by Anna Small
He smiled slightly. “What things?”
Jane wished the floor would open and swallow her up, her mother along with her. “Colonel Blakeney,” she said hastily, before her mother could make mention of the shawl and stocking, the sources of his humiliation at the ball, “my mother is referring to any items I may have left at Everhill.” She gave her mother what she hoped was a silencing look. “But I am sure Lucinda would have sent along anything I had forgotten.”
If the memory of the sawdust-filled glove attached to her stocking embarrassed him, he did not show it.
“Alas, I am not on a recovery mission but was passing through and decided to see Weston for myself. Miss Brooke did describe it so charmingly.” When he smiled at her mother, Mrs. Brooke seemed to melt from the force of his charm.
“Oh, la, colonel,” her mother giggled, “Weston is nothing compared to Shropshire. Jane told us how lovely it was at Everhill. The riding, the long walks…” She sighed for dramatic effect. “It is quite different from our quiet piece of the world.”
The colonel’s expression had remained politely interested, but a faint shadow crossed his face at her mother’s description of how Jane had spent her days in Shropshire. She’d neglected to mention meeting the colonel and the long days they’d spent at the pianoforte and in the library.
Avoiding his gaze, she longed for a change to the conversation, and fortunately, her mother provided it.
“Mr. Brooke and I intend a visit to Derbyshire in a few months. Our eldest, Amelia, will be a mother again. She was married only two years ago and has twin daughters. My other daughter, Rosie…Rosalind, was a bride at the same time. I don’t know if you’re acquainted with the Shelbournes of Kent?”
Pride oozed from her voice. It was all Jane could do not to squirm. The colonel gave a polite nod. “I did hear about their marriage,” he said. “I knew Shelbourne from my regiment, during the war.”
“Did you lose your hand in battle?” She pointed at his noticeably empty cuff. “We’ve plenty of cripples in Weston since the war, have we not, Jane?”
Jane choked in her haste to speak. “Would you care for some refreshment before dining, Colonel Blakeney?” she asked, but her mother had moved to the cabinet against the wall to fetch the pictures of Amelia and Rosalind, which took precedence over the other family treasures on display.
“Jane, bring Colonel Blakeney a cup of tea,” her mother said dismissively. “Colonel, these are my other daughters…Amelia and Rosalind. Are not they the most beautiful brides you have ever seen? And how richly adorned! They are fortunate to have such indulgent husbands. See the cunning choker on my Rosie…Rosalind. Pearls from an island so far away! And my Amelia…” She snatched Rosalind’s portrait from his hand, replacing it with Amelia’s. “Is not my Amelia the very image of a beautiful bride? She had so many proposals before Mr. Copeland won her. Rosalind also had many suitors. Their poor father suffered in keeping them all sorted.”
Frederick admired the picture, but Jane noticed the muscles in his jaw working. “Your daughters are all quite beautiful, madam. I don’t know if I could say if one is lovelier than the others.”
Mrs. Brooke took the picture from him, her lips pursed. “Anyone can see Amelia is the loveliest, Colonel Blakeney, though it is polite for you to be so agreeable. Jane, dear, where is the colonel’s tea?”
Winking at Jane, he bowed to her mother. “I am in no hurry for tea but would enjoy seeing the rest of the house first, Mrs. Brooke, if your daughter would kindly show me around.”
He offered his arm, and Jane took it, relieved to be spared the rest of her mother’s enthusiastic comments about her sisters. When they were in the hall, Jane looked up into his eyes. Their rich color reminded her of the chocolates he’d bought her in Shropshire.
“Please, sir, excuse my mother. My sisters’ recent marriages and pending states of motherhood have left her with little else to discuss.”
“Children are a blessing. Grandchildren, even more so. It’s quite natural she should be proud.”
“Oh, she’s very proud, I assure you.”
He chuckled. “My own dear mother, God rest her soul, was just the same, although none of her sons presented her with any grandchildren to spoil. I rather miss her clucking and chattering. Your mother is delightful, Miss Brooke. Do not trouble yourself at all. I have no intention of fleeing.”
His gaze locked with hers. For a few silent moments, she wondered if he hinted at how she’d run away from Everhill without saying goodbye. Lowering her eyes, she stared somewhere in the middle of his waistcoat.
“I wish to apologize for my abrupt departure.”
He raised her chin with his fingertip. The merest touch sent a ripple of goose bumps over her arms. “You owe me no apology, my dear Miss Brooke. Anyway…” He patted her hand, which rested on his opposite arm, “We are united again, eh?”
Her chest tightened with renewed hope. Perhaps he had missed their friendship as much as she had. Was it possible Lucinda had been correct about his interest in her? Before she could further speculate, he motioned toward a side door off the hall. “Now, where’s the infamous cup of tea everyone’s taunted me with?”
“I will ring for a pot.” She headed for the bell, but he stopped her with a laugh.
“May we get it ourselves? I wish to see the rest of the house.”
“You want to see the kitchen?” Try as she could, she did not recall her sisters’ husbands ever exploring past the drawing or dining rooms.
He grinned. “It is a regular kitchen, is it not?”
Their arrival astounded the housekeeper and Cook, who stared while Jane poured two steaming cups of tea. He spoke to the servants in a friendly manner and even tasted a spoonful of broth Cook offered him from the pot on the stove. He declared it exemplary, and Jane knew the hearts of both women were his.
After tea, Jane gave him a tour of the rest of the house, stopping at her father’s study, where her father greeted them. He shook the colonel’s hand, and Jane marveled at her father’s genuine interest in their guest.
“How long will you be visiting Weston, sir?” her father asked.
Jane waited eagerly for his response, though she hoped to appear as if the answer didn’t matter.
“A week, for certain. I return to London on Friday next.”
“Mrs. Brooke longs for town, but I never could stand the crowds. We prefer the quiet of the country, do we not, Jane?”
She nodded, impatient to be alone with the colonel again. “Are you staying at the Boar’s Head?”
“Colonel Blakeney will stay with us,” her father said quickly. “I checked at the Boar’s Head this morning, and it is all filled up, I’m afraid. Would you mind, sir?”
If the colonel were pleased at this news, Jane could not tell. He gave a gracious little bow. “I do not wish to be any trouble.”
“No trouble at all. I will have your things brought up to the guest chamber.”
Jane hid her surprise at her father’s sudden bout of hospitality. The only guest chamber she knew was an unused bedroom, which consisted of a bedstead and one chair. Perhaps her father had offered because the colonel was such a good friend of Colonel Parker’s. Either way, it meant they would have more time together. The thought was altogether delightful.
“Would you care to see the rest of the grounds? There is still time before dinner.”
“I would. Is the goat with the missing leg still here?”
Her father chuckled. “She told you about Sir Winston?”
“Your daughter had several amusing tales about the animals on your estate. I never tired of hearing them.”
Mr. Brooke looked from one to the other and slowly nodded. “Jane has a tender heart. Despite her retiring nature, she enjoys helping others, much to the grievous despair of her mother. She’s been known to help the village doctor from time to time.”
“She told me as much.”
Jane cleared her throat to prevent them from talking about her as
if she weren’t there. She had the strangest feeling the colonel wanted to be alone with her, rather than passing time in idle conversation with her father. His visit was most definitely not on Jeremy’s behalf. Had it been, he surely would have mentioned it to her father by now.
“The yard is just through the door,” she said, as excited as if they were about to embark on a great journey, and not just inspect the tidy rows of cabbages and carrots. Her father seemed overly pleased at something, but her happiness at being with the colonel outweighed her curiosity.
Chapter Fourteen
“Do you know the Duke of Broadsworth?” her mother asked the colonel the moment a servant brought in their plates. “My husband’s nephew, Mr. Smythe, is the rector at his estate.”
The colonel’s wine glass paused an inch from his lips. “I regret I have not made his acquaintance.”
“Ah, but your brother must know him. The earl, I mean.” She gave him a sly wink.
Jane struggled to catch her father’s attention in hopes of sending him a silent message to save the situation, but he seemed deeply enthralled with the effects of candlelight on his water goblet. When she sneaked a look at the colonel, relief flooded her to see he exhibited no evidence of being affronted by her mother’s outspoken behavior.
“He may know him, but, sadly, I am not acquainted with my brother’s many friends, madam.”
“Your brother lives in town, does he not?”
“Yesin our father’s house, in Grosvenor Square.”
“Do not you live there, as well?”
He placed his glass on the table, resigned to her mother’s questioning. “No, I live at my family’s home in Shropshire.” He turned to Mr. Brooke. “Dornley Park is a half-day’s ride from Everhill.”
“Then you have fine neighbors,” her father replied.
“No doubt, it is a very large house?” Mrs. Brooke interjected.
“It’s rather small, I’m afraid. Hartleigh has the advantage. I don’t prefer large houses.” He smiled at Jane, who had remained frozen, her fork inches from her mouth.
“How many sons had your father, the late earl?”
Jane wondered if her mother would ever eat the untouched food on her plate. Her father, not four feet away, ate with utter relish, ignoring the conversation.
“There are three of us, madam.”
“Three sons! No girls at all. How fortunate! And what is your other brother?”
“I beg your pardon?”
She waved her fork at him like a tiny spear. “Are you the youngest?”
“Yes, madam. My brother Edwin has taken vows and lives in India.”
“Good heavens! All the way across the world in some desolate place. He must miss England, surely.”
“I think not. He has chosen a life of servitude amongst the poor. He is our eldest brother’s successor to our family title, but he has expressed his desire to remain as he is.”
“Such an incomprehensible man, your brother! What, to give up an earldom and a house in London, to work amongst the poor?”
“Some people prefer a life filled with purpose, Mamma.” Jane spoke up for the first time. Her mother’s foot tapped hers firmly beneath the table.
“And what of yourself, Colonel Blakeney? Now the war is over, what will you do?”
He flinched, but his response was polite. “I shall retire to the country.” He glanced at Jane, and she returned his smile, shyly at first, then, when he didn’t look away, more boldly.
“And how is a one-handed soldier going to take up farming, I don’t know!” her mother exclaimed.
Jane gasped in horror, and her father’s fork clattered to the floor. “There goes another one,” he murmured, and she wondered if he referred to a potential son-in-law or piece of cutlery. She pushed away from the table before anyone else could speak.
“Colonel Blakeney,” she said, more loudly than she’d intended, “Would you care to see our pond? I forgot to show it to you when we were outside.”
His face was as pleasant as usual, but his neck had flushed scarlet. He dabbed his lips with his napkin, and stood, bowing to her parents. “Dinner was lovely, Mrs. Brooke, sir.” He nodded at Jane. “Yes, Miss Brooke, I will join you.”
Desperate to escape, Jane walked out of the dining room, the colonel on her heels. She grabbed a shawl from the hook by the door, and he’d barely picked up his hat when she unceremoniously seized his hand and pulled him outside, slamming the door behind them. She couldn’t speak until they were several feet from the house.
“I’m so sorry,” she gasped at last, her eyes brimming with tears. “I can’t apologize enough…”
He led her off the path and behind a hedge, his shoulders shaking with silent mirth. She stared at him in surprise, not knowing whether to cry or give in to hysterical laughter. Either he was about to rail upon her mother’s tactless comments, or he was going to ask her to bring the cart and take him back to Weston.
“She is nothing of how you described, my dear Miss Brooke! A one-handed soldier! Oh, she is charming. Should I have mentioned my little place in the country has more than one hundred tenant farmers?”
Relief washed over her. “You’re not angry?”
“I’m not angry.” His face softened, and he released her hand, only to touch her shoulder. A thousand sparks lit inside her at his nearness. “I’m not here to impress your parents, Miss Brooke. I only came to see if you—” His words cut off, his gaze searching hers.
The warmth of his hand filtered through the thick shawl about her shoulders, and she leaned toward him instinctively.
“Jane! Gracious, child, where have you gone? Cook’s brought out the pudding. She made it especially for the colonel, though I fear it’s very soft, as I thought he’d have bad teeth. Jane!”
Her mother’s voice broke through the hazy reverie his closeness had inspired, and she stepped back. Before she considered the prudence of such an act, she took his hand and pulled him past the hedges and toward the road to Weston.
“She still believes I’m eight years old,” Jane explained at length, when her ungraceful trot slowed to a more leisurely walk. “We live such a quiet life, and she has little amusement besides making guests uncomfortable.”
He laughed. “It is a mother’s best wish to see all her children provided for.”
“Certainly, but my mother took it to an extreme, I’m afraid. My sisters were married within two years of each other, and Mamma was desperate to see me married alongside them. She sent me to Everhill to find a husband.” Her words hung in the air. If he’d intended to propose on Jeremy’s behalf, now would be the time.
“I’m glad she did.”
Their gazes locked. The blush warming her cheeks could spread all it wanted. He’s here on his own, her heart sang. He is not here for Jeremy.
“I’d never have learned that Mozart piece so well, but for you, Colonel Blakeney.”
She had refrained from speaking of the Parkers earlier, in case she reminded him of the dreadful incident at the ball. Too late, she realized she’d inadvertently given life to the memory of sitting beside him in the dark, her hand clasping his for hours as they’d played. A flush colored his cheeks, setting off their tawny color.
“I enjoyed teaching you what I could. You really should have a dedicated music master. Are there any in Weston?”
“I’m afraid not. I know the postmaster plays the violin. I asked him once about lessons, and he tossed my father’s letters at me.”
He threw his head back and laughed. She joined him, recalling her shock when she’d gathered the morning post spread about the garden.
“That’s a shame, Miss Brooke, for I think you’d flourish under the hands of a skilled teacher.”
An inflection in his voice sent a new wave of nervous excitement soaring through her. She shrugged. “My mother would consider it a waste of energy. If I’m too busy with music, I have no time to pursue a husband.” She rolled her eyes. He laughed.
“Is that what
she wants for you? Even with both your sisters married?”
“Mamma is in competition with Lady Simpson, her great friend and rival.” She quirked an eyebrow. “Mamma hopes to have all her daughters married before Lady Simpson’s poor daughters.”
“And what are your dreams?”
Jane looked at the countryside around them. The hedgerows were dark green and thick, the hayfields waving in the breeze. The homely sounds of Weston drifted over the rustle of falling leaves from the great oak.
“This is where I’m happiest. My dream would be to stay here and play my music all day on a shiny, new pianoforte.” He smiled, and she laughed at herself. “I do want to marry someday. But it wouldn’t be for a man’s fortune, as my mother wishes. I would marry for love, just as my sisters have done.”
They stopped walking and faced each other. When she’d said the word love, she was looking straight into his eyes. She gulped and turned away, suddenly too aware she was an awkward young woman who’d never left her family for more than a month.
“I don’t know how long I’ll be in London, Miss Brooke,” he said at last, taking her hand. She stared down in mild shock at the broad fingers encompassing hers. “I’d consider it an honor if you’d condescend to write me. With your father’s approval, of course.”
Her pulse thudded so hard she could feel it in her throat. “I’m of age, Colonel Blakeney. If I write to you, it will be of my own choosing.”
He grinned. “Then I hope you will choose.”
She studied him to memorize every feature, every curve and shadow of his face. An eternity would pass before she’d see him again.
They resumed walking, her hand still locked with his. She concentrated on placing one foot before the other, as her mind reeled with jumbled thoughts and questions she hardly dared express. But mostly, she heard her own exuberant conscience rejoicing.
Despite her happiness, the ball and its miserable outcome still weighed heavily on her thoughts.
“Colonel Blakeney, I want you to know how distressed I was at the assembly ball.” She bit her lip, unsure of how to continue. He gave a slight frown.
