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Genevieve Penny spun around and stared, quite unable to believe what she was earing. "What, pray, do you mean she used the cream down there? My God, Annie, it's a facial balm. Did you not explain its intended use to her ladyship?" "Course I did, Jenny. I'm not daft." Her friend, an abigail like herself, punctuated her words with a roll of her eyes and settled her plump behind on the stool before the herb-strewn table. "But how could I have known Lady Avery and the viscount had a more amorous plan for the cream?" "And now she wants a pot of her own?" Jenny nervously tucked a loose sable curl behind her ear. "I gave the Feathertons' cream pot to you. My gift was meant to be our secret. I never intended for the cream find its way above stairs." Above stairs? What an awful thought. Jenny's stomach muscles cinched like an over-tight corset and she gasped for a breath. What if the Featherton ladies learned of her little gift born of supplies they paid for—blended in their own stillroom? Heaven forbid. She might find herself out on the cobbles without a reference! Where would she be then, hawking oranges on the street corner for her daily bread? She seized Annie's shoulders. "You did not tell your mistress that I gave you the cream." "Nay, of course not. Said a friend gave it to me." But as she spoke, Annie's keen eyes drifted across the table to the sealed clay gallipots on its edge. With a twist of her ample form, she broke Jenny's grip and made her way across the stillroom. "Have some made up, do you?" Prying open the lid, Annie lifted a pot to her nose and as she breathed deep, let out a pleased sigh. "Well, my lady wants two pots of the tingle cream to start—" Jenny's cheeks heated. "Lud, stop calling it that! It's not tingle cream. It's a peppermint facial cream." "You can call it what you like, but I tried a dab myself. You know...there." Annie flushed crimson and looked away. "And I own, Jenny, the way it tickled me below...positively sinful. I do not doubt it revived my lady's desire." Jenny heard Annie return the clay gallipot to the table, but then she heard something else. Her ears pricked up at a faint but unmistakable jingle of coins. As Annie turned around, she withdrew a weighty silken bag from her basket and pressed it into Jenny's palm. "My lady bade me to give the maker this, if that maker could be persuaded to oblige her with two pots today."
"You do have two spare pots, don't you Jenny? Her ladyship would be most displeased if I returned to the house without her cream." Jenny nodded absently and pushed two of the three gallipots forward. This was certainly not the use she intended when she blended the cream. But what else could she do but oblige? This was more blunt than she'd ever seen in her lifetime. "Jolly good. Knew you'd come around." With great care, Annie wedged the pots into her basket and covered them discreetly with a square of linen. "Must run now. Haven't much time, you know. I'll be needing to dress Lady Avery for the Fire and Ice Ball this eve." "Of course." Jenny glanced at the rough hewn table and the lone gallipot sitting amid the crushed herbs. "Only one left," she muttered to herself. Annie set her fist on her fleshy hip. "One? You mean that's all you have—at all? Well, dove, if I was you, I'd set about making more of that tingle cream right away." "Why should I need more?" Jenny raised her brow with growing suspicion. Beneath the snowy mobcap, Annie's earlobes glowed crimson. "Well...I might have overheard Lady Avery telling Lady Oliver about her thrilling discovery of an amazing cream. Of course, I knew she was talking about the tingle cream. And Jenny, Lady Oliver was most interested." A jolt raced down Jenny's spine. "You do not mean others in Society know of this? Lud, this is a bloomin' disaster." "Oh, Jen, you're getting all foamy for nothing. What's so wrong with an abigail making a few quid on the side? Who knows, a Society connection could be the very thing to catapult your sales and help you remove yourself from debt for good." Jenny forced a snort of laughter, but as the idea settled upon her, she became very still. Criminy. The idea was intriguing, even if a little mad. But the more she thought about it, the more enticing the suggestion became to her. No, no, this was ridiculous. She couldn't possibly produce enough pots to clear her accounts—not without getting the sack from her employers.
Could she? Rising, Jenny walked to her supply cupboard, twisted the wooden door wedge and peered inside. She was keenly disappointed at what she saw—or rather at what she didn't see. The cupboard was nearly bare. She'd need more emulsifying agent. Plenty more. Gallipots too. Of course she'd have to distill some more Mitcham peppermint. This was going to be real work. But she would do it. In fact, if she very worked hard, she might even come to terms with her accounts before the last spring leaf unfurled. If not before. She had a Society connection, after all. "Jenny, are you listening?" She looked up blankly. "I need to stop by Bartleby's and retrieve some ribbon for my lady. Care to join me?" Annie scooped up a guinea from the table and flipped it spinning through the air. She grinned as Jenny opened her palm and caught the coin before it hit the table. "Why not." Tossing the glittering coin atop the pile, Jenny cupped her hand and neatly corralled the ten guineas in the silk bag. She looked up and flashed a jubilant smile. Annie laughed. "Won't the shop keep be gobsmacked when you actually pay ten guineas on your account?" Jenny winced a little. "Well, maybe not the full ten. I think I might stop by the apothecary and fetch a few more supplies." Annie's eyes widened with excitement. "Does this mean you're going to do it—start a business?" "A business? Oh, I don't know." Moving to the wall hooks, Jenny crowned herself with her new velvet bonnet, then swept her perfectly coordinated pelisse over her shoulders. "But it can't hurt to have few more pots of...tingle cream on hand, now can it?" Muffling their giggles so they wouldn't be overhead by the Featherton ladies above stairs, Jenny and Annie headed out the door in the direction of Milsom Street.
"The man is entirely unreasonable!" Jenny jerked the handle hard, slamming Bartleby's shop door behind her. "Eight guineas I paid him, and still he wouldn't let me put the pearl earbobs on my account." With envious eyes, Jenny glanced down at Annie's neatly tied packet of ribbon. Annie stuffed the parcel into her basket and drew the linen doily over top as if purposely hiding it from Jenny's view. "You must owe him an awful lot." Jenny shrugged. "I suppose. But I am a loyal customer. He should have more faith." "Can I ask...how much you owe?" "I don't know really. Dropped all his notices in the dustbin. After all, he needn't remind me that I owe him payment. It is not as if I've forgotten." "There's Smith and Company too, don't forget. What was it you put on account there?" "A black bear muff. You should buy one. Most fashionable this season." Jenny wrinkled her brow as they walked. "I should have brought it today. Would have kept my hands warm as embers." Annie sighed. "And then there's the jeweler on the Lower Walk—a quartet of garnet buttons, wasn't it?"
Annie stepped before Jenny and caught her shoulders. "Just look at you, Jenny. We're headed for the markets and you're wearing a pelisse of apple green Kerseymere, vandyked with satin! Why do you do it? What need have you for fine gowns, and trinkets? You are wasting what little money you earn on this nonsense. You are a lady's maid, Jenny. Not a real lady." "I am." Jenny caught Annie's wrists and yanked them from her. "Or I would have been...had my father married Mama. He was a highborn gentleman, you know." "Yes, I do know. But, ducks, he didn't marry your mother, and you are not a lady, no matter how you dress and adorn yourself." Jenny was about to snap a retort, when the sun's reflection off a large shiny object momentarily blinded her. When her eyes refocused she found herself looking at the most exquisite, certainly the most modish, carriage she'd ever seen in Bath—or even London. "Gorblimey! Will you look at that, Annie? Have you ever seen anything so grand?" Jenny started slowly toward the conveyance, feeling quite incapable of stopping herself. "Come on, Annie, I have to see inside the cab." "Jenny, no." Annie ticked her head toward the first pairing of ebony horses. "The footman. He's bound to stop you." "Oh botheration. You can keep him busy for me. Come on, Annie, be my friend and chat him up, whilst I just go and have a tiny peek inside, all right?" "Jenny, you can't." But Jenny's boots were already upon the cobbles and she was making her way to the far cab door. Once Jenny heard the sultry tones of Annie's voice mingling with those of the footman, she crouched low and skulked around the gleaming carriage. Rising up, she peered wide-eyed through the door's lower window panes. To her delight, the cab was empty. Now, if only the door was...she pressed the latch down, and the door opened. Jenny smiled and gave a wink to the heavens, for someone up there was certainly looking out for her this day. The scent of new leather slipped through the crack and she greedily breathed in its essence. Oh, this was better than she'd hoped. And what with the door being open, this was practically an invitation to slip inside, was it not? Besides, it would hurt no one for her to indulge herself for just for a moment. Jenny glanced warily in both directions, then, confident she'd not be seen, put her foot on the step and eased herself inside the cab. Oh, it was all simply glorious. She was almost giddy with pleasure as she ran her hand over the interior walls, resplendent with a gold-pressed crimson silk which perfectly set off the dark burgundy leather benches. Eagerly, she fluttered her fingertips over the leather wrapped seat, which was quite easily as soft as fresh churned butter. She eased herself back, allowing her bonnet to settle against the headrest. "Oh, yes," she purred. It was like resting on a cloud. Jenny had just closed her eyes, imagining herself being whisked to the Upper Assembly Rooms for the Fire and Ice Ball this eve, when she heard a man's stern voice. "Madam, might I be of some assistance?"
Startled, Jenny snapped her eyes wide open and jerked her head upright. She blinked into the cool afternoon light streaming through the open door. Outside the opposite side of the carriage stood a huge, kilted gentleman, who was stooping down and peering back at her. Oh, dear. Don't panic. Just stay calm. But already, as she stared back into the man's dark brown eyes topped with scowling brows, she could feel her heart slamming madly against her ribs. Lud, what must he think? She knew what she would think if she found a strange woman relaxing in her town carriage. Well, if she had one. She'd think the woman was quite mad. Or...maybe a thief. A thief? Heavens. What if he called a constable? "I believe ye have mistakenly boarded my carriage," the Scotsman said with a controlled level of gentility that surprised her. "Might I help ye find yer own, my lady?" He leaned back then and glanced down Milsom Street, grimacing slightly when he obviously saw no other fine conveyance parked upon the cobbles. "Oh, I—" But no other words were coming. Lord help her. Think, Jenny, think. Then, inexplicitly, the perfect explanation planted itself in her mind. "Kind, sir," she managed, lifting her hand weakly to her brow. "Pray, forgive me. My head began to swirl and I needed to sit down. The sensation came upon me so quickly, I was forced to seek my ease inside your carriage." "Och, I see." The Scotsman seemed to take to her words immediately, and his eyes softened with concern. "Has it passed— the spell, I mean?" She nodded her head and offered a thin smile. "Indeed it has. Just this moment, in fact." Furtively, Jenny laid her hand on the door latch and pressed down. The door sprung open. "I am sorry to have troubled you. I will go now." A look of surprise lit the Scotsman's eyes, and quite suddenly, he disappeared from the far door. Jenny shoved the carriage door beside her wide and leapt down, hoping to escape, but the Scotsman had already circled round and caught her elbow before she could flee. "Please allow me to assist ye by offering a ride to yer home." A few yards away, Jenny could see Annie, her eyes wide and mouth gaping, standing with the footman near the lead pair of horses. Jenny turned back to the Scotsman. "No need, sir." She wrenched her elbow from his grasp. "My abigail can escort me. I own, I have fully regained my strength and my residence is not so far away. Again, I am sorry, sir. Do excuse me." With that Jenny shot up the flag way, hooking Annie's arm as she passed and dragging her along with her. "Very well then. Good day," the gentleman called out in a confused tone, as the two women scurried around the corner on their way to Queen Street. "Lord above! You're mad, Jenny. I told you not to do it," Annie lamented. "But no, you climbed inside the bloody town carriage anyway." Jenny slowed her step and stilled. "I know, Annie, but the carriage was so lovely. You can't imagine how extraordinary it was. I only wanted to board and see what it felt like to travel like a lady of the ton. Just for a moment." "When are you going to give up your impossible dream of becoming a lady? Do you not see the trouble it causes you? You are indebted to half the shopkeepers on Milsom."
"Well you had better, before Bath's markets send the constables after you for stiffing them." Jenny focused on the swish of her skirts and the rhythm of her boots as she walked, anything to keep from looking her friend in the eye. Annie was right, of course. But this time, she might actually be able to do something about her debt. The cream could solve all her worries. Reaching inside her reticule, Jenny retrieved the two guineas she had left. "Come on, Annie. I need to stop at the dispensing apothecary on Trim Street. I have some supplies to purchase."
Later that afternoon, above stairs, Jenny fastened the last button of Miss Meredith Merriweather's ball gown, then tossed the back of her mistress' skirts into the air so she could see the luminous effect the sheer, rose-festooned overdress created.
"Oh, you look like an angel, Miss Meredith." Jenny smiled, proud of her own handiwork. "You'll be the envy of every lady in attendance." Meredith chewed her lip, and twisted a thick coil of copper hair around her finger. "I'm just not sure, Jenny. I think I might like the saffron gown better. This is my very first ball—and even though I've not come out yet, I want to look my best. What do you think?" "Both gowns are lovely, miss. And you know as well as I that ‘tis the woman inside that makes the gown beautiful." "I suppose..." Jenny folded her arms across her chest. Meredith was damned lucky to be allowed to attend any society event—even in staid old Bath. True, young ladies often were permitted to hone their social skills in the spa city before later coming out in London, but Meredith was a real hoyden. Meredith peered at her reflection in the cheval mirror, then whirled around to face Jenny who stood behind her. "I wish I could see them both at the same time." She arched her brows expectantly. "What do you mean?" "You and I measure for size more closely than the Brunswick twins. Will you not slip into the saffron gown, then we can both go downstairs to the drawing room and let my aunts choose which is best suited for me." "Oh, no, I couldn't possibly." Jenny knew she ought to protest more strongly, owing to her position in the household, but goodness, she could barely restrain herself from dashing to the bed and throwing the gown over her head that very moment! Meredith took Jenny's hands into her own and pushed her bottom lip outward in a pretty pout. "Please, Jenny. For me?" Jenny glanced down at the floor, as if considering the proposition. She counted to ten, for anything less would not be convincing, before returning her gaze to her mistress. "Oh, very well. But only if you explain to your aunts that this was your idea, not mine. Wouldn't want to cause trouble with the ladies, you know."
Meredith giggled at that. "What a thing to say, Jenny! You've been part of this household since you were a child. Why, they think of you more as a daughter than a lady's maid. Now, raise your arms for me." Jenny laughed as Meredith assisted her into the saffron gown. "This exercise will likely all be for naught anyway for I doubt the gown will fit my form." But of course, she knew it would. Perfectly in fact. For more than four days after Mrs. Russell, the modiste, had completed the gown for Meredith, Jenny had secretly sequestered the finery in her own small chamber. Each night she'd withdrawn it carefully from her trunk, eased into it, adding the requisite citrine earbobs and pendant she'd acquired from Smith and Company, then slipped up the stairs to peer by candlelight at her reflection in the cheval mirror. Meredith fastened the last button then stood side by side with Jenny. They both blinked into the mirror with astonishment. Jenny could not help but stare at her reflection in the cheval glass. In the daylight, the gown emphasized the golden highlights in her ordinary brown hair, and the vibrant greens in her hazel eyes. La, she felt positively regal. She felt...like a lady. "Oh, Jenny," Meredith gasped. "You're...beautiful. I mean it. I always thought you were pretty, but...just look at you. You look like a princess." It took Jenny a moment to find her voice. "Well, I don't look like the old Jenny Penny anymore, that's for certain." She gave a small laugh as she turned and dropped a pronounced curtsy to Meredith. "So pleased to meet you, Miss Meredith. I am Lady Geneiveve, Countess of Below Stairs." Meredith laughed, then turned Jenny to face the mirror once more. "You are truly beautiful." Jenny bowed her head, hoping the ridiculous tears swimming along her lashes would remain in place. "We must show my aunts. Come on!" "Oh no, Miss Meredith, I don't think-" But it was too late. Meredith snatched up her hand and within a blink, Jenny found herself being whisked down the stair treads to the drawing room. In any other household, an abigail caught for whatever reason in her lady's clothing might well be dismissed on the spot. But Jenny knew she had nothing to fear in the Featherton home. No, her employers, two peculiar old spinsters, had as strong a penchant for mischief as their grandniece Meredith, and would surely delight in the diversion of seeing their maid trussed up in a gown of the first cut. Giggling uncontrollably, Meredith threw open the drawing room door. "Aunties, may I present my dear friend, Lady Genevieve." With that, she propelled Jenny through the doorway and into the center of the drawing room. In an instant, Jenny regretted setting foot outside Meredith's chamber. Regretted leaving her bed that morning. For her employers, the grand ladies, Letitia and Viola Featherton, who might have enjoyed Meredith's game under more intimate circumstances, were not alone. There, standing before Jenny was a towering, dark-eyed, kilted gentleman. The very same Scot, in fact, whose carriage she had had the audacity to invade only two hours earlier.
The Scotsman lifted a sardonic brow as he slowly surveyed Jenny from boot to crown. "My lady," he said, in the deep, dulcet tones of the Highlands. "I am so verra pleased to make yer acquaintance,"— amusement played briefly on his lips—"again."
End of Chapter One.
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