Chapter Thirteen
Jane
Perhaps I’ll take a nap.
The suggestion had been a lie, as Jane had been attempting to shrug off the pain of Jasper’s latest rejection. Christ, how often was she going to allow the man to make her feel so bloody foolish? And so, the nap was a shield, a play at ambivalence. She certainly wasn’t planning on sleeping while Mulgrave Hall filled with strangers. She had a role to assume and a room full of noblemen to fool.
And yet, when she reached her chambers, the events of the day and the pounding in her head caught up with her, and she found herself slipping beneath the counterpane, intending only to snatch a few restful moments. Mr. Darcy voiced his disapproval until she got settled and he claimed his spot curled up on her hip. And then they were lost to the world, utterly unaware of the goings-on of the rest of Mulgrave Hall, both sleeping quite heavily for what was supposed to be a brief afternoon nap.
When she awoke, it was to the faint echo of a dream leaving her, one that felt oddly familiar for a woman for whom familiarity was a foreign concept. Jane stared out the window into the gathering darkness as she clung to the fading fragments of the dream—a man’s laugh, the smell of pipe smoke thick in the air, the taste of champagne on her tongue—hoarding them like bits of treasure, trying to understand if they were memories brought to the surface of her mind while she slept, or a fiction invented by her mind.
They certainly felt like memories. She had heard that laugh before, been comforted by it, laughed along with it. And the smoke tickled her nose even though it wasn’t real, making her think of a pipe peeking through a substantial moustache. Jane knew that man. Had loved him, too.
And lost him.
Alas, she knew it was a memory because of how it hurt her. Surely an invention of her mind would not pain her so. The grief she had carried through her injury was bound up in her memories of him, she knew that now. Which meant he was someone important to her. Someone dear to her.
Had Jane dreamt of her father?
But the rest of the memories faded like mist in the morning sun, too tenuous to remain rooted in her mind. Sadness arrived in their wake, because it felt like a whole new kind of pain, to have had this small taste of who she was before, only to lose it again. She wiped her useless tears away, wondering if she’d ever feel like a person whole. A part of Jane wanted to crawl under the blankets and drift back into the dream, as it was as close as she’d come to knowing who she was.
But she knew it wouldn’t be so easy. Instead, she went to the desk in the corner of the room and wrote down everything she could remember from the dream. If she had to rebuild her old life from the smallest scraps of memory, so be it. Let it be the painstaking work of inches. Jane was simply glad to have something to hold on to.
By then, her tears had stopped. By putting pen to paper, Jane had given herself a purpose beyond simply existing. Isobel had meant well when she suggested Jane stop pressuring herself to recall everything, and it had helped to have a few unencumbered moments in which she felt a bit like a normal woman, but it was not the solution. Letting her guard down had felt invigorating, even when it had also felt foolish. Making choices for herself had felt freeing. But it was an illusion.
Until she knew who she was, there would be no freedom for her.
Until she knew who she was, she had to keep her guard up, lest she let Jasper in again.
I will endeavor to keep my distance from you, my lord.
Another lie. Another play at nonchalance, even though the idea of steering clear of him struck her as an impossibility. She was living in his home, taking her meals with him, wearing his sister’s clothing, reading his books. But she would have to try. She could not remain entranced by a man who would never be hers, even if thoughts of him made her knees weak.
A soft knock on her door startled her as much as a sharp rap would have.
“Come in,” she called, her voice still thick with sleep.
Viola stepped into her room. “You’re awake!”
Jane looked once more out her window. “Have I slept through dinner?” Jane wanted nothing more than to avoid it altogether, sore and tired as she was. But she owed the Maycotts her presence at the very least.
“No, I received strict instructions to ensure you woke in time to dine. It is nearing eight o’clock.”
“Have I kept you from your own dinner?” she asked, knowing Viola was too young to attend a dinner party with the Earl of Belhaven’s friends.
Viola shook her head. “I will eat after.” She took a few tentative steps toward the bed, and suddenly Jane understood her intent.
“Please take Mr. Darcy. I’m sure he’s grown quite tired of my company.”
He protested ever so briefly as the girl picked him up, but settled immediately in the crook of her arm. “I’ve made him a bed out of my sewing basket,” Viola explained.
Jane pushed her chair back to face her. “Are you an accomplished embroiderer, then?”
“No, and Jasper seems to have forgotten that I ought to be.” She and Mr. Darcy sat on the edge of Jane’s bed. “When we are forced to tea with Aunt Adelaide, I take one of my older projects and do my best to seem like I’m working very diligently on my stitching when really I am doing nothing.”
“That’s quite clever,” Jane replied with a grin. “What is it you prefer to do?”
“With all of the time in which I am not embroidering, you mean?” Viola looked at her appraisingly, trying to decide if Jane could be a trusted confidant. She leaned in a bit closer, even though they were alone. “No one knows this, but I so dearly wish to become a novelist.”
“A novelist!”
Viola blushed. “It’s silly—”
“Of course it isn’t, Lady Viola. So you spend your time writing?”
“Writing, yes, though I hardly think myself ready for such a task,” she added.
Jane was puzzled. “No?”
“No, I am only thirteen and, if the works of Mary Elizabeth Braddon are to be believed, I am rather sheltered. So for now, I am an observer. I write what I see, what people speak about, what they do, how they might feel, and especially how they act with one another. I wish to understand people before I invent sensational stories for them.”
“That seems logical,” Jane replied. “I hope you’ve taken ample notes, as I’ve likely provided you with priceless material for your first novel. Though, may I suggest making me an actual fortune hunter in your version? Much more compelling stuff than the reality. That is, if you believe me when I say I am not.”
Viola smiled kindly at her. “You may be a mystery, Miss Jane, but I’ve known you weren’t a fortune hunter from the start.”
Jane was a bit surprised to hear it. “No?”
“No, a fortune hunter would not be so bewildered as you.” Her eyes widened at her own boldness. “I mean no offense—”
Jane patted her hand. “You have not offended me, Lady Viola.”
“It’s only that I have read all sorts of lurid tales about highwaymen and rogues and mollishers and doxies—”
“I’m not certain your brother would approve of you using the word—”
“And I simply cannot fathom counting you among their ranks. It isn’t as if you’re attempting to woo my brother with your womanly charms, as a swindler would. And you’re hardly grasping or mercenary with your methods.”
“Which are?”
Viola pondered. “Well, I’m not sure you have any, Miss Jane.”
“If I do, I am certainly unaware of them,” she replied with a sigh.
They sat in contented silence for a few moments, Viola softly petting a very put-upon Mr. Darcy, Jane surreptitiously stretching her aching muscles.
Eventually, Viola spoke, her voice small. “May I ask you a question?”
Jane sat up a little straighter. “Please do.”
“Have you ever lost anyone?” So small a question, and yet it fell so heavily between them.
Jane wasn’t sure how best to serve Viola. The girl had suffered more tragedies than most people would face in a lifetime, and she was barely out of childhood. Jane had felt loss, too, but as devastating as it was, she thought it paled in comparison to Viola’s, as she’d lost her parents and brother in one fell swoop. “I can’t say for certain, but I suspect that I have.”
Viola nodded and gazed wistfully out the window. “I wish I could forget.”
Jane got up from her seat at the desk and sat beside Viola on the bed. “But I didn’t just forget the pain. I forgot everything.” She would not cry in front of Viola, not when the girl was in desperate need of a bit of hope. “I think you’d be sorry to lose your happy memories, too.”
Viola nodded. “Perhaps what I actually want is to forget how we were before. Jasper especially. He’s very different now. He used to be so…light.”
Jane couldn’t imagine that version of Jasper, the very antithesis of the stern bastard she knew. But that didn’t mean Viola was wrong. “I don’t know much, Lady Viola, but I do know that humans are capable of change, even when it feels impossible. So who you are now may not be who you are in a year, or ten years. You keep growing and changing and adapting all your life. Your brother, too.”
“You think?”
She nodded. “Similarly, the way you feel now isn’t how you will feel forever. Time can dull the ache in your heart. It will never disappear completely, but then, why would you want it to? Without that pain, you wouldn’t remember the joy.”
Viola gave her a sly look. “Are you sure you don’t remember? It seems as though you might.”
“I remember the pain,” Jane said sadly. “It’s the joy I forget.”
Another soft knock at the door surprised them both, reminding Jane she had somewhere to be.
“I hope that’s not Battersby,” whispered Jane.
“His knock is much more insistent,” Viola whispered back.
“Come in,” Jane called, reasonably sure she wasn’t ushering the supercilious butler into her room.
But it was only a maid, the same one who had helped her bathe. “Hello, Miss,” she said with a quick curtsy. “Her Grace sent me to assist you.”
“She left you a gown behind the screen,” said Viola, pointing. “Lottie will help.”
Lottie gestured for Jane to follow her. Once ensconced, she stripped Jane down to her chemise and stockings and took a step back, allowing Jane to consider the gown. It was a beautiful creation, composed of dark green silk skirts and tidy bell-shaped sleeves tied off with bows. “The gown is Helena’s, you said?” she called over the screen.
“Yes,” replied Viola. “Chosen to suit your coloring.”
By then, Lottie had gotten Jane into the corset and laced her gently. Next was the crinolette, which she cinched around the natural bend of her waist. She looked in the mirror, noting the bustle was modest, which pleased her. Next, Lottie added a petticoat, and in hardly any time at all, she had Jane in the gown itself, moving on rather quickly to tend to her hair, which she fashioned into a knot that sat at the crown of her head, leaving a few curling tendrils to frame her face. She finished the look with a gold comb fastened before the knot, inlaid with pearls of various sizes, which looked a great deal like a tiara.
“This isn’t…too much?” Jane asked, worried she would be reaching far above her station.
“It’s terribly fashionable, Miss.” Jane must not have seemed convinced. “Her Grace was very specific.” Jane nodded. Who was she to argue with Helena? “And there’s this,” she said, holding out a delicate silver chain. “Her Grace said it’s for the ring, if you’d like.”
Jane reached for the signet ring that was never very far from her and looped the chain through it. Lottie then attached the clasp behind her neck and let it settle on her. The chain was very long, allowing for the ring to remain hidden in her bodice, but closer than ever before, and safer than when it was tucked into her pocket.
“It’s perfect,” she breathed, her thumb rubbing the engraving.
When Lottie was done and the transformation complete, Jane couldn’t help but be transfixed by her own appearance in the mirror. Aside from being slightly tight in the arms (she resolved not to lift them for God or country that evening), the dress fit her perfectly, and for once, Jane felt almost normal.
“You look lovely, Miss,” said Lottie. The maid gave her a final small curtsy and departed, leaving Jane a moment more to revel in her borrowed gown. Helena and Viola had been right to choose that particular shade of green—emerald suited her dark hair and golden skin well. Even the bruises and bandage could not detract from the overall effect. She would be lying to a room full of noblemen tonight. At least she looked the part. It was enough to shore up her meager supply of confidence. Enough to get her out from behind the screen, at least.
Viola gasped when she came into view, crushing Mr. Darcy against her chest in excitement. “Oh, Miss Jane! How splendid you look! But you must hurry!”
Jane rushed to the door and paused, looking back at Viola and Mr. Darcy. “Thank you for your assistance. I hope I’ll be able to repay your kindness.”
“I expect a full report on tonight’s dinner,” she replied with a grin. “For research, of course.”
Jane delivered her most flawless curtsy yet. “Of course.”
…
The closer Jane got to the drawing room, the harder her heartbeat hammered against her ribs.
Miss Jane Danvers of Buckinghamshire.
My father is in textiles.
I am very nearly betrothed to Mr. Taylor, who is…also in textiles.
She repeated the lies over and over in her mind until they began to feel like truths, reminding herself that the effort would likely be in vain, as Jasper’s noble friends would not care a whit about her. Still, she liked to be prepared.
As she turned a corner, Helena came into view.
“There you are, Jane!” She hurried to her side. “I only just realized that you may not know the proper etiquette. I’m so relieved I found you.” She escorted her to a nearby alcove. “Now, since you are an unmarried woman, you cannot speak to a gentleman without a proper introduction. I will try to make yours in a timely manner, but there are a great many guests within, so please do be careful. The last thing we need is for Miss Beatrice to witness you breaching etiquette. The woman is a viper. Worse yet, a tediously dull viper.” Helena shivered at the thought. “As for dinner, I suspect you know at least basic table manners, but when in doubt, do not look to Isobel for guidance. I’ve seated you across from me and I will keep an eye out and try to help you in any way I can, discreetly .” She reached for Jane’s hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “We simply need to survive tonight. The first dinner of a country party is always the most rigid. Are you ready?”
Jane swallowed thickly. “I suppose so.”
Helena hooked their arms together and held Jane’s hand, guiding her toward the drawing room. “And may I say, you look almost too lovely in that gown.”
“Thank you for lending it to me.”
“Nonsense, it’s yours now.”
“I couldn’t—”
“Oh, psh , it’s not like I’ll be wearing emerald green any time soon.” Helena’s half mourning dress was a pale lavender, almost gray to the naked eye. At least she wasn’t in full mourning, forced to wear the stiff and itchy black crepe gowns that seemed less an honor to the dead and more a punishment for the living.
They reached the doors and Helena paused, wincing. She reached a hand behind her to the small of her back and seemed to press on an injury, her breath shaky as she did so.
“Are you all right?” Jane whispered. “Do you need to sit down?”
Helena took a deep breath and plastered a smile on. “Nothing more than a stubborn ache, Jane. Shall we?”
Servants opened the doors before them, and they were met by a wave of noise. Jane’s heart was in her throat. It was a mere gathering of people, but to Jane it was pure chaos. Helena pulled her into the room as the men stood up to greet them.
But in a sea of new faces, Jane could only focus on one.
She had never seen Jasper so polished—his hair was combed from his face, his skin was clean-shaven, his black dress coat and trousers were more close-fitting than any she had seen him in. He looked every bit the stern bastard she had met upon waking, though she understood now that it was a mask. But nothing could disguise the fact that the Earl of Belhaven was an absurdly beautiful man. He stood by the fireplace with two of his friends who appeared to be locked in some deep conversation, but Jasper could not tear his eyes away from her. She watched as his friends tried in vain to reengage him before following his gaze toward her, knowing smiles on their faces. Seeming to remember himself, he looked away and loosened his collar, and Jane’s blood heated at the thought of having had some effect on him.
“Jane?” came Helena’s voice, much closer.
She turned away from Jasper and faced his sister, who stood next to a man with warm brown skin and closely cropped dark hair. “I’m terribly sorry,” she began, somewhat distracted.
Helena interrupted as gracefully as she could manage. “Sir Hill, may I introduce Miss Jane Danvers, a dear friend from Cheltenham.”
“Just Lucian, please.” He gave her an indulging bow and smiled. “A pleasure, Miss Danvers. May I ask after your injury?”
Jane’s hand unconsciously came to the bandage on her head. “Oh, this?” she asked with a nervous laugh. It was one thing to come up with the falsehood on a whim; lying about it to a physician was a different matter entirely. “I simply slipped and fell on the staircase.”
Lucian frowned. “Were you seen by a doctor? A head injury can be deceptively serious.”
“Yes, and promptly. He advised rest.”
“Our family doctor is quite modern in his methods, Lucian. I assure you Jane was in good hands.”
Lucian’s arm positively twitched with the desire to examine her himself. “Please do not hesitate to come to me should you feel unwell, Miss Danvers. I would be happy to treat you.”
“Lucian is a physician, Jane, to the Prince of Wales.”
Jane was startled by that. “In truth?” she asked before thinking better of it.
“Last I checked,” he said with a smile. “But I am little more than a cog in the machine, not one of the Prince’s physicians-in-ordinary, merely an assistant to Dr. William Gull.”
“But then you must have had a hand in the Prince’s recovery from typhoid fever?”
Helena’s eyes were saucers at Jane having remembered something, but Lucian did not notice. “Indeed I was, Miss Danvers. But the credit must go to Dr. Gull, who ‘possessed an energy that never tired and a watchfulness that never flagged,’ if you’ll forgive me for quoting the Times .”
“How fortunate for the Prince to have had you both,” Jane replied.
He nodded his head congenially. “I thank you for the compliment, but I must let you carry on with your introductions.”
Helena smiled serenely as she guided Jane away. As soon as they were out of earshot, she inclined her head. “Was that—”
“I remembered something.”
“And not something so ingrained as breathing or reading, Jane, nor so recent so as to be fresh in one’s mind. The Prince’s illness happened years ago.”
It felt like a victory over her own mind, to have had a memory slip through the cracks when she was least suspecting it. Joy surged through her and all she wanted was to tell Jasper of this latest development. But he was across the room, a distance which may as well have been an ocean for how much it separated them.
“Oh, prepare yourself,” Helena hissed. “Clarence Meadows approaches and none are immune to his charms.”
Jane was skeptical. “None?”
“Even Aunt Adelaide swoons in his presence.”
Jane doubted that, but then they stopped before a man who seemed to have been built by the collective desires of all women. He was trim but broad shouldered, with a generous mouth that tilted in a crooked smile, eyes as green as fresh spring, veiled by indecently long lashes for a man, and a head full of cherubic golden curls. The look he gave them left no room for debate: Clarence was entirely aware of his gifts.
“Mr. Meadows, may I introduce Miss Jane Danvers, a dear friend—”
“From Cheltenham, yes.” He took her hand and brought it to his lips. It was not altogether unpleasant. “Where has the duchess been hiding you, Miss Danvers?”
Flustered, Jane grappled for her senses. “In—in Buckinghamshire, sir.”
“Miss Danvers’s affections are engaged, Clarence,” said Helena in a tone that brooked no argument.
“Pity,” he remarked lightly, as though the matter were of no consequence. He still hadn’t relinquished her hand. Jane noticed then that Clarence wore a great number of rings, one for almost each finger. But it was the signet ring on his pinky that caught her eye, a gold ring with engraved initials, CGM . His, she supposed.
He noted her curiosity. “Are you a lover of glittering baubles, Miss Danvers?”
“Clarence is famous for his discerning eye when it comes to jewelry, Jane,” Helena said.
“Indeed?” she asked, an idea forming in her mind.
Clarence offered her something of an arrogant smirk. “You’d be hard pressed to find someone more knowledgeable than I, it’s true.”
Without further ado, Jane pulled the chain from within her bodice and brandished her ring before them. “Do you recognize this maker’s mark?”
Clarence, perhaps surprised by her brash delivery of the question, cleared his throat and took hold of the ring, holding it up to his eye to study it closely. “Ah, yes, B & K, Bailey and Kitchen. You needn’t be an expert to know of them.”
“No?” Jane prompted, impatient to learn even a sliver of information about the only artifact she had left from her old life.
“Why, they’re one of the best-known American jewelers. Based in Philadelphia. They famously designed the mortuary medal for President Lincoln’s casket, if I recall correctly.”
“American,” Jane echoed, wondering what it meant that the ring had crossed an ocean.
“Indeed, they are quite renowned. Is this a family heirloom?”
Jane looked down at the ring, desperate to feel connected to her past. “Something like that, I suppose,” she said, tucking it back under her neckline as best she could, while remaining modest.
“You know,” Clarence said, leaning in as though they were the closest of confidants, still holding her hand. “If you ever have any additional queries about other priceless gems or bijoux, I do often find myself in Buckinghamshire on affairs of business—”
“What business would a bastard son of a duke have in Buckinghamshire?” asked a man of middling height with ink- black hair and a moustache.
“Plenty, George,” he replied, his jaw clenched.
“Lord Selby,” Helena cut in, “may I introduce Miss Jane Danvers.”
He took Jane’s free hand, forcing Clarence to let go of the other one or be party to looking quite ridiculous. “Charmed, Miss Danvers,” he said, his tone warm and welcoming.
It was less intimidating than Jane had feared. Jasper’s friends seemed to regard her as a welcome distraction, but she wasn’t fool enough to think that their attention meant anything. She was simply a new, shiny toy, being the first unmarried woman the men had met outside of the Season. She was happy to find she quite liked Lady Louisa, and to confirm that Helena was right about Miss Beatrice. She was feeling almost confident in her ability not to make a hash out of the evening. A bit premature, perhaps, considering the meal had not yet been served. But things seemed to be falling into place.
Except that Jasper was avoiding her like the plague.
He hadn’t said one word to her, or even acknowledged her existence. To the casual observer, they appeared to be little more than acquaintances, barely more than strangers. Perhaps he thought others would be able to sense the way they were pulled together if he got too close.
It shouldn’t hurt her. She had told him she would do her best to keep her distance from him. Perhaps he was making her task easier by staying away.
But she did sense his eyes upon her, even without looking his way. Jasper might be avoiding her, but all evening his gaze had tracked her around the room. Was he worried she would say the wrong thing and reveal herself to be a fraud?
Out of the many introductions, only one man remained, and he was standing right next to the Earl of Belhaven. Helena pulled her toward them by the crook of her arm, but Jane would have rather avoided them altogether. She didn’t want to face the stern bastard again, not after she had peeled back his layers and seen him for what he really was, only for him to don his mask once more.
They stopped before the men, Helena silent, waiting for her brother to speak. He was the host, after all. Yet he seemed almost reluctant to introduce them. His friend was neither handsome nor homely, his looks residing somewhere in the middling range.
After an intolerable delay, Jasper spoke. “Mr. Ashwell, please allow me to present Miss Jane Danvers of Buckinghamshire, a friend of Helena’s.”
She had expected flattery, whether hollow or sincere, like she had received from the rest of Jasper’s friends. But Mr. Ashwell looked at her with unvarnished curiosity, like she was someone worth knowing. His genuine smile transformed him into a captivating man, and she decided to listen to her instincts and extend her hand to him.
“A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Ashwell.”
Ashwell seemed delighted by her boldness and shook her hand most eagerly. “The pleasure is all mine, Miss Danvers.”
Jane couldn’t help but notice Jasper’s expression held a hint of displeasure. She knew ladies were not, strictly speaking, supposed to shake hands with gentlemen, but it wasn’t as if Lady Adelaide were there to witness the spirited gesture. Though, thinking on it, Jane suspected she might have approved in this particular instance. The woman made it plain that she did not care for shrinking violets. And besides, it was a handshake, not an invitation to her chambers.
Mr. Ashwell let go of her almost reluctantly. “Do you come often to Mulgrave Hall, Miss Danvers?”
“This is my first time, sir.”
“And are you enjoying your stay? I can’t help but notice your injury.”
She couldn’t stop her fingers from rising to trace the borders of the bandage. “An unfortunate accident, but I can think of no better place to recuperate.”
“Quite right, and as unfortunate as the accident was, I cannot help but think we may be the fortunate ones, if your injury is the reason you extended your visit.”
It was a circuitous compliment, but after Jasper’s cold reception, Jane found herself needing one. “I do hope I don’t disappoint.”
“I daresay that’s not possible,” he replied with a warm smile.
The stern bastard cleared his throat. “Miss Danvers will be returning to her home at the earliest opportunity.”
The room stilled. Even those not a party to their conversation had heard the finality in Jasper’s tone. Mr. Ashwell looked between the two of them, attempting perhaps to deduce the nature of their relationship. Acquaintances did not merit such antipathy. Enemies did, perhaps, but then what would an enemy of the Earl of Belhaven be doing in his home?
“Oh, didn’t we tell you, Brother?” Isobel called out, her tone firm.
“Tell me what?” Jasper ground out.
“Miss Danvers has been freed of her obligations and can stay as long as she likes!” Her jovial timbre did not match the atmosphere of the room, but Isobel was not daunted. “Isn’t that splendid!” She did not pose it as a question, but rather intended to force her brother into acquiescing.
Waiting for his reply was agony. Torment. Torture, really. The whole room was on tenterhooks. Hadn’t they come to an understanding when Jasper had offered her the time she needed to recover her memories? And yet he was acting as though her very presence displeased him. She thought back to the gallery, when they had come so close to succumbing to desire—she hadn’t displeased him then.
“Indeed,” he replied through a clenched jaw. “How very fortunate.”
It was then that her heart sank fully, for Jane realized he must not have felt the same way she had. Not in the gallery, not in the storm, not in her chambers. Those stolen moments that had come to mean so much to her had been mere distraction for the Earl of Belhaven. Whatever force pulled them together had relinquished its grip on Jasper.
All she could hope for now was to be similarly freed.
Battersby appeared at the door, dissolving the tension of the room. “Dinner is served.”
Everyone stood and began pairing off, performing that strange dance of etiquette that Helena had warned her about. Rank dictated that Jasper should depart first, as earl. But he was frozen beside her, seeming to want to speak but forcing himself to stay quiet. She could not read him, now that he had retreated behind the stern mask once more.
“Shall we?” asked Mr. Ashwell, offering her his arm.
“Please,” Jane replied, taking it gladly.
Before they turned from Jasper, he opened his mouth to say something. Jane inclined her head searchingly, willing him to say whatever it was he wished to. But he only cleared his throat and stepped around them to walk away.
In a way, she felt relieved. It was better that she understood her place with him. She would do them both a favor and avoid him for the rest of her stay. Mulgrave Hall was a manor of considerable size. They shouldn’t find themselves in close proximity too often, especially if Jane found a way out of the rest of the planned activities. He’d forget she was even there, and as soon as her memories returned, she’d be gone.
All she had to do now was survive dinner.