The Heart's Companion - By Holly Newman Page 0,1

own fault for allowing them to take advantage of your single state and ride roughshod over you. And that includes my father, as well!" She rose to refill her coffee cup and place a muffin on her plate.

Lady Elsbeth glanced over and looked askance at the meager fare Jane set before herself. She did not comment as her mind churned over her niece’s pronouncement. "Dearest, one does not begin by expecting to be taken advantage of. One first has the notion of being helpful in times of need. Or as an escape from society."

"By which, I am to infer, you mean my situation?" Jane suggested archly.

Lady Elsbeth shrugged and offered her niece a gentle smile. "I see too many parallels, my dear." Her mouth tightened. "I would not have that for you."

"You talk as if you are in your dotage and I am on the brink!"

"I may only be three and thirty, which I shall grant you is young enough in years, however, it is not an age men marry. I am long past any hope of that event, and I trust I have acceded to my fate with dignity."

Staring wide-eyed at her aunt, Jane gasped and sputtered. "Elsbeth!" she finally managed. "Of all the caper-witted nonsense!"

"No. It is not caper-witted nonsense. You, Jane, are twenty. It will not be long before society whispers behind gloved hands and fans that you are on the shelf. They may grant you time due to your wealth, but even that will be fleeting if you insist on avoiding introductions to eligible gentlemen. Oh, Jane, Jane, please heed me! Do not allow your life to wither away!" Lady Elsbeth twisted her napkin in anguish.

Jane looked shrewdly at her aunt. "But what brought this up now? We have been here over six weeks and society has long left London for the summer hiatus in Bath, Brighton, or some other watering spot where people parade about, displaying their finery like so many peacocks."

Lady Elsbeth looked down guiltily at the pile of correspondence by her plate. Her fingers shifted through the small pile, then closed over one in particular. She chewed on her lower lip. "I’ve had a letter from Serena," she finally said.

Jane’s eyes narrowed, and one black, finely arched brow rose.

Lady Elsbeth grimaced at the mask of hauteur sliding over Jane’s face. Her niece could be so damnably cool and forbidding when she chose. It was no wonder many people fixed her with uncomplimentary sobriquets; though, in honesty, her appearance was a perfect foil for arrogance. Her looks were far too exotic to be classically beautiful. She was tall with a willowy frame. Her hair was as blue-black as the ocean on a moonless night, in startling contrast to her pearl-white skin and seafoam-green eyes. When she entered a room, all eyes looked in her direction. It was something Lady Elsbeth felt Jane must notice, yet she seemed oblivious to the sensations she caused. Her manner in company was unfailingly cool, yet gracious. Few outside the family were privileged to see her true warmth and humor. It was a sad waste.

Lady Elsbeth had lived with Jane for almost a year. She joined the Grantley household when her brother-in-law, Sir Jasper Grantley, grew restless and decided it was once again time to shake the dust of England from his boots. Nonetheless, Lady Elsbeth did not pretend that in the time she’d lived with Jane she’d come to understand her niece. So different were Jane’s public and private selves that sometimes it was like living with two different people. In another person. Lady Elsbeth might have laid the blame for the public persona on shyness, but that was not the answer in Jane’s case for she possessed quite a bit of confidence. It was almost as if she lacked confidence in other people, as though she were burdened with memories of a shattering disappointment which left her as skittish as a young colt.

No matter. The underlying truth was glaringly obvious. Jane was twenty and without marital prospects. Considering that she possessed a handsome competence and stood to inherit more from that freewheeling adventurer she called a father, her attitude was simply not to be understood. Nor, to Lady Elsbeth’s mind, countenanced. Lady Elsbeth sighed to herself.

"I know you are not overly fond of your Aunt Serena," she began slowly.

"Elsbeth," Jane interrupted, "do not try to wrap it up in clean linen. You know as well as I that Lady Serena Tipton has the manners of a grasping,