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Jane nodded. Charles was well known for his passion for horses and breeding. It wasn’t unusual for people to seek him out to ask his advice. She turned to watch Beatrice. Sure enough, the lady was making a beeline for the Earl. But Lucy had beaten her to him and was already at his side, batting her eyelashes at him.
Jane looked hastily away, trying to stifle her irritation. It had nothing to do with her. Let Lucy and Beatrice battle it out and let the best lady win. She must stick to her resolve and avoid him. If he approached her, she would be cool and let him know exactly where he stood. This subtle encouragement of his attention had to stop, for both their sakes. It would be a kindness to him as well.
But then, she glanced down at her gown. The shimmering, pale blue gown with a net overlay. Why had she chosen to wear it, if not to seek his admiration?
You are a fool, Jane Metcalfe, she told herself fiercely.You should not dress to seek his approval. It is only prolonging the inevitable.
“Jane,” said Charles, gazing at her earnestly. “Could we speak privately on the balcony before the dinner commences?” He paused. “There is something I must tell you.”
Jane blinked rapidly. “Oh dear, that sounds a bit alarming! I suppose so.” She gazed at her friend curiously. “You are not going to tell me that you have consumption or anything, are you?”
Charles laughed. “No, nothing like that. I am the picture of health.”
Jane nodded. She was still mystified about what he wanted to speak to her about privately, but it seemed he wasn’t going to enlighten her until they were alone. She followed him out onto the wide balcony adjoining the parlour. It was a fine night, and the Rhodes had left the doors open to it, encouraging people to get some air and look out over their splendid garden.
They were entirely alone—no one else was out here. Jane leaned against the balcony railing, breathing in the night air. The garden beyond was lit by lanterns, illuminating the rose bushes and pale white statues. She heard the faint trickling sound of a water fountain in the distance.
“Jane,” said Charles in an odd voice.
She turned away from the scene to her friend. He was looking so incredibly earnest that her first instinct was to tease him, but something stopped her. It was unlike Charles to be so serious. Usually, her friend always had a mischievous glint in his eyes and a teasing expression upon his face. Perhaps he reallydidhave a mortal illness and hadn’t wanted to alarm her when they had been inside.
Jane took a deep breath. “I am listening, Charles.”
He nodded. But he didn’t say anything. His hands were fidgeting with the cuffs of his jacket. A moment’s silence stretched between them.
“Charles,” said Jane in a gentler voice. “Just tell me what is worrying you. You are starting to scare me.”
He looked pained. “That is the last thing I want to do, dear Jane.” He hesitated. “You know you mean the world to me, do you not?”
She gave a light laugh. “Of course. We have been the very best of friends since we were young.”
“We have,” he said in a halting voice. “But I have thought of you as more than a friend for a long time now, Jane.”
She gaped at him. Surely, he was jesting with her. She waited for that mischievous smile to suddenly light up his face. But his face remained earnest. And now she saw faint beads of sweat upon his forehead.
“Charles,” she stammered. “What exactly are you telling me?”
He reached out, taking her hand. “It has been my dearest wish for a long time that you would work out how I felt about you because you felt the same way. Why do you think I am always making excuses to come back to stay in Seaborne?”
“For the air?” Her voice was light. “For the pier or the view across the sea?”
“Do not tease me, Jane,” he said in a strangled voice. “Not now. I am serious. I am in love with you. I think I may always have been a little in love with you.” He took a deep, ragged breath. “I am tired of waiting. I am tired of listening to you go on about remaining a spinster, as if you have taken holy vows. My love for you is real.”
Jane felt all the blood drain from her face. This couldn’t be happening. Her best friend was telling her he was in love with her. It was her very worst nightmare. She cared deeply for him but could never reciprocate his feelings. She didn’t want to hurt him—she would walk over hot coals to avoid it—but he had given her no choice now.
“I do want to remain a spinster,” she said in a gentle voice. “I may not have taken holy vows, but my conviction is as pure.”
She hesitated, wondering how she could say it but knew she had to just plunge in before things went any further. She didn’t want him to suddenly fall onto one knee and propose marriage. That would be disastrous.
“Charles, I care for you,” she continued, her heart beating erratically. “Truly, I do. I do not want to hurt you. But I am not in love with you. I willneverbe in love with you like that.”
He stared at her. His blue eyes were filled with pain. It hurt her immensely to see it. A part of her wanted to take back her blunt words just to take away his pain. But she knew that would be a lie and more dishonest. He must hear the truth and deal with it.
But alongside her concern at his pain, a small measure of anger was growing. He had ambushed her with this declaration, and he was doing it in a public place. At someone’s dinner party, of all places. Why he had abruptly decided that he must confess this love now while they were surrounded by people at a party was a mystery. He had given her no choice but to deal with it quickly and with the least amount of histrionics possible so that they didn’t cause a scene.
“Is that your final word upon the matter?” His voice was deceptively light. “You will never consider me in a romantic way?”
“I am sorry, Charles,” she whispered, tears in her eyes. “You have taken me completely by surprise. I never suspected you felt that way towards me.”
