The Unlikely Lady (Playful Brides #3)(65)

He scrubbed his hand through his hair. Somehow he’d lulled himself into believing something special had developed between them.

She was frightened. He knew that. She was feeling things she’d most likely never felt before. Perhaps her refusal of him had been her way of keeping him at a safe distance. Wasn’t that Jane’s specialty? The entire world was at a distance from her, viewed from behind those silver-rimmed spectacles or from behind the pages of a book. She hid from people, hid from the world, hid behind her cloak of intellectual superiority. Only he’d been able to coax her out, just a bit, but then she’d slammed the door right back in his face.

She’d been cold to him that morning she’d left. So cold. He’d never seen her that way before. But that cold woman wasn’t Jane. Not truly. He knew how warm she could be.

He cursed under his breath. Why had he proposed? Because it was the right thing to do? Because he had developed feelings for her? But was it … love? He didn’t know what love felt like. Damn it. Jane had supposedly been in love with him, or so Cass had claimed. Was that even true? Perhaps Jane was right. Perhaps they had both suffered a bout of temporary insanity. At any rate, it was over now. She’d been quite emphatic in her response. He would do well to forget about it and move forward.

The second dog came up and wagged his tail. Garrett patted him on the head as well. “Let’s see to all of these letters,” he murmured, firmly pushing thoughts of Jane Lowndes from his mind.

On the top of the stack was a recent letter from Isabella Langford. He broke the seal and unfolded it.

Please pay me a call, Garrett. I must speak with you at your earliest convenience.



Yours,



Isabella

Garrett tossed the letter on the desk and stared blindly out the window. It was time to make it clear to Isabella once and for all that he would not be courting her. He owed it to her to say it to her face, confront the awkwardness of the house party. Tell her that her rudeness to Jane was untenable, and if he ever found out she or her dastardly footman had anything to do with the saddle on Jane’s horse being tampered with, he’d make them both pay.

He’d briefly wondered if she had had anything to do with his being conked over the head in the wine cellar. But that made little sense. What possible use could she have for knocking him out and locking him in a wine cellar all night? Given her motives, if she’d been involved he would have no doubt awoken in her bed with her insisting upon a proposal. His gold pocket watch had been missing when he’d awoken. The culprit was likely some desperate servant. Lady Moreland had assured him she’d look into the matter. Apparently, she hadn’t yet been able to find the thief.

Garrett ordered the coach put to and paid an afternoon call to Isabella. Her expensive butler ushered him into the drawing room. Isabella soon joined him and asked the butler for tea.

“Thank you for coming.” She gave Garrett a bright smile.

“Isabella, I—”

“No. Let me speak first, please.”

He nodded. “Very well.”

“I know you don’t have tender feelings for me, not in the same way I do for you. But I think it makes sense for us to marry, nonetheless.”

He opened his mouth to interrupt her.

“Hear me out, please.”

He nodded.

“We may not be a love match, but the children need a father. I need a husband. And you will need a wife, an heir.”

Jane’s words echoed in his head. No one needs to marry.

“I understand that, Isabella. Believe me, you are beautiful and I’m certain you would make someone a fine wife, but—”

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.