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Contents (55)
  1. Shades of Milk and Honey
  2. Table of Contents
  3. One
  4. Jasmine and Honeysuckle
  5. Two
  6. Doves and Roses
  7. Three
  8. Nymphs at the Ball
  9. Four
  10. Neighbours and Salts
  11. Five
  12. Art and Glamour
  13. Six
  14. Strawberries and Bonnets
  15. Seven
  16. Nymph on the Hill
  17. Eight
  18. Flowers and Novels
  19. Nine
  20. A Tonic in the Maze
  21. Ten
  22. The Broken Bridge
  23. Eleven
  24. A Dinner Invitation
  25. Twelve
  26. Beast and Beauty
  27. Thirteen
  28. The Beast Upset
  29. Fourteen
  30. Curiosity Unrequited
  31. Fifteen
  32. A Book and a Gift
  33. Sixteen
  34. Change and Fury
  35. Seventeen
  36. Leaves and Confession
  37. Eighteen
  38. Order and Disarray
  39. Nineteen
  40. Trust and Distractions
  41. Twenty
  42. Packing and Discovery
  43. Twenty-one
  44. Wolves and Muses
  45. Twenty-two
  46. Leaving the Maze
  47. Twenty-three
  48. The Box on the Mantel
  49. Twenty-four
  50. Duels and Deals
  51. Twenty-five
  52. Snake in the Grass
  53. Twenty-six
  54. Solicitations
  55. Acknowledgments

He shook his head. “May I call when I am well?”

Jane hugged the book to her. “Of course. I look forward to shewing you the fruits of your thanks.”

He seemed smaller even than when she had entered the room, but less drawn. Jane did not waste his time with the forms of polite farewell which he so loathed. She left the room quietly and returned to her family.

They were full of questions about Mr. Vincent’s health, which Jane did her best to answer. Behind them, eyes glittering, Lady FitzCameron asked a different, silent question. Jane did not answer her, but when they ended the visit, she did not join the vague pleasantries, promises to visit one another, and entreaties that Lady FitzCameron not be too long out of the neighbourhood. Nor did she take Lady FitzCameron’s gift; only Mr. Vincent’s.

Of the two books, only one had value to Jane.

Sixteen

Change and Fury

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Once in the carriage on the way back from Banbree Manor, conversation turned at once to rehashing the visit. Jane suffered her family asking yet more questions than they had before.

“Now you must tell us how dear Mr. Vincent is. I am certain that Lady FitzCameron painted a rosier picture than warranted. Surely the poor man is close to death.” Mrs. Ellsworth fanned herself, waiting for Jane to satisfy her curiosity about another’s ailments; waiting, no doubt, for a symptom which she could claim as her own.

Jane, for her part, wanted nothing more than to quit the company of her family and explore the world inside the book Mr. Vincent had given her. She turned it over in her lap. “He remains as I described—weak, but shewing every promising sign of a full recovery.”

“I am glad to hear that,” Mr. Ellsworth said. “He seemed a fine man, and to be struck down so young would be a terrible shame.”

Melody suddenly pulled Mr. Vincent’s book from Jane’s lap. “What is this? Lady FitzCameron gave you an old journal?”

“No!” Jane snatched it back, her voice snapping through the carriage.

Spots of red coloured Melody’s cheeks, and she lifted her chin. “Am I not good enough to look at a gift from the Viscountess?”

“Jane, let your sister see.” Mrs. Ellsworth rapped Jane’s arm with her fan. “You mustn’t let Lady FitzCameron’s notice go to your head.”

“With all due respect, Mama, this is not a gift I am at liberty to share.” Jane held the book tightly to her chest, trembling with anger at the unjustness. To be blamed, to be called selfish when Melody took everything that Jane cared about, took precedence because she was beautiful and Jane was not—it was not, had never been, fair.

“Not at liberty! La! As if you had special instructions from the Viscountess. We were all there, Jane; we all saw her presentation. I say, though. That’s not the book she gave you at all.”