Free The Seduction of an English Scoundrel by Jillian Hunter

her head, and thought of the dog she had lost, attempting to look bereaved.
    â€œWhere is everyone, Bates?” she asked the tall gaunt-faced butler who stood supervising the polishing of the hall’s brass fixtures.
    â€œYour lady sisters are taking their lessons in the summerhouse,” he said gravely. “His lordship had a meeting on St. James’s street. Lady Belshire is puttering about in the garden, as is her pleasure.”
    â€œThank you, Bates,” she said, spinning on the heel of her slipper.
    â€œOn behalf of the staff, Lady Jane,” he intoned to her back as if he were delivering a eulogy, “I would like to express my deepest sympathy for your loss.”
    She hesitated, ignoring the prickle of guilt that ran down her back. “That is kind of you, Bates.”
Unnecessary, but kind nonetheless.
    â€œThe same goes for me, too, Lady Jane,” added the gray-haired figure at the other end of the hall.
    Jane turned stiffly and smiled at the diminutive housekeeper, who was dabbing at her tearful eye with her apron string. Oh, Lord, this was an unforeseen bit of embarrassment. “Chin up, Mrs. Bee. We are the Belshires.”
    â€œWe are indeed, my lady,” Mrs. Bee sniffed.
    Her good mood a trifle diminished, Jane wended her way outside to the lushly overgrown garden to find her mother, in a straw bonnet and bright aquamarine day gown, attacking the weeds between the wall of lupines with a pair of sewing scissors. There was something comforting about the familiar domestic scene. Life in a garden tended to go on despite the complications of the outside world.
    â€œHello, my poor darling.” Lady Belshire scanned her daughter’s face for evidence of a broken heart. “Did you manage to sleep at all? I warned everyone to be as quiet as possible.”
    â€œI slept. . . .” Jane paused, remembering the dream that had awakened her. To her private dismay, the lifelike image of the naked marquess had begun to grow blurry—she certainly would never be able to admire a Roman statue again. But if she couldn’t recall the unclad Sedgecroft, she couldn’t titillate herself at the odd interval either.
    â€œDearest, are you all right?”
    Jane blinked, aware her mother was waving a lupine stalk back and forth before her. “I’m fine. Did—did Sedgecroft send word by any chance? I mean, not that I want him to. . . .”
    Lady Belshire heaved a sigh. “He could not manage to call this morning, Jane. I hope this is not another disappointment, although after yesterday I imagine there is not much that can damage your aching heart. Sedgecroft was detained on some family matter. He sent a message that—”
    â€œIt’s all right, Mama. I really didn’t expect him to keep his word. He probably already regrets making his offer, and I certainly won’t hold him to it.” Jane darted around the stone bench, giddy with relief. A reprieve. A chance to recover her equilibrium. Of course Sedgecroft wasn’t coming. What would he want with dull jilted Lady Jane? Although for a few minutes, he
had
made her feel more desirable then she had dreamed possible. Well, it only proved she had been right about him all along.
    â€œAre my sisters still with Madame Dumas?” she asked as she backed away.
    â€œYes, but—” Lady Belshire stared at her fleeing daughter in consternation. “Jane, my goodness, I haven’t even finished delivering his message.”
    Â 
    Jane restrained herself from racing into the summerhouse to deliver the welcome news to Caroline. She and Miranda were reading Molière’s
Tartuffe
aloud in their dreadful French accents while Madame Dumas listened, her skinny fingers pinched to her nose as if in pain.
    â€œMay I interrupt?” Jane asked in amusement.
    Madame Dumas shuddered, slamming the book shut. “By all means, please do. Your sisters are slaughtering my mother