library. “Although to keep our identities entirely concealed we should powder our hair, or perhaps wear wigs.”
“I should first shave my head bare,” Jennet said, only half in jest.
Her friend laughed. “Now that would discourage Mr. Pickering.”
As they sewed, Catherine chattered on about the many exciting parties and balls she had attended in London. Jennet felt a rare twinge of envy, for she had nothing similar to confide. Society in Renwick could only be regarded as staid and unvarying, with the occasional assembly or country dance, and she hardly bothered to attend half of those.
She didn’t mind their neighbors, or the simple pleasures they enjoyed together. Their efforts to include her, however, came more from compassion than any desire for her company. Jennet in turn had a reputation for always leaving early, but not because she quickly wearied of Renwick society. At such events she often overheard murmured remarks that illustrated the general sympathy directed toward her.
Luckless girl. I think she will never recover from being so meanly treated.
As handsome as she ever was, but far too old now to attract another offer.
At least she can be a comfort to her mother.
To keep her temper in check in those moments Jennet would then have to claim fatigue to her host and leave. She quite despised being made forever the object of pity, especially when she felt quite the opposite. How fortunate she had been, to be spared marriage to a man so unfeeling he had not even bothered to call off their wedding. No, he had run off to London, the coward, without a word to anyone. His own parents had been so ashamed by his betrayal they had packed up and left Renwick at once, and since had only rarely visited their country house.
Of what had happened immediately after she had been jilted Jennet remembered very little. She knew she must have come home with her mother, and walked upstairs to her chamber to change. When the room grew dark, she supposed she had slept; she had no recollection of any of it. Her first clear memory was standing over the torn ruin of her wedding gown, and then politely asking Mrs. Holloway to burn the shredded heap rather than use it as rags.
“Only if you’ll eat something, Miss,” the housekeeper said firmly, nodding toward the untouched tray by her bed.
“Of course.” Jennet wanted nothing but to crawl back into her bed, but starving herself to death for him seemed worse than being left at the altar. “Do forgive me.”
Seven years had passed since her jilting, years that had bestowed on her the grace of acceptance. That she had never shed a single tear, nor allowed the disgrace to rule the rest of her life, provided Jennet with great solace. She remained as she ever had been, only perhaps a little wiser about men and matters of the heart.
“Once my maid adds a bit of lace and beading, this should do,” Catherine said, drawing Jennet out of her thoughts. She tied on the black mask she had sewn, tucked a hand under her chin, and pursed her lips. “Do I appear mysterious?”
“Utterly.” Jennet pinned the ribbons to either side of her blue velvet domino. “I think I will embroider mine with some silks I have at home. I should go.”
“You cannot leave yet. All our talk of Mr. Pickering made me forget the most important news.” Her friend removed the mask and set it aside as she gave her a sly look. “It seems our old friend William Gerard has come back to Renwick. Do you think he will attend the masquerade?”
“I cannot tell you,” Jennet said, keeping her expression bland. “Why would it matter?”
“You have not heard.” Catherine’s voice dropped to a confidential murmur. “William’s father died last year from lung fever, poor gentleman, so he is Baron Greystone now.” She sighed. “Every scheming mama with an unattached daughter will be calling at Gerard Lodge. Still, Papa said he arrived only yesterday, so I think he will be too busy settling in to make an appearance.”
“I expect he will.” Jennet knew nothing would hinder the competition for Greystone’s attention; marriageable men of suitable fortune did not often take up residence in Renwick. What he had done before inheriting the barony mattered little.
Her friend peered at her. “I had expected you would have much to say on the matter.”
Jennet’s hand shook, driving the sharp end of her needle into her fingertip. The pain provided the immediate return of her