Anne Herries - Claiming The Chaperon's Heart

‘I couldn’t possible manage without you,’ Jane told her affectionately. ‘You will have to go on for many years yet. I’m sorry, Tilda, but you must train a girl to care for me as you do before you think of retiring.’

Tilda had given her a dark look and muttered something that Jane could not hear and diplomatically ignored. The girl had come to her via her mother, a shy young thing of fifteen when she first worked for the family; employed in the nursery, she’d worked her way up to become Jane’s maid, had gone with her to Spain and France when Harry was fighting under Wellington, and been a tower of strength when his death had almost killed Jane. Indeed, she did not know whether she could have borne it without Tilda and some other friends who had supported her in her grief.

After Tilda had wished her pleasant dreams and left her, Jane felt too restless for sleep. She looked at the portrait of her husband that she had kept by her bed since it was first given her as one of many presents from an adoring lover, for Harry had remained the ardent lover to the end. Sighing, she replaced the jewelled trinket in its place and walked to the window to look out at the night sky. Jane’s heart had been broken when she lost the man she loved, and she would not wish such pain on her darling brother. If Melia’s heart had been captured and her head turned by the dashing soldier, she would feel responsible—though, of course, they could have met at any time during the round of parties and dances that were about to begin.

Jane sat on the edge of the bed then lay back against a pile of soft pillows, another sigh escaping her. Was it only Will’s disappointment that hung over her like a heavy cloud—or was there more?

She could not be certain. The evening had been pleasant, much of that deriving from the gentle smile and amusing conversation offered by Lord Frant. There was something about him that had made her very aware of him from their first meeting, but she could not put her feelings into words. He was direct, strong-willed and would make a bad enemy, of that she was sure—but to her he showed only courtesy, though she was certain he’d intended to quarrel with her that first morning.

What had made him change his mind? Jane puzzled over it, but could find no reason for the thunderstruck look on his face as he’d stared at her. A vainer woman might have hit upon the truth, but Jane had never thought herself either beautiful or desirable. She dressed in good clothes that suited her and were considered elegant by others, but, since she only glanced in the mirror when she dressed or changed her clothes, she was not aware that she was a striking woman with good strong features and fine eyes.

It would be vain indeed to imagine that a man like Paul Frant had fallen instantly in love with her and the thought never entered Jane’s mind. He was a man of the world, obviously wealthy and experienced in business matters. She could only think that he’d been surprised—he had mentioned that he’d thought she would be older, so that must be it.

Her own feelings had shocked her, because she’d liked him despite her determination not to. His letter had been abrupt and she’d been ready to think him a villain for turning Melia and her sister from their home, but indeed that had been the lawyers, who had since been put in their place and were now doing all they could to make amends. Paul Frant was a long way from being the most handsome man she’d met; indeed, his friend Adam Hargreaves put him in the shade and was a viscount to boot rather than a mere lord. As a girl, Jane had been expected to look higher and her husband’s title had not been considered one of importance. She’d married for love, with her mother’s approval and her half-brother’s grudging permission, and, until fate had taken everything away, she’d been very happy.

Jane did not feel it would be possible to love like that again. Surely any other attachment she might form would pale into insignificance against the love she’d known—and, that being the case, she’d more or less made up her mind not to marry again. It was better to be a widow and independent rather than find oneself trapped into a less than perfect marriage.

Yet Jane could not deny that it was comfortable having a man to care for one’s comfort, even if one was capable of arranging things for oneself. Will had never interfered in her arrangements, but she’d known he was there if she’d needed a male opinion on any matter of business. Living with her brother had suited her well, but she had her doubts about living in Bath with a female companion.

As yet there had been no reply to her letter to Cousin Sarah, which had surprised Jane a little. She’d thought the girl would be only too happy to accept the offer of becoming her companion. She’d made it clear that, though she would be accepted as family, she would be given an allowance that would make her independent and able to buy the small luxuries of life that made the difference between drudgery and content.

Perhaps the letter had been lost between Sarah’s home and hers. She would wait another week or so and then write again.

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