When they arrived home, Jane excused herself and went straight to her room. The glamour trees stood where she had left them. Mr. Vincent’s book lay open on the floor. She stood, breathless on the room’s threshold, all the emotion accompanying thoughts of him nearly suffocating her.

Jane shut the door behind her, closed the book and set it on the shelf. Without undressing, she crawled into bed and shut her eyes, praying for the forgetfulness of sleep.

Twenty-six

Solicitations

During the week that followed, Jane stayed in her room, unwilling to confront the results of her actions, but small touches of the outside world crept in to trouble her attempts to regain her calm as the motives of Captain Livingston became clearer. From Nancy, she heard that his hopes of paying off the gambling debts he had accrued had been dashed when he learned, after his betrothal to Miss FitzCameron, that her estate was nearly bankrupt. His desperation was so great that he had wooed two women at once, planning on wedding whichever had the largest dowry. The neighbourhood gossip had it that he had eluded justice and fled to America.

From her father, she learned that Mr. Dunkirk had called and asked for her, but what conversation could they have had that was not filled with pain? Nothing would be served by speaking of events past. Her opinion of him could not be repaired, nor was she willing to listen to the empty apologies which his honour would demand.

Her mother told her that Mr. Vincent had parted from Lady FitzCameron’s company the afternoon of the duel and that none had seen him since. Dr. Smythe visited once, at her mother’s insistence, and told Jane that she was in good health, but needed sunlight. He also said that Mr. Buffington would live. That gave Jane her only measure of relief.

And then a knock sounded on her door. Jane roused herself enough to say, “Enter.”

Her astonishment was almost overwhelmed by her fear when Melody slipped through the door. Her sister, eyes dark and haunted, looked as if she wanted to flee, despite her recent arrival. “I will understand if you would rather not see me.”

“No, please.” Jane stood, and gestured for a chair, too surprized to do more.

Melody sat at the edge of her seat and held out a small packet of paper. Jane stared at it for some moments before understanding that Melody intended her to take it.

The packet was so light as to feel almost empty. She folded back the paper to reveal a stem of delicate currants cunningly wrought in glass.

“I know they aren’t cherries, but I thought you might like them.”

“Thank you.”

A silence filled the room between them for some time before either ventured to speak again. Jane considered several of the usual conversational openings, but all seemed too banal to overcome the events that had passed between them. Wetting her lips, she finally said, “I am sorry I followed you.”