He started back. “Of me?”

It should not surprize Jane that even with his superior intellect and admiration of taste in a household, that he should not think of things as a woman would. “Of disappointing you.”

“Then the man—”

“Stop. Please, stop. I cannot ask your sister to trust me and then breach that trust by relating all of our conversations.” Jane held up her hand to stop him from questioning her further on what those conversations were. “Mr. Dunkirk, I will go so far as to promise you that if Beth hints at actions that will lead her to harm, I will let you know. I will not let her go down paths that are unsafe. You must trust me that far, at least.”

“I do.”

She saw that he understood her, and her anger softened. She looked down at the books in her hands. “If you want to do your sister some good, then offer her distractions. She is young, and her history gives her much reason for melancholy. Books such as these would make any girl sigh as if her heart were being broken, and Beth is too tender-hearted to resist them.”

She held out the books to Mr. Dunkirk. As he reached for them, their fingers brushed, sending a sudden wave of heat through Jane’s breast. She flushed, and fumbled with the books, dropping two on the floor. Mr. Dunkirk stooped to retrieve them, giving Jane a bare moment to master herself.

When he stood, she was able to apologize gracefully and say, “I will come tomorrow with some books more suited to a cheerful temperament.”

Mr. Dunkirk smiled with such warmth that Jane was forced to look away. It was too easy to imagine more than grateful relief in his expression. She had done nothing to draw Mr. Dunkirk’s attention to herself other than visiting her friend. That look of approbation in his eyes, which she had so long sought, discomfited her more than gave her satisfaction.

Though it was not without some satisfaction, perhaps, for as she retraced her steps back to Long Parkmead, her mind returned to the conversation which had happened on this very path, and to his momentary indiscretion. Jane repeated his accidental familiarity in her mind, thinking over how she should respond next time, if he happened to slip again. If he said, “Jane,” she could laugh and suggest that since he had used her name twice, perhaps it might be easier to continue its use. No, that would be a good deal too forward. Better if she simply did not acknowledge the intimacy, as it would neither give him permission nor tell him that she resented it.

This marked a rare instance where ambiguity would be much the best thing.

Twenty

Packing and Discovery

At home, Mrs. Ellsworth descended the stairs as Jane entered the house. “Where have you been all morning? Your father is no help. No help. And Nancy! Oh, I am at a loss for what to do. My dresses are in a complete disarray. You must help me, Jane. No one else is as tidy as you. I must be packed tonight if we are to go with Lady FitzCameron tomorrow morning.”