"We shall see," the duchess said, rising to her feet and advancing on a pair of new arrivals, one hand extended graciously.

5

Jessica looked at herself full-length in the mirror once more. She had dismissed the maid fifteen minutes before. But she still deemed it too early to go downstairs.

What she saw in the glass did not entirely displease her, she had to admit. After two years in unrelieved gray, with her hair constantly pulled back into an unbecoming bun, she felt a certain delight to see herself in a colored gown. The apricot silk fell loosely from beneath her breasts. It was adorned with heavy flounces around the hem. The plain scooped neckline was daringly low, she felt, though both the dowager duchess and the dressmaker had assured her that it was quite conservative. The short puffed sleeves were trimmed with miniature flounces to match the hem. She wore apricot slippers and long white gloves.

And her hair! It had rarely been cut in her life, and then only because she had felt the ends were lifeless and split. Papa had held that a woman was intended to leave her hair long, and she had always respected his opinions. She still could not believe the lightness of her head without all the bulk. Her hair was still not short as the hairdresser had tried to persuade her was all the crack. It was twisted up into a topknot. But the severity was all gone. Soft curls framed her face and trailed along her neck. She really looked quite pretty, she thought privately, for all her four-and-twenty years.

And what an advanced age it was to be making her first appearance in society. And at a ball at that. She had never thought to attend a real grand ball. Indeed, she had been taking dancing lessons for the past five days, brushing up on the steps of the country dances they had performed on the village green at home, learning the more elegant dances, including the scandalous waltz, against which her father had spoken so strongly when he had heard of it.

And what was she doing, Jessica thought, turning away from the mirror again and toying with the brushes on the dressing table, in residence at Berkeley Square with the Dowager Duchess of Middleburgh, friend of her grandmother? And what was she doing allowing the duchess to clothe her and train her in the social skills and organize a social life for her? It was the very life she had refused to allow her own grandfather to provide for her two years before. She had chosen rather to make her own way in life. She had become Sybil Barrie's governess.

She had loved her grandparents while her grandmother lived. During the one week of each year that she spent with them, she had loved to explore the house with its many treasures and to roam the estate, both on foot and on horseback. And this despite the fact that her grandfather had never had anything good to say about her father. Her grandmother had been a gentle soul who was content to pour out the love of her lonely heart on her one grandchild, whom she saw so seldom.

After Grandmama's death, the visits had been less enjoyable. Grandpapa had been forever criticizing her drab appearance, her love of reading, her serious ideas on life, religion, and politics. He had wanted her to come and live with him so that he could make her into the lady she should be by birth. He had wished to send her to school. She had quarreled quite violently with him two years before her own father's death when he had accused Papa of dreadful things including stealing and then killing her mother. She had refused to visit him after that.

She might have gone to him after her father's death. Although she was of age, she had led a quiet and sheltered life. She was frightened by the prospect of being alone. Her father had left almost nothing beyond a pile of books. But the marquess had come to her and had angered her beyond bearing when he told her his plans for her. They included a Season in London and a dazzling marriage, both of which she had secretly dreamed of for years. But his manner had been irritating. He had not consulted her wishes at all. And he had loudly criticized her poor dead father yet again for holding her back from her birthright until she was already fairly on the shelf.

"It's a good thing I am able to offer a handsome dowry, Jessica," he had said, "or I do not know where we would find the man to take you at your age."

That had been the final straw. "I do not need either your dowry or a husband, Grandpapa," she had said quite firmly. "I am my father's daughter as well as my mother's. I shall make my own way in life without your help."

They had both said a great deal more in voices that had gradually risen in volume and increased in vehemence. But neither had shifted position. In the end the marquess had returned home in high dudgeon, and a frightened Jessica had taken up residence with some friends while the local squire's wife graciously agreed to help her find a situation.

And here she was, Jessica thought now, for all her fine words, doing what her grandfather had wanted her to do all along. She had found it less easy to defy the Dowager Duchess of Middleburgh. That lady did not lose her temper. She merely had a will of iron. Jessica had protested. She could not be so beholden to a stranger. She could not have hospitality and gifts showered on her when she had nothing to offer in exchange. She could not make an appearance in society when nothing in her upbringing had prepared her for such a life. She could not face the Earl of Rutherford if she accepted his grandmother's generosity. This last objection had been stated hesitantly, but in truth it was perhaps the most forceful in Jessica's mind.

The duchess had had an answer for everything. She was not a stranger. The Marchioness of Heddingly had been one of her dearest friends, if not the dearest. Jessica had a great deal to offer in exchange for the little the duchess could give her. She had her youth and her freshness. The duchess was a lonely old woman, who would be eternally grateful for Jessica's company. Jessica had a suspicion that this was quite a bouncer. The "gel" would do very nicely in society for all her lack of formal training. She had a natural refinement of manner. And as for Rutherford-the old lady had made a dismissive gesture-she rarely set eyes on the boy. They certainly did not frequent the same events. It was very unlikely that Jessica would so much as set eyes on him ever again.

Jessica felt somewhat comforted by the last assurance, though not entirely. Why had Lord Rutherford been so certain that his grandmother would help her if he rarely visited in Berkeley Square? And he clearly had been there before her own visit to tell his grandmother of her coming.

However, Jessica thought as she picked up the ivory fan that lay on her bed, it was rather too late to be having second thoughts now. Somehow she had been drawn into the duchess's schemes the week before, and since then she had been wrapped in luxury. The only irksome fact had been having to stay indoors until some presentable clothes could be delivered from the dressmaker's. Indeed, she had not even been allowed out of her room during those afternoons when visitors were expected. She was to make her first appearance, the duchess had decided, on this very evening, when Lord

Chalmers was giving a ball on the occasion of his wife's birthday.

And make her appearance she must, Jessica decided, taking a deep breath and realizing that her heartbeat was becoming painful and was interfering with her breathing. She turned resolutely to leave the room.


He really did not want to be here. Lord Rutherford looked up the staircase to where he could just see the beginning of the receiving line, and down the staircase to where several chattering groups had already gathered behind him. He glanced at Sir Godfrey Hall beside him and marveled at how his friend could always look amiable even in the most trying of circumstances. And this was extremely trying. It was not so much that he objected to being at Chalmers' ball. He supposed it was quite likely that he would have looked in on it anyway, such entertainments being sparse enough at this particular time of the year. What had really set him into a bad temper was having to come at such an hour. He could not remember when he had last been subjected to the tedium of a receiving line.

But he had to be present to lead this new protegee of his grandmother's into the opening set, she had said. It was not enough to assure her that he would sign the chit's card for two separate sets later in the evening. No, he must be there at the start so that she would be seen dancing with him and would be in demand for the rest of the evening. Was the girl so ugly that only such notice by him would induce other men to partner her? He had a premonition that she would be another Sybil Barrie, heaven help him.

But, he thought with a shrug, at least he would not be trapped in the country for a week or more with this particular matrimonial gem. A few days, he had promised his grandmother. He would dance with her twice tonight and lead her in to supper-he had been forced to promise that the second dance he had with her would be the supper dance. He would pay a call on her in Berkeley Square when there were plenty of other people there to take note of the fact. And he would take her for a brisk drive in the park-not such a mark of distinction as it would be in the spring, when there was always such a squeeze that a carriage could scarcely move. But still better than nothing. He would pay his respects at the Middleburgh box if she was taken to the theater.

And that was really about all his grandmother could expect. If that amount of attention did not fire the girl off, then there was little more he could do to help her. She would have to rely on hints dropped about the size of her dowry.