Read Online Barbara Metzger by Rakes Ransom - Free Book Online Page A

for her, Jacey had never given it another thought. Her chipstraw bonnet was nearly new, but the ribbons were tangled, and Jacelyn had been in a hurry, late as usual, so they hung in a bedraggled knot somewhere under her chin. She had also been too late, exercising Pen, on a lead, at her father’s insistence, to change her heavy wool tartan for a paisley shawl, and she’d only pinned it with a tin brooch from the last fair, lopsided besides. Why, she looked more like a ragpicker than an heiress! They’d all laugh at her in London. Worse, they would laugh at Lord Claibourne, with his reputation for beautiful women, being saddled with such a fright. No one would believe for an instant that he was attracted to her. Why should they, when she didn’t?
    After the service, when the congregation clustered in the churchyard, Jacelyn impatiently stood by her father, accepting best wishes and ignoring innuendoes as best she could, until Squire’s party came near.
    Lady Ponsonby wouldn’t offer her hand to shake, sniffing that “it’s a long way ’twixt St. David’s and Dover,” which Jacelyn took to mean my lady wouldn’t acknowledge her till she had a ring on her finger. Priscilla took her cue from her mother: “Congratulations are in order, I suppose, Miss Trevaine, though I wish you well of your bargain. Heaven knows, I wouldn’t have him.”
    “Oh,” Jacelyn inquired sweetly, “has he asked you?”
    Priscilla flounced off, leaving Miss Chadwick to titter, “I think you are very brave, Miss Trevaine. I couldn’t even think of being alone with such a rake.”
    To which Jacelyn replied, “And I, Miss Chadwick, would never think of wearing some poor dead animal around my neck.” It was the little beady glass eyes on the other girl’s fur wrap that did it. Jacelyn excused herself to her father when she finally saw Mrs. Bottwick leaving the vicar’s side.
    “Ma’am, could I please ask a favour of you? It’s terribly important, you see, and there’s no one else.”
    “Of course, Jacelyn dear. I know you must miss your mother at times like this. I thought Mrs. Phipps would explain to you…”
    “Explain? Oh no, Mrs. Bottwick, I know all about that.” At the look of horror on Mrs. Bottwick’s round face, Jacelyn hurriedly added, “The farm animals, you know. This is more important! I…I can’t go to London like such a frump. I’d die. Mrs. Phipps can only make one kind of dress, short sleeves for summer, long sleeves for winter. And if Aunt Amabel has the dressing of me, I’ll end up looking like a…silly debutante.”
    “But you are a debutante, Jacelyn. I’m sure your aunt knows what’s best.”
    “No, Mrs. Bottwick. She only sees a hobbledehoy little girl she has to hide in ruffles and frills so no one will notice I’m different. And I’m not just a girl in her first Season, I’m nearly engaged, and to a top-of-the-trees Corinthian besides!”
    Mrs. Bottwick was beginning to see Jacelyn’s problem, more perhaps than Jacelyn did, and her natural motherly feelings were stirring, but it wasn’t for her to interfere.
    “How can I make you see?” Jacelyn wondered, desperate to be understood. Her eye caught Samantha Bottwick, standing next to Arthur. “There. Look at Sam.” She didn’t notice Mrs. Bottwick’s wince, which changed to a proud smile with Jacelyn’s next words: “She’ll always look beautiful, just standing still, no matter what she wears. She’s tall and blonde; she’ll be exquisite in all the pastels and white lace. I’ll get lost in them! A poor little brown dab of a thing!”
    “What do you want then, my dear? You cannot dress in red satin like some opera dancer, and you cannot damp your petticoats like Caro Lamb. I won’t hear of it, and I’m sure your aunt won’t either.”
    “Is Jacey going to damp her petticoats then, Mama?”
    “Samantha!”
    “Hello, Sam,” Jacey said, grinning at her friend. “I am trying to convince your mother to help me find some style.