Free Jane and the Unpleasantness at Scargrave Manor by Stephanie Barron

chance to converse; we found much in common that thrilled and moved; and yet behind the growing felicity in one another's company, there was a burgeoning despair. The inevitability of my fate approached—and to dishonour the man who had done so much for each of us was impossible. That we thought severally in this vein, without speaking of it to the other—that we had never spoken of the feeling that overcame us in one another's presence—I need not assure you. Such a speech could not but harm.” She fell silent, lost in despondency.
    “Until?” I prompted.
    The Countess hesitated, as if unwilling to repeat in speech the indiscretions of the past. “Until the day Fanny suffered a slight indisposition, due to her greediness for cold stuffing at dinner the previous evening.”
    “It prevented her from accompanying you the next day?”
    “It did. We had formed the design of a visit to Hampton Court, by barge up the Thames, and visit we did—though the party was formed of but two.” My dear friend's face was suddenly transformed. “The delight in those few hours, Jane! The carefree happiness of our day! What laughter, what meaning in silence, what trembling in my hand as I took his arm to promenade! We moved through stately rooms and terraced gardens as though they were ours and we had come into our kingdom. A marvelous charade. For a time, we might play at what we never could be.”
    A little of Isobel's emotion affected my senses, and I strove for calm. “And you spoke, then, of the future?”
    “How could we not?” Her glad aspect dimmed. “But it was a discourse saved for the waning of the day, when the long shadows proclaimed our liberty at an end, our paradise lost. In contemplating the necessity of a return, the duplicity it meant, Fitzroy found that he could not bear it; and in the shadow of a great tree in the Court gardens, he seized me in his arms and…kissed me, Jane.”
    I was silent with pity and horror.
    “The memory of it burns upon my lips still,” Isobel said, reaching a finger to her mouth. “It was to burn in my heart all that night, as I dined with poor Frederick; and dined with Fitzroy, who sat opposite as though turned to stone.”
    My friend's hand found mine and grasped it tightly. “Have you ever felt, Jane, a crushing sadness while at the same time experiencing a heady euphoria?”
    I could only shake my head, unwilling to share my own poor fortune.
    “Then you have never been in love,” Isobel said decidedly, “and you did right not to accept Mr. Bigg-Wither.”
    “But what was the outcome, my dear?” I persisted. “Did you never consider a full disclosure to Lord Scargrave?”
    “No, Jane. That could not be. We declared our love, canvassed our mutual honour and the esteem we owed the Earl, and came to a tortured resignation. I could not destroy Fitzroy by dishonouring his uncle—as destroy him I should. To do so would bring misery upon all in the Earl's household, and burden the purer emotions we felt with regret and recrimination.”
    “But how could you go forward?” I cried, all amazement.
    Isobel looked her confusion. “I know that you should not have done so, dear Jane. With your strength and sense, you should have broken off the engagement and retired from the scene.” She hesitated, as though her next words caused her pain. “But I had Crosswinds to consider, and all that Lord Scargrave had vouched he would do. For the sake of my father's memory, I determined that I could not choose otherwise than to marry the Earl.”
    “And Lord Payne? What of him?”
    “We deemed it best to part company until the fateful day was achieved. Fitzroy offered the Earl some excuse, and fled to the country. I was married not two weeks later, toured the Continent for some three months, and returned to Scargrave for the Christmas holiday.”
    “I wonder how you bore it,” I said.
    “Did not you see the change?” Isobel burst out. “You, who are my dearest friend in the