The Heart's Companion - By Holly Newman Page 0,5
noon, and she would not be expected back at Penwick Park for some time yet. It would be no great matter to delay her return in favor of harvesting some of summer’s early bounty. She picked up her basket and studied the ground leading to the ripe berries. She would have to step carefully, but she decided the goal was worth the effort. Smiling in delight at her enterprise, she stepped through the tall grasses and wildflowers and began filling the basket with berries. Not far away a lark sang, accompanied by a gentle breeze soughing through the trees and bees buzzing as they moved from flower to flower in the fields and on the tiny white blossoms remaining on the hedge.
Jane realized she was filled with a serenity she’d not felt in years. She found she could even look on her aunt’s and cousin’s proposed visit with a modicum of amused equanimity. That knowledge surprised her, for the last house party she’d attended with them had been an unmitigated disaster. Though, she reflected, it had proved educational, even if it had cost her a prospective groom. Months afterward she considered it a turning point in her life.
She paused, remembering those mercurial days. How she admired and liked David Hedgeworth! She wove such schoolgirl dreams about him. He embodied for her the ideal gentleman: refined, considerate of others, gentle, organized, and intelligent. Those were the attributes she saw and most admired. What she failed to consider was his wealth. But who would blame her, as plump-in-the-pockets as she was herself? She failed to understand how desperately people sought gold’s glitter.
Jane sighed. Thanks to her aunt and cousin, she’d been well educated, and it was the Honorable Miss Millicent Tipton, rather than Miss Jane Grantley, who married David Hedgeworth. She shook her head dolefully, trying to dispel the old memories. Mr. Hedgeworth was dead now. Perhaps it was time to heal the breach with her mother’s sister. Lady Serena Tipton was no lady, but she was family, so perhaps that should count for something.
Jane smiled mischievously, her eyes sparkling. Three years ago she’d proved an apt pupil, and now she had plans to make. Elsbeth was correct, she thought with a hint of smug satisfaction. This game would be hers. Impulsively she leaned farther into the hedge, stretching to gather the plumpest and ripest berries from the top.
She popped a fat, sun-warmed berry into her mouth, then reached up to gather more fruit. A stinging sensation on her arm halted her. Looking down, she discovered blackberry briars clinging to the sleeve of her dress. She pursed her lips at her own carelessness and twisted slightly so her other hand could free the delicate fabric and save it from harm. Her turning tugged and raised her skirts. She glanced down at the blue and red patterned muslin dress and bit back a cry of dismay. With chagrin she realized what her impetuous foray to reach the topmost berries had accomplished. She was caught in brambles and every move she made caused thorns to sink deeper into the fine muslin fabric. Freeing herself would be a slow, laborious process else the dress would be reduced to tatters.
Muttering and calling herself every kind of fool, she carefully set the basket of berries down and began to work free her captured sleeve.
"Madam. I am aware the philosopher Montaigne wrote that the path of true virtue demands a rough and thorny road; nonetheless, I do not believe one need take the man’s words quite so literally."
Jane started and looked toward the owner of the deep, sardonic drawl. She found herself staring up at a gentleman dressed in the first style of fashion seated casually astride a large bay horse. Her cheeks stained a deep pink. Several thoughts sailed through her beleaguered brain: first was amazement that she had not heard the animal approach; second that she should be found in so embarrassing a plight; and all the rest centered on the unknown gentleman and the sudden riotous trembling in her limbs. The last so dismayed her that she abruptly drew cold dignity about her like a cloak and disciplined her wayward nerves. Only a faint tinge of high color remained in her cheeks when she finally met his amused gaze and raised one black brow in arrogant inquiry.
"Tall, graceful, black hair, blood-freezing glare...." the man murmured. "Ah! I have it now, you’re the Ice Witch!"
He swung easily out of the saddle, missing the brief spasm of