“I simply— I don’t think—” Her mother wrung her hands and scanned about as if she’d find the answers she needed lying on the floor of the study. “Charles, what do you have to say about all of this?”
Jane’s father looked up and adjusted his own spectacles. “I think Mrs. Bunbury sounds quite capable, dear.”
Jane nodded, a bright smile on her face. She could always depend upon Papa.
Hortense, however, continued to wring her hands. Hmm. Apparently, this particular situation called for one more volley.
Jane folded her hands in front of her serenely. “Won’t you and Papa be coming for the wedding next week, where you’ll be able to see for yourself how well I’ve behaved and meet all the new acquaintances I’ve made?”
This last bit was the most important. Jane’s mother liked nothing more than for Jane to meet new acquaintances, preferably of the single, titled, male variety. Of course Jane had no intention of doing anything of the sort, but her mother needn’t know that.
“I shall have the opportunity to meet Mrs. Bunbury next week?” A bit mollified, her mother lowered her shoulders and her face took on a bright, hopeful hue.
“Of course. Of course.” Jane nodded. Crossing her fingers behind her back, she made her way toward the door. “Now, I’m off to change my gown before Eloise and I go to meet that darling Mrs. Bunbury.”
* * *
Half an hour later, Jane and Eloise marched down the steps to the waiting coach. A footman trailed behind them carrying Jane’s trunk. Jane breathed a sigh of relief. Apparently, Mama was mollified for the time being. Jane lived by a steadfast rule: solve one problem at a time, preferably the one right in front of you. Worry about the others later.
The footman helped both her and Eloise into the coach, where Jane settled in the forward-facing seat and looked out the window toward the house. Her mother peered out the front door. “Good-bye, Mama. See you next week.” She waved a gloved hand and smiled brightly.
Jane leaned back in her seat and let out a long sigh. She grinned at Eloise. “We’re free.”
Eloise sighed, too. “It’ll be nice to see the country, miss.”
“I’m greatly looking forward to it.” Jane wiggled her shoulders and cracked open her book. It would only be a matter of hours before she’d be in the company of her closest friends, Lucy and Cass. She did so look forward to seeing them. No doubt Lucy’s cousin, Upton, would be there, too. So be it. She could handle him. She always enjoyed setting him back on his heels a bit.
The coach pulled away with a jolt. Miss Jane Lowndes was off to spend a blissfully unchaperoned week in the Surrey countryside.
CHAPTER FOUR
Surrey
The country estate of the Earl and Countess of Moreland
Thwunk. The arrow hit the bull’s-eye with a solid noise, and Jane opened her one closed eye and smiled widely.
“Another perfect hit,” Lucy called from across the wide lawn. Lucy, with her slim figure, black, curly hair, and different-colored eyes—one was hazel, the other blue—was perhaps the most beautiful lady in the land. To Jane she’d always just been her friend, her fellow wallflower, and the young woman with whom she was quite often up to no good.
“Well done!” called Julian Swift’s younger sister, Daphne, who was also whiling away the afternoon with Jane and Lucy.
“I quite like shooting,” Jane replied, pulling another arrow from the quiver that rested next to her. “I can pretend that Lord Bartholomew is standing dead center.”
Lucy’s crack of laughter bounced through the field.
“Who is Lord Bartholomew?” Daphne’s brow was wrinkled.
“He’s one of the most vocal members of Parliament in staunch opposition to the rights of ladies,” Lucy replied. “Let’s just say that Jane is not an admirer of his.”
Jane shrugged. “I’m telling you, shooting is good for one’s soul. I feel quite refreshed.”
Lucy laughed once more. “Hmm. Perhaps I should try it again. I’ve been a dismal failure at it to date. I confess I’ve yet to pretend an enemy is standing there. The thought definitely holds more appeal.”
Daphne laughed, too. “If that’s the case you must allow me to try after you’re done, Miss Lowndes.”
“First of all, you must call me Jane,” she said to the younger woman. “Secondly, you cannot possibly have any enemies at your age, dear.”
“You’d be quite surprised,” Daphne said. “I may be nineteen, but there is someone I’m quite peeved at presently.”
“Do tell.” Lucy stepped closer, a conspiratorial grin on her face. “And you must call me Lucy, too, dear. None of this ‘Your Grace’ nonsense.”