the pillow again.
Jane placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. “I am so sorry,” she whispered. “I’m sure he did love you, but I can see his parents had a hand in this. They must have realized the earl’s death means a change in my status, and therefore yours. No doubt they suspected you would no longer have a dowry, or a reduced one at best.”
Millicent wasn’t listening. “I have lost everything.”
Feeling utterly helpless, Jane patted her sister’s shoulder. “Don’t worry. Everything will be all right.”
“Will it?” Millicent’s words were choked with despair.
When Jane left her sister’s bedchamber, she was sick at heart. How could she feel otherwise when their lives had changed completely?
Everything most definitely would not be all right.
Chapter 5
By the next day, the guests had left. All, that is, except James and Beatrice. “They’re not really guests,” Jane replied to her mother’s complaint. “You know very well Chatfield Court will soon be theirs.”
“That horrible woman!” Mama’s face grew red. “Haven’t you noticed how Beatrice is already parading around the house as if she owns it? She has even begun to order the servants around, and that’s not right. You are still the countess.”
At times Mama truly tried Jane’s patience. She had to remind herself that her mother meant well, that her concerns were not for herself but for her family. “We all hate the thought of leaving Chatfield Court, but we must learn to accept the inevitable. I already have, and it doesn’t bother me a bit.”
That evening, upon entering the dining room, Jane realized that—contrary to what she had told her mother—she had not entirely accepted the inevitable. She was headed toward her usual place at the foot of the table when, with a sickening jolt, she discovered her sister-in-law sitting in her chair. In Arthur’s chair at the head of the table sat James, the supposed new Earl of Lansdown, looking decidedly uncomfortable. No doubt Beatrice insisted he assume his rightful place.
“Well? Are you going to do something?” Mama asked in an infuriated whisper.
“I don’t need the aggravation,” Jane whispered back. “Let them sit there. What difference does it make?”
“Jane, my dear,” Beatrice cried out, the soul of cordiality. “I hope you do not mind the new seating arrangement. We shall all have to get accustomed to it, will we not?”
“Of course,” Jane said through gritted teeth. After all, what did it matter where she sat? Her new chair along the side was just as comfortable. The food was the same, and so was the company. Still, whenever she looked at Beatrice, she felt an urge to yank the chair out from underneath the greedy woman and dump her haughty derriere upon the floor. To make matters worse, her mother glared daggers at her from across the table. Do something ! her eyes said. Even Granny sent her a questioning look.
The soup plates had not been cleared away before Beatrice began a cutting commentary on the reception following the funeral. “I noticed that despicable Douglas Cartland was there.”
Jane’s ears perked up. “Why is he despicable?”
“You mean you don’t know?”
“No.”
“Well!” Beatrice put her fork down, eager to tell. “It happened in London about five years ago. In the early hours of the morning, Cartland was racing his phaeton down St. James’ Street, deep in his cups, the story goes. He rounded a corner at top speed and struck a little girl in the middle of the street. She was only an orange girl, an orphan, from what I understand, but even so, two of the wheels ran right over her and ... well, as you can imagine, it was all quite dreadful. She died right there in the street. After it happened, he disappeared. Good riddance, I say. What person of quality would have anything to do with him? He’s a despicable man, a totally depraved individual.”
From the head of the table, James inquired in his quiet
Jane placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. “I am so sorry,” she whispered. “I’m sure he did love you, but I can see his parents had a hand in this. They must have realized the earl’s death means a change in my status, and therefore yours. No doubt they suspected you would no longer have a dowry, or a reduced one at best.”
Millicent wasn’t listening. “I have lost everything.”
Feeling utterly helpless, Jane patted her sister’s shoulder. “Don’t worry. Everything will be all right.”
“Will it?” Millicent’s words were choked with despair.
When Jane left her sister’s bedchamber, she was sick at heart. How could she feel otherwise when their lives had changed completely?
Everything most definitely would not be all right.
Chapter 5
By the next day, the guests had left. All, that is, except James and Beatrice. “They’re not really guests,” Jane replied to her mother’s complaint. “You know very well Chatfield Court will soon be theirs.”
“That horrible woman!” Mama’s face grew red. “Haven’t you noticed how Beatrice is already parading around the house as if she owns it? She has even begun to order the servants around, and that’s not right. You are still the countess.”
At times Mama truly tried Jane’s patience. She had to remind herself that her mother meant well, that her concerns were not for herself but for her family. “We all hate the thought of leaving Chatfield Court, but we must learn to accept the inevitable. I already have, and it doesn’t bother me a bit.”
That evening, upon entering the dining room, Jane realized that—contrary to what she had told her mother—she had not entirely accepted the inevitable. She was headed toward her usual place at the foot of the table when, with a sickening jolt, she discovered her sister-in-law sitting in her chair. In Arthur’s chair at the head of the table sat James, the supposed new Earl of Lansdown, looking decidedly uncomfortable. No doubt Beatrice insisted he assume his rightful place.
“Well? Are you going to do something?” Mama asked in an infuriated whisper.
“I don’t need the aggravation,” Jane whispered back. “Let them sit there. What difference does it make?”
“Jane, my dear,” Beatrice cried out, the soul of cordiality. “I hope you do not mind the new seating arrangement. We shall all have to get accustomed to it, will we not?”
“Of course,” Jane said through gritted teeth. After all, what did it matter where she sat? Her new chair along the side was just as comfortable. The food was the same, and so was the company. Still, whenever she looked at Beatrice, she felt an urge to yank the chair out from underneath the greedy woman and dump her haughty derriere upon the floor. To make matters worse, her mother glared daggers at her from across the table. Do something ! her eyes said. Even Granny sent her a questioning look.
The soup plates had not been cleared away before Beatrice began a cutting commentary on the reception following the funeral. “I noticed that despicable Douglas Cartland was there.”
Jane’s ears perked up. “Why is he despicable?”
“You mean you don’t know?”
“No.”
“Well!” Beatrice put her fork down, eager to tell. “It happened in London about five years ago. In the early hours of the morning, Cartland was racing his phaeton down St. James’ Street, deep in his cups, the story goes. He rounded a corner at top speed and struck a little girl in the middle of the street. She was only an orange girl, an orphan, from what I understand, but even so, two of the wheels ran right over her and ... well, as you can imagine, it was all quite dreadful. She died right there in the street. After it happened, he disappeared. Good riddance, I say. What person of quality would have anything to do with him? He’s a despicable man, a totally depraved individual.”
From the head of the table, James inquired in his quiet
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