of them. But . . . Well, she was going to have to make her choice based upon practicalities rather than partiality. Upon common sense. It was, after all, the factor upon which most ton marriages were contracted. Birth and fortune, followed by age and disposition.
So much for the dreams of youth. So much for love and romance and happily-ever-after.
Abby had been horrified. For of course Jessica had told her of her new resolution, assuming she would be pleased. And as usual when they were together, her cousin had urged her to please find some happiness so that she could be finally and fully happy herself.
“Birth and fortune, Jess?” Abby had said, frowning. “Age and disposition? What about love?”
“I might wait forever,” Jessica had told her. “I have never felt even a spark of what other people describe as falling in love. I do not doubt them, but I do know that romantic love is not for me. Not at my age. So I—”
“Jess.” Abby had leaned across the space between them and grasped both her hands. “It will happen. It happened to me. I fully believed it never would. And when I first met Gil, I considered him the very last man with whom I might fall in love. But I did, and—oh, Jess, you must believe me—it is the most wonderful thing in the world. To love and be loved. You must not become jaded and give up hope. Oh, please do not. You are only twenty-five. And you were made for love. Wait until you find it. It will happen.”
“Promise?” Jessica had asked, and laughed, though part of her had been silently weeping.
“I promise,” Abby had said with fervent conviction.
As though anyone had the power to promise such a thing for someone else. It was simply not going to happen, Jessica thought now. And she was tired of her single state. She wanted a husband and home and family—and those things were not beyond her grasp. Quite the contrary. She wanted to grow up. It was past time.
Her thoughts were interrupted when the carriage turned abruptly and unexpectedly to the right, and Jessica could see that it was pulling into the cobbled yard of a respectable-looking inn, though surely not the one at which they were scheduled to spend the night. Their journey had been delayed by a couple of hours after they had stopped for refreshments and a change of horses. There had been some issue with one of the wheels on the carriage in which Mr. Goddard was traveling. The delay would mean they were still a few hours away from their destination for today, a wearying thought. Darkness would surely be upon them before they arrived and there would be no time left for anything but a late meal and instant retirement to bed. Was it possible Mr. Goddard had decided they would stay here instead? She could not imagine why else they had stopped. Grooms and hostlers were hurrying into the yard. Mr. Goddard was descending from his carriage and moving purposefully toward the inn door.
Jessica sat back and awaited developments. For the duration of this journey, whether she liked it or not, Mr. Goddard stood in place of Avery. Her brother had made that clear in his usual quiet, half-bored manner as he took his leave of her a few weeks ago.
“I would be obliged, Jessica,” he had said, “if when you look upon Edwin Goddard during your journey to London, you would see me, and if when he speaks, you would hear me.”
She had smiled at him. “Mr. Goddard neither looks nor sounds anything like you, Avery,” she had said.
He had raised his jeweled quizzing glass almost to his eye. “Quite so,” he had said softly, and she had laughed.
But they had understood each other. If Mr. Goddard said now that they were to stay here for the night, then stay they would. If he said they were to proceed to the inn at which accommodation had been reserved for them, then proceed they would. There was no point in expressing a preference or throwing a tantrum. Mr. Goddard would merely nod respectfully and carry on with what he had decided. It was better not to humiliate herself by expressing a contrary opinion. Jessica closed her eyes and rested her head against the cushion behind it. On the whole she hoped they would stay, though then tomorrow’s journey would be longer, of course.
The wait seemed interminable but was probably no longer