Free The Westerby Inheritance by M.C. Beaton

it.”
    She murmured her excuses to Bella and made her way upstairs on shaky legs. Perhaps she would just put on one of her new gowns and
pretend
she was going. There was no harm in that. And… and… she could just
ask
Sanders, the butler, how to get to Hessel Street. As she halted on the landing, irresolute, Sanders crossed the hall with the teatray.
    “Sanders!” she cried, running lightly down the stairs again. “Where is Hessel Street? Bella said it is quite close to here!”
    Some two hours later, a heavily cloaked figure scurried out of Huggets Square. Jane had bravely dressed herself in her best and had powdered her hair. The parish lamps flickering in their glass shades threw odd shadows running before her. Faint strains of music reached her ears from the tall houses on either side. A party of roistering bloods came roaring down the street in front of her, and she quickly shrank back into the shadows until they had passed.
    Time and again, she spurred herself on with the reminder that Hessel Street was only a little way away. It was fortunate that the streets had dried quickly, for she was not wearing her pattens. Her new silk shoes with their high red heels gave her added height and some badly needed confidence.
    After what seemed an age but in fact was only some ten minutes or so, she turned into Hessel Street and began to look for Number Five, which was Lord Charles’s residence.
    At last she was outside Lord Charles’s town house, and her heart nearly misgave her. It seemed a very imposing mansion, standing set apart a little from its neighbors, and with a wide flight of shallow marble steps leading up to a gleaming door.
    “This is madness,” thought Jane. “I cannot do it. I must return home.” She wheeled about.
    Just then a noisy cry from the end of Hessel Street heralded the return of the roistering bloods. Their leader spied Jane’s feminine figure standing irresolutely on the pavement and let out a loud “
Halloo!
” Jane now had no choice. She took a deep breath, marched up the steps, seized the large brass knocker, and rapped smartly on the door.
    The door was opened almost immediately by a small, wiry butler. Jane made as if to move past him, but he deftly barred her way.
    “Your business, miss?” he demanded severely.
    “My business is with Lord Charles Welbourne,” said Jane in as businesslike tones as she could muster. “He is expecting me,” she added, made bold by the presence of the young bloods waiting in the street behind her.
    “My lord said nothing to me about it. He is not at home,” replied the butler. “So, if you—”
    “Oh,
please
,” begged Jane, indicating the young men in the street below. “You cannot be so cruel as to shut the door on me. I am Lady Jane Lovelace, and Lord Charles
does
expect me.”
    She shook back her hood as she spoke, revealing an impeccably coiffed and powdered head. The butler eyed the sheen of fine silk revealed under the cloak by her gesture, and reluctantly opened the door wider.
    He could not risk leaving a lady to the tender mercies of those young bucks. Nonetheless, he was sure she had no business whatsoever with his master. Some years ago, ladies had tried every trick in the book to gain entry to Lord Charles’s residence, but recently Lord Charles’s unsavory reputation and rakehelly ways had daunted all but the boldest.
    “I shall let you wait a little in the morning room, my lady,” said the butler, ushering her into the hall and shutting the street door on her disappointed followers. “When these young rowdies have gone, then I simply must ask you to leave, my lady. If you know his lordship, as you say you do, then you should know that he don’t favor
any
lady calling at his home. You should also know he is never at home at this hour.”
    He led the way into a small morning room on the ground floor and left, after lighting the candelabra.
    Jane sat down, for she felt her trembling legs would no longer support her, and