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“Alice,” she said, placing a spiced bun on her plate. “I felt it was too early in the day for Mother or Phoebe.”

“You must have a footman go with you too. He can manage any purchases you make.”

Stifling a sigh, Jane did not bother to correct her father’s assumption that she was going shopping. “Very well,” she said, pinning a smile to her face as she turned to face him. “Tell me, how did you find the sausage this morning?”

“The sausage?” Her father glanced at his empty plate. “I enjoyed it well enough.”

“So it was not the finest you’ve ever tasted?” Jane pressed.

Her father gave her a perplexed look. “I’m afraid I was too consumed by my correspondence to say. Should I have given it more attention?”

Jane joined him at the table. “In the village, it is touted as the finest sausage, and I was anxious for your opinion. My guess would be that as you can scarcely remember eating it, it was not quite as marvelous as it was supposed to be.”

Her father’s look of confusion remained, but he seemed relieved that she had drawn her own conclusion. “I daresay you are right, my dear.” He waited while the footman helped her into her chair, then he raised the letter in his hand. “I received news this morning that may be of interest to you.”

Jane’s heart tripped. Surely there had not been time for Lord Bloxley to respond to her messages already. She studied the paper her father was holding more closely. The spidery letters were too uneven to have been penned by his strong and steady hand. Besides which, would he not have written directly to her? Berating herself for being so foolish, she fought down her disappointment. “What news is that?” she asked with rather more enthusiasm than she felt.

Her father raised a questioning eyebrow at her uncommonly cheery response, and Jane took a mouthful of sausage to prevent any more words from spilling out.

“Your Aunt Millward has written to say that she intends to visit us in Berkshire.”

Jane swallowed the sausage. “Truly?” Other than hearing back from Lord Bloxley, this was the best news she could have imagined.

“Truly,” her father said, refolding the letter. “She writes to say that she is anxious to see Charwell Park again and that she finds she is already missing her nieces too much to finish the Season in London without them.”

“How very nice of her,” Jane said.

“Hm. I’m not sure your mother will feel the same when she hears that she is to have company so soon after arriving here, but I am glad to know that you are pleased.”

“Very pleased,” Jane said honestly.

“Then I shall tell your mother as much.” He set the letter on top of the others and reached out to pat her hand. “We should all have something to look forward to, should we not?”

And there it was again. The sympathy mingled with special consideration that made her feel so broken. So irredeemably damaged. She offered her father a halfhearted nod and managed a few bites of the spiced bun before admitting to herself that her appetite was gone. Setting aside her serviette, she slid out of her seat and pulled herself to her feet. The footman who had attended her before hurried over to help, but she waved him away. “Forgive me for leaving you to finish your breakfast alone, Father, but if I am to have the carriage back in time for Mother’s social calls, I must be on my way.”

“Be most careful, Jane,” her father warned, the worry lines obvious on his brow. “Allow the footman to assist you.”

She nodded again, and then she limped out of the room as quickly as her uneven gait allowed.

Thankfully, Alice was ready, waiting for her beside the front door, with Jane’s bonnet, gloves, and shawl in hand and a small basket at her feet.

“Morning, miss,” Alice said cheerily.

Jane smiled. She could not help herself. The maid was obviously as excited about this outing as she had been about the last.

“Good morning, Alice,” she said, accepting her shawl and bonnet from Alice’s outstretched hand.

“Cook asked me t’ give you this, miss,” Alice said, lifting the basket at her feet and peeling back the cloth cover so Jane could see the small pile of spiced buns within.

“Cook is a treasure,” Jane said. “They are exactly what we need.”

The maid gave Jane a pleased smile. “I’m right glad you think so. Though a person would ’ave to be addled not to love Cook’s buns, don’t you think, miss?”

“I do,” Jane said, experiencing a small pang of guilt as she donned her bonnet. She’d left half her bread on her breakfast plate. She’d not finished the sausage either. But she refused to feel bad about that. Truth be told, it had been mediocre at best.

Alice handed Jane her gloves, and a footman named Albert approached from the vicinity of the breakfast room and bowed politely. “At your service, miss.”

“Very well,” Jane said, damping down the overwhelming desire to have Albert help her onto a forbidden horse rather than into a safe carriage. “I believe we are ready.”