Her One True Love Read online

  Laughing at Laura’s no-nonsense ways of dealing with everything and everyone, Jane and Jeannie followed her away from the crowd to a quieter spot at the side of the busy square.

  “So . . .” Laura placed their baskets on the short wall beside them. “What on earth are you doing here? I wouldn’t expect to see you here this time of year. Is Monica with you?”

  “No. It’s just me and Jeannie.” Jane grinned, hearing every ounce of pride in her words.

  Laura raised her eyebrows. “Just the two of you? Are you mad?”

  “What do you mean? We’re as entitled as the next person to live here as we see fit, are we not?”

  “I’m not talking about Jeannie so much as you.” She sent an apologetic smile toward Jeannie. “I don’t mean that unkindly, you understand. It’s just that you are a bit more aware of the ways of the world than our Miss Jane here.”

  Jane feigned indignation. “I’m standing right here, you know.”

  “I know you are and as bold as brass with it too.” Laura frowned. “You don’t know these streets or what people are capable of. I’ve lived here most of my life. I’ve fought and paid for what I have from one week to the next. You can’t compare that to what you know.”

  “And look at you now. You have made a wonderful life for yourself, and so did Monica when she was here. Oh Laura, please don’t look at me that way. If you doubt me, then how on earth will I ever convince anybody else I know what I’m doing?”

  “And do you?”

  “Of course. Jeannie and I will look after one another, won’t we?”

  Jeannie nodded. “Of course we will. In Jane’s defense, she might even know Bath better than me, considering I spent the majority of my time in the village.”

  Laura lifted an eyebrow. “Is that supposed to make me worry less for the pair of you?”

  Jane cursed the nerves in her stomach as her shaky confidence wavered once more. “I’ve left Marksville. I want to try my hand at an independent life. Surely you, of all people, won’t judge me on that?”

  “Left Marksville? But why?”

  “It was time.” Jane stared past Laura’s shoulder, avoiding her astute and canny gaze. “There’s nothing for me in Biddestone anymore.”

  “How can you say that? I thought you loved the village and Marksville. It was what you lived for.”

  Heat pinched Jane’s cheeks as she met Laura’s gaze. “What I lived for was a dream of falling in love and having a family. The village isn’t where I want to be. Not anymore. There is so much opportunity for more in the city.”

  Laura frowned. “A place has nothing to do with falling in love. Do you think you’re more likely to fall in love and grow a family here? If it wasn’t for Adam’s work at the theater, I would much rather raise our babes in the fresh air than in the soot and silt of Bath.”

  Jane stared as the truth of Laura’s words brought the unexpected sting of tears. Biddestone was beautiful. It was colorful and safe, warm and welcoming, so how could she ever admit to anyone part of her reasoning for leaving lay in Matthew? Wasn’t she running from him? Running from a man who was now here, in her space once more?

  She swallowed. “Well, whether or not that’s true, I’m here and intend to make the most of it.”

  “By doing what?” Laura looked around at the increasingly crowded and noisy market. “Shopping and what have you?”

  “Of course not.” Jane lifted her basket from the wall. “I intend to find some way to work.”

  “Work?”

  “Yes, work.”

  “Doing what?”

  Jane lifted her chin. “Doing what I’ve been trained to do all my life. I am going to find a way to help others. By others, I don’t mean people like Mama and Monica, not even the villagers in Biddestone. I feel deep in my heart a calling to help children.”

  “Children? Like waifs and strays? The hungry mites down by the river?” Concern clouded Laura’s pretty violet eyes. “The city isn’t a playground, Jane. You’ll achieve nothing by ending up dead. Where are you staying?”

  Laura’s words drew over the surface of Jane’s skin like a sharp blade, raising the hairs at her nape. “What do you mean, dead? I have taken Papa’s house in the Circus, a perfectly respectable address and a safe one. There is no need for histrionics.”

  “I’ve lost one friend. I will not stand by and risk losing another.”

  The passion in Laura’s words and the sudden gleam of tears in her eyes quashed Jane’s defensiveness. “I will be perfectly fine.” She took her friend’s hand as Matthew came into her mind. “You need not worry. Squire Cleaves is in town and I’m meeting him this afternoon with another friend who will be introducing me to more people. Before long, I will have lots of acquaintances and will have no need to be alone for any amount of time.”

  “Matthew Cleaves is here too?” Laura swiped her fingers under her eyes and studied Jane intently. “Well, as much as that pleases me, it will please me more if you are under mine and Adam’s protection too. You are a middle class woman, living in the center of Bath. You have much more to fear than the slander of your reputation.”

  “Matthew implied the exact same thing yesterday evening. I’m glad to be here, Laura. I won’t be swayed in my decision.”

  “Fine.” She picked up her basket and took Jane’s elbow. “Then at least come back to the house and visit awhile with Adam and me. He’ll be over the moon to see you both.”

  Jane gently eased her arm from Laura’s grasp. “How about we drop by to see you tomorrow? I want to get these groceries unpacked and then change before my tea this afternoon.” She smiled. “Please, Laura, don’t worry. I am sure to have a lovely afternoon and be able to tell you and Adam all about it tomorrow.”

  Laura briefly closed her eyes and exhaled. “Fine. But I’ll expect you at the house around twelve. I’ll put a bit of lunch together. Adam is busy writing at the moment, so he’s home more than he’s not.”

  Jane smiled. “That’s sounds perfect.”

  With Laura at one side of her and Jeannie the other, they left the market and walked along the flagstone streets until she and Jeannie kissed Laura good-bye under the shadow of the abbey. When she was a distance away from Laura, Jane turned. Her friend had stopped, too, and was intently watching her. Laura raised her hand and Jane forced a wide smile . . . but it did little to quiet the concerns circling in her mind as she and Jeannie walked home toward the Circus.

  Chapter 6

  Matthew entered the Pump Room at exactly five minutes to four. The elegant tearoom was as busy as it usually was at this time of the day. The glistening chandeliers and cream-colored walls played host to tables full of chattering women. Mothers with their adult daughters, female friends, cousins, and associates all gathered in one room, sporadically punctuated with the occasional male face.

  Ignoring the niggling in his conscience that such scenes hadn’t bothered him when Elizabeth was at his side, he stopped in front of two gold posts with a red velvet rope between them.

  The maître d’ came forward, his chin tipped up and his eyes attempting to look down his nose toward Matthew as though the maître d’ was Prince Albert himself. Clenching his jaw, Matthew struggled not to execute an about turn and leave. No part of him wanted to be there, but how could he go when Jane was quite possibly already seated at one of the tables watching him?

  The need to know she was all right after her first night as an independent woman had pushed him from his bed at dawn. The day had dragged like he had never known one to do. He could not return to his hotel without at least seeing her.

  “Sir, how may I help you?” The maître d’s brusque question cut through Matthew’s contemplation.

  He snapped his gaze to the maître d’s. “I am expected. I believe the table will be reserved under the name of Miss Katy Wrexford . . . or maybe her mother, Mrs. Wrexford.”

  “Ah, indeed.” The maître d’ dropped his chin and slid a menu from the shelf beside him. “If you’d like to follow
me, sir.”

  As they walked between the tables, Matthew became aware of the low voices and whispers as he passed each circular table. He straightened his spine, tension snaking across his shoulders. Were they talking about him? Elizabeth’s infidelity? Their estrangement?

  Tremors of humiliation and anger reverberated through him, and Matthew fisted his hands at his sides as he strode forward. The possibility that his presence at Jane’s table might do more harm than good to her first days in the city, cruelly stabbed at him. If gossip circulated about his position as the spurned husband, and Jane was seen to be with him, there was every chance the scandal vultures would pluck the endless good from her reputation, leaving her barred to beneficial opportunities.

  He refused to allow that to happen. The moment he was certain people were talking about his failed marriage, he would leave.

  The maître d’ waved to the table beside him. “Here we are, sir.”

  Matthew blinked and focused his mind on the here and now, rather than the myriad of ifs and maybes battering his brain. He turned to the table, his gaze immediately finding Jane’s, as though an invisible force connected them. He nodded. “Miss Danes.”

  Her cheeks blushed pink as she returned his nod. “Squire Cleaves.”

  He dragged his gaze from Jane’s wide, hazel eyes and sought Miss Wrexford.

  She smiled at him, her eyes alight. “Squire. It’s lovely to see you. Won’t you sit down?”

  Matthew lowered himself into a vacant chair, dipping his head in greeting to the other ladies present. His gaze halted on the only woman who looked old enough to be Miss Wrexford’s mother. Her expression and careful gaze were etched with suspicion. Clearing his throat, Matthew extended his hand toward her. “Mrs. Wrexford? A pleasure.”

  “Squire Cleaves.” Her fingers barely touched his before she withdrew her hand into her lap, her eyes narrowed.

  Unease mixed with irritation at the clear distrust in Mrs. Wrexford’s eyes. He had come on her daughter’s request and was now being looked at as something one might tread upon in the street.

  “Your menu, sir.”

  Matthew faced the maître d’ and took the offered menu. “Thank you.”

  “One of our waitresses will be with you shortly.”

  Once the maître d’ had walked away, Matthew raised his gaze once more to the assembled circle of women surrounding him. Each pair of eyes was wide with curiosity and interest. Their cheeks were flushed, and their smiles almost comically frozen.

  He closed the menu and placed it on the table. He pointedly looked at each of them in turn and raised his eyebrows. “Is there something wrong, ladies?” He turned to Miss Wrexford. “You did warn your friends I would be joining you?”

  Her blush deepened as she gave a sharp burst of laughter. “Well, of course I did. It’s a . . . pleasure to have you here.”

  The atmosphere was pregnant with unspoken words. The feeling that he’d been lured into a trap crept over Matthew’s shoulders and lay there like a heavy weight of impending danger. He risked a look across the table to where Jane sat like a rose among thorns. Her gaze was steady on him, her shoulders high. She appeared unruffled, in no way disturbed by the tension permeating the upper class table, but he knew her well enough to sense she merely waited to see what would happen next.

  Her quiet strength drifted across the table like an intoxicating vapor, seeping into his skin. Her presence only served to fortify his determination to face whatever allegations these women intended to throw at him.

  “Squire Cleaves?”

  Matthew turned toward Mrs. Wrexford. “Yes, madam?”

  “I was very surprised when my daughter told me you would be joining us today. I hope Katy told you we use these get-togethers to discuss our work and plans for change in the city?”

  Matthew glanced around the table, his gaze lingering on Jane before he returned his study to Mrs. Wrexford. “I did not know that, but it sounds a most pleasing way to spend the afternoon. Are you members of a particular association? I hear there are more and more women’s groups forming all over England nowadays.”

  Katy Wrexford shifted in her seat, and Matthew looked at her. He was surprised to see an innate change in both her gaze and poise. The giggly, silly, almost nonsensical aura that surrounded her for the most part had vanished. She held herself rigid as a steady wariness burned in her green eyes. He dropped his gaze to her nails as she dug them into the tablecloth as though she wanted to tear straight through to the wooden surface beneath.

  She lifted her chin. “Indeed there are, Squire. Mama and I are working together to do all we can to build awareness of women’s rights. We feel these issues should be of concern all over the country.” She smiled at her mother. “Isn’t that right, Mama?”

  Matthew faced Mrs. Wrexford. Her expression remained unchanged, as though her daughter hadn’t spoken or addressed her. “And what is your opinion of these groups, Squire Cleaves? Have you any knowledge of their purpose or intent?”

  Matthew glanced at Jane. The atmosphere of gossip he’d anticipated had vanished, if it had ever been there. Now he felt as though he’d been thrown into a debate and if he failed to answer correctly, would be strung up naked. Jane lifted her eyebrows, her gaze unreadable as she seemingly waited for his response, along with everyone else at the table.

  Suspecting he might well respond to the question with the wrong answer whatever his words, Matthew blew out a breath and let fate unfold as it would. “I, as most men of business, have heard more and more about the movement toward the women’s vote and a general push toward equality. As a man of today’s generation and a possible father to the next, I feel it would be of upmost stupidity to ignore what is inevitable.”

  “Which is?”

  Matthew faced Mrs. Wrexford. Her green-gray eyes were steely with ardent interest as she waited for him to respond to her question.

  He lifted his shoulders. “That whether in five years or ten, women will be given the vote and, I imagine, many more opportunities than they have now.”

  “I see. Yet I understand your wife has left you.”

  Matthew stiffened as a collective intake of breath spread over the table. He clenched his jaw and briefly met Jane’s shocked gaze before facing Mrs. Wrexford once more. “She has, but I do not see how my wife’s actions have any bearing on what we are discussing.”

  She sniffed and placed her napkin on the table. “Do you not? I see very significant bearing. Could it not be that your wife—”

  “Mama, I really think you should not press the squire about such a personal—”

  “Do not interrupt me, Katy,” Mrs. Wrexford snapped, her gaze hard as she stared down her daughter. “How dare you.”

  The atmosphere plummeted under Mrs. Wrexford’s ice-cold admonishment. Matthew pulled back his shoulders, his dislike of this woman leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. “Pray continue, Mrs. Wrexford. If you feel my wife’s infidelity has some bearing on women’s issues, I’d be wise to listen, would I not?”

  Aware of every woman at the table staring at him, Matthew held Mrs. Wrexford’s glare. Whoever she thought she was, whatever she felt she had the right to say or ask, no one should be able to speak to another person like she had to her daughter and get away with it.

  Mrs. Wrexford’s eyes turned colder. “I am merely clarifying that the squiress is of the younger generation. Maybe she wanted to do something you were unprepared to allow.”

  Matthew glared, his voice steady. “I would’ve allowed my wife to do anything she pleased . . . but, even for me, sharing another man’s bed is a step too far.” He picked up his menu and opened it. “Now, what are we having to eat this afternoon?”

  The maître d’ appeared at Matthew’s side, and it took all his strength not to glance around the table, and especially at Jane, to see how his response to Mrs. Wrexford’s allegation had been received. Matthew fought the urge to shake his head in incredulity at the woman’s nerve, but on the outside he hoped his face re
mained impassive. For him to acknowledge Elizabeth’s betrayal so openly had shifted something inside him, strangely lifting a little of his humiliation and enabling a slight liberation.

  The maître d’ bowed. “Will you be joining the ladies in afternoon tea? Or would you prefer something more substantial?”

  Matthew snapped the menu closed. “I think tea will be adequate, thank you. My appetite has been somewhat diminished since I arrived.”

  “Very good, sir.”

  The maître d’ walked away, and Matthew finally glanced around the table. None of the potential backlash came forth from the younger women, or even Mrs. Wrexford. Instead, the silence grew oppressive. It was clear from their pursed lips and high color that at least four of the other five women around the table struggled to suppress their smiles. Matthew flicked his gaze to Katy Wrexford and frowned. She appeared to be trembling.

  He looked at Jane. Deep concern etched her pretty face as she, too, stared at Miss Wrexford, who seemed unable to look up from her half-empty plate.

  Matthew’s temper simmered hot in his stomach. The weight of the other patrons’ stares from the nearby tables, as well as those of the women around him, bore into his body from every direction. They had clearly heard his explosive response to Mrs. Wrexford. If it had been her intention to humiliate him, the only person whom she’d embarrassed was her daughter.

  “I think it best you leave, Squire.” Mrs. Wrexford’s cheeks shone red. “The atmosphere at the Pump Room is not a place for male brashness and attacks on the opposite sex. It would be chivalrous if you spared our good reputations from being tarred.”

  Matthew scowled. “Tarred, Mrs. Wrexford? I wouldn’t have thought defending myself would result in anyone’s reputation being tarred. I said I wouldn’t have prevented my wife from doing anything she chose, that is all. In fact, I didn’t even stop her from going to her lover. I happily opened the door for her. My wife’s actions have no bearing on this conversation. I thought we were talking sensibly, as equals, but if you feel the need to make this personal—”