Free Salt Bride by Lucinda Brant Page B

wouldn’t hurt to put a fire in the grate, and perhaps offer one or two more seats, or a bench.”
    “Hear! Hear, Madam!” agreed an elderly man in an old-fashioned full bottom wig.
    Several other gentlemen nodded their powdered heads and there was a general low rumble of assent. Even the attending liveried footmen, who were chilled to the bone, cast the woman a look of approval.
    “Now, good wife, there ain’t reason for us to complain about his lordship,” the old gentleman reproved. “Not after all he’s done for our boy.”
    The woman was immediately repentant and said confidentially to Jane as if she was a friend of long-standing, “We have a great deal to be thankful for in his lordship’s good offices. What with everything that’s usually heaped on his lordship’s plate, it was such a good kind act for Lord Salt to take Billy under his wing.”
    “Our son Billy is a very bright lad and was up at Oxford with his lordship’s secretary Mr. Ellis,” the husband added proudly. “He was determined to come to London to seek his fortune, little realizing the great hardship involved in securing gainful employment without the necessary good word of people of influence. We are well-connected people in our little corner of Wiltshire, make no mistake about that, miss, but the metropolis is cut from an altogether different cloth.”
    “And with five more children to launch into the world, it’s not as if we could help Billy as much as we would’ve liked to,” apologized the wife, an understanding smile up at her husband, who leaned in towards them with the aid of his Malacca cane to take the weight off his gouty toe, and to affectionately squeeze his wife’s shoulder.
    “But his lordship found a place for our Billy in the Foreign Department under the guidance of Sir Antony Templestowe,” continued the husband, adding proudly for Jane’s benefit, “Sir Antony is a most distinguished diplomatist, and Billy has every expectation of accompanying Sir Antony when next he embarks for foreign climes.”
    “Your son could do no better than have Lord Salt as his mentor,” commented Jane, feeling that the couple was seeking her endorsement of their son’s success. “And under Sir Antony’s wing, I know Lord Salt’s faith in him will be justly proved.”
    “Thank you, my dear,” said the wife, taking her warm hand from her muff and placing it on Jane’s cold fingers. “Goodness Gracious! Your hands are as cold as the blocks of ice floating in the Thames! Should you like to borrow my muff for a few moments, child?”
    Jane shook her head and thanked the woman, more than ever self-conscious in her worn cloak, a gift from her father at Christmastime when she was seventeen that she hadn’t the heart to give up, not even when Mr. Allenby had presented her with a lovely new fur-lined velvet cloak with shiny silver buttons. She hid her cold hands in her lap under the cloak, the bitter cold from the marble floor seeping into her stockinged toes and up her thin ankles, and shivered, not from the cold but with apprehension of what was to come; the first time she had allowed herself to think about the consequences of going through with marriage to Lord Salt. The fact Tom was not with her increased her dread. He had gone to fetch his lawyer as witness, a stipulation of Jacob Allenby’s will, and promised to be at Grosvenor Square not an hour after she was set down at the Earl’s residence. The hour was almost up.
    “What a pity his lordship can’t find himself a wife as easily as he found our Billy employment,” the husband announced good-naturedly, which brought Jane out of her abstraction to ask curiously,
    “Why do you say so, sir?”
    “What, miss? A nobleman with his wealth and looks and an ancient coronet to pass on to his descendants, why wouldn’t Lord Salt want to marry? Stands to reason he’s in need of a Countess by his side, wouldn’t you say so, wife?”
    “Indeed he does, sir!” agreed the wife a