Page 9 of An Engagement with the Enemy

Sometimes, that hadn’t seemed fair at all. Other times, Jessica counted herself fortunate that she had retained one parent and a younger brother. Things could have been worse.

What had they been speaking of before her mind wandered?

Oh. “Lady Emily seemed bored rather than cruel,” she observed with a shrug.

“Does the lady’s boredom extend to Mr. James?” Bessie asked, finishing the stays. The maid went to the bed and retrieved stockings she had laid out while Jessica washed.

“It must. Catherine expects Lady Emily to leave this morning. I wouldn’t be surprised if they have already climbed into their carriages with all their baggage, servants, and little dogs.”

“A pity, that.” A sigh of disappointment left Bessie’s lungs with a heaviness that made Jessica raise her eyebrows.

“Did you have high hopes for James Aldwick’s courtship?” she asked, not bothering to hide her incredulous tone. Over the years, Bessie had listened to every word Jessica had said about James. Every complaint, censure, and criticism,, usually uttered in a moment of dressing or undressing, about her dearest friend’s brother had always been met with sympathy from the maid. That she expressed pity for the man didn’t make any sense.

Bessie helped Jessica put on her gown. “Not hopes, miss. Not precisely. I know he vexes you something awful, and I wouldn’t want you to think I’ve put that aside. I just thought that if he married fast, there’d be less reason for you to see him this summer. He’d be too busy courting to offer the usual torments when you and he go to the same parties, or when Miss Aldwick invites you to her home. A man wooing a lady doesn’t have time to tease anyone else.”

Jessica stood perfectly still, now in front of her mirror as Bessie made final gentle tugs to the shoulders of the dress, ensuring everything was in its correct position.

She hadn’t given much thought to what James’s wife hunt would mean for her interactions with him.

“I suppose that makes sense,” she said softly, studying her own expression in the mirror. She frowned at herself. “Perhaps I ought to hope that the next lady he meets will capture his fancy. Or she will find herself enamored with him—though heaven only knows what lady would.”

Bessie turned her attention to Jessica’s hair, and the conversation to who else had attended the ball. After recounting all the news she had heard, and ensuring that Bessie knew Jessica appreciated her work, Jessica left her bedroom for the family dining room.

Her father sat in his usual place at the head of the table. He had tea before him, but nothing else, and he held a book in his hand which he lowered the instant he saw Jessica come into the room. His eyes darted from her to the long case clock near the door, then back again. He smiled with an indulgent fondness that Jessica never failed to return.

“Eleven of the clock, my dear. I broke my fast an hour ago.”

“And you waited for me this long when you could have been tucked up in your study to read?” She came to his side and placed a kiss on his cheek, then took her chair nearest his left. “Are you so anxious for news of last evening’s entertainment?”

“Not in the least, so long as you enjoyed yourself. I take it you must have, since you remained for the whole evening.” He had left two hours after their arrival.

“I did. Catherine and I danced until we wore our slippers through.” A warming pan kept a small selection of meats and pastries at the ready for her, though the textures were not as enjoyable as they would have been if she’d been at breakfast an hour earlier. “The esteemed Lady Emily is expected to leave today.”

“Oh? I suppose she wasn’t impressed by our rather rustic charm?” Father chuckled and put his book on the table. “Lord Retford isn’t likely to be in a cheerful mood today, then. Perhaps I will pay him a call.” Mr. Westcote, the second son of an earl and now brother to one, had always been on excellent terms with his neighbors and never acted as though he were of any more importance than anyone else.

It often made Jessica wonder how her cousins, also children of an earl, had turned out with such marvelously high opinions of themselves.

“He will appreciate a friendly face,” she agreed, somewhat deflated. Here she had taken some glee in James’s predicament, but her father had immediately felt concern for his neighbor.

She twirled a silver spoon in her hand, absentmindedly stirring her tea, lost in a sea of conflicting emotions.

“Jessica, my dear,” her father said, his voice laced with a mixture of concern and determination. She glanced up, finding a serious expression etched on his usually jovial face. “I believe it is time we have a serious conversation about your future.”

She blinked, her spoon clattering against the porcelain cup. The sudden shift in tone caught her off guard, and she searched his face for any hint of jest. But the lines etched on his brow and the unwavering gaze in his eyes told her he was anything but lighthearted.

Her mind leaped to several possible explanations for his sudden shift in temperament. Was someone ill? Her uncle, the earl, perhaps? Or Tom—her younger brother?

“I don’t understand, Father,” she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper. “Why is there a need to discuss my future? Has something happened?”

Mr. Westcote’s gaze softened, and he reached across the table, gently placing his hand over hers. “No, my dear. All is well. You see, last night at the ball, I had a conversation with Baron Retford. He made me realize that perhaps I haven’t been as mindful of your future as I should have been.”

“What do you mean? What has the baron to do with my future?”

“He is hoping his son will find a wife.”

Jessica momentarily squeezed her eyes shut. Must all her conversations revolve around her sworn enemy? “Yes, that is what Catherine and I suspected was behind Lady Emily’s invitation.”

“He hasn’t given up at Lady Emily,” her father informed her. “There will be others.”