It’s probably another illusionist,she reflected as they were ushered inside. Maybe if she slipped him some coin, he would let her be the lady who disappeared into the sarcophagus and never returned.
Her cousin’s house was at the center of the ton’s social scene, bordering Berkeley Square near the residence that the new Earl of Leicester had rented, and only one block down from the Countess of Jersey. The interior was just as fashionable as the exterior, with its vaulted ceilings, wainscoting, and various portraits and trinkets adorning the walls. Just as the sparkle assaulted the eyes, the scents of perfume from a hundred different guests assaulted the nose.
This was nothing unusual, but tonight felt worse somehow. It was that stupid letter. Ever since she’d seen it, she couldn’t stop thinking about Eli. She felt like she was back in that time five years ago. When he was still alive and her greatest heartbreak was the knowledge that he’d chosen Cecily.
Goodness, no. She wasn’t going to spend the whole evening comparing herself to her cousin. They weren’t children anymore, squabbling over a poppet. This was silly.
“There you are.” Della had to shoulder her way through the crushto reach Jane’s side, pausing to smooth her hair once she’d made it. She was dressed in a crimson gown with tiny silk roses embellishing the neckline, sure to draw the eye. “Even busier than usual tonight, isn’t it? How are you?” She dropped her voice to a whisper before adding, “You haven’t had any more letters?”
“No. I would’ve told you if I had. I’m sure it was just a malicious prank.”
Della raised her brows as if she would’ve liked to argue this, but she let it pass. “I suppose we’ll know soon if Cecily’s had one as well.”
Dread curled Jane’s insides into a knot, like the chain of a pendant too tangled to work loose. She’d avoided her cousin all week, afraid of what it would mean if there’d been a second letter.
Not that it would prove anything. Even a prankster would think to write a fiancée before a friend.
“What shall we do first?” Della continued. “Find ourselves some punch, or some dance partners?”
Jane looked out over the sea of faces before her, feeling adrift. She normally tried to make the best of these events. Though she didn’t enjoy forcing smiles and kind words for the eligible gentlemen Bertie nudged in her direction—nor hearing Cecily’s insights on why she failed to ensnare any of them—therewerecertain advantages to be found here for one determined enough to look. Chiefly, the number of ladies in attendance who had vast sums of money to lose at her card table. Cecily had wealthy friends.
But tonight, even the prospect of finding new members didn’t hold her interest as it normally did.
“Della, do you—” She stopped herself, half doubting what she would say, but then decided to continue on. She could tell her friend anything. “Do you think I’m too severe?”
“Pardon?”
The question must have seemed to come from nowhere.
“It’s only…I’ve been out for years and I haven’t had any offers. The closest thing I’ve had to an admirer was Eli, and even he picked Cecily over me.”
The reminder had shaken her confidence.
They’d grown close when she’d gone to stay with Uncle John the summer she turned sixteen, and they’d been neighbors. Jane had been terribly lonely in that grand manor house with its portraits of long-dead ancestors, reminding her of everything she’d lost. Eli had been all too happy to escape the bickering in his own house, and he’d soon taken to exploring the country with her, wandering up the hillside and finding ways to make her laugh until her problems were forgotten. When she worried that Edmund was falling behind in his education because Uncle John refused to support the expense of a tutor, he’d dusted off the texts he’d studied at Eton and explained his lessons to Jane until she could instruct her brother herself. Long after Eli was gone, that knowledge had laid the foundation of what she hoped would soon be a successful money-making endeavor.
She’d never shared that kind of intimacy with a gentleman before.
But despite her adolescent hopes, he’d never taken her into his arms and confessed his undying love. Not then, nor any of the times they’d crossed paths in London in the years that followed. While Jane waited and waited for Eli to declare his intentions, Cecily had swooped in and accomplished the task in a single evening.
The injustice of it still stung.
“He didn’t pick her over you,” Della scolded. “He suffered a lapse in judgment that had the misfortune to be uncovered. I doubt very much he wanted to marry her.”
“He shouldn’t have gone out in the gardens alone with her then.”
Really, what were gardens even for, except to compromise young ladies at house parties? Everyone knew that.
“You’re too unforgiving,” said Della. “I’m not sure if that’s the same thing as severe, but there you are.”
This conversation wasn’t making her feel any better. It was foolish to let this business about the letter distract her from what mattered. She was wise enough now to understand that she was better off as a spinster anyway. If she had been the one Eli loved, he would only have left her a widow.
He’d been young and strong, and still all it took was one stroke of ill-luck to erase him from the world. Just like her parents. They’d seemed immortal, until illness swept through their house without warning.
A husband might leave her just as easily, though he would force Jane to give up everything she was building with Della before he did. And then where would she be?
No. If she was to find real security in this life, she would have to build it herself. A woman without fortune couldn’t risk relying on anyone else.
“Let’s forget about Eli.” Jane waved away his specter with a brisk motion. “Have you spotted any fresh prospects for us this evening?”
