off her count, and sweat beaded her upper lip. She discreetly wiped it away as another couple entered, this one much less friendly. Lord and Lady Codford.
“Might I bring you another glass of champagne?” Harry leaned over.
He was approximately Jenny’s age and had been home in disgrace after getting himself into a bit of trouble on his holiday in Rome.
It was so bad that his brother and Cora had made a quick trip there to rescue him.
He’d been delighted to learn that Jenny was temporarily residing with them now because he’d been hanging on her every word and waiting on her hand and foot every chance he got.
“No, but thank you, Harry,” she whispered.
His dark eyes softened, a look akin to worship that she recognized as those of a besotted fool.
When she’d been training in Paris, she and the other students would often give performances to the well-to-do patrons and several of the young men sent her flowers and love notes and they all seemed to have the same eyes.
“Let me know when you change your mind,” he said.
“Thank you.” She gave him her most gracious smile and turned back to greet the newcomers.
“Miss Dove.” Lady Codford greeted her with a sniff of disdain and looked Jenny over from head to toe. The woman’s youngest daughter was unmarried and Jenny imagined she’d hoped to have Lord David for her. That look seemed to ask why you instead of my daughter?
Jenny stiffened under the scrutiny and stayed quiet until they’d moved on. Then she tried again to count the guests who had arrived.
“What did you say, darling?” Fanny asked from her side and nodded at an acquaintance across the room.
Jenny hadn’t realized she’d counted aloud. “I believe everyone has arrived.”
No, that couldn’t be right. A movement caught her eye and she noticed Devonworth breaking off to speak with an older couple whose names she couldn’t remember, leaving his post because they were finished.
Cora followed his lead to talk to a group of Society matrons, and Harry soon followed.
All the guests were here and David hadn’t come .
What would happen now? Would Mr. Hathaway demand the money back that he’d settled on Eliza?
Would Jenny have to flee the country in shame?
Would she be allowed to settle her own question of honor with a duel where she’d shoot her faithless fiancé directly through the heart at dawn?
The fanciful notion made her feel marginally better, until she realized that most eyes in the room had turned to her.
Not outright, of course, but behind champagne glasses and decorative fans, many heads turned her way. People were noticing he’d not shown.
Oh, dear God. This was his trick. He’d make her a laughingstock.
The doorbell rang and a warning pebbled her skin. Fanny gave her hand an encouraging pat. “He has come, I’ve no doubt of it.”
Jenny nodded, though she wasn’t as confident.
It wasn’t until a footman ushered the small group of men consisting of His Grace, Mr. Warwick, and Lord David into the drawing room that she could draw a clear breath.
Relief made her knees momentarily weak, so she was left far behind when Fanny took off like someone had shot her from a cannon.
“Welcome, Your Grace,” her mother said in voice more suited to the stage than an elegant drawing room. It had every eye turning toward her. “We are delighted you could join us.”
Fanny spoke with an affectation that had once amused Jenny but now seemed crass and vulgar.
As a former actress, her mother had a knack for picking up the speaking pattern of whomever it was she was speaking to.
When it was a high-ranking noble such as the Duke of Strathmore, she spoke with a very crisp and posh intonation that was far removed from her New York accent.
Jenny knew she had better intervene before her mother managed to offend the man. She picked up her skirts and made her way through the crowd. By the time she reached them, welcomes had been exchanged all around, so they turned as one to greet her.
“Miss Dove.” Strathmore gave a curt nod in return of her deep curtsy.
He was tall like Lord David and handsome with a distinguished bit of silver lining his dark hair.
Jenny had never asked but she put his age at early to mid-forties, about the same as her mother.
He carried himself with the aura of someone who had been a duke his entire life.
His blue eyes, so like his younger brother’s, seemed to peer right into her soul.
Despite how rigid and fearsome he could appear, he had always treated her fairly and with kindness, regardless of their differences in station.
Turning to his companion, she sank into another curtsy. “Mr. Warwick.”
Mr. Christopher Warwick was a close friend of the duke’s, though it was widely believed their bond went deeper than friendship.
The two had been nearly inseparable for years and the relationship was why the duke had declared he had no intention of marrying and producing an heir himself.
Or that’s what the rumors speculated anyway.
Finally, she was out of people to greet and couldn’t not look at her fiancé anymore.
Straightening her spine, she found him watching her with mischief glittering in his eyes.
Though she had steeled herself for her first sight of him, her breath froze somewhere between her nose and lungs and her heartbeat kicked itself up several notches.
It was always this way when she saw him and she despised her reaction with the heated fury of a thousand suns.
She had known men like him since she had developed breasts and they started following her home from the market.
And it had been worse when she’d apprenticed in Paris, because she’d been sixteen by then and very much liked the way men looked at her.
That naivete had gotten her burned and now she knew that faithless rakes were to be avoided, not encouraged.
She had convinced herself she was immune to their poisonous charms and she really had been.
Until him.
He looked much like his older brother, handsome with deep set eyes and high cheekbones. His brows were twin slashes. Taken together, they put her in mind of a hunter always on the prowl. Only he appeared lazier and more indolent than the duke, content to play with his prey.
“Miss Dove,” he said. His voice was a dramatic baritone, rich and textured and perfect for a sympathetic villain in an opera. The half smile he wore hinted that he might be aware of the butterflies rioting in her stomach.
“Good evening, Lord David. I’m pleased you could finally join us.” She put just enough emphasis on the word to get her point across without publicly acknowledging her pique. Instead of a curtsy, she offered him her hand.
The corner of his mouth quirked and he placed the most chaste kiss in the history of kisses to the back of it. In fact, she wasn’t completely certain he made contact through the barrier of her glove.
“I’d never miss an opportunity for your company, Miss Dove.” His gaze stole down her neck to her shoulders and the revealing bodice of her emerald-colored gown, where it lingered.
If he meant to remind her of what the future had in store for them, he succeeded.
She pivoted away before her heart could beat its way out of her chest and motioned for a footman to order champagne, only to find that one had appeared behind her when she’d been distracted.
“Ooh.” The sound escaped her as she collided with the servant and his tray of glasses.
Only his deft maneuver to tilt out of her way saved the champagne from spilling.
Only the two strong hands at her waist saved Jenny from toppling.
She didn’t have to look to know that Lord David had saved her.
The spice of his familiar cologne drugged her senses, leaving her weak and faintly inebriated, while his hands on her, along with his breath on the back of her neck, made heat flood her body.
“Careful,” he whispered in her ear. “You wouldn’t want to get wet.”
He was gone before she could work out if he was being vulgar or not.
She apologized to the footman as Lord David walked past her to speak to Devonworth.
Fanny had taken up with the duke and Mr. Warwick, leading them around, one on each arm, to various groups of guests as if they were her very own escorts.
Why was Jenny such a ninny around him? She had managed to hold it together for an entire Season and both of her sister’s weddings, but now…now that she was betrothed to him…she let him send her reeling. It didn’t make sense.
She did not respond to rakes. She would not respond to him.
“Jenny, are you all right?” Cora came to her rescue.
“Of course. I’m simply being clumsy.” Jenny straightened her skirt needlessly.
Cora raised a questioning brow but didn’t contradict the statement. Her gaze took in Lord David instead. “Are you quite certain in this?” She meant the marriage.
“Yes.” No! “Are you going to keep asking me that? I haven’t a choice, anyway.”
Cora sighed. “Don’t worry, it’s time for dinner and once you sing, the night will be over.”
Only a few hours. She could get through it. “At least I’ll get a break from him at dinner.”
“Why would you say that?” Cora asked .
“Because couples don’t sit together at dinner. Everyone knows you seat them apart.” But Cora’s silence was not reassuring at all. “Cora?”
“We’re celebrating your engagement.”
“You sat us together?”
“We’re showing a united front.”
“But it’s not fashionable.” Nor was it healthy for her. “Change it quickly.”
Before her sister could reply, dinner was announced.