actions, but his as well.
His promotion never came. The Duke had tired of his mistress and she had not taken it lying down. She had demanded a large sum of money to pay off debts she maintained had been incurred by having to live up to her position as a royal duke’s mistress; the Duke had refused to pay it and she countered by threatening to make public the details of their love affair. The wrangle had come to the attention of Parliament and it all came out in an enquiry into the behaviour of the Duke in the House of Commons at which Mary Anne Clark was the chief witness.
Every member of that august body had listened with rapt attention to details of the love life of the King’s second son, heard his love letters read aloud and learned the names of those officers who came and went to the lady’s splendid home in Gloucester Place, among whom was a certain Lieutenant Harry Hemingford. At the end, the majority in favour of the Duke was so small he resigned as Commander-in-Chief and Harry felt obliged to follow his example. Jane was heartbroken and, encouraged by her father and Aunt Lane, had told him she could not love a man who got himself involved in such disgraceful goings on and broke off their engagement.
Hard though it had been, she had tried to put it behind her, but now everyone seemed bent on reminding her. She had to tell Mr Allworthy, of course; you couldn’t deceive the man who hoped to marry you, but why did her aunt have to drag it up again? As for Anne, she felt very cross with her. She had promised she would not mention Harry again and it did not help to decide what to do about Mr Allworthy. Perhaps if she consented to marry him, it would put a period to the whole episode and everyone would stop prosing on about it.
‘I know how much you love your brother,’ Jane said. ‘And I admire you for it, but let us say no more. Tomorrow Mr Allworthy is taking me and Aunt Lane for a carriage ride in the park and I shall perhaps learn more about him then.’
Anne sighed. ‘I can see I will never influence you, so I shall give up, but promise me you will not rush into anything.’
Jane attempted a laugh. ‘I have no intention of rushing into anything.’
They finished drinking their tea and Jane took her leave, wondering if she had been right to go and see Anne after all. She should have known that Anne could not be objective about Mr Allworthy, any more than her father and Aunt Lane were. She was on her own.
She had slept badly, then worked all morning for her father until her thumb and finger were stiff from holding a pen and her head ached from trying to decipher his script. She ate a light repast and afterwards went upstairs to her bedroom where Lucy had already been dispatched and was waiting to help her change for her carriage ride. ‘What will you wear, Miss Jane? I have pressed your blue silk and your green taffeta, but it is such a warm day that I think the blue will be cooler.’
‘Yes, the blue, if you please, and the white muslin pelisse.’
Half an hour later she presented herself to her aunt in the drawing room to await the arrival of her suitor. The blue suited her and its simple style showed off her slim figure. Her hair had been brushed until it shone like a ripe chestnut and was caught up into a knot on top of her head with two tortoiseshell combs. A few strands had escaped and formed ringlets about her face, softening the rather severe style.
‘Very pretty,’ her aunt commented. ‘I am sure he will be quite entranced.’
They heard the door knocker at that moment, and a minute later Mr Allworthy was announced. He strode into the room, his hat beneath his arm, and bowed to them both. He was in grey, charcoal for his double-breasted coat, which had a high stand-up collar, dove-grey for his pantaloons. His waistcoat was lilac and his cravat tied in precise folds. His boots shone and his hair had recently had the attentions of a barber. ‘My carriage is outside, ladies,’ he said. ‘The horses are a little restive, so if you are ready…’
He escorted them out to the carriage, helped them into their seats, climbed in facing them and ordered the coachman to drive to Hyde Park.
It was, as Lucy had intimated, a very warm day and the park was crowded as it had been all Season. Whenever anything out of the ordinary took place in the Royal family, the whole haut monde converged on London and this Season was no exception. The King’s doctors had finally decided he would not recover from his madness sufficiently to rule and the previous February the Prince of Wales had at last become Regent. If those involved in the government of the country had expected sweeping changes, they were disappointed; the Regent carried on much as his father had before him, except that his love of pleasure meant there were even more balls and banquets.
Jane sat stiffly beside her aunt, facing Mr Allworthy, seeing and yet not seeing all the hubbub about her. Every sort of carriage, from high-perch phaetons to gigs, from grand town coaches to curricles, was there, getting in each other’s way as they stopped for the occupants to exchange gossip and scandal. Aunt Lane was in her element and commented on everyone they saw. It was astonishing the number of people with whom she could claim a connection.
‘There is the Countess,’ she exclaimed. ‘Mr Allworthy, please stop so that I may present Jane. Her ladyship has a particular interest, you know.’
Donald’s coachman skillfully avoided a collision with an oncoming tilbury and drew up opposite the Countess of Carringdale’s coach. ‘Countess, we are well met,’ Harriet called out. ‘Allow me to present Miss Jane Hemingford. You remember, we spoke of her.’
‘So this is the gel.’ The Countess peered closely at Jane through her quizzing glass. Jane was annoyed enough to look her straight in the eye and saw a very old woman in a dark purple coat and a turban of the same colour, which had three tall plumes dyed to match waving from the top of it. Her deportment was regal, her pale blue eyes taking in every aspect of Jane’s dress and demeanour.
‘Very pretty,’ she said at last. ‘Too thin, though what can you expect from young gels nowadays, always rushing hither and thither, enjoying themselves?’
Jane thought that remark uncalled for and opened her mouth to protest, but her aunt quickly intervened. ‘My lady, may I also present Mr Donald Allworthy.’
The Countess moved her examination to Donald. ‘Mr Allworthy and I are already acquainted. Good day to you, young man.’
‘Countess, your obedient.’ He smiled and bowed stiffly from the waist.
‘Harriet, I shall expect an accounting,’ she said to Aunt Lane, and waved a peremptory hand to tell her coachman to proceed. ‘I shall wish to be informed if an announcement is imminent.’
Jane was seething and her aunt knew it. ‘Do not take her remarks to heart, Jane, dear,’ she said as they drove on. ‘She is only thinking of what is best for you.’
‘I shall decide what is best for me, Aunt,’ Jane said. ‘And I hope you will tell her so, when you see her.’
‘But should you be so adamant, Miss Hemingford?’ Donald said and, though his tone was mild, Jane detected an undercurrent of concern, which surprised her and added to her vexation. ‘Her ladyship is surely worth cultivating? She is wealthy and your kinswoman and I have always believed that family comes first.’
‘There, Jane!’ Mrs Lane said, triumphantly. ‘Have I not always said the same thing, times without number?’
‘Yes, Aunt, so you have, but the relationship is so distant, I would not presume—’
‘Fustian! If her ladyship chooses to take you up, then you should be grateful. She has no children of her own, you know, and
