“Not the nick of time part of it,” she said coldly. “I merely suggested to Lady Oliver last evening that perhaps it was time to tell the truth.”
“I owe my life to you, then.” But his words were spoken haughtily and held no note of gratitude.
“You may return to your friends,” she said as the carriage came into sight and it was clear that she would reach it in plenty of time to accompany the still-insensible Lady Oliver home again.
He stopped and bowed to her and turned away without another word. But she thought of something as he began to stride away.
“Jocelyn!” she called.
He stopped and looked at her over his shoulder, a strange light in his eyes.
“I left my embroidery behind,” she said foolishly, unable even now to say what she wanted to say.
“I will bring it to you,” he said. “No. Pardon me. You never wish to see me again. I will have it sent to you.” He turned away.
“Jocelyn!”
Again the look over his shoulder.
“I left thepaintingbehind.”
It seemed to her that their eyes remained locked for long moments before he replied.
“I will have it sent,” he said.
He turned and strode away from her.
Just as if last evening had never happened. And whathadthat been all about anyway? Just a stolen kiss between a man and his ex-mistress?
Jane turned and hurried toward the carriage.
25
ER EMBROIDERY, THE PAINTING, ANDMansfield Parkwere delivered the same day. Phillip brought them, though Jane did not see him. All she knew for certain was that he did not bring them himself. She was glad he did not. His behavior during the morning had been imperious and cold and offensive. She had simply imagined that there was tender yearning in his kiss last evening, she decided. His not coming in person with her belongings saved her from having to refuse to see him. She never wanted even to hear his name again.
Which argument was seen for the nonsense it was the following morning when Lady Webb was still in her dressing room and the butler brought the morning post into the breakfast parlor.
“There is a letter for you, my lady,” he said to Jane.
She snatched it from his hand and looked with eager anxiety at the name and direction written on the outside. But her heart immediately plummeted. It was not in the bold, careless hand of the Duke of Tresham. In her disappointment she did not immediately realize that she did nevertheless recognize the handwriting.
“Thank you,” she said, and broke the seal.
It was from Charles. A rather long letter. It had come from Cornwall.
The Earl of Durbury had returned to Candleford, Charles wrote, bringing with him the news that Sara had been found and was now staying with Lady Webb. She would be reassured to know that the announcement had been made from Candleford that Sidney Jardine, who had for a long time been reputed to be at death’s door, was finally recovering his health.
“I have been more distressed than I can say,” Charles wrote, “that I was away from home when all this happened so that you did not have me to turn to with your troubles. I would have followed you to London, but where would I have looked? It was said that Durbury had hired a Bow Street Runner but that even he could not find you. What chance would I have had, then?”
But he might have tried anyway, Jane thought. Surely if he really loved her, he would have come.
“Durbury is also spreading another piece of news,” the letter continued, “though surely it cannot be true. My belief is that it is for my benefit, Sara, to hurt and alarm me. You know how much he has always despised our partiality for each other. He says that he has given his consent to the Duke of Tresham to pay his addresses to you. I daresay you will be laughing merrily when you read this, but really, Sara—Tresham! I have never met the man, but he has a reputation as surely the most notorious rake in all England. I sincerely hope he is not pestering you with unwanted attentions.”
Jocelyn, she thought. Ah, Jocelyn.
“I am going to come up to London,” Charles wrote, “as soon as I have dealt with a few important matters of business. I will come to protect you from the advances of any man who believes that this unfortunate incident has made you deserving of all manner of insult. I shall come to fetch you home, Sara. If Durbury will not consent to our marriage, then we will marry without his consent. I am not a wealthy man and so hate to see you deprived of your own fortune, but I am well able to support a wife and family in comfort and even some luxury.”
Jane closed her eyes and bowed her head over the letter. She was dearly fond of Charles. She always had been. For several years she had tried to convince herself that she was fond enough of him to marry him. But she knew now why she had never been able to love him. There was no fire in his own love. There was only bland amiability. He obviously had no clear understanding of all she had suffered in the past weeks. Even now he was not rushing to her side. There were a few matters of business to be dealt with first.
