It had been a very quiet journey.
It had given Jessica far too much time to think.
She had never dreamed, growing up, that she would still be unwed at the age of twenty-five. Like most young girls, she had dreamed of growing up and falling in love and marrying and beginning a family of her own, all long before she was twenty. But when she was seventeen and within a year of making her longed-for come-out into society, the Great Disaster had happened. She always thought of it as though the words would have to be capitalized if written down. Her uncle, Humphrey Westcott, Earl of Riverdale, had died, and twenty-year-old Harry, his son, had succeeded him in title and property and fortune. Until, that was, the ghastly discovery had been made that Uncle Humphrey had already been secretly married to someone else when he wed Aunt Viola, Harry’s—and Camille’s and Abigail’s—mother, more than twenty years before. Aunt Viola’s marriage, unknown to everyone except Uncle Humphrey himself, had been bigamous. Harry was stripped of his title and everything else, and Camille and Abigail lost their titles and their dowries. All three lost their very legitimacy. They no longer belonged in theton.
The whole of the Westcott family had been thrown into turmoil. But it had always seemed to Jessica that she suffered more than any of the others, except for Aunt Viola and Camille, Harry, and Abigail, of course. For Abby was her very dearest friend. They had always been more like sisters than cousins. They had dreamed of making their come-out together, even though Abby was one year older than Jessica. They had dreamed of falling in love and marrying at the same time, perhaps even in a dazzlingly grand double wedding. They had dreamed of living happily ever after, always as the dearest of friends.
The Great Disaster had put an abrupt and cruel end to those dreams.
Avery, Harry’s guardian at the time, had purchased an officer’s commission in a foot regiment for him, and Harry had gone off to Spain and Portugal to fight in the Peninsular Wars against the forces of Napoleon Bonaparte. Camille, in addition to everything else, had been rejected by her fiancé, the dastardly Viscount Uxbury. Abby never did have a come-out Season but went with Camille to live in Bath with their maternal grandmother. Aunt Viola had fled for a while to live with her clergyman brother in Dorsetshire.
And Jessica, untouched in all material ways by the disaster, had been left bereft. Alone and desolate, with crushed hopes and lost dreams. She had been uninterested in continuing with anything to which her privileged status as Lady Jessica Archer, sister of the Duke of Netherby, entitled her. She had lost all interest in a come-out Season of her own, in courtship, and in marriage. For Abby could not share any of the glitter and excitement with her but was rather incarcerated in her grandmother’s house in Bath.Incarceratedhad not seemed too harsh a word.
Perhaps worse for Jessica, though, than the lost dreams and the desolation had been the inexplicable sense of guilt, as though everything that had happened to her cousins, and particularly to Abby, was her fault. As though she had somehow wanted to assert her superiority over them. She had hated the fact that she remained unscathed, that her life and her smooth path forward to a dazzling future remained what they had always been. There was nothing to stopherfrom making her come-out as planned. There was nothing to stopherfrom making a brilliant marriage or from living happily ever after. She could still expect to live a life of luxury and privilege for the rest of her days.
Unlike Abby.
It had seemed so, so,sounfair.
She had never been able to do it, in fact, in the eight years since then. She had never found a man to tempt her into being selfish. She had chosen instead to stand in solidarity with her cousin, whom life had treated so unfairly. If Abby must be forever unhappy, as surely she must, then the least Jessica could do was be unhappy too. She had never fallen in love. Now she doubted she ever would or could.
Yet two years ago Abby had found both love and happiness with Gil Bennington. She lived in that spacious manor with its lovely name and its flower-filled garden on the edge of an idyllic English village. She had a husband she clearly adored, a stepdaughter she loved as her own—Katy, Gil’s daughter by a previous marriage, that was—a new baby who was plump and gorgeous, and . . .
And Jessica had nothing. Even though she had everything. A strange paradox, that, and ridiculously self-pitying. Even more ridiculous was the fact that in unwary moments she found herself feeling a niggling resentment of Abby. As though her cousin had betrayed her by finding love and happiness when Jessica had sacrificed both for her sake.
How foolish she had been. And how very immature, something from which she had never quite recovered. She had made the sacrifice even against the pleas of Abby herself, who had a number of times right from the start tried to persuade Jessica that what had happened to her was hers alone to bear, that she would deal with it and find a new, meaningful path forward. As she had. The past few weeks had convinced Jessica, even if she had still had any doubts, that her cousin had not simply settled for something second best, but was actually deeply happy. As was her husband. They were both devoted to their children.
Jessica had greatly enjoyed those weeks—and found them hard to bear at the same time.
She had been left behind. By her own choice.
Well, no longer. She had made a decision while observing the quiet glow that seemed to emanate from her cousin.Thisyear,thisSeason, her sixth—or was it the seventh?—she was going to choose a husband. She did not expect it to be difficult, despite her age and the fact that London would be flooded with a new crop of pretty young girls fresh from the schoolroom and eager to snatch up the best prizes the great marriage mart would have on offer. She had acquired a rather large number of devoted admirers during her first Season despite the fact that she had made no effort to attract or encourage them, and those numbers, against all reason, had swelled with every passing year, up to and including last year.
All those gentlemen would not necessarily be eager to offer her marriage at the first sign of interest on her part, of course. Some remained in her orbit, no doubt, only because it was fashionable to sigh over Lady Jessica Archer and always be on hand to fetch her refreshments or dance with her or converse with her or simply be seen with her. It never hurt, after all, for a man to be seen in company with a duke’s sister and someone who had been dubbed for several years a diamond of the first water. Their interest did not necessarily mean they wished to marry her.
But surely a few of those men would become serious suitors if given half a chance. She was, after all, extremely eligible. And rich. And although she was not vain about her appearance, her glass told her that she still had whatever looks she had had as a girl—no wrinkles or gray hairs or faded complexion yet. She wasonlytwenty-five, after all.
She smiled slightly as she glanced at Ruth, who was still sitting very erect in her corner of the seat opposite, her head still turned toward the window. She was going to end up with a crick in her neck if she was not careful.
One of the outriders rode past the window as though on a mission while Jessica was still looking. He remained in her line of vision for a few moments, apparently having a word with the coachman.
If only, Jessica thought, her mind returning to her newly made resolution, there were someone among her admirers whom shewantedto marry. But there was no one, alas. There were several she liked. Indeed, she did notdislikeany of them. But . . . Well, she was going to have to make her choice based upon practicalities rather than partiality. Upon common sense. It was, after all, the factor upon which mosttonmarriages were contracted. Birth and fortune, followed by age and disposition.
So much for the dreams of youth. So much for love and romance and happily-ever-after.
Abby had been horrified. For of course Jessica had told her of her new resolution, assuming she would be pleased. And as usual when they were together, her cousin had urged her topleasefind some happiness so thatshecould be finally and fully happy herself.
“Birth and fortune, Jess?” Abby had said, frowning. “Age and disposition? What about love?”
“I might wait forever,” Jessica had told her. “I have never felt even a spark of what other people describe as falling in love. I do not doubt them, but I do know that romantic love is not for me. Not at my age. So I—”
“Jess.” Abby had leaned across the space between them and grasped both her hands. “Itwillhappen. It happened to me. I fully believed it never would. And when I first met Gil, I considered him the verylastman with whom I might fall in love. But I did, and—oh, Jess, youmustbelieve me—it is the most wonderful thing in the world. To love and be loved. You must not become jaded and give up hope. Oh, please do not. You areonlytwenty-five. And you were made for love. Wait until you find it. Itwillhappen.”
“Promise?” Jessica had asked, and laughed, though part of her had been silently weeping.
“Ipromise,” Abby had said with fervent conviction.
As though anyone had the power to promise such a thing for someone else. It was simply not going to happen, Jessica thought now. And she was tired of her single state. She wanted a husband and home and family—and those things were not beyond her grasp. Quite the contrary. She wanted togrow up.It was past time.
