Chapter Twenty
Jane knew she should say something. Congratulations or I am so happy for you. Either would stick in her throat. She managed what was probably a very sickly smile. ‘She is fortunate that you are so loyal.’ That was ungracious, but it was all she was capable of. She wanted him to be happy. But she knew he could not be so with Daphne. She must try. ‘Are you quite certain? You have thought it through?’
‘Most certainly.’
‘Even though she jilted you?’
‘Even so.’ His smile was wry now. ‘That made me realise what my true feelings were, you know.’
‘Oh.’ She plastered the smile back on her lips and looked out of the window, bereft of things to say. The scenery in the gathering gloom was familiar, but it was not Knightsbridge. ‘Ivo, where on earth are we going? This is the road out of London. In fact—Ivo, that is the Pack Horse. We are in Turnham Green.’
‘Yes,’ he agreed as the carriage drew to a halt. ‘Shall we see if they can produce a decent glass of wine?’
‘Whatever are you thinking of?’ Jane demanded as Ivo jumped down without waiting for the groom to set the steps in place.
‘I was thinking that an elopement has a certain appeal with the right person.’ Ivo turned to speak to the coachman who was leaning down awaiting instructions. ‘Take it round to the stables, rest the horses, have yourselves a drink.’
‘Ivo!’
‘Good evening.’ Ivo was smiling at a maid who was staring back at him.
‘Why, I remember you, sir. The injured gentleman and his sister. Are you well now, sir?’
‘Excellently so,’ Ivo said, as though he had not taken leave of his senses. ‘We would like a snug private parlour and a bottle of your best claret.’
‘Of course, sir. This way, ma’am.’
‘Ivo.’ Jane slammed the door of the snug little room—one she recognised all too well—and leaned back against it. She needed support from somewhere. ‘What do you mean, an elopement? You are marrying Daphne.’
He took her hand, led her to a chair by the hearth. ‘Sit down, Jane.’
‘No.’
‘Please, because I am far too tempted to kiss you if you stand there glaring at me and we have things to discuss first.’
The feather cushions were large and soft and she sank into them, floundering. ‘You said—’
‘I said I was marrying the woman I loved. I should have added, if she will agree.’ He sat opposite her. ‘You did once.’
‘Me? But you do not love me.’
‘I did not when we first agreed to marry,’ Ivo said. ‘It crept up on me, Jane. Crept so gradually that I did not recognise it for what it was because I had never felt it before. I thought I loved Daphne, but it was
not the same thing, just a shadow of it, simply calf love. If I had remained at home and not gone off to war, we would have never even thought it was more than a flirtation.’
Jane managed a sound somewhere between a gasp and a sigh. Could this be real or was she imagining it all? Had she really woken up after that storm of tears or was this just a dream?
‘She was not waiting patiently and faithfully for me, so her aunts tell me now. There were more flirtations, one or two near-scandals. If I had not felt so guilty, and if I had not made that promise to Charles, then I would have seen clearly what my feelings were the moment I was confronted with her that first time.’ He grimaced. ‘Guilt is not a helpful emotion in circumstances like that, I find. It is like fog in the brain.’
‘But when...when did the fog clear?’
‘When she came to the Tower and I saw her as though through your eyes. I had been doubting for some time before that, but all I could see was Charles, dying and so anxious about her. I saw the way you dealt with her, the firm, practical kindness.’
‘I did not feel kind,’ Jane said with feeling. She still dared not hope. It would be too cruel if she was wrong.
‘Any other woman in your position would have shown her the door. You were worrying about me, about her, and then I realised that you saw everything we had crumbling into dust.’
‘Did we have something?’