Plain Jane by MC Beaton Page B

and looking about her with wide eyes. She did not feel like herself at all. No one, not even Jane herself, had realized before that evening that she had a very pretty bosom. The rich burgundy silk of the gown, daringly cut by Felice’s wickedly clever fingers, flattered her skin, making it look warm gold in the candlelight. Her thick hair had been brushed and pomaded until it shone, revealing little fiery lights in its blackish-brown tresses.
    Euphemia had stood rather shyly beside her mother and father to receive the guests, but one glass of Rainbird’s concoction had done wonders for her, and now, to Jane’s surprise, for she had expected Euphemia to be more modest in her behaviour in London, her sister was laughing and flirting in a decidedly
fast
way.
    In fact even Mrs Hart was laughing in a loud, rather vulgar manner. All the guests were sampling the negus. Rainbird’s new brew was extremely popular.
    There was a sudden silence and then a craning of heads as Mr Brummell made his entrance. The crowd surged into the front parlour and Jane was left to herself. The double doors that normally separated front and back parlours were open.
    Jane supposed that many of the guests were famous. They certainly
looked
as if they expected to be recognized and admired. She fought down a feeling of disappointment as her wide eyes scrutinized the gentlemen. They were as studied in their manners and attitudes as the ladies. They had very loud drawling voices and wore dark evening dress with white silk stockings, cambric shirt fronts, and elaborate and intricate cravats and carried little flat chapeau-bras under their arms. As they talked, they filled out their conversation with many little bows, opening and shutting of snuff boxes, and flicking of lace handkerchiefs.
    There was another little pause in the conversation, and then the babble of voices rose again. Another notable had obviously arrived. The newcomer was Beau Tregarthan with Mr Nevill at his heels.
    ‘What a crush!’ exclaimed the beau to Rainbird as he handed over his stick in the hall. ‘And where among all these ladies am I to find the beautiful Miss Hart?’ Euphemia and Mrs Hart were now mingling with their guests and Mr Hart was standing moodily by the window, looking out into the street.
    Rainbird looked up into Lord Tregarthan’s handsome face. Such a prize should not be handed over to the cruel and insolent Euphemia. ‘Miss Hart is sitting quietly in the back parlour, my lord,’ said Rainbird. ‘If you will follow me . . . my lord . . . Mr Nevill, instead of announcing you, I can lead you from the hall through a door that leads directly to the back parlour.’
    ‘Lead on,’ said Lord Tregarthan cheerfully. The rout seemed to be an unusually noisy one. It was odd, all the same, that such a renowned beauty as Miss Hart should choose to sit quietly apart from the company.
    Rainbird bowed before Jane and said, ‘Lord Tregarthan and Mr Nevill are desirous of making your acquaintance, Miss Hart.’
    Confronted by the man of her dreams, Jane jumped up like a jack-in-the-box, blushed painfully, and sank into a deep curtsy. ‘I-I am n-not Miss Hart,’ she stammered. ‘I am Miss Hart’s younger sister, Jane.’
    Lord Tregarthan looked down at the diminutive figure, liking the clear candour of her eyes, the innocence of her face combined with the startling sophistication of her gown. ‘Pray be seated, Miss Jane.’ He drew up a chair beside her and turned to Mr Nevill. ‘Peter, be so good as to find us a glass of whatever it is they are drinking.’ Mr Nevill left and Lord Tregarthan turned his attention back to Jane.
    ‘They are all very merry,’ he said. ‘It is unusual to serve anything to drink at a rout.’
    ‘I did not know that,’ said Jane. ‘It is not at all what I expected. I thought there might be dancing and cards and things like that.’
    ‘No, no,’ he said seriously. ‘A rout is a form of suffering. One comes to see and be seen, to be