She was plain, and poor, and yet the eyes
that could look as hard as chips of granite turned all soft and smoky when he
thought about her.
Because they had shared all those hardships and she’d come
through them all with flying colours.
Jayne knew she would never have been able to nurse a man
through such a difficult time. She had no skills, no experience. And would never
be allowed anywhere near a sick room in any case.
She turned her head away abruptly while she grappled with a
fierce stab of jealousy for the girl who, despite all her disadvantages, had
managed to capture the heart of a man like this. A man unlike anyone she’d ever
met before. Now that she wasn’t quite so cross with him she could admit that she
found his rough-hewn face ruggedly attractive. Even that terrible scar, which at
first sight had made him look a bit scary, now only served as a reminder that he
was a battle-hardened soldier, a man to be admired for his bravery.
She heaved a deep sigh. If any man in London deserved to find
happiness with the woman he loved, then it was this man.
It was such a pity he couldn’t see it for himself.
Chapter Four
T he next evening, Lady Jayne had barely
arrived at the Cardingtons’ before Lord Ledbury came over.
He bowed to Lady Penrose. ‘May I claim the hand of Lady Jayne
during the next waltz? Not to dance, but to take the air on the terrace?’
‘Oh, may I, Lady Penrose?’ Lady Jayne put in hastily, before
Lady Penrose could object. ‘Lord Ledbury was terribly wounded at Orthez. He does
not dance.’
She hoped that putting those two statements together might make
Lady Penrose soften towards him. Not that she believed he could not dance if he wanted to. After all, he was fit enough to go
prowling around public parks at dawn. But he clearly wanted to talk to her—and
not many men, she had noted, were capable of carrying on sensible conversations
while executing the complex figures of any dance, let alone the waltz.
‘It is rather warm in here,’ said Lady Penrose, after a visible
struggle with herself. Having been given the information that Lord Ledbury did
not dance, she had little choice but to relax her rigid rules just a little, or
risk losing the first suitor in whom her charge had shown any interest. ‘Perhaps
you might go and sit on that bench, just there.’ She indicated a spot just
through the open doors, which would be clearly visible from where she sat. ‘It
is a little unorthodox, but in your case,’ she said
with a slight smile, ‘I think there would be no harm in it. I shall have a
footman send you out some lemonade.’
Lady Jayne could barely stifle a giggle at the implication that
nobody could get up to anything improper whilst drinking lemonade.
‘Phew!’ she said as they made their way to the open doors. ‘It
is a good thing you are such a catch, or you would never have got away with
that.’
Lord Ledbury flinched. It was just typical that the first woman
to rouse his interest should dismiss him so airily. But what else could he
expect? She was determined to marry for love. And he’d learned from the cradle
that there was nothing in him to inspire affection. His own parents, who’d had
no trouble at all doting on his other brothers, had seemed barely able to recall
they had a third son. True, his father had only had time for Mortimer, while his
mother had practically smothered Charlie, but that had done nothing to soothe
the sting of their joint rejection of him. Or to lessen the impact of Lady
Jayne’s indifference to him now.
He took himself to task as he took his place next to her on the
designated bench. He had rank and wealth to offer a woman now. And there were
plenty who would be perfectly satisfied with that. He only had to recall how
they’d flocked round him at Lucy Beresford’s ball.
He had no need of love—not in the kind of marriage he intended
to contract.
Particularly not from a flighty little piece like this.
‘You are looking very pleased
that could look as hard as chips of granite turned all soft and smoky when he
thought about her.
Because they had shared all those hardships and she’d come
through them all with flying colours.
Jayne knew she would never have been able to nurse a man
through such a difficult time. She had no skills, no experience. And would never
be allowed anywhere near a sick room in any case.
She turned her head away abruptly while she grappled with a
fierce stab of jealousy for the girl who, despite all her disadvantages, had
managed to capture the heart of a man like this. A man unlike anyone she’d ever
met before. Now that she wasn’t quite so cross with him she could admit that she
found his rough-hewn face ruggedly attractive. Even that terrible scar, which at
first sight had made him look a bit scary, now only served as a reminder that he
was a battle-hardened soldier, a man to be admired for his bravery.
She heaved a deep sigh. If any man in London deserved to find
happiness with the woman he loved, then it was this man.
It was such a pity he couldn’t see it for himself.
Chapter Four
T he next evening, Lady Jayne had barely
arrived at the Cardingtons’ before Lord Ledbury came over.
He bowed to Lady Penrose. ‘May I claim the hand of Lady Jayne
during the next waltz? Not to dance, but to take the air on the terrace?’
‘Oh, may I, Lady Penrose?’ Lady Jayne put in hastily, before
Lady Penrose could object. ‘Lord Ledbury was terribly wounded at Orthez. He does
not dance.’
She hoped that putting those two statements together might make
Lady Penrose soften towards him. Not that she believed he could not dance if he wanted to. After all, he was fit enough to go
prowling around public parks at dawn. But he clearly wanted to talk to her—and
not many men, she had noted, were capable of carrying on sensible conversations
while executing the complex figures of any dance, let alone the waltz.
‘It is rather warm in here,’ said Lady Penrose, after a visible
struggle with herself. Having been given the information that Lord Ledbury did
not dance, she had little choice but to relax her rigid rules just a little, or
risk losing the first suitor in whom her charge had shown any interest. ‘Perhaps
you might go and sit on that bench, just there.’ She indicated a spot just
through the open doors, which would be clearly visible from where she sat. ‘It
is a little unorthodox, but in your case,’ she said
with a slight smile, ‘I think there would be no harm in it. I shall have a
footman send you out some lemonade.’
Lady Jayne could barely stifle a giggle at the implication that
nobody could get up to anything improper whilst drinking lemonade.
‘Phew!’ she said as they made their way to the open doors. ‘It
is a good thing you are such a catch, or you would never have got away with
that.’
Lord Ledbury flinched. It was just typical that the first woman
to rouse his interest should dismiss him so airily. But what else could he
expect? She was determined to marry for love. And he’d learned from the cradle
that there was nothing in him to inspire affection. His own parents, who’d had
no trouble at all doting on his other brothers, had seemed barely able to recall
they had a third son. True, his father had only had time for Mortimer, while his
mother had practically smothered Charlie, but that had done nothing to soothe
the sting of their joint rejection of him. Or to lessen the impact of Lady
Jayne’s indifference to him now.
He took himself to task as he took his place next to her on the
designated bench. He had rank and wealth to offer a woman now. And there were
plenty who would be perfectly satisfied with that. He only had to recall how
they’d flocked round him at Lucy Beresford’s ball.
He had no need of love—not in the kind of marriage he intended
to contract.
Particularly not from a flighty little piece like this.
‘You are looking very pleased
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