He had got up from his place, Jane saw with her peripheral vision. The Duke of Tresham, that was. He was about to take his leave. He had turned toward her group. He was going to approach and speak to her. She turned her head and smiled dazzlingly at his brother.
“I understand you are a famous whip, Lord Ferdinand,” she said.
An eager, good-natured young man, whom she liked extremely well, he rose immediately to the bait.
“I say,” he said, “would you care to drive in the park with me tomorrow afternoon, Lady Sara?”
“I would love to, thank you,” she replied warmly, looking up into the dark eyes of the Duke of Tresham, who had stopped at the outer perimeter of her group.
But if she had expected to see annoyance in his face, she was to be disappointed. He had the gall to look faintly amused.
“I came to take my leave of you, ma’am,” he told her, slightly inclining his head.
“Oh,” she said, still smiling, “is it you, your grace? I had quite forgotten you were here.” It was about the most ill-mannered thing she had said in public in her whole life. She was enormously pleased with herself.
“Ah,” he said, holding her gaze and speaking only loudly enough to be heard by her and her group. “Not surprising, I suppose, when I am renowned for avoiding the tedium of paying afternoon calls. But for you I made an exception as I so rarely have the opportunity to take tea with a former employee.”
He turned and strolled away, having enjoyed the satisfaction of having the last word, Jane had no doubt. She glared hotly at his receding back, good manners forgotten, while the members of her group either stared at one another in astonishment or pretended to a sudden deafness and a need to clear their throats. Lady Heyward tapped Jane’s arm.
“Well done,” she said. “That was a magnificent setdown and took Tresham so much by surprise that he descended to sheer spite. Oh, howwellI like you.”
The conversation resumed until a short time later the guests began to take their leave.
“Never has one of my at-home afternoons been such a success,” Lady Webb said with a laugh when everyone had left. “For which I believe we have the Duke of Tresham to thank, Sara.”
“Well,” Jane said more tartly than she had intended, “I am grateful to him, I am sure. If he should ever come back and ask specifically for me, Aunt Harriet, I am not at home.”
Lady Webb sat down and regarded her houseguest closely. “Did he treat you so badly, then, Sara?” she asked.
“No,” Jane said firmly. “I was forced into nothing, Aunt Harriet. He offered and I accepted. I insisted upon a written contract, and he kept its terms. He did not treat me badly.”
Except that he made me love him. And worse, he made me like him. And then he discovered the truth and turned as cold as ice and would not trust me even enough to believe that I would have made myself as vulnerable to him as he had made himself to me. Except that he stood all my emotions on their heads and left me empty and bewildered and as wretchedly unhappy as it is possible to be.
She did not speak her thoughts aloud, but she did not need to.
“Except to make you fall in love with him,” Lady Webb said quietly.
Jane looked sharply at her, but she could not stop the despicable tears from springing to her eyes. “I hate him,” she said with conviction.
“I can see that,” Lady Webb agreed with a faint smile. “Why? Can you tell me?”
“He is an unfeeling, arrogant monster,” Jane replied.
Lady Webb sighed. “Oh, dear,” she said, “you reallyarein love with him. I do not know whether to be glad or sorry. But enough of that. All day I have been considering what is to be done to help you put the past quite behind you. I will present you at the next Queen’s Drawing Room, Sara, and the following day I will give you a come-out ball here. I am as excited as a girl. It will almost certainly be the grandest squeeze of the Season. You are understandably famous, my dear. Let us start making plans.”
It would be the come-out Jane had dreamed of just a few years ago. But all she could think of now was that Jocelyn had come this afternoon, looking cold and haughty, and that he had almost entirely ignored her until he had a chance to insult her. How many afternoons ago was it since he had finished her portrait and then poured out his heart to her and wept while holding her on his lap?
It felt like a lifetime ago.
It felt as if it must have happened to two other people.
She hated him.
She believed the heavy ache in her heart would never go away.
And then she felt sudden panic.Her portrait. Her precious painting. She had left home without it!
Home?
