had no intention of toadying to the Countess, even if her aunt, and Mr Allworthy too, thought she should. He was looking pensive, as if he would like to add his arguments to her aunt’s, but she forestalled him. ‘Mr Allworthy, do you think we could drive somewhere else? I find the park too crowded for comfort.’
‘As you wish, of course,’ he said. ‘We will leave by the next gate and drive back up Kensington Road to Park Lane.’
Jane was silent as they drove along; she was so put out by the top-lofty behaviour of the Countess and Mr Allworthy’s condoning of it that she could hardly speak. He seemed to sense her displeasure and leaned forward to murmur, ‘Miss Hemingford, I beg your pardon, I was only thinking of our…your interests. Lady Carringdale can make or break…’ He paused, as if realising he might make matters worse if he went on. ‘Please do not let it make any difference to us.’
She looked up at him. ‘Us, Mr Allworthy?’
‘My hope. You did say I might hope, did you not?’
She smiled a little woodenly. ‘How well do you know the Countess?’
‘Only slightly. My goodness, you did not think I connived…? Oh, my dear Miss Hemingford, I can fight my own battles.’
‘Is it a battle?’
‘A battle, to win you? Yes, but it is one I take pleasure in fighting, hoping for a happy outcome.’
She did not know what to say to that and sat back in her seat and put up her parasol, to shield her from the sun. It was as they were passing Knightsbridge barracks that she caught a glimpse of a familiar figure, disappearing through the gates. The set of the shoulders, the dark curly hair, the jaunty way his arms swung as he walked, stopped her breath. With an effort, she managed to stop herself from crying out, glad that her parasol hid her face. As the carriage passed the gates, she leaned forward to look again, but whoever it was had gone.
It could not have been Harry. The man had a kind of lopsided gait that was not at all like Harry’s quick stride, and he had looked older. Besides, Harry had resigned his commission and gone into exile; he was no longer a soldier. Her imagination was playing tricks on her. She had been reminded of him so many times in the last few days, she was seeing him everywhere.
‘What is it?’ her aunt asked her.
‘Nothing, Aunt. I had something in my eye, but it has gone now.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Oh, yes, Aunt, I am quite sure.’
The rest of the ride back to Duke Street, the smiles and gracious thanks to their escort, the promise to go to a musical rout somewhere or other the following evening, passed in a blur. Jane’s head was full of memories, memories she could not erase, not even when she slept. She had said it was all in the past, dead and gone, and something had to be done to make sure it stayed that way.
Chapter Two
I t was two weeks since Jane had seen the figure entering the barracks, two weeks in which she expected to come across him round every corner, two weeks with her heart in her mouth. She had not dared to visit Anne in case he was there, though she told herself a dozen times a day she had imagined him. And even if she had not, if he really had returned, did it matter? She had sent him away, told him she never wanted to see him again and had meant it.
And there was poor Mr Allworthy, still doing his best to win her, escorting her to functions, taking her out in his carriage, even walking with her to the library when she wanted to change a book and helping her to choose ribbons for her new bonnet. She did not think she needed a new bonnet, but Aunt Lane had insisted that if she was to be seen out and about with Mr Allworthy, who was always in prime rig, she must dress accordingly.
Often she had no chaperon apart from Hannah, dawdling several paces behind them, and when they were out in the carriage there was only Mr Allworthy’s coachman to give lip service to propriety. No one could fail to see that the gentleman was seriously courting Jane and many of her friends had asked her when they could expect an announcement. She had been evasive, but was she being fair to him?
‘Miss Hemingford, do you ride?’ he asked her one day. They had been out in his carriage as far as Richmond and were coming back along the Kensington Road. She had not been that way since she had seen what she chose to call the apparition; as they approached the barracks, she could feel herself stiffening, holding her breath, half expecting to see it again. There were several officers about, but none that looked at all like Harry, and she let out an audible sigh.
‘Is anything wrong?’ he asked.
‘Not at all.’ She sat upright, inching away from him. ‘What were you saying? I am afraid I was not paying attention. I have been doing some work for Papa and it suddenly came to me that I should have pointed out an error to him.’
‘I believe he works you too hard. If you were to consent to be my wife, you would not have to do it.’
‘Oh, but I love doing it. And Papa could not manage without me.’
‘Is that why you have delayed giving me your answer?’
‘I suppose in part it must be.’
‘Then do not let it be a consideration. I can find him a good secretary.’
She laughed. ‘No one but me can understand his hand.’
‘Oh, I am sure someone could learn to decipher it, and perhaps he ought to try and make it easier to read.’ He paused. ‘You did not answer my question. Do you ride?’
He had a disconcerting way of abandoning the subject under discussion just when she was gathering herself up to answer him. Was it because he sensed her reluctance to delve deeper into her feelings and wanted to spare her or was he simply assuming she agreed with him? She smiled to show him she was not put out by it. ‘I used to when I was a child and we lived in the country, but I have not done so since Mama died and we came to live in London. Perhaps I have forgotten how.’
‘Then I think we should find out, don’t you?’
‘I have no mount or habit.’
‘A hack can be hired and I will purchase a habit for you.’
‘Certainly not!’ she said sharply. ‘I could not possibly accept gifts of clothing, they should only ever come from a husband.’
His smile was a little crooked. ‘I wish that I were he.’
‘I asked you for time to make up my mind, Mr Allworthy.’
‘And while you do so, the whole haut monde waits with bated breath.’
‘The haut monde is not the least interested in my affairs. I doubt more than half a dozen have even heard of me.’
‘There you are wrong. Your fame goes before you.’
‘Fame?’ she faltered. ‘Oh, you mean the tattlemongers have been at work.’
‘With the help of your Aunt Lane and your relative, the Countess. The more your aunt sings your praises, the more people talk.’
‘What
