‘But, Jane, I thought that you did not mind! You just said-’
‘I know!’ Jane put out a hasty hand to touch Sophia’s. ‘I do not mind for myself, dearest Sophia, for you know that Lord Philip and I would not suit! But the legend of the Eve of St Agnes is just that-a legend! It cannot be true!’
Sophia was looking distinctly obstinate. ‘All I know is that I dreamed of Lord Philip that night and now I have met him! It seems quite simple to me!’
Jane knew that there was no arguing with her. Sophia was a sweet girl but she could be frighteningly stubborn at times. Besides, who was to say that it was not true? Sophia had dreamed of a handsome young man and now she thought that she had met him. She had certainly tumbled into love. What was more surprising was that Lord Philip appeared equally smitten. Jane, remembering the bad-tempered young man who had visited Ambergate, suddenly wondered whether it had been frustration and anger that had made Philip behave as he had. Certainly Alexander Delahaye was imperious enough to try the patience of a saint, as Jane herself had discovered, and if he had pushed Philip beyond endurance…
She moved over to give Sophia an impulsive hug. ‘Oh, Sophy, I’m sorry! I did not mean to appear disbelieving! I am very happy for you!’
Sophia hugged her back, her spirits restored at once. ‘Jane, it is so exciting! I am just sorry that you did not dream of your future husband that night! That would have been marvellous!’
Jane tried not to smile. ‘Well, to tell the truth I did dream of a man that night, but-’
Sophia clutched her. ‘Jane! Why did you not tell me? Who was he?’
Jane dropped her gaze. ‘It was nothing, Sophy! I woke in the night and saw a man in the corridor and then I dreamed about him, but it turned out that he was just one of my parents’ guests…’
Sophia’s brow was furrowed. She focused on the one point of importance. ‘Yes, but, Jane, who was he?’
‘It was the Duke of Delahaye,’ Jane said reluctantly.
Sophia squeaked and clapped her hand to her mouth. Above it, her eyes were huge and round. ‘Jane! The Duke! But-’
‘I told you that the legend could not be true!’ Jane said urgently. ‘Besides, I was awake when I saw him, and although I dreamed of him later I am sure that it does not count.’
Sophia was not so sure. She shook her head stubbornly. ‘But you went to bed without supper? You did not look behind you?’
‘No,’ Jane admitted, wishing she had never mentioned it. ‘It’s true that I did those things, but-’
‘Then it must be true!’ Sophia’s blue eyes widened even further. ‘Oh, Jane, the Duke of Delahaye! Only think!’
Jane was thinking. With a shiver that was half-fear, half-pleasure, she remembered the curious attraction that Alex Delahaye held for her. Would it be so terrible to be married to him? Then she remembered that he wanted her to marry his brother and that he was still in love with his dead wife. How many reasons did she need to prove that it was all foolish superstition? She slid into her bed.
‘It has to be nonsense, Sophy,’ she said firmly. ‘If Alexander Delahaye proves to be my future husband you may have that pair of silk gloves of mine that you so admire-yes, and the straw bonnet with the matching ribbons! That is how certain I am that it will never come true!’
It seemed that Sophia was as anxious to see Lord Philip again as Jane was to avoid him. Jane heard her friend humming at the breakfast table and noticed a distinctly dreamy look on Sophia’s face as she picked at her buttered eggs. When the visitors started to arrive, Sophia’s blue gaze was riveted on the door in much the same way as a dog watches for its master, her face falling as each new arrival proved not to be the man she wanted to see. A whole procession of sharp-eyed mamas and their hopeful daughters were filling up the pink drawing-room and still Lord Philip did not come.
The hum of conversation and clash of teacups grew ever louder. Several ladies noted Lord Philip’s absence and teased Jane about it, their false smiles not quite reaching their eyes. A number of the daughters were casting a thoughtful eye over Simon, who had the look of a man wishing he could remember a pressing engagement elsewhere. More than one debutante was sighing soulfully over Alex Delahaye and his sad romantic history.
The door opened and Lord Philip came in. The assembled ladies cooed a little with pleasure. Jane moved unobtrusively across to a group of debutantes and inserted herself in the middle, making sure that there was nowhere for Lord Philip to sit. She saw Lady Verey glance over in her direction with a meaningful look, then turned her shoulder and pretended to be engrossed in the conversation. When she looked up again, Jane saw that Lord Philip had taken the seat by Sophia, who was pink with suppressed joy.
Lady Verey was not so pleased. When the drawing-room had emptied of their guests, she took her daughter firmly to task.
‘Jane Verey, I do declare you can be the most provoking girl!’ she chided. ‘Lord Philip came here especially to see you! If you think to provoke his interest by appearing unconcerned, you are only being foolish! A gentleman needs some encouragement-a smile here, a soft word there. Try to be more pleasing!’
Jane bit back the retort that Lord Philip was receiving as much encouragement as he needed from a different source. Sophia had turned quite pale at Lady Verey’s attack and was now trying to pretend that she could not hear. With a murmured word of excuse, she slipped out of the room. Lady Verey barely seemed to notice.
‘Surely, Mama,’ Jane said mildly, ‘you can see that Lord Philip has no wish for my company-no more than I have for his! We are not suited.’
Lady Verey looked affronted. ‘Not suited! What nonsense is this? It is my dearest wish that Lord Philip should renew his attentions! Now, he will be at Lady Winterstoke’s dinner tomorrow and I expect to see an improvement in your manner towards him, Jane! Pray show him some partiality!’
‘Excuse me, my lady.’ Golding, the butler, had soft-footed into the room. ‘There is a posy here for Miss Jane.’ He snapped his fingers and the footman hurried forward, carrying a small but exquisite bouquet of tight pink roses.
Lady Verey’s irritated face broke into a smile. ‘From Lord Philip, no doubt! I expect he was too shy to present it himself, the foolish boy!’
Jane took the posy, wondering at her mother’s championing of a man who had been so offensive to her only a month before. No doubt Lady Verey had conveniently ascribed Lord Philip’s behaviour to a temporary aberration or boyish high spirits. She had to agree, however, that the flowers were beautiful, each tiny bud a deep pink colour and on the point of unfurling. She extracted the card and handed the flowers back to the footman to put in water. Much as she would like to send them back, it seemed a churlish gesture and Lady Verey would never permit it. She could not resist a certain curiosity to see the message. What could Lord Philip say to her that would not appear either rude or insincere?
The bold black writing had come from another pen, however. It was not an apology, only a name: Alexander Delahaye.
Jane caught her breath and pressed the card to her chest in case her mother was about to snatch it from her. Lady Verey was still twittering on about Lord Philip and his thoughtful choice of flowers and Jane did not contradict her. She excused herself as quickly as possible and flew up the stairs to her bedroom. The posy was already on a side table by the window, its pink buds just tinged with gold. Jane hesitated. She could have torn the card into pieces and thrown it away, but instead she placed it carefully in a drawer, on a bed of silk ribbons.
The sensation at Lady Winterstoke’s dinner was caused not by the presence of Lord Philip Delahaye but by that of his elder brother. For years the hostesses of the
Jane’s heart had sunk when she saw them come in. It seemed that the Duke and his brother must be forever dogging her steps and spoiling things for her. After all, it was Alexander Delahaye’s avowed intent to wear down her resistance until she capitulated and agreed to the marriage. She had spent much time thinking of the bouquet he had sent her and had come to the practical conclusion that it was an attempt to soften her feelings towards the match. Well-her pretty face set into lines of obstinate disapproval-it would not work! No matter how romantic it had seemed at first, in truth it was just another means by which Alex Delahaye hoped to manipulate her!
Accordingly, she was looking very severe when Lady Winterstoke brought the Duke and Lord Philip over to them as the guests assembled before dinner.
