Too shocked to gather her thoughts into words, Jane stared with sightless eyes at the petals tumbling down. The conversation so nearly mirrored that which she had had with Beth that it was only with difficulty that Jane could gather her senses enough to speak. “Am I to understand that you have—that you are seeing this gentleman alone?”

Melody threw the denuded rose stem on the path. “Jane, I have done with answering your questions. They always lead to lectures, and I have no wish to indulge in your careful thoughts. La! From your manner anyone would think you are my mother.”

“I do not mean to. I only worry for your happiness. On my honour, I only saw that you were happy and wanted to know why. Nothing more.”

Melody broke a rose from its stem and changed the subject baldly. “The danger from Mrs. Marchand should be past now, I think. We should have thought to bring scissors with which to cut the roses.”

Though Jane begged and wheedled Melody, she could get no further intelligence from her. Melody would only speak of roses and Mrs. Marchand, demurring from any other inquiries. The camaraderie which had rejoined them on the flight from Mrs. Marchand had fled, and the distance between them grew as they returned to the house. Despite her efforts, Jane was shut as completely out of Melody’s thoughts as if she were not there at all. Only when she followed Melody’s suggested conversational path and talked of trivial things did her sister engage with her.

Jane struggled with her own feelings of pride, hating herself for playing this game, but afraid that if she did not do so then she would have no contact with Melody at all.

How had their relationship come to this?

Fifteen

A Book and a Gift

A week after the party, Lady FitzCameron decided to remove to Bath, taking Mr. Vincent and the rest of her household with her so that he could better recover in the healing waters. At this announcement, Melody’s spirits took a sudden downturn. Could it be—was it possible that Mr. Vincent was Melody’s lover? Certainly, with his homage to her in the form of the hidden dryad, it seemed that he harbored some feelings for Melody, and yet Jane could scarcely credit the notion. She could see how his artist’s eye would be drawn to her sister’s unrivaled form, but Melody had too little love of the arts to be drawn to so rough a man. Jane had only recently begun to see his merits herself. But if not Mr. Vincent, then who?

Melody’s spirits brightened only briefly, when the Ellsworths went to pay their respects to the FitzCamerons before their departure. Jane watched her shrewdly for clues. Melody peered around the drawing room as if looking for someone, but then subsided to a bland form of politeness.

Lady FitzCameron received them most graciously, paying special attention to Jane and praising her for saving Mr. Vincent’s life.