Jane straightened in her chair, brushing a stray curl from her shoulder with a determined flick of her wrist. “Then we shall speak of something else,” she declared. “Politics, religion, or the weather?”
A laugh escaped Olivia’s lips. “Not the weather. Never the weather.”
Just then, a sudden commotion drew their attention to the side door leading to the salon. The door swung open, and a small gaggle of finely dressed ladies emerged in a flurry of muslinand lace. Their heads were bowed close together, and their fans fluttering to conceal mischievous smiles. Gentle laughter drifted through the air as they swept through the circulating library and out onto the street.
“I wonder what that was all about,” Jane murmured, her gaze following the retreating group with undisguised curiosity.
Olivia tilted her head towards the now-quiet salon door. “That particular room offers a refuge,” she explained. “It is where women gather to speak of matters they dare not utter in the drawing room. No chaperones are listening in, and no gentlemen are minding their sensibilities.”
Before Jane could reply, a familiar voice sounded from just behind them. “Good morning, ladies.”
Olivia turned in her chair to see Miss Winslow standing nearby, her fashionable bonnet tilted at a charming angle. Blonde curls framed her porcelain face, and her blue eyes sparkled with polite warmth.
“Good morning,” Olivia returned the greeting with a courteous smile.
Jane followed suit, though her smile faltered slightly, not quite reaching her eyes. “Were you in the salon?”
“I was,” Miss Winslow replied with an elegant nod. “Though I did little more than listen. One can learn the most interesting things by simply remaining silent.” She leaned in slightly, as if sharing a confidence. “I confess, I never imagined I would hear women discussing politics so freely—and so passionately—among themselves.”
Olivia gave a small sigh. “It is a shame our opinions must be hidden away in dark corners, spoken only in whispers, lest we offend the delicate pride of men.”
Miss Winslow’s smile deepened, and she gave a thoughtful nod, setting her curls in motion. “Perhaps one day that willchange,” she said. “Now, if you will excuse me, I must not be late for my appointment with the modiste.”
Jane’s gaze lingered on Miss Winslow’s retreating figure. Her expression grew wary. “I would advise caution when dealing with Miss Winslow.”
Olivia arched a brow. “Why is that? She seems harmless enough—pleasant, even.”
Jane met her gaze. “That is precisely her intent. Her innocent act is well practiced. She is far more calculating than she appears.”
“And how do you know this?” Olivia asked, curiosity piqued.
Jane hesitated, tension creeping into her posture. “I cannot say.”
“Youcannot—or youwill not?” Olivia pressed gently, her eyes narrowing with interest.
Jane’s fingers twisted the ribbons of her reticule. “Promise me you will be careful in what you say to her,” she urged.
Olivia waved a dismissive hand. “You need not worry. I hardly imagine Miss Winslow has any real interest in me. Frankly, I am surprised she even spoke to me at all, considering she is rumored to be the Diamond of the First Water this Season.”
Rising from her seat, Jane said, “I must leave before my maid takes it upon herself to storm the library in search of me.”
Olivia stood as well. “Thank you for daring your family’s disapproval to visit me.”
Jane lowered her gaze, her voice wistful. “I wish I possessed the strength to truly defy them. But I do not—not yet.”
Olivia reached out and gently squeezed her friend’s hand. “You are stronger than you believe. One day, you will see it.”
A soft smile played at the corners of Jane’s mouth. “I hope you are right.”
“I am right,” Olivia said firmly, her tone softened with affection. She reached once more for her book. “And perhaps—one of these days—you will dare to read one of the scandalous French romance novels I so dearly love.”
“I wouldn’t dare,” Jane protested.
With an amused smile, Olivia extended the book across the table. “You should,” she urged. “Do one thing each day that reminds you that you are alive.”
For a long moment, Jane stared at the book as if it were a forbidden treasure, and indecision warred on her features. Slowly, tentatively, she reached out and took the book from Olivia’s outstretched hands.
“I suppose I could manage a page or two each day,” Jane murmured, as if speaking the idea aloud would somehow make it safer.
