by Mary Balogh
“No,” Louisa said. “He is the elder. And do not, pray, Edna, proceed to ask me if he is also handsome. I do not know the answer and would not be interested if I did. Rank and fortune are of far more lasting significance than good looks. The Mitfords are not a wealthy family nor a distinguished one. It is said they were in trade until two or three generations ago. It would not do for a Miss Everett of Goodrich Hall, even a younger sister, to fall in love with Captain Mitford.”
“Oh,” Edna said crossly, “you say that, Louisa, only because you intend to fall in love with him yourself.”
Louisa’s eyebrows arched upward.
“I have a better sense of my own worth,” she said, “than to consider falling in love of any importance when I turn my mind to matrimony, Edna.”
While the two of them argued, Jane looked ahead along the village street to the church and the vicarage beyond it. There was some activity outside the latter. Two gentlemen, one of them the vicar, were dismounting from horseback and handing the horses over to a servant’s care. The other gentleman was young, too, and taller than the vicar. He took a cane from the servant’s hand and leaned his weight on it, his back to the approaching gig.
But her sisters had seen the gentlemen, too, and both of them leaned forward, releasing the pressure on Jane’s arms but completely blocking her view ahead.
There was a chorus of greetings as the vicar handed first Louisa and then Edna out of the gig. At the same time he introduced them to Captain Mitford, his brother, and they exchanged bows and curtsies.
Then the vicar turned and extended a hand for Jane’s.
“And Miss Jane,” he said. “Last but by no means least.”
He helped her down. The door of the house was opening to reveal Amelia Mitford. She curtsied and beamed at Louisa, who swept through the gateway toward her, followed by Edna.
“Miss Jane,” the vicar said as they moved out of the way, “may I have the pleasure of presenting my brother, Captain Mitford? Miss Jane Everett, Robert.”
As Jane had her first look at the captain, she prepared to curtsy and murmur what was proper to the occasion.
She forgot to do either.
She had never set eyes upon him before. Of that she was quite certain. And yet she knew just as certainly that she knew him. Deeply. Intimately. Her breath caught. Her stomach muscles clenched. Her knees turned weak.
Had she been able to think rationally, she would have assured herself that her temporary paralysis was not occasioned by his looks, though he was certainly a handsome man. He was tall with dark hair and smiling blue eyes and a sun-bronzed complexion. He was broad-shouldered and narrow-hipped, his long, shapely legs accentuated by the close fit of his riding breeches and supple leather boots. He was also leaning upon his cane as if he needed it to support his weight.
She would also have told herself that she had not fallen instantly in love with him. She had never been in love, and she was far too sensible to fall for a complete stranger even if he was a splendid figure of a man. She would even have said that it was not any real attraction that had bowled her over. Attraction ought never to be a purely physical thing. It was something that must grow gradually between a man and a woman as they became familiar with each other’s character.
She did not know Captain Mitford’s character.
She did not know Captain Mitford.
And yet she knew him. In the depths of her being she knew him.
As if she had known him for all eternity.
As the real world fell into place about her again and she completed her curtsy and her polite “How do you do, sir?” she did not know how long had passed. Probably not even half a minute. Although he had raised his eyebrows, no one else seemed to show any awareness that the world had stopped on its axis for some indeterminate length of time before lurching into motion again.
She felt disoriented and inexplicably frightened.
“Miss Jane Everett,” he said in a voice that was unfamiliar to her ears, though it rang a familiar chord somewhere in the region of her heart. “My pleasure. Shall we follow the others indoors?”
She might as well have walked after all. She felt breathless.
CAPTAIN ROBERT MITFORD looked at the neat little figure of Miss Jane Everett as she preceded him into the vicarage and tried to imagine that he knew her, that somewhere deep inside him there was a spark of recognition.
There was none.
Which did not necessarily mean that she was not the one.
The thing was that his soul mate never looked the same in any two lifetimes. He had seen that with some fascination when revisiting some of those lifetimes under the guidance of his guru in India. In one lifetime she had been a lean, dark-complexioned washerwoman for a noble family in ancient Egypt, and he had been a priest at one of the royal temples—far above her in station. In another life she had been the lithe, black-haired daughter of an aboriginal chief in the Americas, and he had been a captive from another tribe. She had been the daughter of a Russian landowner once, he a serf on the man’s land. And she had been a nun in medieval Italy, he a papal guard. It had been a forbidden love that time.
There had always been some impediment, of course—and always a chance to overcome that impediment, to conquer all with the power of their love for each other.
They had never made that conquest.
Not yet. But they would.
And so they were fated to meet again and again through countless lifetimes until they found the courage to choose love above all the forces, petty or otherwise, that so often appeared of more importance. This particular lesson related to romantic love, but there was more awaiting them once they had mastered it. If they could learn to choose love in its romantic guise, they could eventually learn—together—to choose it in all its many guises and to move beyond any guise to an understanding of the vast, unending breadth and height and depth of love itself.
Of the one love.
Of the one.
It had all seemed perfectly clear to Robert while he was in India recovering from his wounds. He had been able to see other lifetimes and how each time courage had failed him, or her, or both of them. He had been able to see the spirit world between lifetimes and what he and she together had discussed, with the help of their spirit guides, what they had planned and hoped to accomplish during their next incarnation.
In India he had come to understand that each time its purpose was to meet his soul mate again and try once more to unite in perfect love with her.
The catch was, though, that he had never been allowed any glimpse into the future. He had been given no clue as to the identity of his soul mate in this lifetime or how he would recognize her when he met her. Forgetfulness was a condition of human life—forgetfulness of all that had passed before physical birth. He was one of the privileged few in that he had been allowed glimpses into the vast past he had forgotten when he was born Robert Vaughan Mitford twenty-seven years ago.
But the privilege extended only so far.
Although he had had a healthy interest in women since about the age of sixteen, Robert had never really looked upon any of them as the potential one-and-only love of his life. He had certainly never thought of any as a possible soul mate. He would have laughed at the very idea with a mingling of derision and embarrassment if anyone had mentioned such a thing before his battle wounds changed his life.
He found himself now looking closely at every woman who was even vaguely eligible.
Inside the vicarage the three Everett sisters paid their respects to Great-Aunt Dinah and took their seats while Amelia sat behind the tea tray and poured the tea.
Robert observed each sister in turn. Miss Louisa Everett was beautiful with her perfect posture, dark, glossy hair and flawless complexion. She inclined her head graciously to his great-aunt and looked as if she expected some obeisance in return. She was an arrogant young lady, he decided. Not very likable. Which might be an unfair judgment since he did not really know her at all.
&
nbsp; He hoped she was not the one.
Miss Edna Everett was pretty in a youthful, rosy-cheeked, flighty sort of way. She bobbed a curtsy to his great-aunt, spoke a few words and took a seat as far away as she could. There was a hint of petulance about her mouth. Surely she was not the one.
And then there was Miss Jane Everett. Who had inexplicably frozen into immobility for a few seconds after Gerald had introduced him to her. And who had thus caught his attention more than her sisters had done.
She was small and slender, fair-haired and blue-eyed. She was pretty without being beautiful and bore herself proudly but without arrogance. She was neatly but unostentatiously dressed in a high-waisted gown of sprigged muslin and a straw bonnet that looked as if it had survived a rain shower or two in its time. She curtsied to his great-aunt, bade her a happy birthday, hesitated and then hurried closer to draw her into a hug. Great-Aunt Dinah looked a little startled and then pleased. She smiled as she took Miss Jane’s hand in her gnarled, arthritic fingers, and drew her to sit on the chair beside her own. The younger woman smiled sweetly and bent her head closer to listen to what Great-Aunt Dinah was saying.
She was attractive in an understated way, Robert thought. No! She was attractive plain and simple. He must be careful not to give in to wishful thinking, though, and convince himself that she was the one. She looked nothing like the Egyptian washerwoman or the Indian maiden or the Russian noblewoman or any of the others. But they had not looked anything like one another, either.
How he wished he could know!
Miss Louisa talked almost exclusively with Amelia. Miss Edna spoke mainly of her health. It was generally poor, Robert learned, though she never complained and no one ever took notice of her ailments anyway. She looked perfectly healthy to him.
Miss Jane gave most of her attention to Great-Aunt Dinah, who still held her hand and gazed at her with eyes that seemed filled with affection. But Miss Jane, alone among her sisters, made an effort to be agreeable to everyone else, too. She commended Gerald on last Sunday’s sermon and Amelia on the tastiness of the little cakes that were served with tea. And eventually she spoke to Robert, her cheeks coloring slightly as she did so.
“I trust, Captain Mitford,” she said, “you have recovered from your wounds.”
“Thank you.” He inclined his head. “I must not complain. An army surgeon wanted to saw off my leg and assured me when I refused that I would never walk again. I have hopes of casting aside my cane before the summer is out. Perhaps even of dancing a jig.”
He smiled at her, and she smiled back.
“You must have great fortitude, then,” she said. “You are to be congratulated.”
“Thank you,” he said again.
Why had she paused so significantly outside the gate when she first set eyes on him, rather as if she had seen a ghost?
The visit had not yet lasted half an hour, but it was over. Miss Louisa, doing nothing to hide her impatience to be gone, was on her feet.
“Amelia is coming to Goodrich Hall with me for an hour or two,” she said, addressing her sisters. “She will need a seat in the gig, but there is not room for all four of us. One of you must walk.”
“Well, it cannot be me, Louisa,” Miss Edna cried. “You know I turned my ankle yesterday and it is worse today because I felt obliged to dance at the Burtons’ soiree last evening. It will have to be Jane.”
Robert glanced at that young lady, who did not look at all chagrined, as she might well have done.
“I do not mind walking,” she said. “Indeed, I would prefer to walk than to ride on such a lovely day.”
“If you will permit me,” Robert said impulsively, “I will walk with you, Miss Jane.”
“Oh, that is quite unnecessary,” she said, turning her eyes on him again. “But if you would welcome some exercise on your own account, I will be pleased with your company.”
“You will be able to escort Amelia home later, Rob,” Gerald said, rubbing his hands together and looking pleased.
“And it is only right that a young lady have an escort,” Great-Aunt Dinah added.
Miss Jane smiled sweetly at her.
“You will all come to Goodrich Hall tomorrow evening,” Miss Louisa said. It was a command more than an invitation. “Father and I will honor Mrs. Mitford’s birthday with a gathering of our neighbors.”
She looked about her with condescension as though she were conferring a great honor—as, Robert supposed, she was. Her mother must be dead, since there had been no mention of her. Miss Louisa, then, was mistress of the hall, and her father was a baronet. She was a great lady.
So was Miss Jane Everett.
And he was a mere army captain. It would quite possibly put something of a strain upon his father’s purse to secure his promotion to major, though his father was quite insistent that it must be done.
Ah. Robert had a sudden thought and smiled inwardly. There was an impediment. Miss Jane Everett was his social superior, and if the father was anything like the eldest daughter, that fact would be of some significance.
Perhaps she really was the one.
Gerald bowed Miss Louisa Everett out of the house. Amelia followed, looking rather pathetically gratified, and Miss Edna Everett followed her, looking aggrieved that she had not been given due precedence.
“Shall we?” Robert asked Miss Jane Everett, and she turned to hug his great-aunt once more before stepping out of the cottage ahead of him.
Could this possibly be she, he wondered as they walked along the street past the church. The one he had loved and lost through life after life? The one he had loved through an eternity of between-lives? The one he must learn to love without condition through a human lifetime so that they could return to the between-time with their souls one significant step closer to the union of perfect love?
It seemed impossible. That was so grandiose an idea. She was just a quiet slip of a woman.
Whom he found curiously attractive.
But surely if she were the one, he would have known it instantly. How could he have known her and loved her through eternity and numerous lives and not recognize her immediately now?
How could he possibly not know?
“I beg your pardon,” she said as the gig bowled by and Amelia waved to him, “but is it possible, Captain Mitford, that we have met before? I am quite sure we have not, but you seem so familiar to me that I feel I must have seen you somewhere.”
Ah.
He turned his head sharply to look at her, and she turned hers to look at him.
The breath caught in his throat.
Was this she?
“I do beg your pardon,” she said again, flushing. “Of course we have never met. How could we? The Reverend Mitford has been here only three years, and I know you have not visited him in that time.”
“Your instinct is right and your logic is wrong, Miss Everett,” he said. “We have known each other for a lifetime or ten. For an eternity, in fact.”
His voice sounded breathless to his own ears. But he managed to smile and speak lightly, as though jokingly.
Could this be she?
“We have never met, have we?” she said, laughing.
“Not until today,” he said. “Will you take my arm?”
She hesitated for a moment, but then placed her hand lightly through his arm and rested it in the crook of his elbow.
His breath seemed suspended altogether.
He was so suffused with familiarity that he felt quite dizzy. He knew that touch.
He made more deliberate use of his cane for a few steps until he had recovered his wits and his equilibrium.
They were together again, then.
It began again.
They were to have yet another chance at love.
The dizziness threatened to overwhelm him.
Could this be?
CHAPTER 2
JANE FELT FOOLISH FOR ASKING THAT QUESTION out loud when she knew perfectly well that they had never met. He would think s
he was flirting with him.
Though he had been kind enough to make a joke of it.
We have known each other for a lifetime or ten. For an eternity, in fact.
His eyes crinkled attractively at the corners when he smiled.
The visit to the vicarage had been a little strange altogether. Because elderly Mrs. Mitford had been dressed in her Sunday best and had been looking bright and happy to have visitors on her birthday, and because both Louisa and Edna had virtually ignored her after speaking the obligatory greetings, Jane had done something she had never done before. She had stepped close to Mrs. Mitford and hugged her, and instead of recoiling, the lady had caught hold of her hand and held it tightly all the time they sat together.
Did she still remember that long-ago afternoon when Jane was four? Clearly, she did not bear a grudge if she did. But why would she? Jane had been little more than a baby.
But Jane had remembered.
She had once been absolutely convinced, with no shadow of doubt, that Mrs. Mitford had once been her mother. With her child’s logic, she had not stopped to ask herself when that might have been or how she could possibly have two mothers.
All she could remember now was that it had been a powerful conviction.
This afternoon she had sat hand-in-hand with Mrs. Mitford. And she had felt a strange welling of affection, bordering upon grief.
As if Mrs. Mitford really had been her mother once upon a time.
Perhaps she ought to try remembering more of what she had so ruthlessly suppressed all those years ago.
Or perhaps not.
At this precise moment all her attention was focused upon the man with whom she walked. She wished she had not taken his arm. She had walked thus with any number of gentlemen, but she had never before felt this…this awareness, this heat, this difficulty in breathing normally, this frantic need to say something to break the terrible tension which no doubt she was the only one feeling.
She did not like the feeling at all. She could actually hear her heart beating, as if it were lodged in her eardrums.
“It is a lovely day,” she said with bright cheerfulness as they passed between the gates into the park.
