there was so much to do and so much noise that she craved a peace she found only in her garden.
When that same elusive sense of peace settled over her here in the gentle candlelight of the town house study, Jane tried to deny it. She was tired, after all, and not herself. Else why would she feel a strange contentment in the company of a man so vain that his most pressing concern was the knot in his neck cloth?
Yet the sensation persisted until she went to her room to change for supper, forcing Jane to admit that Raleigh made it easy to be with him—and uneasy without him. Her steps faltered in front of her own door, while her gaze followed him to his, and she knew a sudden urge to follow him, to stay with him rather than greet her haughty maid.
Startled by the turn of her thoughts, Jane shook off the odd fancy that was, no doubt, the product of her strange surroundings. Raleigh was the only familiar face here; it was natural that she should cling to him. But not wise. With new determination, Jane lifted her chin and went her own way, pasting on a smile for Madeleine.
“My lady! I’ve laid out a lovely gown for you,” the maid said, holding up an elaborately flowered and flounced confection that made Jane gulp back a cry of dismay. She would look like a goose in such frills. And she never wore pastels.
“That is not mine,” she protested faintly.
“Yes, it is, my lady. The countess’s maid brought several garments to me before we left Westfield Park. They once belonged to the viscount’s sister, but she will not miss them. Each spring and fall she has an entirely new wardrobe created especially for her, so as to keep abreast of the current fashions.” The woman gave Jane a dark look that spoke volumes about her own hopelessly out-of-date costumes.
“Where is she now?” Jane asked.
“I believe she is visiting friends, an extended house party, so has not yet learned of her brother’s marriage.”
Jane wondered what Raleigh’s sister’s reaction would be. Did she take after her brother or her parents? Picturing either a cold, arrogant miss or a vain, bird-witted flirt, she shivered. “Well, I hardly need to be dressed so elaborately this evening,” Jane said. It was late, much later than mealtime at the vicarage, and after her sleepless night, she knew she would not be up much longer. She looked through the trunk and pulled out one of her own gowns, a simple gray bombazine.
“But my lady—” Jane halted the maid’s protest with a firm look. Sighing as if put upon, Madeleine shook out the wrinkled fabric. “The countess believes in dressing appropriately for every occasion, even though no guests are in attendance,” she noted.
Jane ignored the comment, for she really did not care what the countess did. She had never aspired to be a noblewoman, and she was not going to wear unsuitable clothing just because she had been forced to take a title. Nor would she ever wish to pattern her life after Raleigh’s parents.
It was not as if she were wholly ignorant of the ton, for back in Sussex, she and her siblings had made the Great House their second home. But there no one remembered to call Max “my lord.” Even though he was an earl, they were always welcome to visit, and Charlotte, beyond dressing more beautifully, had little changed when she became a countess. And Raleigh had always been, well, Raleigh—even more careless and easygoing than Max. Too careless and easygoing, Jane thought, as she remembered what a favorite he had been of her siblings.
“Please, my lady, your…hair,” Madeleine moaned. “That hat will simply not do for dinner.” Practically wrestling Jane into the small chair that sat in front of an inlaid table topped with a gilt-edged mirror, she removed the offending item with a frown of distaste, as if she would like to discard it permanently.
For a moment, Jane was left before the mirror, and although she hated the sight of it, she forced herself to look, to see the truth rather than hide behind a falsehood. Here, in Raleigh’s town house, she saw a somber girl with spectacles, her dull hair pulled tightly atop her head. It was the same plain countenance that always stared back at her, for no change in scenery could alter it.
Turning away, Jane began to rise, but Madeleine stopped her with a shriek of outrage. “Wait, my lady! Your hair, I must dress it!”
“No,” Jane said stiffly. “There is no need.” There is no point, she almost added before lifting her chin and standing. She was who she was, and she would not be ashamed.
“But, my lady, at least let me loosen it! Some curls about your face would be just the thing. It is what all the ladies are wearing.”
Jane laughed, without amusement, as she walked to the door. “Believe me, Madeleine, there is nothing in this world that can induce my hair to curl. It is straight as a board.”
“But, my lady—”
Ignoring the maid’s protests, Jane stepped into the hallway. She had no intention of sitting still for such efforts, the kind for which Charlotte regularly pleaded. She always refused her sister, and she would refuse Madeleine, as well. Charlotte might pretend otherwise, but Jane knew that no amount of fussing would alter her appearance, and she had long ago accepted her own limitations.
Better to view the world with eyes wide open than delude oneself. And with that thought, Jane grimly began descending the stairs to supper, her formerly gay temperament sadly tempered by that small reminder. She had but taken a few steps when she was further dismayed to spy another gentleman standing below with Raleigh. Halting, Jane gripped the railing as an unfamiliar sensation seized her.
It was not jealousy.
She had never been jealous of her beautiful sisters. Why, then, should she feel a prick of pique upon seeing Raleigh with his arm casually draped around a stranger? Because it meant the end of her idyllic hours alone with him? Jane drew in a sharp breath and scoffed at herself. Idyllic? Hardly. Companionable, perhaps. And certainly she had known that Raleigh would not entertain her forever. He was a popular fellow, judging from the number of invitations she had seen, so she could hardly expect him to closet himself here with her. Even if she was his wife.
“No, you must stay. I insist!” Raleigh said to the other man. Although they had not yet seen her, their words drifted up to her ears, and Jane heard Raleigh call for another plate to be set. Suppressing an errant twinge of disappointment, Jane forced herself to move. And immediately regretted it.
“I say, Raleigh, who’s that?” the stranger called out loudly upon seeing her. Although she could ignore such poor manners, Jane drew up short when he lifted a quizzing glass to study her. “Lud, isn’t your sister a bit old for a governess?” he asked.
Jane lifted her chin. It had been a long time since she had been talked about in such a fashion, when some matron would cluck over “poor Jane, the plain one.” Then, it had taken all of Jane’s Christian charity not to thrust out her tongue. Now, of course, she was an adult and well beyond such childish tantrums, but the old bitterness returned.
Would all Raleigh’s friends treat her this way? An hour ago she had been content, but now Jane wondered how she could ever fit into her husband’s world. And if this was the way of it, wasn’t she better off in Sussex? Perhaps this clever gentleman could provide Raleigh with a shoulder to cry on in Northumberland, while she returned home!
Oddly enough, the notion was not as comforting as it should have been, and Jane decided to wait before committing herself to either course. Refusing to be cowed, she continued her descent, greeting the two men at the bottom of the stairs with a curt nod. Although she glimpsed a flicker of concern in Raleigh’s eyes, Jane told herself he
