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But the thing she missed most was simply talking to him. The little moments when they rode side by side, talking about everything that shouldn’t have mattered but did, hurt her most. Jane understood him more intimately than anyone else she’d ever met, yet that was the very reason she couldn’t marry him. She knew how much his family mattered to him, and how torn he’d be if he had to choose between her and the future chances of his sisters. She wouldn’t be responsible for planting a seed of resentment that would only grow between the siblings as the years went by.

As though reading her mind, Elizabeth said, “And you’re certain that it would end so very badly if you married him?”

“How could it not?” Jane asked with a shrug. “Making a governess Lady Hollings would only set the gossips going.”

“I don’t recall that the baron comes to town very often,” said Mary.

“But his sisters must if they’re going to be married.”

“Perhaps after . . .”

Jane shook her head. “What am I supposed to do in the meantime? Ask him to wait and wait myself? I need to work. Besides, there’s no promise that he’ll ever come back to me. I doubt he even wants to see me.”

“But if he loves you—” Elizabeth started.

“I can’t entertain the afters and the what-ifs. If I do, I’ll never move forward. I need to learn how to forget him.”

Her friends exchanged a look that told her exactly what they thought about the possibility that Jane would ever rid herself of his memory, but she needed to believe it might be true. It wouldn’t do to let this hole in her heart grow any larger. He hadn’t just shown her what love could be. He’d taught her what it was to live—even a little. She didn’t want to be quiet and retiring any longer. She wanted to be vital and exciting and in every way the woman she’d only dared dream she could be.

Jane reached for her now-cold tea and fiddled with the handle of the cup. “Since I was dismissed by the Rawsons, I don’t have a letter of reference.”

“Jane’s going to come live with Eric and me,” Mary told Elizabeth.

“Just until I can figure out what to do with myself. I can’t very well become a governess again. Certainly not in London. Perhaps I’ll sail for America and start again there.” It was the fate that awaited Lady Margaret. Perhaps a dramatic change was just what she needed.

“Eric does have some family in New York who might be able to help you,” said Mary, “but is that what you really want? To be a governess again?”

No. It wasn’t. She was tired of putting her life on hold. Even if love and family and happiness weren’t meant for her, she could do more than teach French conjugations.

“Take the time you need,” said Elizabeth, patting her forearm. “If your heart is meant to heal, it’ll heal.”

Jane looked up at her friend with full eyes. “Do you think you ever would have healed had Edward not come after you?”

The sound of her husband’s name brought a little content smile to her friend’s lips. “No. I should have known from the first moment I met him that I was incomplete without him.”

Jane slumped back against the chaise. That was the problem with Nicholas. With him gone, Jane felt as though she’d been separated from her other half.

Chapter Twelve

Thirteen days, four hours, and forty-one minutes after the woman he loved had slipped from his life, Lord Nicholas Hollings, fourth baron of his name, decided that he’d had enough.

He’d sleepwalked through his dealings with Lord Ashby, overseeing breeding Merlin. Then, with his wallet quite a bit fuller, he’d ridden straight home to Madeley House, where his sisters waited for him. They’d no doubt known that something was wrong, but they’d left him alone. However, that was a week ago. Today he wasn’t so lucky.

He’d been sitting in the drawing room that had seen better days, reading the Times, when Effie marched in, Helen in tow.

“Nicholas,” his eldest sister said in that tone that told him she was about to launch into one of her lectures. Effie, bossy as she was, was an expert on the things he should do: worry less, stop falling asleep over his account books, find a wife. He really didn’t feel like listening to one of her treatises on what was wrong with his life. He already knew that he’d ruined everything. He wasn’t sure how—Jane hadn’t let him in on that little secret when she’d torn his heart out and danced a jig on it—but there was no escaping it.

“I’m reading,” he said, flicking the newspaper a little to drive the point home.

Effie’s hand came up over the top of the broadsheet and crushed it. “Now you’re not.”

“Effie,” he growled.

“You sound like Mother when you use that tone.” She snorted.

“What do you want?”

Helen assessed him. “You know, you’re right. I see it now.”