sure Mrs Bellingham’s letter is in your pile,’ he said. ‘You had such a lot. Why do you always get piles and piles of letters? I never get more than two or three and most of them are just bills...’
‘Perhaps because I write lots of letters,’ Jane said, her mouth quirking at the corners. ‘It is my chief occupation most of the time—unless we go up to London to visit Mama and then it’s just non-stop balls and dinners and all the rest...’
‘Mama loves to entertain, and she has so many friends.’
‘Of course she does,’ Jane said drily. ‘They queue for the lavish dinners Porky puts on. It beats me how Mama can be exposed to all that rich food day in and day out and never put on so much as a pound.’
‘Because she eats like a bird and always did,’ Will said. ‘You’re just like her, Jane, and will never put on weight. You will invite Melia to stay with us, won’t you?’
‘Of course, if you wish it,’ Jane agreed. ‘It’s your house, my dearest. I’m your guest and I dare say you may invite whomever you wish...’
‘You know I couldn’t invite Miss Bellingham,’ Will said. ‘She must have a chaperon—and you’ve known her all her life, practically grew up together.’
‘Her elder sister was my friend,’ Jane said and a sigh escaped, because her friendship with Beth Bellingham brought back memories of Harry. Beth had been in love with him, as had most of the young girls that season...but he’d only had eyes for Jane, and she missed him so much, so very much. Sometimes in the night the ache was like a sword thrust in her chest. ‘I like Melia, Will—and I’ll be glad to invite her.’ She shuffled through her letters and opened the one from Melia’s aunt, nodding as she rose to pen an immediate answer. That done, she rang the bell and gave her letter to the footman. ‘Have that one sent immediately please, Flowers.’
‘Yes, my lady,’ the footman said, inclining his head correctly. Only the very observant might have seen the look of devotion in the man’s eyes as he bowed and left the room. Will knew that all the servants adored Jane. It wouldn’t make things easy for his wife when he married, because Jane was undoubtedly the mistress here—and he’d been glad of it until he began to realise that he was actually thinking of marriage.
‘So?’ Jane asked as she rose from her elegant chair and closed the writing desk she’d brought with her on her return from France. ‘Am I to wish you happy quite soon?’
‘Well, if Melia is of the same mind when she’s had her season, yes,’ Will said. ‘You do wish me happy, Jane? I know it makes things awkward for you...’
‘Nonsense,’ she said. ‘I’ve taken advantage of your good nature for too long. I have a perfectly good house of my own a few miles from John and Gussie and I shall probably take a house in Bath once I decide to settle. I should have done it a year ago, when I put off my blacks.’
‘But how can you live alone?’ her brother asked. ‘I know you don’t want to live with John, but Gussie isn’t too bad—or Mama...’
‘I wouldn’t dream of treading on her toes,’ Jane said, laughing softly. ‘And you know Gussie would drive me mad within a fortnight...’
‘You could stay on here. Melia likes you so much...’
‘And I like her and I want it to stay that way,’ Jane said gently. ‘No, my dearest brother, I shall not make your wife’s life difficult. It’s quite simple; I must find a companion...’
‘Well, I suppose—but who is there that you could put up with? You’re not the most patient of women, Jane.’
‘I am not in the least patient,’ she said. ‘But—do you remember Cousin Sarah? You might not recall her because you were away at school when she came to stay. It was shortly before Papa died...’
‘I seem to remember her at the funeral. She was tall and thin and plain...and her mother was always demanding things, making her life hell.’
‘Yes, well, Aunt Seraphina died last month and Cousin Sarah wrote to me asking if I knew of a position that would suit her. I was thinking of asking her on a visit to see how we got on—and, if we can bear each other, I shall set up house with her in Bath.’
‘But can you imagine what John would say to such a suggestion? Sarah Winters could never be a chaperon for you, Jane. She isn’t old enough and she has no consequence.’
‘And needs none in my house. I was married for a year before Harry died,’ Jane said, her face pale. ‘I am Lady March, a widow of independent means, and that is exactly how I intend to live...’ She arched her fine dark brows as he stared at her. ‘After the freedom of marriage and then living here with you—do you really think I could live with John and his wife?’
Will stared at her for a few minutes and then nodded. ‘Of course you couldn’t, Jane—but they will all be against it, even Mama.’
‘Mama wants me to marry again, Will. If I went to stay with her she would present me to all the eligible men she knows, and keep on doing it until I gave in. I married for love and would never marry for any other reason—indeed, I value my independence.’
‘You don’t think it might be a better arrangement to marry someone you could admire if not love? You would have a large house and a husband to help you...’
‘I couldn’t even think of it yet,’ Jane replied and her throat tightened. ‘I know it’s a year since I came out of blacks, but I still grieve; I still think of him all the time and wish...’
‘Of course you do and I’m a brute to suggest anything that upsets you, love. Please forgive me.’
Will was sincere in his apology and his sister was pleased to tell him there was nothing to forgive. They parted on good terms, Jane to write to Cousin Sarah, and Will to ride his new young horse that he had great pleasure in schooling. It had taken him a while to tame the brute, but it could go like the wind and he’d a mind to race the young stallion, riding him himself, of course. He was whistling as he strolled down to the stables, content with his world, which looked like continuing in the same happy-go-lucky way it always had.
Will was lucky. Everyone said so and he saw no reason why his luck shouldn’t continue. Melia would marry him and be content to live in the country, apart from a few visits to town, which was exactly the way he wished to live...
* * *
‘Oh, look, dear Aunt—’ Melia Bellingham opened her letter from Lady March and her deep blue eyes lit with excitement as she showed the very fine calligraphy to the lady, who had now recovered enough from her illness to sit in a chair but was still far too fragile to contemplate taking a lively young woman to London. ‘You will not mind my leaving you here alone? Please say I may go—for I am sure I am of little use to you. You always say I make your head ache, Aunt Margaret.’
The older woman sighed and sniffed the lace kerchief soaked in lily of the valley perfume. ‘You have so much energy, Amelia. It’s no wonder I find your company tiring, especially when I feel a little fragile. However, I should not wish to disappoint you in this matter, and of course you may go to Lady March. I would have preferred you to be in your sister’s care, but poor dear Beth is increasing and cannot entertain you. You must write a pretty letter to Lady March and thank her.’
‘She says she will send her
