was a lovely room. With its beautiful Adams ceiling and Grinling Gibbons chimneypiece, highly polished floor and vividly coloured oriental carpets, it was like an Aladdin’s cave—a treasure trove of precious leather-bound tomes. It smelt strongly of polish and Morocco leather. It was a room which encapsulated every culture and civilisation of the universe, where bookshelves stretched from floor to ceiling, broken only by the fireplace and long windows looking out on to the gardens.
Christopher glanced up when the door opened and his mother swept in.
‘So this is where you are, Christopher. I thought I’d best tell you that I shall be taking charge of Octavia today. I thought it was time Miss Mortimer took some time off to get on with her work. I really wish she had accepted some kind of reward for what she did for Octavia on the ship. I did think of giving her a bank draft—a reward for saving her life—but she will be undoubtedly offended by the money.’
Christopher smiled disdainfully. ‘Perhaps she is not as eager for coin as some of the lower classes would be, who would try to wheedle some sort of monetary reward regardless of the reason.’
‘You’ve become a cynic,’ his mother teased blandly. ‘But Jane is not like that. She is without guile or greed. She is a lovely young woman, don’t you agree?’
Christopher gave her a narrow look over the top of the newspaper. ‘She’s certainly out of the ordinary—having spent her life, by all accounts, like a wandering gypsy. I’ve never seen you so taken with any of the other young ladies we have employed to take care of Octavia in the past.’
‘You’re quite right, and so far I’m thoroughly satisfied. Jane is an absolute treasure.’
‘Unconventional and hopelessly peculiar is how I would describe her,’ Christopher replied drolly, flicking back the next page of his paper. ‘I would have thought that a girl with her background would be devoid of social skills and find it hard to adjust to the kind of world we inhabit.’
‘You are too harsh. Jane is a thoroughly charming and engaging and well-adjusted young woman, with a remarkable intelligence. In the short time I’ve known her I vow she’s lifted my spirits considerably. I know you had reservations about her suitability from the start, but she has proved you wrong. The difference in Octavia is quite startling. You must have seen that for yourself.’
That Christopher had misgivings about Jane was etched into the troubled scowl on his face. His mother would hear no wrong said about the girl who had slipped so neatly and effortlessly into their lives, and for the sake of Octavia and his mother’s happiness he must accept the situation.
* * *
On the other side of the library door, which Lady Lansbury had left ajar, hearing voices and about to enter, Jane paused. Not wishing to intrude, she considered returning to her room, but on hearing Lady Lansbury mention her name, she halted.
Listening to what Lord Lansbury had to say, Jane felt tears of humiliation burn the backs of her eyes. She stepped away from the door, trying to recover her control. If what he said was to be believed, he didn’t want her at Chalfont, which meant his initial cordiality to her had all been a pretence. He was rightly protective of his sister, but that did not lessen the sting of his words or the terrible hurt that engulfed her on hearing them.
Fighting desperately to hold on to her rising anger and shattered pride, she raised her head. After all, it wasn’t her fault if he found her hopelessly peculiar. Lady Lansbury was happy to have her care for Octavia and was pleased with the rapport that had grown between them.
Taking the bull by the horns, she knocked on the door and pushed it open, forcing a smile to her lips when Lady Lansbury crossed towards her and trying not to look at Lord Lansbury, who had dropped his newspaper on to his knee and was looking directly at her, his face expressionless.
‘Come in, Jane. I’m sure you are impatient to begin work. I shall go and see Mrs Collins in the kitchen. I thought we might take Octavia for a carriage ride later if you can spare the time, Christopher.’
‘I will try, but I have a lot of work to do today. I have to go over the books with Johnson and I want to inspect one of the farms myself. Johnson claims they don’t really need a roof, but it’s going to be a rainy autumn and I want to make sure.’
‘Johnson is a very efficient and able bailiff, Christopher. I’m sure he can manage without you, but—if you must.’
‘I will try. I don’t want to disappoint Octavia. I’ll have more time this afternoon.’
‘This afternoon will be fine,’ she said, turning away. ‘I won’t be gone more than a moment. I’ll leave you to set out your work, Jane. Christopher will look after you until I return...’
Her voice faded away into the far reaches of the house and a door was heard to open and close somewhere. Then there was silence.
Without looking at the man lounging in the chair, but conscious of his presence, carrying her things, Jane crossed to a table tucked away in a corner by the window. It would be the perfect place for her to work. Lady Lansbury had introduced her to the library on her arrival at Chalfont, explaining that she would be able to concentrate on her work without interruption.
Christopher watched her pull out a chair and place her files on the surface of the table. With rigid back and head held high, she lowered herself into it. With a mixture of languor and self-assurance, absently drumming his fingers on the leather arm, Christopher let his gaze sweep over her in a contemplative way.
‘How do you find Octavia, Miss Mortimer?’
Her face was half-turned away from him. All he could see was the curve of her cheekbone and the long silky flutter of her black lashes. Her hair was drawn unflatteringly into its severe bun. Her face was composed and her eyes clear and untroubled. In fact, she looked as she always looked, unapproachable and detached from those about her. Yet she was paler than usual and he wondered if she was unwell. She was certainly quiet—in fact, she was as prim as a spinster at a church tea party.
She looked up from sorting out her work as though against her better judgement, and Christopher was mystified by her cool reserve. Her face was set in a mould of chill politeness and he could see it was all she could do to answer him. What the devil had he done to earn her animosity, he wondered, and in such a short time? Then he almost laughed. It was all so ridiculous. He was tempted to ask her outright what offence he had committed, then thought better of it. However, he learned the cause of her cold attitude when she next spoke, and he was contrite. His comments had been unflattering and hurtful.
‘Lady Octavia is a charming girl,’ Jane said crisply. ‘Where she is concerned I take my responsibilities seriously. You may not approve of me, Lord Lansbury, but be assured that I am not out to hurt her in any way.’
‘Ah. So, you overheard what I was saying to my mother, in which case I can see some form of apology is in order. However, since you mention it I did not say that I do not approve of you. On the contrary. I have nothing but respect for you and the work you do. However,’ he said, putting down his newspaper and getting to his feet, ‘what my opinions are concerning you has no bearing on the case. My paramount concern is Octavia’s happiness and well-being. As you will know, having spent some considerable time in her company, she is not like other twelve-year-old girls.’
‘That I do know. Lady Lansbury explained Lady Octavia’s situation before I accepted the post.’
‘I am sure she did,’ he said, moving
