“Lord Townsend has visited your father and put forth a marriage proposal. You are going to be wed,” her mother exclaimed. “And to such a prospect.”
“That cannot be. The Marquess of Townsend has asked to marry me? The Duke of Lockridge’s son?”
“Really, Jane, would there be another? Yes, he’s asked to marry you. Your father wishes us to return to London at once, so you may meet your future husband and his family.” She fluttered the note in agitation. “He hints at a holiday wedding, but that is surely too precipitous. We must find you a wedding gown, manage invitations, arrange a proper breakfast…”
Jane sank back into the chair before the fire. A gown? A reception? Lord Townsend could not truly intend to marry her. It made no sense. He was one of the most sought-after bachelors in London. “Are you sure you read it correctly? May I see it?”
Her mother handed her the letter, and indeed, in her father’s own handwriting, it said very shortly and urgently that the marquess had proposed marriage and that they must come. A contract had already been signed.
“Jane, look at your hem.” Her mother gazed mournfully at the wet mud splotched upon the bottom of her skirt like some ill-conceived painting. “That’s practically a new gown.”
“It’s a day gown, not hard to wash. If you would let me wear trousers, just in the garden—”
“No. Proper ladies don’t wear trousers. If you’re to wed this man, a duke’s son, you’ve got to take more care with your appearance and reputation, young lady.”
“My reputation?” She cleaved to this argument, for otherwise she must think about this shocking marriage proposal. “I’m perfectly virtuous. I always have been.”
“That’s not the reputation I mean. I’m talking about your propensity to muck about in meadows and forests, and collect those godforsaken monstrosities you house in the kitchens and barns.”
“They’re animals, mother, not monstrosities. They are natural beings just as we are.”
“Of course you would say so, you exhausting girl. This is why that horrible man broke his vow to marry you and fled to Spain.”
Jane pushed down her hurt emotions because they wouldn’t move her mother. Why, she’d cried buckets of tears over that “horrible man” who’d jilted her, the man she’d barely known, and it had accomplished nothing at all. Now she was to be married to a different man who’d never spoken the first word to her?
It had to be some mean-spirited joke.
“Why would Lord Townsend propose to me?” she asked. “Do you think father is telling the truth?”
“I don’t imagine he’d go to the trouble of ordering us to London if he wasn’t. My dear…” She took back the letter she’d been clutching. “Your father writes that Lord Townsend offered with great passion for your hand.”
“But mama… It must be a mistake. I’ve never spoken to Lord Townsend, not once. We’ve never been introduced.”
“Mistake or not, the contract is signed, unless you’re foolish enough to refuse him. The Duke of Lockridge’s oldest son, dear girl!” She softened her voice and lifted her daughter’s face with a finger beneath her chin. “What, not even a smile? This is joyous news.”
“What if it isn’t true, though?” Her stomach wrenched with fear of mockery. “What if it’s a prank? Some sort of nonsense?”
“Nonsense? Why would you think so? Remember how quickly all the gentlemen came calling for June when she became available for marriage?”
“I’m not June, mother. I’m not as pretty or vivacious, or light on my feet.”
“Pish posh. You’re a fine marriage prospect. It may be this Lord Townsend has admired you from afar, and learned you were recently…unengaged to that awful scoundrel.”
Lord Hobart, the other name that was not to be mentioned in the Mayhew household. Jane sighed, trying to imagine Lord Townsend “admiring her from afar.” It was impossible. He was too handsome and lofty, too untouchable. She could not feel excited because she worried none of it was true. How could she even speak to a man so dashing and worldly? Much less marry him?
“I can’t believe he would ‘passionately’ offer for me,” she persisted. “Why?”
“The why doesn’t matter. Good families seek out other good families. Perhaps it’s because his rapscallion friend has married, so Lord Townsend wishes to as well. Let’s take it for what it is, a blessing.” Her mother said blessing as if she meant miracle.
It was a sort of miracle, and that frightened her. What if Lord Townsend met her, merely looked upon her, and broke the engagement—her second? At that point she’d have no choice but to move to some haunted, windblown cliff and never show her face in society again. She could not believe such a fine, wealthy man—a duke’s son—would stoop to beg for her hand in marriage.
“What if it doesn’t happen?” she asked her mother. “What if he meets with me and changes his mind?”