Chapter Five
‘Just hold still for one…more…second, Miss Jane,’ said Daisy, Jane’s lady’s maid, around a mouthful of hairpins. She looked as fierce as a Valkyrie as she tried to tame Jane’s thick mane of waving, almost-black hair into fashionable curls.
Jane laughed, and then winced as another pin stabbed her scalp.
She’d never had a lady’s maid until May had insisted she needed one if she was going to go to balls and operas, and now she couldn’t have done without Daisy and her expertise.
Daisy had worked for a few other houses before, the Renesslers and the Astors, and steered Jane correctly with her advice.
Also, she could make anyone look fashionable.
‘You said that a thousand seconds ago, Daisy,’ Jane said, studying herself in the mirror above the silver-lidded powder pots and cream jars, with the turquoise-inlaid brushes. Her dark hair was half-up, a thick lock hanging in front of her eyes.
‘You want to look perfect, right? I heard tell that the duke will be at the Casino tonight. You don’t want to be overshadowed by Miss Livingston or her so-called friend Miss Van Joort, do you?’
Jane bit her lip. She would not give Regina Van Joort the satisfaction.
‘Who says I care what some old duke would think of me? Just because everyone else in Newport is chasing after him…’ She thought of the Benedict she’d once met on that golden day at the bookshop, and the duke she’d met.
Back then he had talked and laughed with his whole heart open, with a spark that had made her believe anything was possible, that someone understood.
Now he was quiet, more watchful, almost as if he was constantly measuring how much of himself to show, as if life had taught him to protect himself too carefully.
He wasn’t the same. But neither was she.
Daisy gave a secret little smile and tugged at a curl. ‘They say he fell into a fountain at Mrs Beresford’s reception. And that you rescued him, Miss Jane.’
Indeed, he had—they had. Jane couldn’t help but giggle just a little to think of how Benedict had looked after the fountain.
But even dripping hair hadn’t been able to dim his handsome face, his blue eyes.
‘That did happen, yes. Hardly a surprise; Mrs Beresford does clutter up her lovely garden with so many doo-dads. I would have helped anyone in such an awkward situation.’
Daisy studied the array of ribbons on the dressing table before choosing a length of pink silk. ‘And is he as good-looking as they say?’
Jane remembered his face in the sunlight, sharply sculpted with a kind of effortless symmetry, just like Mrs Beresford’s classical statues.
His high cheekbones had been cut like glass, and his blue eyes seemed to know more than he revealed.
‘He is very handsome, yes. But there are lots of handsome men in Newport.’
‘Not so many with grand titles, though.’ Daisy frowned as she twined the ribbons through Jane’s newly smoothed curls.
‘Miss Livingston’s maid is always so snooty to me when we meet in servants’ quarters at parties, going on about how the Livingstons came here on the Mayflower or some such.
It would serve her right if my lady was a duchess.
Who would reign over the servants’ hall then? ’
Jane laughed. Everyone seemed to have her married to the duke and ruling over society already, even May.
Now her maid was in on it. ‘Daisy! I will never be a duchess. Hauling a man out of a fountain is hardly a betrothal. I’m not sure he even likes me at all, he seems so—so cold.
Impossible to read.’ He seemed to carry his title like a shield.
His face had never betrayed what he was thinking.
Even when he’d spoken, there’d been a pause between his words, as if he was weighing them.
‘And I would make a terrible duchess, even if he was charmer,’ she said, fiddling with her hairbrush.
‘What nonsense! You would make a perfect duchess; he couldn’t do better,’ Daisy said with staunch loyalty. ‘Especially with me to help you look your best. I’m sure I could set a tiara with the best of them. And you have just the right hair for it, nice and thick.’
‘I am quite sure you would. When I meet the queen, I will be sure to take you with me,’ Jane teased.
She turned her head a bit to study herself in the mirror.
Tiara hair…? Daisy’s coiffure creation was an elegant composition, smoothed flat on either side with a soft sheen, coiled into an intricate chignon.
‘But, queen or not, you really are a genius, Daisy. You’ve made me look quite sophisticated! ’
‘You’re the prettiest lady in Newport, Miss Jane, and don’t ever forget that.
The duke should just be so lucky to get you to dance with him.
’ She turned to the gown laid out and waiting on the bed.
‘Now, the pink one? We have some of the Souvenir de la Malmaison roses from the garden we could pin to the bodice just here.’
‘That sounds perfect.’ She stood up to let Daisy help her into the gown, a marvel from the House of Worth she’d ordered when she’d gone to Paris with May just after the wedding.
It was astounding, as were all the sublime works of art that had come from that visit!
In a delicate shade of rose, the silk satin fabric caught the light with a soft, luminous sheen, like the inside of a seashell gathered on a Newport beach.
Intricate embroidery in silver thread and seed pearls twined across the bodice and down the skirt in more flowers, with the décolletage edged with lace and tiny silk rosettes.
The skirt was a marvel of construction, layers of cream tulle and pink satin spilling into a sweeping train. It made her feel lovely, delicate.
She couldn’t help but wonder…what would Benedict think?
It was ridiculous, but she realised she only needed one compliment tonight, and that was his.
She studied herself in the mirror, smoothing the fabric as if its coolness could calm the flutter in her chest. Would he see her, really see her, again?
She wondered if he would smile, if his gaze would linger just a moment too long across the room.
If something unspoken would pass between them.
But maybe she’d just been reading too many French novels lately.
Daisy fastened the tiny pearl buttons up the back as Jane tried not to fidget.
Daisy had just finished pinning on the spray of roses when Jane’s mother rushed in, her cheeks reddened as if she was flustered.
She always became so nervous before a party, even though they had been attending society galas for a long time now.
Not that Jane could blame her; she often felt just the same.
What if no one talked to her? What if too many people did?
Would she say something awkward, fall into a fountain again?
She rehearsed the smile she’d wear when she walked in, not too eager and not too distant.
‘Ma,’ Jane said reassuringly. ‘You do look lovely.’
And so she did, in her dark-blue and sea-green Doucet gown.
Margaret O’Neill hadn’t had an easy life, coming from Ireland with a little son and no money, her beloved husband dying so young and leaving her to raise two children.
Even now, with Connor’s money and May’s connections, with the multiple houses and dozens of staff, she often looked like a hunted rabbit.
She stayed at home with her embroidery whenever she could, leaving May to chaperon, but Jane sensed that with a duke to impress May had set all hands on deck.
‘Oh! Do you think so, inion daor? I do like this trim.’ Margaret fussed with the passementerie on her sleeve. ‘But you are the important one tonight. You should wear your new pearls. Let everyone see how very elegant my daughter is.’
Jane thought of the pearls, a triple strand of perfectly matched, creamy orbs with a ruby clasp, her birthday present from Connor.
They were stunningly beautiful, but she always feared she would lose them when she wore them.
‘Oh, Ma. You aren’t on the “impress the duke” train as well, are you? Even with your Irish heart?’
Her mother blushed. ‘Well, it couldn’t hurt if he paid you a little more attention, could it, after what you did for him and that fountain business?
And, after all May has done to help us find a place here in Newport, we should make friends where we can.
’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘And an Irish lass with strawberry leaves on her coronet would certainly be a sight.’
Jane laughed. She knew they would all be disappointed indeed if they really expected her to capture Benedict’s hand and become a duchess.
But she did let Daisy fasten on the pearls.
‘Who would have thought that of you, Ma? You always said the English were nothing but trouble. It would give me a little moment of satisfaction too, I admit. But then I’d have to go home with the duke—the man. ’
Her mother’s expression softened. ‘Did you not like him, mhilis? I thought he was dathuil. Not at all like that egg-shaped little earl we met last year.’
‘The one who reeked of onions? I don’t know how the Livingstons could stand to have him in their opera box.
No, the duke isn’t like that at all.’ Benedict was the most handsome man she’d ever seen, yes, but it wasn’t just the way he looked—though his eyes did something to her that felt so sweet and painful.
It was his rare smile, his secrets. ‘But beauty isn’t everything. ’
‘Well, no. It doesn’t have to be the duke, of course. What about Mr Brosnahan? He still seems to like you very much, which speaks to his fine taste. He’s worked so hard, come so far from when he was lad. Then you wouldn’t have to leave America, or Connor and me.’