When Ripley accepted Delacourt’s invitation to a fete at his estate, he’d expected it to be a large gathering where he could fade into the woodwork except when someone from the club recognized him. Or an old admirer from his boxing days. He had ready responses for that and in the end, those who approached him weren’t really interested in him, just what they believed him to be.
But he was surprised to discover, as he was led to the parlor where he had been told the rest of the party was gathered, that it was an intimate group.
Delacourt crossed to him after he’d been announced, hand outstretched in what seemed to be genuine friendship. It was returned, in truth. Ripley liked Delacourt. He was good for Esme and good to her, which was even more important. And he had a wicked right cross that anyone could respect.
“Ripley,” he said as they shook. “I’m so glad you made it.”
Esme was already coming across the room toward him. Ripley smiled. She was no longer the terrified woman he’d saved in an alleyway. Nor was she the rough fighter he’d helped her become. She was lovely in a green gown that matched her eyes. She looked like a lady.
And yet she still grasped his hands with both her own. “Campbell,” she said with a smile. She was one of the few people who ever referred to him by his first name.
“Es,” he returned, and lifted her hand to his lips for a brief kiss. “You look well.”
“I’m more than well,” Esme assured him. “You know some in the room, I think. Ramsbury goes to the club with Finn, I know.”
“Ripley,” Ramsbury said. “And you’ve met Marianne.”
“My lady,” Ripley said to Ramsbury’s wife. She was a lovely woman, quiet but always kind. And from the way Ramsbury sometimes went on about her, deeply loved.
“And these are our very good friends, the Earl and Countess of Kirkwood.”
Ripley nodded at Kirkwood, who also belonged to his club, though he didn’t attend quite as often as Ramsbury and Delacourt. “My lord. And it’s a pleasure to meet your wife. I’ve heard a great deal about you, my lady, all good things.”
The countess, a pretty petite woman with dark hair and eyes, smiled broadly at him. “And I of you, Mr. Ripley. All these gentlemen have such high regard for you, it’s impossible not to admire you without even knowing you.”
“Ah,” he said with a smile. “I’ll try not to let you down with the reality.”
The group laughed at the quip and Ripley realized in that moment that Jane wasn’t there. He wrinkled his brow. “But where is Jane? Miss Kendall, I mean?”
Esme’s lips tightened a fraction. “Not here yet. Though she did say she was coming, so I still have hopes she’ll do so.”
“Perhaps she just wished to be fashionably late,” Ripley suggested, but he doubted that was true.
As the group fell back into conversation that he tried to follow while he watched the door, he worried the inside of his lip. Jane wouldn’t want the attention that fashionably late would bring, especially if she had, just as he had, believed this was a large fete.
He shifted his weight a little as discomfort rose in him. She wouldn’t just not show up without sending word. Had something happened? He couldn’t help but be dragged back to a few months before when Esme and Delacourt’s troubles had led to an attack on Jane. The fear from that night returned far too easily and he was so focused on it that he jumped when Delacourt touched his arm.
“Worried?”
“Me? Never,” Ripley lied. “She did say she would attend.”
Delacourt held his stare a moment and then nodded. “I’m sure she will.”
Just as he said it, the butler appeared in the door again and said, “Miss Jane Kendall, my lords and ladies.”
He stepped away and Jane entered the room. Ripley couldn’t breathe for a moment. He’d seen Jane in all kinds of dress over the years. Seductive as a courtesan, barely covered so that there was little imagination to her shape. But also comfortable and casual in the home she once shared with Esme. And of course, he sometimes saw her dressed for her duties as shop owner, where she was staid but fashionable to send a message to those who entered her place.
But he had only ever seen her dressed as formally she was now once before. At Esme and Delacourt’s wedding ball she had worn the same gown that draped across her body presently. A dark blue with a crisscross pattern on the hem, bodice and at the end of the short, puffed sleeves. Her hair was done up simply, but she didn’t need frivolities in order to make her beautiful. Her long neck, her pale skin, her dark eyes, her full lips. Everything about her was stunning and he was, as ever, stunned.
“Jane!” Esme called out, and hustled across the room to throw her arms around her friend.
Jane squeezed her back and then looked around the room. “Oh, am I early?”
“Late,” Esme teased. “It’s only us friends tonight.”
Jane glanced at Ripley for a moment and he saw her swallow hard. Like him, she didn’t feel comfortable in such a small group of very important people. It was harder to hide.
He gave her a smile that he hoped would shore her up and she returned it a little weakly, but she allowed Esme to take her arm and all but drag her into the group. She was introduced and re-introduced to all in attendance and Ripley was pleased to see how easily she was accepted by Lady Ramsbury and Lady Kirkwood. Both were kind women and if they knew what Jane had once been, they didn’t seem bothered by it or by her current standing in life, despite it being so different from their own.
