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THE LIBRARY AT HOLCOMBE was impressively large; a veritable labyrinth of books that seemed to continue forever. Jane found a little desk comfortably surrounded by the hundreds of volumes that tempted her with their leather covers and delightful bookish smell.
It was a quarter hour later, however, that Jane sat back, at a loss. She had nothing new to write to her aunt, and as she had written her closest friend so recently as well, she was entirely without the resources to please Lady Harrington. Shaking her head, she stood and looked out the window where the party was gathering for the excursion to the ruins which she very much would have liked to see. She sighed and looked at the desk again as an idea made her chuckle. She sat again, and with a smirk she cut a new piece of foolscap and set to work, her sense of humor rising to the occasion.
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JUNE 25, 1813
Dear Friend,
I am to write you of my time here thus far, despite the lack of your existence.
Holcombe is a beautiful house and Lady Harrington has it tastefully decorated, but the grounds are truly remarkable and have inspired many long walks. I prefer these walks alone, but I find many of the company are enjoyable, despite my inability to socialize as well as I’d like.
I confess, there are some awkward moments when some of the ladies have made it abundantly clear they find me as interesting as last season’s wallpaper, and I am finding it tempting to hide in the impressive library to read my books in better solitude. Lady Margaret in particular is a dear girl, and her conversation never fails to bring a smile to my face.
Lady Harrington has made it clear I am to monopolize Mr. James Makon, the local vicar. He is a man closer to 30 than 20, I believe, and has a good heart, although he is forever backing up his conversation with scripture over much, and seems to struggle with his sense of humor often. He does not object to my friendship with his sister, another barely eligible girl whom I can commiserate with as she is considered ‘on the shelf’. They are the youngest progeny of a Baron de Paul, which makes them acceptable to Lady Harrington. Miss Mary Makon is beautiful, which I believe puts her a stitch higher than I on this ladder I am creating. More important, of course, is the fact that she is very sweet with a quiet intelligence that allows her to be easily friendly with all. I am convinced Lord Petersham is quite taken with her despite his mother’s very different intentions.
Mr. Lawrence is the other gentleman I have been given permission to converse with, although it was voiced as an afterthought, for I think Lady Harrington is rather put out that he is here. Mr. Lawrence is exceptionally tall with black hair and very pale skin. Meg mentioned she mistook him for a specter the first time she met him and has never recovered since. His conversation is intelligent and as a professor of science he is very well informed and learned. I find I seek him out quite regularly as we have quickly become friends, and while our conversations are usually serious and sometimes intense, I am assured he will never make a ridiculous comment or converse about anything like fashion or the London season.
I should perhaps save some of my ridiculous observations for another pretend friend that will serve as tinder for the library fire.
Until then,
Jane Shaw
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JANE LAID THE QUILL down, sighed, and leaned back in the chair. She noticed a book then, The Mysteries of Udolpho, lying on the desk forgotten. She smiled; Miss Pratt had waxed long on its merits, and despite her doubt in Miss Pratt’s taste, Jane enjoyed a novel once in a while. She opened it and began to read, but shortly felt the need for a more relaxing pose. Taking it to the nearest window well, she tucked her legs under her and pulled an obliging throw over them. Looking out the window, she watched as the predicted storm came down too distantly to stop the comradery of couples who soon traveled out of sight. Shaking her head, Jane turned to the distraction of her book.
A continuous chiming pulled Jane out of her happy place. She looked outside and was startled to see the storm closer and the sky darker – surely she had not been here that long? Her legs protested as she pulled them out from under her now rumpled dress, and she wobbled a bit before they had the strength back to stand on their own.
Making her way past the desk, she remembered her silly letter and moved to add it to the smoldering bank now in the hearth. But as she approached her chair she stopped abruptly, for there sat a folded square of paper. She picked it up wondering if someone had made bold with her letter, or perhaps a servant had attempted to help in some way. Turning it over, she gasped.
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MISS JANE SHAW
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A LETTER FOR HER? IT seemed too much of a coincidence to find a letter where another was missing. And where was her pretend letter? Confused, she looked down at the desk, rifling through blank paper as she shook her head. Finally giving up, she began moving towards the door. She made her way around a shelf only to look up and meet the eyes of the Earl of Harrington. Flustered, she sank into a curtsey and hid the letter in her hand.
“Forgive me, Miss Shaw, but I noticed you were not in the party returned from the ruins.” He raised his left eyebrow quite expertly.
Jane took a breath and tried to look for the exit. The earl’s shoulders, however, blocked her view, forcing her to look straight into his dark brown eyes. “I...that is...I lost track of time.” She held up the book she had been reading, and looked at it in the hopes it could somehow convey her communication for her.
“I see.” He paused as she looked back at him, realizing he had a smattering of freckles under his right eye. Freckles? On the Honorable Earl of Harrington? She willed herself to not smile. “They are all readying for dinner, which will be in a half hour, I’m told. I realize that’s not a lot of time to prepare, but I hope....” He paused.
“Oh, a half hour will be plenty, I can....I can assure you.” At that, the barest hint of a smile hit Lord Harrington’s face.
“I will see you at dinner, Miss Shaw.” He bowed, turned and walked away before she could respond.
“Drat. Drat drat drat.” Jane shoved the letter into her pocket, then half ran to her room barging into Sarah. “Oh Sarah! I’m to be at dinner in a half hour! Heaven knows how I wasted that many hours on that ridiculous novel.” She threw the book on her bed and began to undress.
“Yes, miss, I know, but I couldn’t find you anywhere, and the servants said everyone went to the ruins, so I thought you’d be back with them, but no one had seen you, and I didn’t know what to do.” Sarah’s hands waved about as she simultaneously helped Jane out of her day dress and into her evening gown. With no time to spare, she left her hair in the simple bun she always wore it in, and hurried down the stairs.
There she encountered Simmons, who gave a small smile and allowed her to go first. He shut the door behind her and then a few moments later opened it to announce dinner. Lady Harrington pursed her lips at her, then quickly introduced her to Lord and Lady Dewhurst, their daughter, Miss Fancot, and Mr. McInnes, another near neighbor that must have been wealthy enough to warrant an invitation despite his lack of title. They left immediately for dinner, with Lady Harrington on the arm of her son. The others followed suit, and Jane found herself walking at the back with Mr. Lawrence.
“Miss Shaw, I was sorry not to see you at the ruins today. I hope you were not ill?” Mr. Lawrence could not know his solicitude was uncomfortable, but Jane turned a smile towards him and tried to respond without a falsehood.
“I’m afraid I was woefully behind on my correspondence, Mr. Lawrence, and so I made use of the time to write a...friend...” She trailed off.
He noticed her stumble and changed course. “I am a horrible correspondent myself, actually. I find myself much more interested in writing papers of the academic variety.”
“Oh? And are you working on a paper at this time?” Jane sat in the chair he held for her and was delighted as he sat next to her and continued the conversation.
“I am working on a paper with a colleague of mine. He is very philosophical, and has many ideas with regards to emotion and how feelings may be expressed.”
“That sounds very different from your usual interests.” She thanked the servant who had placed soup in front of her and turned to hear his answer.
“Yes. My part in this research has been to look at it all from a scientific view. For example, if a man is angry, my colleague tries to understand why, whereas I am trying to understand his physical reactions to his own anger. It has been most illuminating and an interesting change as you noted.”
She took a drink and responded. “Which of the emotions have reactions that surprised you the most?”
He looked at her and smiled. “Miss Shaw, I am very impressed with how your mind works. What an insightful question.” Laying down his fork, he brought his hands up to talk. “Compassion, I am finding, is difficult to decipher. For example, what drives one person to be kind to another? In point of fact, is it possible to be entirely pure in your motivation to help another?”
Jane furrowed her brow; the question was intense and not exactly dinner fare conversation of the likes she was hearing around her, and yet she was intrigued. “Perhaps if you gave me an example?”
“Of course. A man attends a ball and dances with a plain, quiet wallflower that has heretofore been unnoticed.” Here Miss Shaw blanched, but Mr. Lawrence continued, caught up in his teaching moment. “Many would call him amiable, but soon, other men may observe this young lady as having qualities they had previously missed, or perhaps they assume she has an unheard of fortune. There is a general confusion, because the man could not have simply been kind; he was motivated by some other purpose.”
“The conclusion being that no act is done entirely out of selflessness.” Lord Harrington’s voice startled Jane and she looked to see him pensive, his face with a different set of wrinkles. Mr. Lawrence turned to face him.
“That is, yes, the general idea being batted about by some philosophers. I am trying to observe independently to draw my own conclusions.”
The earl frowned at his partridge, while Mr. Makon spoke up. “Surely we have proof otherwise in the very Son of God.”
Mr. McInnes mumbled. “We can’t all very well be deity.” Mr. Lawrence looked frustrated while Meg laughed outright.
Jane bit her lip then decided to address Miss Fancot, who sat across from her. “Miss Fancot, Lady Margaret tells me you paint beautifully. I have no talent in that regard, but I do sketch. Do you have any recommendations of places to sit?”
Miss Fancot looked at her father, who sat next to her, busy with his next course then glanced at Jane. “There are some lovely local spots, but I am sure Lady Margaret knows them as well as I.” This was said in such a quiet tone that Jane could hardly hear her. Her light brown hair was very prettily arranged and her dress was the height of fashion, but Jane had never seen someone look so out of place.
Leaning forward, she said, “I suppose she might, but as the true artist in our midst, I am sure your eye is just what we need on such an excursion.” She felt bold in her reply, but gave an apologetic smile to Meg, who gave an unlady-like shrug and turned back to her conversation with Miss Annabelle.
“Miss Pratt is a most accomplished painter. Indeed, her watercolors rival the best I’ve seen.” Lady Harrington’s attempts to put Miss Pratt as the paragon of the group made Jane sigh.
“You paint with oils, do you not?” She tried once more to turn the conversation back to Miss Fancot, who had finally fully met Jane’s look with her own gray eyes.
“I....yes.” Her whispered reply was drowned further by Lady Dewhurst’s sniff.
Mr. Lawrence leaned toward her, a black lock of hair flopping in front of his eye, his voice low. “Best give it up for now. I’m not sure you’ll get anything with...well, anyone else around.”
“I agree. Although I am intrigued at her rebellious decision to paint with oils. There is hope for her.” They shared a smile and turned back to their dinner with lighter conversation.
A dessert of fresh peaches and strawberries concluded the meal, and afterwards the women retired to the drawing room where the men immediately joined them. Lady Harrington’s hands did justice to her opinions as she directed her sons and soon everyone was where they should be.
Mr. Lawrence claimed a seat next to Jane and tilted his head to comment, “I must thank you, Miss Shaw, for at dinner, you were quick to divert a conversation that was quickly becoming too serious. I must also beg your pardon, for I have not the talent to converse easily with others.”
“On the contrary, Mr. Lawrence, you converse very well.”
“You are kind. I am too easily persuaded to speak of my own interests, and not to enjoy the quiet easy conversation that would be better served. I hope you can forgive me.” His dark eyes met her own and she smiled.
“Of course. And I must tell you I have enjoyed our conversations very much. Indeed, the interest shown this evening is proof, is it not?”
He smiled, as he leaned back. “As I have said before, Miss Shaw, you are quick to find the best in every situation.”
Jane returned his smile. “And now I should like you to help me. You see, I have got it into my head to help draw out Miss Fancot.”
Meg wrinkled her nose. “Oh Jane, you’ll never get a moment alone with her. In fact, I’ve never seen her without her mother.” She looked over at the young lady in question. “And anyway, there goes Charlie. I think he’s had the same idea.” The trio watched as Lord Harrington approached Miss Fancot. He sat on a chair and began to talk to her, blocking their view. After a few minutes, he ran his hand through his hair and sat up. He leaned forward once again and stood, giving a short bow as he moved to speak with Lord Petersham.
Mr. Makon sat next to Mr. Lawrence. “You see, Mr. Lawrence. Lord Harrington is capable of selflessness. Surely an earl has no need to speak to Miss Fancot when we all know he has not the slightest interest in her.”
Miss Makon took a breath as she looked at her brother. “Or perhaps we could attribute it to his general wish for the wellbeing of others. After all, she is a near neighbor.”
Mr. Lawrence mouthed an apology to Jane and turned to face the conversation better. “I do not claim to know Lord Harrington’s motivation in approaching her, but neither can any of you. After all, he could just as easily been seeking approval from any number of parties, not the least of which is his own conscience.”
“Is our own conscience not the voice that sells selflessness?” The group turned to see Lord Harrington and Lord Petersham who had come up quietly next to them. Lord Harrington had his eyebrow cocked, and Lord Petersham was grinning.
“That was well said, my lord. But perhaps as a result you have encouraged the idea that our conscience is a separate entity?” Mr. Lawrence was warming up and Jane looked between them, unsure what to say.
Lord Harrington grabbed the back of her chair as he leaned forward. “I cannot be comfortable in the idea that no act of compassion is truly selfless.” Lord Petersham shook his head, his smile never waning as he folded his arms, leaning against the wall.
Mr. Lawrence leaned farther forward and Jane felt very much in the way. “Show me an example where true selflessness is entirely proven without question, and I will agree with you.” He caught Jane’s look and immediately leaned back.
Lord Harrington straightened in response, as Mr. Lawrence attempted to ameliorate. “Meanwhile, I beg your pardon, but I feel the need to play the scientist and question beyond what is probably necessary in this setting.”
“There is nothing to forgive. I find your ideas interesting and cannot help but try to pick them apart, perhaps to know myself a little better.” Lord Harrington began a short bow but paused. “I will endeavor to meet your challenge and observe a situation that meets those demands.” And with that, he moved to the smiles of the Misses Pratt.
Lady Margaret started the conversation again, and they were soon learning or comparing notes about various locals. When Meg began telling the outrageous stories of her brother’s wagers, their group began laughing so hard, that Lady Harrington gave them a look that compelled them to whisper.
It was late when Jane finally left, her departure full of half giggles with her parting comment to Meg that she would think twice before getting a white cat. This resulted in laughter all the way up the stairs until she reached her room.
It wasn’t until she began to undress that she remembered the letter. Her smile dropped, she pulled it out, noticing the handwriting – it was masculine, firm and practiced. Prying open the seal, she unfolded the paper and read the missive.
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MISS SHAW,
I must agree with you that Holcombe is a beautiful place. I have never seen a house I liked better.
I must disagree though with regards to Lord Petersham. Miss Mary Makon is a nice enough girl, but Lord Petersham is agreeable and friendly with everyone, even those he does not like, so I believe it can be hard to point his preference.
I’m sorry to hear some of our company make you feel uncomfortable. I find your conversation interesting and your quiet personality restful after so much chatter from others. Please forgive me for intruding on your correspondence and then being so impertinent as to respond.
A friend
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ASTONISHED, SHE SAT in the chair associated with her small desk. An anonymous letter that was very possibly from a man? It was incredibly scandalous. And yet...there had been nothing inappropriate, only friendly discourse as one would have had in the parlor over tea. He found her conversation interesting – that could only be Mr. Lawrence? Or perhaps Mr. Makon? It couldn’t possibly be Lord Petersham himself, could it? She frowned.
“Are you alright, miss?”
“Oh, yes Sarah. I suppose I’m just trying to decide how I feel about something.”
“Yes, miss.”