Page 49 of Regency Whispers: Scandalous Matches

‘No. Not one bit.’

It was clear from Lucy’s expression she didn’t believe her, but thankfully she dropped that line of questioning.

‘What happened in the garden?’

Jane buried her head in her hands, trying to work out the chain of events that had led to them kissing again.

‘I was unsettled,’ she said slowly. ‘I made an offhand comment about being a plain spinster and Tom... Mr Stewart...told me I was beautiful.’

‘Was he trying to seduce you?’

‘No.’ She shook her head slowly. ‘He’s not like that.’

‘He does have a certain reputation, Jane.’

‘Not with debutantes.’

Lucy considered for a moment and then seemed satisfied. ‘Do you love him?’

‘No,’ she said a little too quickly. ‘No, it was a mistake, a collision of bodies in the darkness. In any other circumstance, nothing would have happened.’

Lucy fell silent and Jane considered her own words. She had been trying hard not to think about anything but the possible consequences. Grave as they were, they didn’t scare her anywhere near as much as the feeling she got when she allowed herself to relive their kiss. She had felt as though she were finally alive, finally allowing that spark of joy to run free within herself. It was frightening, and she knew she had to push the feelings away.

‘We need to get you home,’ Lucy said decisively. ‘Act like nothing untoward has happened.’

‘You don’t think he is coming back?’

‘It is almost midnight. Maybe he thought it better to discuss things in the morning.’

Lucy was right, he wasn’t coming back. Perhaps he would send a note in the morning, perhaps he wouldn’t. She didn’t think he would abandon her to face the gossip alone, but how well did she really know him?

‘Yes,’ she said wearily. ‘I shall go home.’

Going off to find her husband to accompany them on the short walk back to Lady Mountjoy’s house, Lucy pulled the door closed behind her, giving Jane a few minutes of much-needed privacy. She slumped back in her chair, allowing her mind to wander, to remember the heat of their kiss. She hated that her subconscious mind was still yearning for Tom, that the rebellious part of her wasn’t scared or nervous, but hopeful that this could be the beginning of something wonderful.

‘He doesn’t want this,’ Jane whispered to herself. ‘And you don’t want him like this.’

None of this had been planned. She didn’t think he had ever set out to seduce her, just as she hadn’t expected to feel an attraction to the Season’s most notorious rake.

With a burst of resolve, she checked her reflection in the small mirror hanging over the mantelpiece. Carefully she smoothed her hair, glad of its simple style which allowed her to fix the stray strands of hair easily. Her eyes looked a little red but hopefully the cold air on the walk back would make her cheeks flush too and she could blame the chill breeze.

‘Come on,’ Lucy said, re-entering the room with Jane’s coat draped over her arm. ‘Let’s get you home and you can have a good rest. Things will seem better in the morning.’

Jane buried her head under the covers as the maid bustled across the room, lighting the fire for the new day. She hadn’t slept at all, tossing and turning through the night with her mind whirring with all the possible consequences of the night before. This morning she was no closer to having things worked out and her head was pounding. She hated that her fate was in another person’s hands—really all she could do was wait to see what Mrs Burghley decided to do.

The maid finished with the fire and quietly left the room, and Jane considered pleading illness and hiding from the world in bed all day. Quickly she dismissed the idea. The last thing she needed was more time to worry about what the future would hold.

Instead she rose, pulling on her dressing gown to ward against the chill in the bedroom, and crossing to the desk to take out some papers. She was working on a story about three little field mice trying to outwit an owl, but couldn’t quite get the owl’s eyes right in the pictures she was creating to accompany it. For a while she sketched, trying one thing after another, enjoying the simplicity of her task, which forced her to concentrate but did not need her to be well rested or overly alert.

After about half an hour she sat back in her chair, satisfied. She had changed the shape of the owl’s eyes and added some tiny tufts of fluffy feathers. Later she might try adding some colour to the picture with her paints, but at this moment it was a big improvement on what she had managed before.

There was a soft knock on her door and then Lady Mountjoy poked her head in.

‘You’re awake. I wasn’t sure if you would be after your late night.’

‘I’m awake,’ Jane said, tidying up her papers and stashing them in a drawer.

‘Have you looked out of your window?’