Almost a Princess by Elizabeth Thornton

Jane’s other side, the viscount whispered, “Why don’t they sing in English? Then a fellow might be able to follow the story.”
    “Hush,” said his sister, “and follow your program.” From then on, Jane kept her thoughts focused on the present, and soon, the sadness faded and she was caught up in the music again. When the performance was over, the viscount clapped harder than anyone, but Jane knew it was because he was glad he didn’t have to listen to any more “caterwauling” as he would call it. Freddie and opera were not compatible, and she thought more of him for setting aside his own preferences to indulge his sister and his sister’s friend. He really was a nice man.
    When he delivered her to the new library in the Strand, he told the hackney driver to wait, then walked her to the front door. The porter was on hand to let her in.
    Freddie said, “You know Jane, you’re welcome to stay with Sal and me whenever you’re in town. I don’t like to think of you alone in this cavernous house.”
    “But I’m not alone. There are other single women like me who have rented rooms, and I have the best room of all. It’s on the ground floor, with a view of the river, and there’s a French door onto the terrace so that Lance can come and go as he pleases. Don’t worry, Freddie. There are plenty of footmen about, so we’re all quite safe. Besides, I have Lance.”
    He looked as though he might say more, but when she gave him a sisterly peck on the cheek, he sighed, said his farewells, and left.
    When she entered her own room, she went straight to the French door, unlocked it, and stepped outside. A few moments later, Lance came padding in. She caressed his huge head; he licked her hand, then sniffed her gown and wrap while she stood there patiently, waiting for his curiosity to be satisfied. That done, he padded over to the hearth and settled down for the night.
    Before undressing, she took one last look at her reflection in the looking glass. The gown was everything she’d hoped it would be. She’d made it herself from a pattern she’d seen in
La Belle Assemblée,
and it had been packed away in tissue paper, waiting for just the right occasion to make an appearance. She was glad she’d worn it tonight, glad that Lord Castleton had seen that there was more to Miss Plain Jane Mayberry than the dowd he’d met that morning.
    The stray thought brought her up short. This was dangerous thinking. She hadn’t worn the gown because she craved masculine attention, but because she liked pretty things. She had a box of pretty things in Hillcrest, her house near Highgate, and when the occasion demanded, she was happy to wear them. The trouble was, she had few occasions to wear them.
    She sat on the edge of the bed, lifted her skirts, and stared contemplatively at her silk-shod legs. This was luxury on a grand scale. Silk stockings cost ten shillings a pair, and she didn’t have the funds to indulge in them too often. They represented several hours of hard work at her desk, writing pamphlets, speeches, and articles that various clients had solicited, clients that had come to her on Lady Octavia’s recommendation.
    She didn’t know why she was sighing. She was the luckiest girl in the world. She loved her work, she had good friends, and she was solvent. What more could she want?
    Lance was looking at her. She got off the bed. “My trouble,” she said, “is that I don’t have enough to occupy me when I’m in town. Well, that will all change tomorrow when we go home. We’re having company, did I tell you? Miss Emily Drake. I know you’ll be kind to her because she’s a runaway like us.”
    As she got ready for bed, her thoughts drifted to Gideon Piers. That’s what had brought the earl into her life, his investigation of a murder that somehow was connected to Gideon. It didn’t make sense. Then, of course, the earl wasn’t interested in helping her make sense of things.
    Her feelings for Letty’s brother