John’s astonishment grew as Jane rambled, and she trailed off, her face unbearably hot.
John lifted his chin. “I cannot believe you so flighty, Jane, that you could allow a man, who pretends to be a gentleman, change your thoughts so swiftly.”
“He did not.” Jane shook her head, her heart squeezing. “I’ve had these thoughts a long time, even if I did not admit them to myself. But I did not want to hurt you, my dear old friend. I believe now that not speaking will do even more harm. What happens if, in a year or two, you meet a lady you truly love? One who could be your helpmeet, your friend, the mother of your children? And you were already betrothed or married to me? Let us prevent that tragedy here and now.”
John scowled. “Or is it that you wish to fall in love with another and not be tied to me?”
“Nonsense,” Jane said. “I have no intention of marrying anyone.”
She flushed even as she spoke. Spencer tempted her, yes, but she barely knew him. She would not fly from an understanding with John to an elopement with Spencer in the space of a day.
Would she?
“I believe you,” John said in a hard voice. “Your nose held so high, your frosty demeanor in place. You’ve grown cold, Jane. If I haven’t spoken to you about sharing a stall for life, it is because you are quite disagreeable these days. Your letters to me are so formal, about what calves were born and who danced with whom at the village ball. Enthralling.”
Jane’s coolness evaporated in a flash. “These in answer to the very few letters you have sent me. I’ve not heard from you since summer, in fact. Do not bother to use the excuse of battles, because your mother has had plenty of letters from you, as has my brother, and I know that the sister of a man in your regiment has heard plenty from him—the letters arrive in England on the same ship. But none from you to me.”
John reddened. “Hardly seemly, is it, writing to a lady to whom I am not engaged?”
“It did not stop you the first year you were gone, nor has it stopped you scolding me for not writing scintillating letters to you.”
John attempted a lofty tone. “You are such a child, Jane.”
“No, I am not. I am twenty, as I reminded you last night, older than several ladies of my acquaintance who are already married. Old enough to be on the shelf, as you know. But I will not tie us to a marriage neither of us wants to avoid that fate.”
“Ah, so that is why you were always sweet to me, eh, Janie? So you’d never be an ape-leader?” John’s mouth pinched. “I’ll have you know that I planned to speak to you this week, my dear, but not to propose. To tell you there is the sister of an officer who has caught my eye, and as you have become so cool, and she is quite warm, that we should agree to part.”
Jane’s heart stung, and she regarded him in remorse. She hadn’t wanted to anger John, but how could he not be angry? His stabs at her came from his bafflement and hurt, but Jane sensed that he was more insulted at her refusal than deeply wounded.
John would return to his regiment and happily court the officer’s sister, and forget he ever had feelings for Jane. In fact, John had behaved, since his arrival, as though he’d forgotten those feelings already.
Hopefully, in time, John would forgive her, and they’d continue as friends, as they had been all their lives. But friends with no obligation attached.
“Good-bye, John,” Jane said, and quietly walked out of the room.
Spencer did not see Jane the rest of the day. He walked through the gardens, the park, the woods, then took a horse and went on a long ride. It was snowing by the time he returned, and dark.
He did not see Barnett either, which was a mercy. Spencer then realized he’d seen no one at all as he returned to his chamber. He washed and changed and descended in search of supper, but the residents of the house were elusive. Where had they all gone?
“Hurry up, lad,” a voice with a Scottish lilt said to him. “You’re the last.”
“The last for what, sir?” Spencer asked Lady Jane’s grandfather as the elderly man tottered to him.
“The hunt, of course. Here’s your list. You’re with Thomas and my daughter. Off you go.”
Spencer gazed down at a paper with a jumble of items written on it: A flat iron, a locket, a horseshoe, a thimble, and a dozen more bizarre things that did not match.
“What is this?” he asked in bewilderment.
“A scavenger hunt, slow-top. The first team to gather the things wins a prize. Go on with ye.”
Spencer hesitated. “Where is Jane? Lady Jane, that is.”
“With the older cousins and a friend from down the lane. Why are you still standing here?”
“The thing is, sir, I … I’m not sure who to speak to …”
The old Scotsman waved him away, his plaids swinging. “Aye, I know all about it. Give the lass time to settle, and she’ll come ’round. She only gave Major Barnett the elbow a few hours ago.”
Spencer’s heart leapt. “She did?”
“Yes. Thank the Lord. Now, hurry away. Enjoy yourself while you’re still young.”
Spencer grinned in sudden hope. “Yes, sir. Of course, sir.”
As he dashed away, he heard Grandfather MacDonald muttering behind him. “In my day, I’d have already put the girl over my shoulder and run off with her. Otherwise, she’d not think I was sincere.”
Jane handed her spoils—a blue beaded slipper, a quizzing glass, and a small rolling pin—to her cousin Digby, and slipped into the chamber she’d spied her grandfather ducking into. The small anteroom was covered with paintings her father’s father had collected. A strange place for Grandfather MacDonald to hide—he believed Van Dyke and Rubens over-praised. Only Scottish painters like Allan Ramsay and Henry Raeburn had ever been any good.
“Grandfather.”
Grandfather looked up from a settee, where he’d been nodding off, but his eyes were bright, alert. He came to his feet.
“Yes, my dear? Are you well?”
“No.” Jane sank down to a painted silk chair. “Everything is turned upside-down, Grandfather. I need your advice.”
“Do you?” Grandfather plopped back onto the settee, smile in place. “Why come to me, lass? Not your mum?”
“Because when things are topsy-turvy, you seem to know what to do.”
“True. But so do you.”
Jane shivered. “No, I do not. I was perfectly happy with my life as it was. Then John began to change, and Captain Ingram—”
“A fine young man is Ingram,” Grandfather said brightly. “My advice is to run off with him. You like kissing him well enough.”
Jane’s face flamed. “Grandfather!”
“I do not know why you are so ashamed. I saw you kissing him in the garden, and young Thomas says you kissed him at the bonfire.” Grandfather shook his head in impatience. “Latch on to him, Janie, and kiss him for life.”
Jane’s face grew hotter, her mortification complete. “You ought to have made yourself known instead of lurking in the shrubbery.”
“Tut, girl. I was out for a walk, a good stride through the yew hedges. Not lurking anywhere. You were standing plain as day by those ridiculous statues. Which is why I don’t understand your shame. You did not kick Ingram in the dangles and run away. You embraced him. With enthusiasm.”