The Duke and Duchess of Lockridge entered first. Townsend’s father was tall and dark-haired like him, and his mother voluptuously beautiful in an emerald green visiting frock with pearl buttons and lace.
Why had Jane worn toile? Why couldn’t she have shining honey-colored hair like Lord Townsend’s mother rather than the orange straw she’d been cursed with?
Lord Townsend entered behind them, along with his sister. She could sense him there, could sense his great height and presence, but could not summon the courage to look at him yet. First she went with her parents to greet his parents. The duchess reached out and took Jane’s hands, with a smile so warm and sincere that Jane’s face unfroze enough to return it.
“This must be the young lady my son has told us about,” she said to Jane’s parents. “How wonderful it is to meet you, Lady Jane. Look at your beautiful frock. Toile is my favorite, and the blue perfectly suits the shade of your hair.”
“Thank you, Your Grace.” The knot in Jane’s stomach eased at the woman’s kind words. She offered her hand to the duke, then greeted Lady Rosalind. After that, there was nothing to do but turn to Lord Townsend as his father introduced them.
She watched this stranger—her fiancé—as he acknowledged her parents first. Yes, he was the same dauntingly handsome man she’d seen at the balls last season, the ones he’d deigned to attend, at any rate. Up close, he was even more striking. His hair was glossy black and full, his lips well-formed, and his nose straight and aristocratic. His eyes were large and wide set, framed by strong brows and dark lashes. When he turned them on her, she felt caught beneath a spell. And their color…
My goodness. Lord Townsend’s eyes were the same color she saw each time she looked in the mirror. Jane had always been at a loss to describe the exact color of her eyes. They were mostly brown, but slightly gold and amber as well, a strange, in-between color she’d never seen on anyone else.
Until now.
She realized she’d been staring and offered her hand. His fingers seemed huge. Even with their gloves between them, his grip felt strong and affecting, and she felt a twinge of excitement to be touching him at last.
But she was not smiling. Goodness, she’d forgotten to smile. She tried to force a quick smile and it came out crooked, and those eyes so like her own regarded her with a veiled scrutiny that made her want to run away and hide. He barely smiled either. He had a reserved manner at odds with the easiness of his parents.
“Won’t you sit and join us for tea?” Her mother turned about, directing the guests to various chairs, making sure to seat Lord Townsend in the armchair adjacent to Jane’s. “It’s so pleasant to have visitors in the winter, when it’s so quiet in town.”
“Indeed, most of our friends have left for their country homes.”
While the parents spoke of niceties, and Mrs. Barton and her parlor maids distributed tea and cakes, Jane was hotly aware of Lord Townsend sitting mere feet from her. He bore little resemblance to his sister, Rosalind. She looked more like her mother, her hair a shining golden brown, while Townsend clearly took after his father. Jane remembered, though, that Lord Townsend had an older sister who was as striking and dark as he, who had married an Italian prince. It had been the talk of society when it happened. Jane had been young then, perhaps seven or eight years old, beguiled by fantasies of becoming a princess.
“Felicity is well,” answered the duchess, to some question of her mother’s. “She and her husband are planning a trip to London in the spring, in fact, with our grandchildren. We’ve been brushing up on our Italian.”
Yes, Lady Felicity. That was his oldest sister’s name. She must be Princess Felicity now, and of course Jane’s parents would inquire after her right away, excited to have a connection, however tenuous, to Italian royalty. Lord Townsend himself might be an Italian prince, in his finely tailored coat and shining riding boots. She imagined he must ride very well. He seemed the sort to do everything very well.
She did nothing well, except for things young ladies weren’t supposed to be interested in. She slid a look at him, wondering if he regretted his proposal now that he was sitting so near her. He followed the parents’ conversation politely, contributing when required. His voice was very deep, rumbling and masculine, rich with personality. As for Jane, she could not seem to summon a word. She could only think, why? Why are you here? Why do you wish to marry me?
Soon, talk turned to their new engagement and impending wedding.
“How pleased I was to receive your son’s petition for marriage,” said her father. “So many young men these days aren’t of a mind to wed and settle down into family life.”
“Indeed.” The Duke of Lockridge smiled at his duchess. “I remember how unhappy I was when this one dragged me before the parson.”
The duchess returned his smile and blushed in a way so girlish Jane could only stare. Her mother and father never teased one another, especially in front of company. That was what they were doing, teasing, like a pair of courting birds. Lord Townsend caught her eye with a faintly embarrassed half-smile.
She did not know how to respond, whether she ought to smile back or shyly glance away. She’d had little experience with marriageable gentlemen, especially the dashing, mysterious type that made up Lord Townsend’s circle of friends. Some said they were the scandalous sort, but Jane imagined it was unfair gossip. June’s association with Lord Wescott hadn’t had a whisper of scandal associated with it. Well, until he jilted her to marry an operatic singer.
“We’re pleased about this engagement as well,” the duke continued over his wife’s blushes. “How exciting, for our two families to unite behind an excellent match.”
They shared lemon cake, cream fingers, and wedding plans, although Jane felt too shy to eat, drink, or say a single word unless prompted for an opinion. What day? Any day. Which church? Any church with an altar and parson would do. She could not bring herself to plan too excitedly. What if Lord Townsend changed his mind about a wedding before this polite tea was over? She would have liked to converse with Rosalind, who did not seem so threatening, but she wasn’t sitting here in her special toile dress to spend time with Rosalind…
“Jane, dear.” Her mother’s voice interrupted her jittery, anxious thoughts. Jane glanced at Lord Townsend. Had she offended him because she was too hapless to address any conversation to him? “The sun is out today,” her mother went on, “and the conversation of elders can be tiresome. Why don’t you show Lord Townsend around the courtyard gardens?”
“What a lovely idea,” said the duchess. “I’m sure the young people would enjoy some fresh air.”
“Go fetch your cloaks,” her mother pressed, as Jane’s heart beat faster. “And a bonnet, Jane. You’ll need it for the sun.”
“I’d love to see your gardens, too,” said Townsend’s sister, putting down her plate and rising to her feet.
“Rosalind, why don’t you stay?” The duchess’s tone was kind but firm.
Lord Townsend’s sister resumed her seat, polite enough to almost hide her disappointment. Jane, on the other hand, rose with some reluctance. A walk in the gardens brought to mind every soiled hem, every scolding she’d received for mucking about in the dirt.