The Heart's Companion

Millicent Hedgeworth had never been given to early, or even timely appearances. She was a woman who loved making grand, late entrances in order to garner attention. It was with surprise then, that Jane found her dressed and seated (or rather, ornamentally draped) upon a settee in the parlor. The twilight sun streaming in the floor-to-ceiling window caught red-gold highlights in her brunette hair, creating a halo around her head. Her face was in soft, flattering shadow. She was dressed in a rose silk gown trimmed with pearls, lace, and knots of pale pink and moss-green ribbons. The low décolletage revealed more than it covered of her creamy white breasts. A patterned silk shawl of black, green, and rose was draped negligently on one shoulder, but fell in a pool of shimmering color across her other arm. It was a pose to send a painter into raptures. Not being a painter, Jane was more amused than moved.

It occurred to her that in some ways she and her cousin were really alike, for she also dressed for effect. After nodding to Millicent, Jane took a seat near the fireplace in a straight-backed Elizabethan chair of massive, regal proportions. It was a chair to match her regal, aloof manner. Her gown was similarly chosen. It was of deep forest-green with only the glint of silver embroidery relieving its austere design. In her more shadowed portion of the room, Jane appeared remote and inviolate.

The silence stretched between the women. Jane sat relaxed, a wax statue of a queen on her throne. Millicent’s pose grew cramped, and she began to fidget.

"So, cousin, how many are we to expect to your country entertainments?" Millicent asked, running the fringe of her shawl through her fingers.

"The table was set for eighteen. Besides your party and Lady Elsbeth and myself, we expect the Culpeppers, the Ponsbys, Reverend Chitterdean—Mrs. Chitterdean is laid low with a cold she caught from their maid—and I believe Lord Royce and his guest. At least they have not written their regrets, and I doubt Lord Royce to be a man to overlook his manners in that way."

Millicent chuckled deep in her throat. "La, cousin, but you are naive. The Earl of Royce is not a man to worry about social niceties!"

Jane smiled faintly. "Perhaps."

Millicent frowned at Jane’s complacency but was forestalled in questioning her further by the arrival of Lady Elsbeth and Lady Serena on the arms of a broadly smiling Mr. Raymond Burry.

Mr. Burry stopped on the threshold, his smile turning smug. "I see I am a fortunate man to be the only gentleman available to entertain four lovelies." He inhaled deeply, his waistcoat straining at its buttons, then exhaled. "That heaven should contain such bliss."

Jane and Elsbeth exchanged glances. What made Mr. Burry even more amusing was that Serena’s and Millicent’s demeanor made it obvious they took such fulsome compliments as their due!

Lady Elsbeth allowed herself to be led to a chair opposite Jane while Mr. Burry steered Lady Serena to another settee long enough to seat them both comfortably.

"I’ve requested Cook to set back dinner a half hour so Lord and Lady Willoughby and Sir Helmsdon do not feel too rushed," Lady Elsbeth told Jane.

"That was probably wise regardless. What with Mrs. Chitterdean now ill, I doubt Reverend Chitterdean will be prompt. She keeps him organized and on time, I dare say he’d even be late for Sunday service if it weren’t for her good offices." Jane turned toward Lady Serena. "Will you be staying through the weekend? Reverend Chitterdean does deliver a fine sermon."

"Our plans are as yet indefinite."

"Oh, but I thought you were only stopping here on your way through to Brighton. That you had some other commitments there."

"Well, yes—"

"Brighton?" boomed out Mr. Burry.

"Burry," interrupted Lady Serena.

He laughed jovially, ignoring Lady Serena. "Oh, no Miss Grantley. You must have misunderstood. Penwick Park’s not on the road to Brighton."

"Burry!" hissed Lady Serena, tugging at his arm.

"What? Oh, ah, I see the right of it now, you sly puss. You were too embarrassed to admit to family feeling." He patted her arm. "I know it's unfashionable these days to care for one’s relations, but I never held with these newfangled notions," he assured her, thrusting out his lower lip and shaking his head. "Modern manners aren’t what they used to be. Fashions neither. Damme if I don’t miss my old peruke."

Millicent threw him a look of abject dislike. She looked toward her mother and shook her head. Jane and Lady Elsbeth exchanged knowing glances.

Then Jeremy was at the door announcing the arrival of the Ponsbys and the Culpeppers.

Jane wondered if Mr. Culpepper would display any signs of embarrassment for the scene he enacted six days before. Wryly she acknowledged she should have known better. Mr. Culpepper strode into the room as if they were always on the best of terms. The first words out of his mouth implied that Jane and Lady Elsbeth often turned to him for advice and help. He was not allowed to hold the company’s attention for long. Maria Culpepper elbowed her father aside. She unfurled her fan and held it in her left hand at an angle that made sure anyone who looked at her could not fail to note the fine diamond and ruby engagement ring she wore.

Dutifully Jane and Lady Elsbeth complimented her on her ring, then Lady Elsbeth turned her attention to shy Sarah Ponsby and her aunt, Mrs. Sawbridge, while Jane gently contrived to turn young David Ponsby’s obvious and effusive attention away from her. Sir Latimer Ponsby, a widower with some fifty years in his dish, turned his attention toward Lady Serena Tipton, much to the evident dismay of Mr. Burry. Mr. and Mrs. Culpepper stood in a corner quietly arguing. Quite surprisingly, no one paid the least attention to Millicent. The dark-haired beauty pretended an interest in the room’s paintings while she fumed silently, her lips pursed in rigid anger. Thus was her attitude moments later when the parlor doors opened again to admit the Earl of Royce.

Jane, straining against the impulse to snap at young Mr. Ponsby for his refusal to be hinted away, felt a sudden relief at the sight of the tall, dark figure. Impulsively she held out her hand to him.

"Lord Royce!"

Instantly the earl was at her side bowing over her hand and placing a light kiss on her fingertips. "Your servant, Miss Grantley. "

In awestruck confusion, Mr. Ponsby stepped away. Jane rose to her feet, her hand resting lightly on the earl’s arm. "Allow me to introduce you around. This is my aunt, Lady Tipton; Mr. Burry; and my cousin, Mrs. Hedgeworth."

Royce acknowledged the introductions gravely but did not immediately desert Jane’s side, a circumstance to further sour Millicent’s expression. Instead, he drew her aside.

"My friend and Reverend Chitterdean will be in shortly. To my great surprise they have discovered mutual acquaintances and are involved with comparing names and notes." He shook his head. "I swear you’ll never meet a more unlikely pair to share friends."

Jane laughed at the consternation in his expression. It made the Devil’s Disciple appear almost human. Little did she realize what her own laughter did for her.

Lord Royce enjoyed the way her soft green eyes sparkled when she laughed, and how the roses in her cheeks bloomed. Seeing her warm and happy, he wondered how she ever came to be the Ice Witch, for it obviously wasn’t her natural manner. He liked to see her relax and shed that false mien.

"By the way, Miss Grantley, I’m afraid I’ve done something you may cut up stiff over," he said slowly, scratching the side of his chin with one long, well-manicured finger. His expression was part apologetic, part amused.

"I fear, my lord, you’ve been too much in my nephews’ company. You’re adopting their weaseling manners," she said with a laugh, for his was just the expression Bertram was likely to give her when he’d cut a lark. She sobered, giving him her best aunt expression. "Well, out with it. As I tell them, it is best to come clean before it catches up with them and they take a cropper over it later."

"Shall I have your promise for the same leniency you showed Bertram after his set to with young Culpepper?"

"That depends, my lord," she said carefully, her lips working to prevent a smile. She pursed them tight, waiting.

"When I arrived this evening I brought with me a horse. "

"A horse?"

"Yes. For Bertram. He’s really quite outgrown his pony, you know. From what he’d said to me, I’m confident his father will procure one for him when he returns home; in the meantime I’m taking the liberty of lending him one of mine. A most even-tempered beast, I assure you."

"That is quite a liberty, my lord," Jane returned uncertainly.

"I assure you, Miss Grantley, my intentions are for the best. The animal wants exercising."

"Ah, I knew there must be a reason other than a magnanimous nature," Jane teased. "After all, as you’ve told me, you lack the sensibility for that."

He slapped the flat of his hand against his chest. "Touché, Miss Grantley," he said with an easy grin.

Then Lord and Lady Willoughby entered, followed by Sir Helmsdon, and all too quickly she had to sober and properly excuse herself to see to her other guests. Instantly Millicent and Miss Culpepper converged on the earl.

Twenty minutes later Jane realized Reverend Chitterdean and the earl’s mysterious friend had still not arrived. As she expected dinner to be announced momentarily, she was in a quandary as to what to do. Should she order dinner set back again? Cook would be furious, and Mary would not thank her if she were the cause of Cook giving notice! Perhaps Lord Royce ...." She bit her lip lightly at the thought of approaching him, then shrugged her hesitations aside.

It appeared the battle between Millicent and Miss Culpepper for the earl’s attention had been won by Millicent. Though it could not have been much of a battle. While Miss Culpepper coveted an earl’s title, she was too shrewd a young woman to step beyond what is proper for an engaged young woman. She was not going to trade a future viscount for an earl unless she was certain of obtaining said earl. Gracefully she retired from the lists, in favor of a laughing flirtation with Mr. Burry.

"Excuse me, my lord," Jane said softly, interrupting his conversation with Millicent.

Her cousin’s eyebrows rose haughtily, but Jane ignored her.

"Dinner is about to be announced, but your friend and Reverend Chitterdean have yet to make an appearance."

"What?" The earl looked about the room, then laughed shortly. "I see you are correct. Would you have me fetch our errant guests?"

She nodded thankfully and conceded that she would indeed. He laughed again and strode off through the double parlor doors.

"Really Jane, how dare you?" demanded Millicent.

"I beg your pardon?"

"How dare you treat the Earl of Royce like a common servant! You should have sent your footman in search of these other guests of yours."

"Cousin, I do not even know the name of his guest. And he is his guest. "

"You don’t even know his name? How very odd of you, to be sure."

Jane laughed. "What do you think? That the Earl of Royce’s friend will be unworthy of our company or that we will be unworthy?"

"Certainly not! I swear Jane, you have the oddest temper."

"No doubt you are right. Ah, here they come now. Gracious, who would have thought. It’s—"

"Black Jack!" cried out Lady Elsbeth Ainstree. She struggled to rise from her chair. Then her knees buckled as she fainted.