The scent of roasted chestnuts and sugared cakes filled the air, and Jane suddenly felt ravenous. She stopped before a tent where several women in crisp aprons served up sweets. “If you don’t mind, I’d love a cake first. They smell positively delicious.”
“They do, don’t they?” Emily said, inhaling deeply. “I’ll have one, too. Lady Rosemoor?”
“Oh, indeed. How can I resist such a temptation? Wait right here and I’ll fetch them.” Jane’s mother reached into her reticule and retrieved a coin before hurrying off to the counter.
“Jane, look.” Emily rose up on her toes and pointed to a colorfully decorated tent across the walk. “The Romany gypsy tent. Oh, I must get my fortune told!”
“Your fortune?” Jane asked with a frown. “Surely you don’t believe in such nonsense.”
“Oh, but I do. The Romany gypsies are known far and wide for their ability to see the future. Aren’t you the least bit curious?”
“Not particularly,” Jane muttered, her stomach knotting. Her own future would surely hold no happiness–why should she wish to glimpse it? A ruined woman with a fatherless child–that was all her future held. A lifetime of wanting, wishing for something she could never have.
Her dour thoughts were interrupted when her mother reappeared at her side bearing three cakes wrapped in waxed paper. “Here you are, girls.” Lady Rosemoor bit into one and smiled delightedly. “Mmmm, delicious.”
“Aunt Eliza, I was trying to convince Jane to come with me to the gypsy tent to have our futures told.”
“Gypsies?” her mother exclaimed, clapping her hands together. “Oh, what fun! Come, now, Jane. It’s bound to be more entertaining than the theatrics.” Her lips pursed, as if remembering her daughter’s plight, and she looked to her with concerned eyes. “You needn’t have your own fortune told, of course.”
“Very well,” Jane acquiesced, having no intention of entering the tent and opening herself up to such sorrow.
Fifteen minutes later Jane stood restlessly outside the tent, nibbling her cake distractedly as she waited for Emily to emerge.
“I can’t wait to hear what she sees in my future,” her mother said, trying her best to peer into the slit between the tent’s flaps. “I wonder if I shall find love again, now that your dear father is gone. Do you suppose I should ask her?”
“I haven’t any idea. Do they allow you to ask questions, or do they simply...” Jane’s words trailed off as her roaming eye landed on a woman in a honey-hued muslin gown. Miss Upshaw. Lady Westfield, she corrected.
The woman stood between two tents, furtively looking about as if to make sure she remained unseen. Yet from where Jane stood, awaiting Emily to emerge from the gypsy tent, she was afforded a clear view of the woman. She watched in utter fascination as a man appeared, his back to Jane, and wrapped his arms about the woman in a passionate embrace. What held Jane’s stunned gaze and widened her eyes with amazement was not the fact that the couple indulged in such scandalous behavior in a public place, but that the gentleman was no more than a head taller than the petite woman–without a doubt not Lord Westfield.
Jane swallowed hard, unable to tear her eyes away. The pair separated, and after a brief exchange of words that did not reach Jane’s ears, the anonymous man dashed off and the cuckolding Lady Westfield headed directly their way. Jane gasped, desperate to escape before the horrid woman spotted her. She could not face her. Not now. Not ever.
“Jane? Dearest?”
Jane looked up to her mother, realizing with a start that she was speaking to her but unable to make her lips form a reply. Just then, Emily rushed out of the tent, smiling broadly.
“Oh, Jane, it was wonderful. Madame Cosmina is truly gifted. You must reconsider–”
“I’ll go next,” Jane blurted out, shouldering past her mother and into the dimly lit tent as expeditiously as possible. She could not risk an encounter with the woman.
Reluctantly, Jane handed over a coin and settled herself into the chair directly across from the gaudily garbed woman who proclaimed herself Madame Cosmina with a thick, Eastern European accent. After dropping the coin into a box, the fortune-teller reached for Jane’s hands. With an impatient sigh, Jane stripped off her gloves and placed her bare hands in the woman’s old, gnarled ones. Madame Cosmina’s eyes fluttered closed, and Jane couldn’t help but impatiently avert her gaze from the woman’s lined face, worn with age. Jane’s breathing became shallow in anticipation, her palms dampening uncomfortably.
A full minute of silence ensued before Madame Cosmina spoke. “I see fear, great fear.”
A shudder began at the nape of Jane’s neck and worked its way down her spine. She shifted uncomfortably in the rickety chair as a lump formed in her throat.
“This thing you fear, this worry... It will never come to pass,” she hissed.
Listening to the words despite herself, Jane felt her stomach do an uncomfortable flip-flop.
“No, you fear for naught. You have been spared.”
“Spared?” Jane croaked, then immediately wished she’d remained silent.
The old woman nodded. “You will know of what I speak.”
A hope sparked in Jane’s breast. Was it possible? Her mother’s counsel had assuaged her fear of madness, but was this woman confirming it? Could the gypsy truly see the future? Or did she simply dole out vague, pithy statements that could be interpreted any which way by gullible patrons desperate for happy news?
Jane took a deep breath, steadying her nerves. The latter, of course. She’d let her imagination run wild, nothing more. The spark extinguished.
“I see happiness in your future,” the gypsy continued. “A great love. A soul mate.”
“I’m afraid you’re mistaken, Madame. There is no love in my future.” Now Jane knew that the woman did not possess the gift of foresight. It was impossible.
“Oh, but you are wrong, miss. Quite wrong. The man I speak of will love you above all else. You, and the child you carry.”
Jane gasped sharply, snatching back her hands and rising so quickly that the chair she’d sat in toppled to one side. “You are mistaken,” she repeated, her voice tremulous. “I’ve had enough of this nonsense.”
With shaking hands, Jane retrieved her gloves and hurried out, the pain in her heart all but taking her breath away. How could the gypsy know? The question echoed in her mind. What sort of sorcery did the woman practice?
Jane paused as she stepped back out into the sunlight, valiantly attempting to rein in her emotions as her eyes readjusted to the day’s brilliance.
“Dear Lord, Jane, you’re as pale as a ghost. What did Madame Cosmina say to you?” Emily laid a hand on her forearm, peering up worriedly into her face.
“Nothing worth the coin I paid, that’s for certain. Just a bunch of stuff and nonsense, and none of it worth repeating.”
“Emily’s right,” her mother said, reaching for Jane’s hand. You suddenly look unwell. Perhaps we should go. Do you mind terribly, Emily? I fear that Jane has overtaxed herself today.”
“Of course I don’t mind. Come, Jane.” Emily threaded her arm through hers. “Let’s find our carriage and be off at once.”
Jane nodded in reply and allowed herself to be led back across the green, through the milling crowd, toward the waiting carriage.
“Mrs. Tolland,” a feminine voice cried out. “Have you met Richmond Park’s new vicar?”
Jane turned toward the voice and saw Mrs. Tanner from the shop standing with a slight, dark-haired man wearing an ill-fitting jacket. He was handsome nonetheless, in a boyish, inconspicuous way.
“New vicar?” Emily turned to watch the pair hurry across the lawn toward them. “I had no idea there was a new vicar at Richmond.”
“Indeed, he’s only come in the last week or so with his new wife, isn’t that so, Mr. Banks?”
“Indeed it is. I owe a great deal of gratitude to Lord Westfield. A fine man. A fine man, indeed.”
“Mrs. Tolland, this is Mr. J
onathan Banks. Mr. Banks, Mrs. Cecil Tolland.”
“Delighted to make your acquaintance, Mrs. Tolland. I’ve already met your husband today, whilst I was securing a new mount for my wife.”
“Allow me to present my cousin,” Emily offered. “Miss Jane Rosemoor of Essex, and her mother, the Dowager Viscountess Rosemoor.”
“A pleasure.” He bowed to them with a smile. “My wife is off enjoying the theatrical production at the moment. I hope you’ll have the opportunity to make her acquaintance soon. She’s so far from home, and I know she longs to make some friends in the district.”
“Oh, the poor dear,” Mrs. Tanner interjected with the shake of her head.
“You must pay us a call as soon as convenient, then,” Emily offered. “I’d enjoy it very much.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Tolland. Indeed we will. Well, I won’t keep you ladies any longer.”
“Very well, then, Mr. Banks. Good day.” Emily nodded toward the vicar and shopkeeper with a smile.
Mr. Banks tipped his hat in reply. “Shall I escort you back to the festivities, Mrs. Tanner?”
“Why, thank you, sir.” Mrs. Tanner laid her hand in the crook of his elbow with a smile. “Such a gentleman,” she said with a giggle. “Good day, ladies.”
“Oh, dear.” Emily bit her lower lip as she gazed off toward the line of waiting carriages.
“Whatever is wrong?” Jane asked, filled with trepidation.
“I think perhaps we should make haste to our carriage.” Emily reached for Jane’s arm and steered her across the lawn, Jane’s mother huffing to keep up as they bustled toward the waiting conveyance.
“Mrs. Tolland,” an unmistakably masculine voice called out as they neared the road. A familiar voice. “Off so soon?” Jane’s heart accelerated. Hayden.
Her chest tightened–she could barely breathe and she felt perilously lightheaded. Yet she could not allow her expression to betray any emotion nor the slightest trace of agitation. Not with her mother by her side. If only she could get away, dash right into the safety of the carriage and not look back. But she could not. Instead, she remained rooted to the spot, silent as he arrogantly strode over to join them.
“Miss Rosemoor,” he added, bowing to her, the infuriating man. “I’m glad to see you have not yet returned to Essex.”
“Good day, Lord Westfield,” Emily interjected brightly. Too brightly. “You must meet Miss Rosemoor’s mother, the Dowager Viscountess Rosemoor. Lady Rosemoor, I present Hayden Moreland, the Earl of Westfield. His estate, Richmond Park, is just across the wood from our home.”
“A pleasure, Lady Rosemoor.” Hayden bowed gracefully, doffing his hat with the sweep of one powerfully muscled arm.
“It is indeed a pleasure, Lord Westfield. Your gardens at Richmond Park are reputed to be lovely beyond words. I’m sorry I won’t have the opportunity to see them before we leave for home.”
“I am very sorry to hear it.” He replaced the tall hat on his head. “Perhaps you could extend your visit? It would be my pleasure to show you my gardens. They are indeed lovely this time of year.”
“I’m afraid we cannot. We’ve tarried here too long as it is. Jane has been missed most dearly.”
“Hmmm,” he replied, turning his attention to Jane, his eyes raking up her form, eliciting a shiver. “I imagine she has been. Miss Rosemoor, I called at the Tollands’ earlier today, hoping to have a word with you before your departure. I was disappointed to find you not at home. What providence to find you here, though, isn’t it? Would it be too much to ask for a moment of your time? I think you’ll agree that we have some matters to discuss.” He held out his arm to her, but Jane did not move to take it.
“Some matters of a personal nature,” he added. “Perhaps we could stroll on ahead?” Again, he offered his arm.
“A poor idea, indeed, Lord Westfield.” The words flew from Jane’s mouth before she had time to consider them. “I saw your wife back by the gypsy tent, and you would do well to locate her at once and keep her close by your side.”
“Wife?” His dark brows flew together over a furrowed brow.
“Mrs. Tolland?” a voice called out. Jane looked up in surprise as the young vicar ambled back toward their party, a woman on his arm. Even from the distance separating them, Jane sensed something seemed familiar about his companion. “I’ve found Mrs. Banks and hoped to introduce you before you left,” Mr. Banks said.
Jane dropped her gaze and fiddled with her reticule, refusing to meet Hayden’s probing stare. She heard Emily gasp, and looked up to see her cousin’s eyes widen to alarming proportions and her mouth fall open in unconcealed shock.
Curiously, Jane turned toward Mr. Banks again and found herself gaping too. Her heart slammed against her ribs, her breath caught in her throat. What on earth?
It made no sense–no sense at all. Dorothea Upshaw held Mr. Banks’ arm, smiling up at him unabashedly as she approached Lord Westfield. Her husband, for God’s sake.
“Lord Westfield,” Dorothea murmured sweetly. “How lovely to see you.”
“Mrs. Banks, Mr. Banks.” Hayden nodded to the pair.
Jane looked to Hayden, assessing his reaction. He did nothing but smile absently and brush a stray blade of grass from his sleeve, completely unaffected. She shook her head, the sound of blood rushing to her temples positively deafening her. “I...I don’t understand,” she stuttered, her own voice sounding muffled to her ears. “Your wife–”
“My wife? You thought...” he trailed off with a rueful shake of the head. “Devil take it, of course you did. I must apologize. I thought word had sufficiently spread that my marriage did not proceed as planned.”
“It didn’t, Lord Westfield,” Emily said, the color rising in her cheeks. “We were under the impression that Miss Upshaw had become your wife.”
Dorothea’s subsequent tinkle of laughter pricked each and every one of Jane’s nerves. “How very silly of me! It’s my fault, I’m afraid. Why, when I saw Miss Rosemoor in the shop I just assumed that she’d heard the news of my marriage to Mr. Banks. When I said Lord Westfield had made me the happiest woman alive, I was speaking of his kindness to Mr. Banks. To us,” she amended. “I had no idea you did not know–”
“I most assuredly did not know, Miss Upshaw.” Jane shook her head in confusion. “Mrs. Banks, I mean. Oooh, what difference does it make?” With a swish of her skirts, Jane stormed past the gaping group and accomplished the carriage as quickly as she could, Emily and her mother trailing behind.
“You must excuse us,” Emily called out over her shoulder.
Jane clambered inside in abject humiliation, her cheeks aflame and her emotions churning. She settled herself onto the leather bench and chanced a glance out the carriage’s window as Emily and her mother climbed in and silently took their seats. She could only huff indignantly at the sight of Hayden grinning up at her. “Go away,” she shouted down to him, then winced at her own childish behavior.
“And you said you didn’t indulge in fits of temper in public,” he called out.
“Oh, how dare you? You arrogant, insufferable man,” she cried, instantly regretting her words as he threw back his head and laughed heartily.
“Jane Rosemoor,” her mother hissed, her face scarlet. “You’ll tell me at once what this is all about.”
Emily smiled and patted her aunt’s hand. “Later, Auntie Eliza. “Drive on,” she called out, rapping on the door.
***
Hayden watched as the carriage lumbered off down the road. He had been stunned to learn that Jane hadn’t yet heard of his betrothed’s change of heart and subsequent marriage to Mr. Jonathan Banks. Hayden had told his housekeeper upon his return to Richmond Park, and assumed that by now his entire staff knew the full details and had sufficiently spread the news throughout Ashbourne–throughout Derbyshire, for that matter. What an inopportune time to learn of Mrs. Pierce’s unexpected discretion.
He watched as the Tollands’ carriage disappeared around the bend in a clou
d of dust. What to do now? Jane was obviously disinclined to receive his calls and would cut him to the quick in public before allowing him to say his piece with any civility. Worse still, he now had her mother to contend with. No doubt he would have to win her over, as well.
No time to waste. He dashed to his horse, tied up on the village green, and hastily unhitched him. In one fluid motion, he leapt upon the bay’s back and took up the ribbons. Swinging the stallion’s head around toward the lane, he dug his heels into its sides. “After that carriage, Andromeda.”
As if it understood its master’s command, the horse lunged forward, quickly gaining a full gallop in pursuit.
Only when the carriage’s shiny exterior came into view did Hayden rein in the horse. A trickle of perspiration made its way down the side of his face, and he reached inside his breast pocket and removed a square of linen.
Doffing his hat, he mopped his brow as the high afternoon sun shone down on him, warming him, sending ripples of heat through the thick air. He tipped his hat back on his head and stuffed the handkerchief back into his pocket as a trio of sparrows zipped past his ear, chirruping gaily. The breeze stirred, bringing with it the sweet, piquant scent of honeysuckle. Hayden took a deep, fortifying breath before quickening the horse’s gait to accomplish the carriage.
There was no turning back now. It was time to lay his unexpectedly lively heart on his sleeve, if that was what it would take to have her hand. Her heart.
Jane looked up in surprise at the sound of an approaching rider, the steady clip-clop of hooves gaining on the carriage’s right. She leaned forward in her seat, as did her mother and Emily as the rider appeared in the carriage’s open window.
Unveiled (Undone by Love Book 3) Page 25
