Lord Lansbury's Christmas Wedding. Helen DicksonЧитать онлайн книгу.
her envy of Lydia Spelling while wishing with every fibre of her being that she was the woman being flaunted on Lord Lansbury’s arm.
‘I’m not at all sure, Jane. I have great affection for my son, but he does have his faults. I’m concerned about him doing the right thing. But of course I take care not to let such comments reach his ears. It is his affair, after all, who he marries. But if I were a betting woman I’d wager he isn’t in love with her.’
‘Not everyone who marries is in love,’ Jane said quietly. ‘In some of the countries I have visited, men and women have their marriages arranged by their parents. Sometimes the couple don’t meet until their wedding day. I’ve heard the opinion that love and marriage are two separate things.’
Lady Lansbury studied her closely. ‘And what is your opinion, Jane?’
‘That those who expressed that opinion must be sadly cynical people. What other reason is there to marry?’
‘Children is a good place to start.’
Jane gave Lady Lansbury a look of feigned astonishment. ‘Oh! I did not realise one needed a wedding ceremony to beget children.’
Lady Lansbury laughed. ‘What a wicked observation, Jane. Some would say you are quite shocking.’
‘Wicked, maybe, but also sensible.’
Lady Lansbury’s smile died. ‘You are a wonderful revelation, Jane, and I shall enjoy continuing our conversation on marriage at another time.’ She glanced once more in the direction of her son, but then, recollecting herself, she looked directly at Jane. ‘Forgive me, my dear, for being so forthright, but—what I said about Christopher, I am sure I can rely on your discretion.’
As if reading her mind, Jane said, ‘Of course, Lady Lansbury. I never betray a confidence.’
A look of understanding passed between the two women. ‘Thank you, Jane,’ Lady Lansbury answered.
Considering Lord Lansbury’s affairs nothing to do with her, Jane thought it prudent to keep any further opinions on marriage to herself. For the time she had known Lady Lansbury, she had discovered she had a forthright friendliness she liked. They often talked together. Lady Lansbury was very frank. She told Jane how much she admired her Aunt Caroline, who had made quite a niche for herself since her husband’s death ten years ago.
Observing Octavia who was watching her brother, Jane noticed her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were larger and brighter than she had seen them. ‘Are you all right, Lady Octavia?’
She nodded. ‘Can we go and get something to eat? I’m hungry.’
‘Of course we can. If you will excuse us, Lady Lansbury.’
‘Of course, my dear. Run along,’ she said, looking with concern at her daughter as she fidgeted from one foot to the other. ‘Octavia is looking a little flushed. Perhaps it’s the sun.’
‘I’ll get her a glass of iced lemonade—and I’m sure an ice cream would not go amiss,’ she suggested, knowing of Octavia’s love of that particular desert.
‘I don’t like Christopher’s friend,’ Octavia said, in a childishly conspiratorial whisper when they were far enough away from her mother to be overheard.
‘But why? Why don’t you like her, Lady Octavia?’
‘She’s always cross. I just don’t like her. She isn’t my friend.’
And just as suddenly her agitation was gone and she looked up and searched Jane’s face with her soft blue gaze. There was a gentle elusiveness about her that declared her to be as fragile and vulnerable as a summer flower and she possessed a strange, tragic quality that always touched Jane deeply.
‘We shall always be friends, won’t we, Jane?’
‘Yes, Lady Octavia, I will always be your friend,’ Jane said with genuine warmth.
Octavia continued to search Jane’s face. ‘Truly? Cross your heart?’
Jane smiled, then with her forefinger she made a sign over her own heart. ‘Cross my heart,’ she promised.
Taking Octavia’s hand in her own, Jane led her towards the terrace, where she asked one of the servants to bring ice cream for Octavia and some fruit for herself. Three governesses sat near a graceful white gazebo, watching several children who had come with their parents playing happily with a ball, throwing it from one to the other. Octavia watched them, showing no sign of wanting to join in their fun as their happy voices rang out, mingling with the deeper, more reserved voices of the grown-ups.
For the next half hour Octavia remained close to Jane. She was quiet, with that odd, faraway look in her eyes Jane had become familiar with. Finishing her ice cream, Octavia became restless, which did not go unnoticed by Lady Lansbury.
‘Why don’t you take Octavia for a walk, Jane? Perhaps she would like to go down to the lake to see the swans.’
Jane was more than happy to leave the party. In the field with her father and his contemporaries the difference in rank had seemed irrelevant. What counted was knowledge and expertise and in that environment she had felt equal to anyone. But here among the glittering nobility and gentry where she had not even her looks to recommend her she felt awkward and was glad Lady Lansbury had given her the opportunity to slip away.
Jane took Octavia’s hand and they walked along the garden paths to the back of the house. Jane stared ahead at the surrounding countryside with her eyes narrowed in concentration. The view never failed to impress her. Acres upon breathtaking acres stretched out before her and all owned by one man.
Swans drifted gracefully on the still water of the lake and beyond the lake a hill was topped by an ornate building that reminded Jane of some kind of temple. Its entrance was supported by two columns of the Roman Doric order, and above was an open colonnade of Corinthian columns. The entire structure was surmounted by a cupola. It looked extremely interesting and Jane had already decided to take a closer look when she was alone.
They paused to sit together on the grass, looking through a long stretch of fence that enclosed the stables and the large paddock where horses nibbled at the grass. Drawing her knees up to her chest, with a sigh Jane listened to the distant voices and the hum of busy insects in the grass and wild flowers. She smiled with a feeling of contentment. Chalfont was like nothing she had experienced before and she felt herself ensnared by this lovely place that seemed to be closing itself around her and claiming her for its own.
Having a deep and abiding fear of horses, Octavia was always reluctant to go close to them. Big-eyed, she watched them warily.
‘That’s a mare, Lady Octavia, the brown one with the lovely mane. Is she not beautiful? See how her coat shines with the sun on it. Of course she is groomed every day, so that helps.’
At the sound of her voice the animal raised its head and began to walk towards them. Standing up, Jane went to the fence and, holding out her hand, patted her neck. Out of the corner of her eye she noted how Octavia held back.
‘See, Lady Octavia, she’s as docile as a lamb. I’m sure she would like it if you were to pat her like I’m doing.’
With her eyes fastened on the horse, Octavia got to her feet and gingerly moved close, her hand resting companionably on Jane’s waist as she moved closer to the fence. To Jane’s delight she didn’t draw back when the horse nudged her head against them.
‘Stroke her nose, Lady Octavia, don’t be afraid. Watch me, just there.’ Taking Octavia’s hand, she rested it on the glossy, quivering nose of the animal and the child left it there, unafraid in the confident grasp of her new friend, patting tentatively the patient mare, her bright, long-lashed eyes like cornflowers in the smiling face.
* * *
Christopher watched them