Page 48 of Regency Whispers: Scandalous Matches

‘What are you doing?’ Mrs Burghley’s voice rang out clear and loud through the darkness. ‘You’re kissing her?’

They sprang apart, Jane knocking into the wall behind her and bouncing back off again into Tom’s arms. Carefully he set her right and then stepped away, trying to form a useful thought instead of the pure panic that was threatening to consume him.

‘Mrs Burghley...’ Jane started to say, but was interrupted by the widow.

‘I am not talking to you. I am talking to Mr Stewart.’

He saw Jane recoil and knew it would take a lot for her to hold her tongue.

‘What is happening?’ Mrs Weyman said as she stepped out from the drawing room. He watched as her eyes roamed over their positions in the garden before widening in surprise.

‘Why did you invite me tonight?’ Mrs Burghley asked, taking a few steps towards Tom in the darkness. He didn’t answer immediately, knowing his future was now in this woman’s hands. He doubted Mrs Weyman or her husband would do anything that might tarnish Jane’s reputation, but he barely knew Mrs Burghley, and couldn’t rely on her discretion.

‘Lord and Lady Otterby thought we might enjoy one another’s company,’ he said, taking a few slow steps towards the widow. ‘And I thought we would both enjoy a night at the theatre.’

‘Then what is this?’ She gestured at the Jane and him, a look of disbelief still on her face.

‘Shall we all go inside?’ Mrs Weyman said, clutching her husband’s hand as he stepped out of the drawing room. ‘It is a very late and I am sure some of our neighbours are asleep.’

‘You invite me to the theatre, set up hopes there may be something between us, and then kiss her in the darkness?’

‘He kissed you?’ Mrs Weyman sounded shocked, a hand flying to her mouth.

Tom felt as though his head was spinning and about to explode from his shoulders. He had the urge to run, to push through the Weymans and Mrs Burghley and flee into the night. Every muscle in his body was tensed, preparing to flee, and then he caught sight of Jane’s panicked face, her eyes darting everywhere. As much as he didn’t want to be forced to marry her, she didn’t want to marry him either.

‘Perhaps we can all go inside and sort this out,’ he said, hoping the uncertainty in his voice was audible only to his own ears.

‘Forget it,’ Mrs Burghley said, spinning on her heel and pushing past the Weymans. ‘Goodbye, Mr Stewart.’ Her words sounded ominous, like a threat, and he heard Jane gasp from behind him.

The front door slammed and for a long moment no one moved.

‘I think we’d better go inside,’ Captain Weyman said eventually, ushering his wife in ahead of him. Tom waited for Jane, but as she moved past him she wouldn’t meet his eye.

‘Sit down,’ Mrs Weyman instructed gently. Tom sat on one side of the room, Jane on the other, and he was glad when the Captain placed a generous glass of whisky in his hand. ‘Now, tell me everything and we will see if we can work this out.’

‘What am I doing here?’ he murmured and leaped to his feet, throwing back the glass of whisky. ‘I will go after Mrs Burghley,’ he said, addressing Jane. ‘I will ensure she sees sense.’

Before anyone could voice a word of protest, he was out the door, following in Mrs Burghley’s footsteps from just a few minutes earlier. With luck he might catch up with her. She would be on foot for at least the first part of her journey, until she found a carriage for hire to take her home.

It was imperative he caught her and implored her to keep what she had seen to herself. Otherwise the repercussions did not bear thinking about. Either Jane would be ruined or he would have to marry her.

Chapter Fourteen

‘Calm down,’ Lucy instructed, rubbing Jane’s back. ‘It’s not worth your tears.’

Jane sniffed, trying to regain her composure. Very soon she would have to return to Lady Mountjoy’s and face the questions of the older woman, enquiring how her evening had been. Any hint of redness around her eyes and Lady Mountjoy would spot it and soon prise the story out of her.

‘It’s late,’ Jane said, glancing at the clock on the mantelpiece for the hundredth time. ‘Why isn’t he back yet?’

‘There are a hundred reasons,’ Lucy said soothingly.

‘He’s run away.’

‘No, I’m sure that’s not true.’

‘Perhaps he is on board a boat to France as we speak. Better to flee the country than be saddled with a dull spinster for a wife.’

‘Oh, Jane. You care for him, don’t you?’