aversion?’
‘Oh, no, sir, no aversion at all.’
‘Then I shall do everything in my power to make you love me.’
‘Can one make someone do something like that? I mean, is it not something we cannot help, that is beyond our power to command or deny?’
‘Perhaps, but perhaps the feeling is already there, hidden inside ourselves and simply needs bringing to the fore and acknowledging. Do you understand me?’
‘Oh, perfectly, Mr Allworthy.’
‘Then what do you say?’
‘Sir, I cannot give you an answer today. Marriage is an important step for anyone to take and I need to think about it.’ She smiled. ‘I was too young before, carried along on someone else’s enthusiasm. I did not know what I was doing. I do not want to make the same mistake again and it has made me cautious.’
‘I understand, indeed I do. I shall not press you for the present.’ He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed the back of it. His lips were cold and dry on her skin. ‘But allow me to hope. In your kindness, allow me that.’
She looked into his face. It was a handsome face, squarish, with a strong jaw and high cheekbones. His eyes were dark, unusual for someone with fair hair, and his brows were straight and thick. As far as she could tell, his expression was one of deep sincerity. ‘I cannot forbid you to hope,’ she said, rising to her feet to bring the interview to an end.
‘Then that is what I shall do.’ He rose too, many inches taller than she was. ‘I should like to invite you and your papa to Coprise Manor for a short stay. I am sure when you see it, you will love it. And if you want to change anything, you have only to ask.’
‘Mr Allworthy, you go too fast. I am quite breathless.’
He looked down at her; she was blushing prettily. ‘I beg your pardon, Miss Hemingford, I am too impatient, I can see that. But perhaps I may have the pleasure of taking you and your aunt out in my carriage this afternoon? The weather is set fair and it will give us an opportunity to learn more about each other.’
‘I am afraid I must plead a previous engagement,’ she said, smiling to mitigate his disappointment. ‘Tomorrow, perhaps?’ She moved to the hearth and tugged at the bell-pull.
‘Indeed, yes, I shall look forward to it. Will two o’clock suit?’
‘I shall expect you at two,’ she confirmed as Bromwell arrived to show him out. He bowed and was gone.
She sank back onto the sofa and let out her breath in a long sigh. It had all been very formal, very correct. There was nothing about his behaviour with which she could quarrel, nothing at all. And yet… She did not want to think about Harry, but this proposal had brought it all back. Harry, boisterous, jolly, teasing Harry, whom she had known almost all her life, had kissed her, a long bruising kiss that left her shaken and exhilarated, and then had said, ‘You’re the one for me, Jane, no use denying it. We were meant for each other, so shall we announce our engagement?’ She had been so sure of herself and of him…
Her melancholy thoughts were interrupted by the return of Aunt Lane, rushing into the room, her small dark eyes alight. ‘Well?’ she demanded. ‘Are we to felicitate you?’
‘Not yet, Aunt. You did not expect me to agree on the first time of asking, did you?’
‘Oh, you naughty puss, so he is to be kept dangling, is he?’
‘He may dangle if he wishes, but I rather think he has more spine than that. Besides, I have told him he may hope.’
‘Oh, that is as good as a yes! Now, we must make plans, organise a party—’
‘Hold your horses, Aunt, I cannot see that letting Mr Allworthy hope is the same as saying yes, truly I cannot and there will be no announcement until I do. And you cannot go organising parties before the announcement, can you?’ She smiled and bent to kiss her aunt’s cheek. ‘I’m sorry to spoil your fun.’
Aunt Lane wagged a black-mittened finger at her. ‘You are a dreadful tease, Jane. It is to be hoped you will not roast him too, for I do not think he will stand for it.’
‘He understands that I must have time to consider his proposal and is prepared to wait for an answer. Are you free tomorrow afternoon? He has asked us to take a carriage ride with him.’
‘Even if I were not free I would make myself so.’ She paused. ‘Oh, Jane, I am so pleased for you. I was beginning to despair.’
‘But why should you despair, Aunt?’
‘I should have come before. I should have helped you to get over that disgraceful business sooner, but I thought no, let her come to it in her own time. I should have known you had no one to take you out and about and make sure you were seen. James always has his head in his books and hardly knows what day it is; I should not have left it to him.’
‘Oh, do not blame Papa, Aunt, I told him I wanted to live quietly. I did not want to be seen out, it was too mortifying, and I have been able to help him with the copying. Everything he writes has to be copied, you know.’
‘Yes, I do know, and I do not blame him, I blame myself. It was the Countess who pointed it out to me. “That gel needs taking out of herself, or she will end up an old maid,” she said. “It is your duty to do something about it.” And she was right.’
The Countess of Carringdale was one of the many aristocratic connections of whom her great-aunt boasted. She never tired of speaking of them. ‘All on the distaff side,’ she told anyone who would listen. ‘My mother was the Countess’s cousin, which makes her your cousin too, Jane, seeing as your mother was my niece, though I cannot work out how many times removed.’
Jane did not care a jot for aristocratic connections and she certainly did not like them interfering in her life. Her great-aunt she could tolerate because she was kind and affectionate and had comforted her when her mother died. Fourteen years old, she had been, bereft and bewildered, and Aunt Lane had wrapped her plump arms about her and let her cry on her shoulder. And when she had broken off her engagement to Harry, Aunt Lane had been on the doorstep as soon as the news broke, and told her cheerfully that she had done the right thing, no one could possibly expect her to stay engaged to that mountebank after what he had done.
Persuaded that Jane was not going into a decline, she had gone home and they had kept in touch by correspondence. Until this year, when the Countess had told her Jane was mouldering away in obscurity, though how her ladyship knew that neither Harriet nor Jane knew.
‘Aunt Lane, you must not blame yourself; besides, two years is not so long to recover…’
‘But you have recovered?’ her aunt asked, looking closely into her face.
‘Oh, yes, Aunt, I am quite myself. My hesitation has nothing to do with the past, that is dead and buried and I do not want to speak of it again. I simply want to be sure, to take time making up my mind. Mr Allworthy is fully in agreement with that.’
She was not sure that the gentleman was as complacent as he pretended, but she could not rush headlong into an engagement that might not be good for either of them. How could she be sure that old scandal would not touch him? How could he be so sure she would make him happy?
