Page 60
“Yes, Peters. Thank you.” He dropped onto the nearby chair and gazed into the low-burning fire. No matter how hard he thought on it, there was no other explanation for the way he was feeling; he was falling in love with Jane Hadford.
Chapter 20
Jane dipped her brush into the brown paint and touched it to the canvas. A few short strokes later, she leaned back to assess her work. A smile tugged at her lips. She had realized what was missing in her painting of the forsythia bush on the village green, and now that it was there, the painting felt whole.
“It’s Asher,” Aunt Millward said, coming up from behind her. “You’ve put him in your painting.”
Jane nodded. “This is where I first met him. He was staring up at the forsythia, quite put out that it produced only yellow flowers.”
Aunt Millward laughed. “That sounds like Asher. What color did he wish for?”
“Red,” Jane said, studying the painting thoughtfully. “One red flower.” Quickly washing off her brush, she dipped it into some crimson paint, and with tiny strokes, she created a minute red blossom among the yellow on the bush. “At least with this bush, he won’t be disappointed,” she said.
“Lovely,” Aunt Millward said, approval in her voice. “I like it all the more for daring to be a little different.” She glanced at the door to the drawing room. “Where is the handsome young fellow? I would have thought he’d be tugging on your skirts to speed our departure to Bloxley Hall.”
“He probably would be if he were not trapped in the bathtub,” Jane said. “Alice is hoping to wear him out sufficiently to persuade him to have some quiet time in the nursery before we go. He does not understand the concept of time very well, and the afternoon is taking far too long to arrive.”
“I confess,” Aunt Millward said, “I am quite looking forward to the picnic myself.”
Jane would probably feel the same if she could somehow quell the nervous butterflies that swirled in her stomach whenever she thought of seeing Alexander again.
She had lain awake half the night. Between agonizing over the shocking discovery he’d shared with her regarding the Stanleys and remembering how wonderful it had felt to hold his hand, sleep had eluded her. Her condition was made worse because she knew there was absolutely nothing she could do to improve either situation. Until the Bow Street Runner discovered the missing boys, they could only wait and hope. And even if, by some miracle, Alexander felt anything more for her than simple friendship, it would come to nothing. She was unable to provide him an heir, so friendship was all they could ever know.
A light knock on the door interrupted her confusing thoughts, and Jane looked up to see Albert.
“Good morning, my lady,” he said, bowing to Aunt Millward. “Miss Hadford.” He stepped closer and offered her a silver salver bearing a white envelope. “This just arrived for you, miss.”
“It’s a bit early for the post isn’t it, Albert?” Aunt Millward said.
“Yes, my lady. This letter was hand delivered.”
The internal butterflies took off in a whirling frenzy, and Jane reached for the envelope. She recognized Alexander’s hand immediately. “Thank you, Albert.”
“Very good, miss.” With another slight bow, the footman slipped out of the room.
“Is it from Lord Bloxley?” her aunt asked.
Jane nodded, grateful that her mother and Phoebe were abovestairs still, preparing themselves for the picnic.
“He promised he would inform me if he heard news.” She stared at the envelope, unaccountably afraid of what it might hold.
“Open it, dear. It won’t bite.”
Jane managed a shaky smile. She had slipped into her aunt’s bedchamber last evening, desiring to update her on all that had happened since they’d removed Asher from the Stanleys’ house together. Describing Alexander’s kindness to Asher in the orchard and the young boy’s joyful discoveries at the pond had helped offset the gruesome reality of the Stanleys’ perfidy and the uncertainty surrounding Asher’s future. She had been glad of her aunt’s calming influence then; she was doubly glad of it now.
Breaking the seal, Jane slid the single piece of paper out of the envelope.
Bloxley Hall
9 May 1788
Dear Jane,
She paused. How had they come to this so quickly? Only a month ago, the Earl of Bloxley had sat beside her at Claremont House, and she had not known him. Now they were calling each other by their given names. Jane doubted that many would understand how their joint desire to fulfill the dying wish of a poor flower woman and care for her child could have forged so strong a bond. She barely grasped it herself.
She returned to her letter.
Bloxley Hall
