What was wrong with her? Why could she not be happy for her cousin, for the gleam of delight in her eye or her frequent laughter?
She knew why. She was being selfish. Why had she decided all of a sudden—and at this most inopportune time—that she had some strange, disturbing desire for a man to notice her? She had never felt this way before.
Looking again at her image, she felt a weak, sinking sensation in her chest. Selfish . . . and foolish. She replaced her spectacles. What a silly thing, to entertain the slightest idea of interest in a man like the earl. He would never look at a girl like her.
Her feelings were confirmed at dinner. Cassandra was dazzling. She had dressed in a pale peach gown that that made her complexion glow. But perhaps it was the earl’s presence that did this. She chattered prettily, laughed, cast her eyes down in such a bemusing way, Jenny was certain no man could resist.
She found his eyes resting on her several times during the course of the meal. His expression was inscrutable. She imagined there was reproach there. Surely, he disapproved of her.
He asked once if she were well, since she was suddenly so quiet. She murmured an excuse and spooned butter-scotch pudding into her mouth. It was her favorite dessert, but it might have been gruel for all she tasted it tonight.
As they at last rose to adjourn to the parlor, Cassandra stepped up to Hatherleigh and slipped her hand into the crook of his arm. Jenny felt a stab of pain. It was what she’d feared. Her cousin was enamored of the earl.
What a stupid girl she was to allow it to bother her like this.
“You must excuse me,” she said. “I think I will retire. I find myself suddenly very fatigued.”
She could only have imagined that the earl seemed disappointed. He bowed and murmured a farewell, adding, “I hope I shall see you on the morrow.”
&nb
sp; “Tomorrow?”
Cassandra smiled. “The earl shall accompany us tomorrow shopping, Mama just said. Did you not hear her, silly? You will see him then, Jenny.”
He was only being polite. He surely was anxious to see Cassandra, not her. “I have other plans,” Jenny said quickly.
She could barely stand civilly as the earl studied her, then inclined his head. “I look forward to the next time, then. Good night.”
“Good night, Jenny, dear,” Cassandra called back happily as they parted ways in the hallway. Cassandra cocked her head to the side so as to best angle a coquettish look up to the earl. “She is sneaking away to read, I’ll wager. Oh, well, it is best she runs along to her books. She is such a sweet little mouse, but odd. She prefers solitude to polite company. I will never understand it.”
Her laughter tinkled prettily in the air.
The comment left Jenny stinging. Would the earl think her socially backward and odd, as everyone else seemed to? She cringed, thinking he definitely would.
That made her unaccountably sad, a strange reaction, since she was getting what she always wanted: to fade into the background. Yet . . .
Just this once, she would have liked to shine.
Chapter Two
The following day, while Cassandra and Iris were strolling the fashionable shops of London with the handsome Earl of Hatherleigh, Jenny sat by a low fire in the small library, reading. It was her favorite spot, and her favorite pastime. With the curtains drawn against the gloom and the soft spatter of a downpour that had begun a few moments ago, it was cozy. She should have been contented in the quiet house.
She had been completely absorbed by Miss Jane Austin’s Northanger Abbey since she’d brought it home a few days ago, rushing through the pages to find out what happened next before she caught herself and forced a slower pace so that she could savor every luscious word. Yet today, her mind wandered, and she could not concentrate on the story.
She was doing her best not to think about Cassandra’s giddiness before the earl arrived, about how lovely she looked in her blue dress with her hair caught in a shining cascade of ringlets, or how enchanted the earl must have been when he saw her. Would it dawn on him that he had to look no further than this daughter of a distant cousin if he wished to marry a fine lady of breeding?
Cassandra would charm him, and Jenny told herself vehemently that she hoped she was successful. Was she not always dedicated to Cassandra getting what she wanted?
She sighed, putting her mind to her book again to escape the wayward direction of her thoughts. Cassandra’s parting words of last night came back to her.
A mouse, she’d called her. Jenny cringed. It was true that she often preferred her books to the company of others, something her relatives never understood. It was because she always felt she had to play a role with Aunt Iris; the helper, the dutiful ward, always pleasant and aware of her gratitude for a home. But in books, she was free to dream of other lives, other adventures. And romance was so pure, so obviously right (even if the heroine did not know it at first, the reader certainly did).
Jenny would have never admitted it to anyone, but regardless of the liabilities of her age and the unflattering comparison to the beauty of her cousin—which she had encouraged, so she was partly to blame!—she hoped to eventually have a suitor or two. She desired marriage, after all. A life of her own, no longer the poor relation—and children. She very much wanted children.
When she picked up the book again, her mind supplied an image of the kind, patient Henry. It was the earl’s face, his smile, and Susan, poor timid creature, took on the aspect of a girl with honey hair and spectacles to hide behind.
She slammed the book shut. This was no good.