Isabella took a deep breath. “I know you’re hesitant because of Harold. Because of what you told me at the house party.”
“That’s one reason, yes, but—”
Isabella’s voice was strained. “There’s something I must show you.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
“I sent your mother a note telling her that Mrs. Bunbury was feeling ever so much better. I even signed Mrs. B’s name to it.” Lucy’s announcement was accompanied by a wide smile as she served Jane tea in her London drawing room.
“Did you disguise your handwriting?” Jane dropped an extra lump of sugar into her cup. Since she’d returned from the countryside, her ankle had healed, but she was still sore on the inside. She was struggling to seem normal for Lucy’s sake.
“Of course I disguised my handwriting,” Lucy answered. “Though I doubt your mother’s taken much notice of mine over the years.”
“Show me,” Jane replied. “I’d wager I can tell it’s yours.”
“You and your study of handwriting,” Lucy said with a laugh, as she stood and made her way over to the writing desk in the corner. She took out a piece of parchment, grabbed a quill, and scribbled away.
While Lucy wrote, Jane considered for the one-hundredth time telling her friend what had happened between herself and Garrett. Part of it at least. But she decided against it. Again. Telling one bit would necessitate telling the whole sordid thing and that was a complicated story Jane had no intention of repeating. It had been difficult enough convincing Mama that Mr. Upton had not, in fact, proposed. It was deuced difficult to come up with a plausible explanation as to why a gentleman would stop a coach in such a dramatic fashion, ask to speak to a young lady privately, and then fall to one knee, but somehow Jane had managed to convince her mother that Mr. Upton had simply wanted her recommendation on a book she’d been reading and had lost something in the grass while they’d been discussing it in earnest.
Of course, her father didn’t believe it for a moment. He raised both brows over his spectacles, shook his head, and went back to his columns and figures. Thankfully, Papa had never believed that marriage was the goal to which every young lady should aspire. He wasn’t about to interfere. Her mother, however, had taken a bit of convincing.
Lucy dropped the quill back into the inkwell and trotted over with the note. “I give you Mrs. Bunbury’s handwriting.”
Jane set her teacup on the table and took the letter, eyeing it carefully. She quietly contemplated it for a few moments. “Aha. You’ve given yourself away.”
“Where!” Lucy demanded, craning her neck to look over Jane’s shoulder.
“Right here.” Jane pointed to the top of a letter p. “The large circle here with the tail on the end of it is purely Lucy Hunt.”
Lucy scowled. “I do that?”
“Yes, but not to worry. While I noticed it, I doubt Mama would. I’d advise you never to attempt to disguise your handwriting in a message to me.” Jane laughed.
“You are quite clever. I’ll give you that. Though I cannot say such a skill sounds the least bit worth suffering through something that sounds as dreadful as Montague’s Treatise on Handwriting and Whathaveyou.”
“Graphology,” Jane said.
“Dull,” was Lucy’s answer.
Jane set the letter on the table in front of her. She lifted her teacup and took a sip. She sighed. “At any rate, it seems the Mrs. Bunbury plot at the wedding worked well enough, and I see no reason why it should not continue to work for a good, long while. Mama expects me to begin attending the events of the Season and I intend to tell her Mrs. Bunbury is accompanying me. Then I shall come here and read books in your library all evening.”
“Yes, well, as to that…” Lucy’s voice drifted off on a bit of a guilty note.
“What is it?” Jane asked, her teacup frozen in midair.
Lucy set down her cup and folded her hands in her lap. She looked so serious Jane’s palms began to sweat.
“It seems there’s been a bit of a complication.”
“Complication?” Jane echoed.
“Yes, I—”
“Out with it, Lucy. What is it?”
“I hate to be the one to tell you this and heaven knows I would have dragged Cass here with me to deliver this news if she weren’t already off on her honeymoon, but it seems that…”
“Yes,” Jane prompted.
“It seems that you might have created the scandal you wished for after all.”
Jane blinked. “Scandal? Me?” The teacup remained frozen.
“Yes.”