Of course he was. Mysterious new gentlemen in Highbury were always kings of men—titled, heroic, and the gossip would soon report he had fifty thousand pounds a year, no doubt. The truth would surely be less exciting. He would be revealed to be a man of middling age, interest, and fortune, and everyone would return to reason.
Hetty played her part, nonetheless. “A baronanda military hero,” she said breathlessly. “How exciting! And I imagine he’s quite wealthy, as well.”
“Oh, I’m quite sure of that!”
The truth was, Hetty wasn’t interested in the baron. Or the military hero. She was interested in Jane, as she hadn’t yet seen the young woman and eagerly awaited their reunion.
“Aunt Hetty!” As though summoned by her thoughts, Jane appeared at her shoulder, tall and beautiful and bright-eyed, and joy burst in Hetty’s chest at the look of her.
“Darling Jane!” she said, pulling her into a tight embrace before releasing the younger woman to study her carefully. “You look very well indeed.”
“I am,” Jane said. “And so happy. Wildly, wonderfully happy now that Frank and I are finally settled.”
There was nothing Hetty liked so well as that news, and she turned to shout to Mrs. Bates, “LOOK, MOTHER! IT IS JANE!”
“Hello, Grandmama,” Jane said, crouching to greet the older woman, pink silk skirts blooming around her. “You all look very deep in conversation!”
“Oh, Jane!” Mrs. Bates and Mrs. Pearson immediately drew Jane into their gossip. “We are discussing the new resident of Highbury!”
Jane looked to Hetty, who quickly explained. “The baron you wrote of. Everyone is wondering when he’ll make an appearance.”
“Well,” Jane said, rising with a grace that never failed to send pride bursting in Hetty’s chest, “I can answer that! He’s here tonight!”
“Is he!” Charlotte Tilbury sounded as though she might require a smelling salt. “I must tell the girls!” She was gone before anyone could reply, and Hetty met Jane’s gaze, sharing a silent laugh with her niece.
“She ought to be careful,” Hetty said quietly. “A turned ankle will do her no favors in introducing her daughters to the man.”
Jane leaned in quietly. “I don’t think he is the type to be interested in meeting the Tilbury daughters, honestly, Auntie.”
“Why not?” asked Mrs. Pearson.
“It’s just that Captain Harris is rather… too distinguished for an ingenue, I think.”
It took a moment for the name to find Hetty, but when it did, her breath caught in her throat.Captain Harris.
It was nonsense, of course. Harris was a perfectly normal name. She wouldn’t have even noticed if it wasn’t Michaelmas. He was always on her mind at Michaelmas. Besides, Jane saidCaptainHarris. Edward wasn’t a captain of anything. He hadn’t gone to war. He’d been on a merchant ship.
A ship, though.
No. Impossible.
“Distinguished,” Mrs. Pearson repeated. “That means old.”
“Not at all!” Jane replied. “He’s no older than my father would have been. And a lovely man. Godson to the first Mrs. Weston. And he’s been to Highbury before, apparently.”
The temperature in the room was unbearable. Hetty wasfinding it difficult to breathe. And then Jane said, “As a matter fact, he asked after you, Auntie. Perhaps you—”
Hetty spun away from the conversation, desperate for air. Across the room, the large doors were open, the night sky beyond. She stepped toward them, barely containing the urge to make a mad dash for them….
And there he was.
Older. Broader. Rougher somehow, despite the perfect cut of his clothing, each item tucked and hemmed and sewn to his exact dimensions. And they were magnificent dimensions. Twenty-one years had done Edward Harris very well, adding muscle to his lean frame and wisdom to his open face and silver to the hair at his temples, now darker brown than it had been. He was nota lovely man, as Jane had described him.
He was overwhelmingly handsome, damn him.
And he was staring directly at Hetty.
Hating herself for the weakness, she drank him in, this man she’d dreamed of for years, late at night, when she was alone and no one could judge her for it. But in those late hours, she dreamed of him young and safe and impossible.
