Her mother tossed her hands into the air. “Books, books, books. That’s all the two of you ever talk about, ever think about.” She turned sideways and glared accusingly back and forth between her husband and her daughter.
Jane stepped forward and put a comforting arm around her mother’s shoulder. She felt a bit sorry for her. The poor woman hadn’t given birth to a daughter who loved people and parties and clothing and fripperies like she did. Instead she’d given birth to a girl who took after her intellectual father. A man who’d been knighted by the Crown for his genius at economics, having successfully invested a great deal of money for the royal family. Jane even looked like her father. Dark hair, dark eyes, round cheeks, round face. The slightly round backside may have been more due to her love of teacake than her father’s doing, but that hardly mattered. In all things important, Jane took after Sir Charles Lowndes.
“I’m sorry, Mama,” Jane murmured. She hugged her pretty mother. Hortense was sweet and kind and meant well. It was hardly her fault that she’d had the terrible misfortune to have a bluestocking for a daughter.
Hortense blinked at her. “Sorry for what?”
Jane let her arm fall away. “Sorry I spend my days reading Socrates instead of La Belle Assemblée, reading the political columns instead of shopping for fabric and fripperies with you, attending the theater instead of visiting with friends.”
Her mother’s shoulders drew up and then just as quickly relaxed. She worried the handkerchief in her hands. “Oh, Jane, if you’d only try.”
Jane sighed. She’d tried. Oh, how she’d tried. How many times had she wished she was petite and beautiful with good eyesight, someone who loved nothing better than to attend parties? It just wasn’t her, and it never would be. The sooner Mama accepted that fact and let go of her dream of Jane making a splendid match, the better the two would get on.
Her mother had left her no choice. Today’s little episode notwithstanding, Hortense had shown few signs of giving in. Hence, Jane was about to employ her secret weapon: one Lady Lucy Hunt, Jane’s closest friend. Lucy had promised Jane she would use her considerable talent with words to convince Lady Lowndes that Jane should be left in peace. Jane wanted nothing more than to live out her days reading, studying, lobbying for the rights of women, and hosting the occasional intellectual salon. She wanted to be free, to no longer be forced to attend an endless round of social events that made her feel anything but social.
To that end, Jane had employed the second-best weapon in her arsenal, her new chaperone, Mrs. Bunbury. The idea had been inspired by Jane’s other friend Cassandra Monroe’s unfortunate incident last autumn when Cass had been obliged to pretend she was a nonexistent young lady named Patience Bunbury. It had been unfortunate only because in so doing, Cass had been forced to deceive the man she had desperately loved for the last seven years and … well, the entire charade had been a bit questionable after Captain Swift had discovered Cass’s duplicity. It had all ended well enough, however, hence Jane’s journey to their wedding festivities today and her subsequent need for a fictitious chaperone.
“I’m going to the house party, Mama. As for Mrs. Bunbury … didn’t Lucy write and tell you all about her?” Jane stepped closer to the door.
Jane’s father squinted up at her and arched a brow. He knew she was making her escape.
Her mother nodded vigorously. “Yes, but I find it highly suspect that I’ve yet to meet this woman and I—”
“Didn’t Lucy vouch for Mrs. Bunbury’s high moral character and excellent references?” Jane continued, with another step toward the door.
The frown lines on her mother’s forehead deepened. “Yes, but I cannot allow my only child to—”
“Didn’t I tell you I’m going directly to Lucy’s town house where I shall meet Mrs. Bunbury and travel with her and Lucy to the house party and I shall be properly chaperoned by them the entire time?”
Her mother opened her mouth and shut it again, reminding Jane of a confused frog. “You did, but I refuse to—”
“Won’t Eloise be with me the entire ride to Lucy’s house?”
Her mother closed and opened her mouth a few more times. She’d apparently come to the end of her list of rebuttals. If one lobbed enough reasons at Hortense Lowndes without stopping to take a breath, one might overwhelm her with the sheer volume of logic and then … success was merely a matter of time. Jane could almost count the moments to her victory. One … two … three.