The Heart's Companion - By Holly Newman Page 0,17

with the boys to consider. Heaven only knows they require patience!" she finished flatly, drawing another clean bottle forward to fill. She paused, staring off at some unknown sight. Then she reverently picked up the red leather-bound journal she used to record her herbal recipes. She flipped through it, searching. Finally, she put the book down on the workbench and turned it to face Jane.

"The tutor Hereward employed for his boys used to give them quotes to copy as handwriting exercises. They were always also moral lessons. One day when I was visiting the schoolroom, this was the quote he’d assigned."

Gossip is mischievous, light and easy to raise, but grievous to bear and hard to get rid of. No gossip ever dies away entirely, if many people voice it: it too is a kind of divinity.

Works and Days Hesiod c. 700 B.C.

The silence in the stillroom lengthened as Jane considered the words Elsbeth had written among her herbal secrets. Without a word, she turned to face the workbench, her hands moving to slowly gather her papers together again. Elsbeth was right. The man who helped Edward down from that tree then joined them for tea bore little resemblance to the monster, the true Devil’s Disciple of society’s tales. Those tales had achieved a kind of divinity. It would no doubt be impossible to live down, let alone eradicate those tales.

Jane found she could not forget those fleeting shadows of sorrow she detected in the earl’s dark eyes, nor the slight edge to his voice when he spoke of the past. But if she was to mercilessly throw Millicent at his head, then she must not feel any sympathy for the man. He had to be the villain he was painted, else she could not in clear conscience maneuver him into Millicent’s noisome web. She acknowledged the uncharitable nature of her thoughts and wished they could be otherwise. But where she could hold a doubt as to Lord Royce’s perfidy, she could not do the same for her aunt and cousin.

Lady Elsbeth briskly finished bottling her herbals, but her movements were automatic, her thoughts more than ten years in the past. She, too, once believed the tales society told. She listened, believed, and acted properly affronted at all the scandalous whispers. She didn’t know how she came to be so naive. Perhaps it was because she was the youngest of seven children and accustomed to her elder siblings directing her actions and thoughts. Or perhaps it was because there was some measure of truth in the tales.

It was a truth that had knifed her heart and bled her dry. At eighteen she had loved a rakehell; but she turned her back on him when he’d extended his hand. Her family, her position as daughter of the Duke of Ruthaven, her moral priorities—they all weighted her down. Often she was haunted by that last meeting with him. It took place on one of the more private walks at Vauxhall Gardens. It was a beautiful night, clear and fragrant. The sounds of music and voices and laughter wafted through the air. She confronted him with the truth of the tales she’d heard. He countered with words like love, trust, and honor while bitterness etched his moonlit face. He swore that he never lied to her and would never do so. He left belief and acceptance in her hands. To her everlasting regret, she believed the scurrilous tales before him.

In retrospect, she acquitted herself due to youth and unworldliness. But it made no matter. The damage was done, and fifteen years later she was an imprisoned spinster. She would not have that be Jane’s fate. It was not that she thought the Earl of Royce a match for her niece, for truly she did not. Nonetheless, if Jane accepted society’s tales without question now, she may well do so on other, more important occasions. No. Jane must be made to evaluate Lord Royce freely, without prejudice. Whereas Jane planned to throw Royce and Millicent together, Elsbeth would work to see that Jane also spent time with the earl. And remembering his easy camaraderie with Bertram and Edward, that shouldn’t be too difficult to arrange. She would have to do something about her sister though. That would take some consideration.

She stacked her dirty bowls, bottles, and utensils on a wooden tray and placed it on the end of her workbench. Becky could come by later to see that they were cleaned. She dipped her hands