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But not today. Today she felt distracted, restless, and decidedly odd. Perhaps it had something to do with that ball last evening and the way she had been compelled to dance with Lord Carlisle. He had been gallant in rescuing her from the odious Mr Spicer, but she still hadn’t liked her hand being forced, so to speak. And she didn’t like the way he looked at her in a speculative way, as if he was sizing her up.
She kept walking. Marianne had told her that he was a charming gentleman, a good friend of both hers and her husband’s, but Jane wasn’t sure about that. Her own opinion was that men were only charming when they wanted something. Still, she supposed she should be polite to him, given he was a friend of her sister’s. But if she encountered him at another ball and he asked her to dance again, she would be firm in her refusal.
Dancing with gentlemen led to conversation, which led them to thinking something more. It was a dangerous game to play. She had learnt a long time ago to simply not engage at all. It was much more straightforward that way. That way no one was confused about what was going on.
Lord Carlisle had been a better dancer than most gentlemen, at least. He hadn’t stood on her toes or bumped into her. In fact, when his hand had rested on her own, it had been rather pleasant, making her skin tingle in the strangest of ways. What had that been about? It had never happened before. Ever.
Jane sat down on a rock, gazing out to sea. A tall ship, its white sails billowing, was sailing in the far distance. Looking at the ship made her think about her mother. Mama had liked to watch the ships like this, guessing where they were going to or where they had come from.
Her mother had sometimes sat for hours gazing out to the sea, a faraway look in her eyes, while Jane and Marianne had built sandcastles. Jane had always wondered what she was thinking about. At the end, when her mother confessed her secret, Jane had finally realised what that look was about.
Her heart twisted. Next week would be the anniversary of her mother’s passing. A sad time in the family. Her father would grow silent, locking himself in his study. Marianne would be with them this year, for which Jane was grateful. Her older sister would probably suggest going to the small graveyard on the hill overlooking the sea and placing some flowers on their mother’s grave. Yellow roses. They had always been Mama’s favourite flower.
Five years she has been gone, and yet, it still seems like only yesterday.
Jane stood up, dusting the sand off her gown, and the old, sad memories with it. They hurt. But sometimes, it was good to remember, too. Sometimes, when she felt a bit lonely and lost in her resolution to spend her life alone as she did now, it was good to remember her mother and what marriage had done to her. It reaffirmed her purpose.
Feeling better at last, she headed back to the house. She had promised Marianne she wouldn’t be long. For some reason, her sister worried about her if she took too long, which Jane could never understand. She knew these beaches like the back of her hand. She had been walking them forever, after all.
But today, she didn’t mind her walk being curtailed. She wanted to make the most of every moment her sister was here before she headed back to her home in Brighton. She missed Marianne’s constant, calm presence. And Marianne was very good at managing Lucy, too. Much better than Jane, who was often impatient, infuriated, or downright bored by their cousin.
She felt the familiar surge of irritation at the thought of Lucy. No doubt, their parlour would be filled with gentlemen callers again after her success at last night’s ball—simpletons buzzing around her like bees around a honeypot, all vying for her attention. No doubt Lord Carlisle would be amongst them. She had overheard him talk disparagingly about Lucy, but nonetheless, he had danced with her, looking as entranced by her cousin as they all did.
She sighed heavily. She prayed Lucy would pick one soon and be done with it. Then her cousin would be safely married, have her own home, and Jane would never have to put up with her extended visits again. She could only hope.
***
Percy buttered his toast and dipped it into his boiled egg. Freddie had his head buried in the morning’s papers, grunting occasionally at an article that raised his ire. Mrs Holloway, the owner of the quaint establishment overlooking the sea, walked into the dining room carrying a fresh pot of tea, laying it on the table in front of them.
“And what is the plan for today, gentlemen?” she asked, her singsong voice strongly laced with the local accent.
Percy wiped his mouth with his napkin, gazing at the old lady. Mrs Holloway was short and as round as a butterball, with wispy silver hair and kind, twinkling blue eyes. She seemed to know everything there was to know about Seaborne and the district around it.
“I am not sure yet, Mrs Holloway,” he said. “I want to start the search for a house. Do you know of any that are up for sale that would suit me?”
The lady considered this. “Well, there is the old Rankin’s house on the hill,” she said, frowning slightly. “It is a bit rundown, to be sure, but it is still one of the finest houses in the area. You would probably get it for a song, my lord. It has been vacant for two years or more.”
Percy straightened, feeling a thrill. “Really? That might be perfect. Who is the seller, and how would I get in contact with them to view the property?”
“That would be old Mr Rankin,” she said. “He lives with his son and family in town now. The big place got too much for him. I can write down his direction, if you like?”
“Yes, please, Mrs Holloway,” said Percy, feeling another stab of excitement.
The lady promised to do so, leaving the room. Freddie put down his paper.
“Are we house hunting today then, Carlisle?” he asked.
“Perhaps,” said Percy. “I want to call upon this Rankin man at least and talk to him about the house. If all goes well and the price is acceptable, we might be able to wangle a look at it later this afternoon.” He hesitated. “But I want to make another house call first.”
Freddie stared at him curiously. “I see. Upon whom are you calling?”
“Lady Jane Metcalfe,” he said. “I am seriously thinking of proposing to her.”
Freddie had picked up his tea, taking a sip as Percy replied. Now he spluttered the beverage down his chin. Percy calmly handed him a napkin. Freddie dabbed at his mouth before turning to his friend, staring at him incredulously.
“Did I just hear you say what I thought you did?” He shook his head. “Carlisle, that is very fast work, even for you! Did you and the lady fall violently in love in the few short hours we were at that ball without me noticing?”
Percy rolled his eyes. “Hardly. Love has nothing to do with it, nor ever will.” His voice grew brisk. “Marriage is simply a business matter, like purchasing a horse or anything else. You know it is one of the reasons I came here. The ladies in Brighton and London are too brittle, ambitious, and jaded. I want a simpler lady, and Lady Jane seems to fit the bill. That is all.”
