“I can carry them on my own, ma’am,” the young footman said eagerly. “Shall I unpack them for you too?”
“No.” Jane smiled at him. “I shall do that myself, thank you. I want to see all the books one at a time. I want to see what he has chosen for me.”
By happy chance there was a bookcase in the den though it had been covered with tasteless ornaments before Jane had cleared it off.
She spent two hours kneeling beside the boxes, drawing out one book at a time, arranging them pleasingly on the shelves, pondering over which she would read first.
And occasionally blinking her eyes fast and even swiping at them with her handkerchief when she thought of him going home this afternoon and hand-picking all these books for her. She knew he had not simply directed Mr. Quincy to do the choosing for him. The books included ones she had mentioned as her particular favorites.
If he had sent her some costly piece of jewelry, she would not have been one fraction as well pleased. Such a gift would not even dent his purse. But his books! His own books, not ones he had purchased for her. He had taken them from his own shelves, and among them were his personal favorites too.
Some of the loneliness had gone from the evening. And some of the bewilderment at his leaving so abruptly during the afternoon, without a word of farewell. He must have gone straight home and spent time in his library. Just for her sake.
She must not, Jane told herself firmly, allow herself to fall any deeper in love with him. And she must not—she absolutelymust not—let herselflovehim.
He was a man humoring a new mistress. Nothing more.
But she read happily until midnight.
THE NEXT MORNING THEDuke of Tresham rode in Hyde Park at an hour when he often met some of his friends there on Rotten Row. The rain had stopped sometime during the night and the sun shone, making diamonds of the moisture on the grass. Fortunately for his need for distraction, he ran into Sir Conan Brougham and Viscount Kimble almost immediately.
“Tresh,” the viscount said by way of greeting as Jocelyn joined the group, “we were expecting you at White’s for dinner.”
“I dined at home,” Jocelyn told him. And he had. He had been unable to dine with Jane as his feelings had been rubbed raw and he had not wanted her to know it. And although he had dressed to go out, he had not done so. He was not quite sure why.
“Alone?” Brougham asked. “Without even the delectable Miss Ingleby for company?”
“She never did dine with me,” Jocelyn said. “She was a servant, if you will remember.”
“She could be my servant any time,” Kimble said with a theatrical sigh.
“And you were not at Lady Halliday’s,” Brougham observed.
“I stayed home,” Jocelyn said.
He was aware of his friends exchanging glances before they broke into merry laughter.
“Ho, Tresham,” Brougham said, “who is she? Anyone we know?”
“A fellow cannot claim to have spent an evening at home alone without incurring suspicion?” Jocelyn spurred his horse into a canter. But his friends, who adjusted the speed of their mounts to match that of his, were not to be deterred. They rode one on either side of him.
“Someone new if she kept him from dinner at White’s and the card room at Lady Halliday’s, Cone,” Kimble said.
“And someone who kept him awake all night if this morning’s ill temper is anything to judge by, Kimble,” Brougham observed.
They were talking across Jocelyn, both grinning, just as if he were not there.
“Go to the devil,” he told them.
But they both greeted his uncharitable invitation with renewed mirth.
It was a relief to see Angeline approaching on foot beyond the fence with Mrs. Stebbins, one of her particular friends. They were out for a morning stroll.
“Provoking man!” Angeline exclaimed as soon as Jocelyn rode within earshot. “Why are you always out when I call, Tresham? I made a particular point of going to Dudley House yesterday afternoon as Heyward informed me you had left White’s before luncheon. I was quite sure you must have gone home.”
Jocelyn fingered the ribbon of his quizzing glass. “Were you?” he said. “It would be redundant to inform you that you were wrong. To what, may I ask, did I owe the show of sisterly affection? Good morning, Mrs. Stebbins.” He touched the brim of his hat with his whip and inclined his head.
“Everyone is talking about it,” Angeline said while her friend made his grace a deep curtsy. “I have heard it three times in the past two days, not to mention Ferdie’s speaking of it when I saw him yesterday. So I daresay you have heard it too. But I must have your assurance that you will do nothing foolish, Tresham, or my nerves will be shattered. And I must have your promise that you will defend the family honor at whatever cost to yourself.”
