Free Barbara Metzger by Rakes Ransom

lot of time, time she’d otherwise have spent wondering about that other new discovery she’d made: men. Not men as in her father or Squire or Shoop or even Arthur. Men as in Lord Claibourne, as in all she didn’t know about farm animals despite what she’d told Mrs. Bottwick, and all her father’s books didn’t tell her. These wonderings she hugged closely to herself at night, and dreamt of blue eyes and lazy smiles.
    *
    “But what if his aunt is a dragon, Papa?”
    “Then tell Antoine not to overcook the beef,” Lord Trevaine answered wearily, having lost his place in the Suetonius again. “Jacelyn, it’s just a small dinner party for a few of our closest friends, stop fretting so. After three days in a carriage, Madame Aubonier won’t wish anything more. Now go help Mrs. Phipps set the table, and leave me in peace!”
    Miss Trevaine could face Squire’s wrath and think nothing of taking hedges higher than her horse, but tonight’s dinner had her quaking: her new gown, her new hair style, her new role—and to be putting them on for the first time at such a gathering! Most of the guests had known her forever. What if they laughed? No, as her father said, they were all friends. These people, her father had insisted, were the ones he wished to share his pride with, so the county would see this was no hole-in-corner affair. The alternative was worse, the evening alone with Claibourne and his aunt, so Jacelyn hurried to get ready.
    *
    Squire was fidgety too, ruining his second cravat. “Can’t see what your daughter needed a new dress for. She’s too young to be dining out in company anyway.”
    “Jacelyn particularly asked that Samantha attend. I’m sure she’ll feel easier having another young lady there. Besides, it will be good for our Samantha to get out more before her own presentation. Those young girls pitchforked into Society all at once often make a mull of it.”
    “Well, I won’t have a gal of mine picking up any froward behaviour from that Trevaine chit. Deuce take this linen!”
    “Hush, George, let me. Though why your valet has to be in the stables is beyond me.”
    “He knows a lot more about physicking, humans and animals, than any stableman I’ve ever had, that’s why, and that new gelding Raindancer’s a deuced sight more important than all this dandification.”
    “Anyway, dear, think of how nice it will be for Samantha in her own Season next year, if one of her best friends is a countess. I’m considering bringing Samantha to London for Jacelyn’s come-out ball next month. There, your neckcloth is tied. Don’t tug at it so.”
    “What, another dress for the chit? Next you’ll be expecting me to leave the country to go to London and do the pretty. No, madam, I tell you the girl is too young.”
    “Just as Jacelyn Trevaine is too young to face all of this without her friends nearby.”
    “Gammon. If you mean by that what I’ve heard all week, that the chit’s too young to deal with a man of Claibourne’s stamp, why, I say it again, he could be the making of her.”
    “He could break her heart. If it weren’t for you and your—”
    Samantha was going to London.
    *
    Bien. Everything seemed to be going bien . Mme. Aubonier had arrived on schedule, a tall, rigidly erect, thin-faced woman dressed all in black. She had raised her lorgnette to survey the house and its occupants, and declared them all “Bien, bien.”
    “How was your journey, Madame?”
    “Bien, bien.”
    “May I show you to your room? Would you care to rest before dinner? Shall I have tea sent to you?” All received the same answer, till Jacelyn wondered if perhaps Madame didn’t speak English. Hesitant to practice her schoolgirl French, she was relieved when Madame surveyed her chintz-papered room, fire well lit, fall asters in a Meissen pitcher, and declared it all “Lovely, lovely.” What a peculiar chaperone this would be!
    At least her presence saved Jacelyn from the awkwardness she’d been