Though she still felt the tension between them, Jane was determined to give Melody no further cause to doubt her affection.

When Melody had changed into a gown suitable for morning calls—primrose calico, trimmed with crisp white ribbons—and Jane had finished her millinery endeavors, they set out to Robinsford Abbey. They spoke of nothing consequential on the walk, merely the weather and whatever in the landscape caught their eye.

Chief among these was Robinsford Abbey itself. The long drive wound through the orchard that the monks who had originally built the abbey had planted. Ancient gnarled trees gave way to a broad expanse of lawn, which rose gently to the Gothic splendor of the abbey. Each facet of the leaded glass in the high arched windows reflected different aspects of the view. Though its age was obvious, the abbey was so well-maintained that it gave every appearance of being as comfortable as a modern structure.

Still, as they entered the vestibule and presented their cards to the butler, Jane could not help but feel dwarfed by the grandeur of Robinsford Abbey. Melody did not seem to be affected by the echoing stone halls, as though her beauty made her immune.

Once in the drawing room, Jane at once felt more at ease. Miss Dunkirk stood, waiting to receive them, and crossed the room with evident pleasure. “Oh! How glad I am to see you. Edmund has gone on an errand, and I find myself quite at loose ends.”

“Such a shame!” Melody took Miss Dunkirk’s hand and tucked it under her arm in a shew of solicitude. She led her to the sofa, away from Jane. “That he should leave you here without amusement. La! I am quite shocked, I must tell you, that a man of your brother’s intelligence should display such an uncaring sensibility to his own sister.”

“Oh, he is not like that at all. Whenever he has been away, Edmund always brings me a present to make up for my time alone.”

Jane trailed behind them and settled on a mahogany Sheraton chair next to the sofa. The drawing room might better be called a library, for one wall was almost entirely given over to books. The mahogany furniture reflected strong masculine tastes, even down to a pair of crossed sabres on one wall and a set of dueling pistols in a rosewood box on the mantel. A neatly rendered glamour created the illusion of fire in the fireplace, lending the room a coziness it might have otherwise lacked. For all his professed admiration of glamour, Mr. Dunkirk indulged in little other display of it. Not even the prints on the walls, which tended to hunting scenes or architectural studies, shewed any enhancement.

Small talk followed, detailing the weather, then the quality of the tea which the butler brought as well as praises of the china it was served in, which was an exquisite example of Delft bone china. During all of it, Melody held Miss Dunkirk’s attention with ease while Jane resigned herself to the background. Only two years separated Melody and Miss Dunkirk’s ages, while Jane, at eight and twenty, was a good ten years older than her sister. It was small wonder that the two young women found so much to discuss.