Page 68 of A Stormy Season

She stepped out of her office to watch him walk across the shop. Just as he reached the door, he turned and looked back at her. He waved, a flick of his hand, put his hat on and was gone.

Catherine was watching her with a wide smile. “Fortunate girl.”

Thankfully it was a slow day due to the rain and there were no customers in the shop.

“Whatever do you mean?” Jane ran her hands down her skirt, smoothing invisible wrinkles.

“You know what I mean. That man is in love with you.”

“You don’t know that.” Jane’s stomach twisted as she realized she desperately wanted it to be true.

“I know he came to see you. Why would he come here? No one was here, so he’s not trying to keep up the appearance that you are engaged. And he was obviously a bit nervous. Men don’t get nervous when they visit a young lady who means nothing to them.” Catherine crossed her arms, looking like she was waiting for Jane to confess.

Jane shrugged. “I don’t think he was particularly nervous.”

“But how do you feel about him? Do you still think of him as you used to, as the man every woman was in love with for no good reason other than that he was a young widower and they felt sorry for him?”

“I don’t think I ever said that.”

“Of course you did. Several times.”

Jane took in a deep breath and let it out. “He is a good man who loves his son. Beyond that, I suppose one could also say he is brave and courageous when faced with danger. And he is earnest and eager to do the right thing.” She could feel her cheeks flushing.

“You love him, don’t you?” Catherine whispered.

Jane sighed again. “I think I do.” She winced and chewed her lip.

“Then you must do something about it.”

“And what is this thing I should do about it?” Jane folded her arms, mimicking Catherine.

Her friend suddenly threw her arms out wide. “I don’t know but you must make him understand your feelings, for I am sure he already returns them.”

“Would you have me be like those girls I saw at that ball a few weeks ago who were flirting so much with him that he had to leave early to get away from them? I have never been one to shamelessly throw myself at a man.”

“This is different and you know it. You have spent enough time together to understand his character, and he yours. There is no reason not to pursue his good opinion and to reveal your good opinion of him. Besides, I believe he already is in love with you, or at least well on his way to being in love.”

Jane wondered if Catherine was right. She’d never felt this way before. Should she let Luke know of her feelings—feelings that were so new, she was still unsure of them?

Flirting and letting a gentleman know of her feelings of attachment for him had always seemed to go against both Jane’s sense and her sensibility. But perhaps it was only her pride that held her back.

She suddenly had a niggling thought that perhaps those young ladies might be the wise ones, for instead of worrying what other people thought of them and trying to hide their feelings, they were making themselves available for love and marriage. They were going after what they wanted and believed would make them happy. After all, the gossips would not have any bearing on their future happiness. Why should they care what the gossips whispered about them?

Jane cared, even though she’d always said she didn’t. But now she was thinking it was high time she stopped caring.

She groaned and put her head in her hands.

Chapter Twenty-One

When Jane arrived home, Penelope was coming down the stairs.

“There you are. I am sorry to say that instead of having a nice quiet dinner with only us and Luke, my late husband’s cousin, Lord Hampstead, will be joining us for dinner. He’s also bringing his wife and his wife’s younger sister, Miss Campbell.”

Penelope looked distracted as she glanced over her shoulder, back toward the kitchen.

“I’m sure all will be well,” Jane assured her. “Luke knows how to make conversation, and Lord Hampstead is not too much of an ogre that we can't deal with him for one night.”

“An ogre? No, not at all. But . . .” Penelope sighed. “Truth be told, he brings up bad memories for me.” So seldom did Penelope frown or look distressed, but she was doing so now. “But that is not very gracious of me.”