Jessica Courtney could recall very clearly the moment that had changed her life. It had come upon her quite without warning and had caused her to regard very differently the course that her life might take in the following years.

While it did not bring either immediate or unalloyed happiness, Jessica realised that it could have been much worse, and she could have been drawn into a period of self-indulgent depression and complaint about the vicissitudes of life. But, despite her youth, for she was only eighteen years old, being possessed of both sense and sensibility, Jessica determined not to allow herself that dubious luxury.

It was all very well for heroines in popular novels to spend hours, days, months even, surrendering themselves to the melancholy contemplation of what might have been, she thought—they did not have a school to run.

The previous year, 1865, had not been an easy one for any of them, more particularly for members of the family of Mr and Mrs Darcy at Pemberley. Since the beginning of the year, news of the problems, which beset the marriage of their son Julian Darcy and his wife, Josie, had been filtering through to them in letters and whispered conversations. Not everyone was agreed upon who was to blame in the matter, but almost everyone had claimed to know something was amiss.

Jessica's mother, Mrs Emily Courtney, was too deeply involved in her commitments to the hospital at Littleford and her charitable work for the poor of the parish of Kympton to participate in such gossip, but whenever her aunt Caroline Fitzwilliam or their young cousin Lizzie Gardiner visited, they would share their news with her. They had no doubt at all that Julian and Josie were not happy.

Jessica had not wished to ask too many questions, lest they thought she was prying. Which was why she had been wholly unprepared for the dramatic news when it came, late one afternoon, that Julian Darcy had arrived from Cambridge at the home of his sister Cassy and Doctor Richard Gardiner, bringing with him his son Anthony and young Lizzie Gardiner, who had been staying with them in Cambridge at the time.

As her aunt Caroline told it, it seemed his wife, Josie, had left their home and had gone to live with a Mr Barrett, who had supposedly promised to publish her book! Incredible as it seemed, that was what Caroline had learned from her brother Richard Gardiner.

“It must be true, Dr Gardiner would not repeat such a story if it were not,” thought Jessica. So appalled was she, that she had spent the rest of the evening in a state of shock, unable to speak of the disastrous news to anyone, while the rest of family had expressed consternation and grief.

On the following day, Jessica had gone into the village and met young Lizzie Gardiner at Mrs Hardy's bookshop, whither they had both gone in search of copies of a new novel by Mr Dickens. After making their purchases, they had repaired to a tea shop, where, as they took tea and sampled the shortbread, Lizzie was more forthcoming than Caroline had been.

Her aunt Caroline had been quite critical of Josie, especially of her decision to desert her little boy.

“It is beyond belief that a woman would leave a kind husband and her young child in this way,” she had said, but Lizzie, with the advantage of having spent most of Spring in Cambridge with Julian and Josie, seemed to have more understanding of the reasons for her conduct. She knew more also about Mr Barrett, who had been a frequent visitor to the couple's home.

“I do not believe that Josie has done this lightly and only because of wanting to have her book published,” she had said, adding, “I could not help feeling that Josie had been lonely and rather neglected by my uncle Julian, whose concentration upon his research work, almost to the exclusion of every other interest, may have left her open to deception by Mr Barrett and his friend Mr Jones, who are both guilty of great duplicity.”

Jessica found it easier to ask her cousin the questions that had occupied her mind for some hours.

“And Julian, do you believe he still loves her, Lizzie? Will he have her back, do you think?” she asked.

Lizzie's answer had been unambiguous. “I am certain of it—he never looks at anyone else. He does love her, but is so completely wedded to his work, he has little time to tell her so or to pay any attention to her interests. Poor Josie, she cares little about the strange microscopic creatures he examines in his laboratory and I am convinced she felt she was no longer loved, when the opposite is probably true.”

Though Lizzie's explanation would have been more painful for Mr and Mrs Darcy to bear, it made more sense than the notion that Josie, who only a year ago had appeared to be a loving wife and mother, could have been so altered in character as to behave in such an outrageous fashion. Lizzie had also revealed that Josie had left a note for her husband, in which she had declared that she did not love Mr Barrett, but needed the freedom he had offered her from her unhappy marriage.

Jessica had expressed disbelief at this, but this time Lizzie had been sympathetic to her uncle. “I have never seen anyone so distraught as my uncle Julian, when he read it. It was as though he had been struck dumb. He did not say a word against her—it was so sad to see him accept it, as though he believed he deserved it,” Lizzie had said as they walked home, leaving Jessica wondering at the reasons behind it all.

Writing in her diary, to which alone she confided her innermost thoughts, she mused:

Poor Josie, what could she have wanted? How much unhappiness must she have suffered to leave her husband and son for a man she did not love? I cannot even begin to comprehend her mind.

As for Julian, how wretched must he feel to accept without protest such a situation, and yet he still loves her and would have her back! Love seems such a complicated emotion; I wonder if I shall ever understand it.

The shock and pain this unfortunate episode had inflicted upon Mr and Mrs Darcy, Jessica had seen firsthand. She had gone to Pemberley, to the church where she had promised to help the rector with the choir, and there she had met Mrs Darcy coming away from the rectory, a veil concealing her tear-stained face.

They had embraced without saying a word, but Jessica's warmth and sympathy had drawn Elizabeth out, and she had told her as much as she had learned from her son.

Elizabeth did not conceal her anger at Josie's behaviour, and Jessica took care not to mention what she had heard from Lizzie Gardiner. It would not do to admit that they had been discussing her son's circumstances.

Later, Mrs Darcy had insisted that Jessica should accompany her home to Pemberley and stay to tea. Making her excuses to an understanding rector, Jessica had done as Elizabeth had asked, not knowing then that they were to be joined by Julian, who was staying at Pemberley for a few days.

He was late coming downstairs, and when he arrived, Jessica, who had seated herself at the far end of the room to get the benefit of the afternoon light, had wished sincerely that he would not notice her. She had hoped that he, being understandably pre-occupied, would pay little attention to her as she sat reading by the window.

But, despite her intention to draw no attention to herself at all, he had seen her. When he had finished his tea, he had put down his cup, walked over to where she sat, and drawing up a chair, had seated himself beside her.

Jessica had known Julian Darcy all her life, they had been childhood friends, but now, she feared there would be some degree of awkwardness between them; it was the first time they had met since his arrival from Cambridge.

When they had finished their customary greetings and said all the usual things people say on such occasions, they had sat looking at one another and neither had said a word, until Jessica asked gently, “What will you do, Julian?”

He had shrugged his shoulders and smiled, a funny, crooked little smile, before saying softly, “Why, Jessica, you are the only person who has asked me that question. I am touched by your concern. However, if I am to be completely honest, I have to say I do not rightly know how to answer you.”

Jessica had hastened to reassure him that she had not meant to pry and he should not feel he had to provide an answer. But then, in a voice heavy with resignation, he had said, “Well, I must return to Cambridge and complete my work there, but then, perhaps I shall go to France. I have an appointment with one of the medical schools in Paris.”

“Do you intend to work there?'” she had asked, and he had replied, “I do, if they will let me continue my research into tropical diseases. I had intended to travel to Africa later in the year, but now, I may go a little earlier than planned.”

“To Africa?” she had been unable to conceal her surprise.

“Yes, there is a great deal of work to be done and much to be studied there. A group of French scientists has invited me to join them—perhaps they will be pleased to see me earlier than expected,” he had said, and as a rather mirthless smile crossed his countenance, Jessica thought she had not seen such anguish upon anyone's face before.

Lizzie Gardiner had been right; Julian Darcy was truly miserable, of that there could be no doubt. He must have loved Josie very much, she thought.

Some days later, Julian had left Pemberley to return to Cambridge.

No more was heard of Josie for several months, and Julian subsequently went to work in France. Jessica, though concerned to know how matters stood, preferred not to speak too openly about the subject, lest she upset Elizabeth, whose heightened anxiety seemed to increase by the day.

Later in the year, news had come that Josie had been found. Lizzie Gardiner had brought the news which gave everyone hope.

Unhappy and unwell, Josie had left Mr Barrett, whose promise to publish her book had evaporated as swiftly as his professed affection for her, over the months she had been with him. Her faithful maid Susan had stayed with her and brought word of her desperate situation to Cassy and Richard Gardiner, who had gone to London immediately to recover her. They had sent word to Julian, who had returned from France to be with his wife. While Josie was diagnosed as being very sick indeed, her husband would not give up hope.

“Julian is so generous, he has forgiven Josie everything and wants only for her to be well again,” Lizzie had said, and Jessica, like the rest of the family, had hoped and prayed it may all come right.

Meanwhile, Jessica's own circumstances had begun to change.

Mr Darcy, now dependent mainly upon his daughter Cassandra and her husband Richard for advice on matters pertaining to his estate, had announced the extension of the small parish school at Pemberley to accommodate older pupils from the area.

“Hitherto, these children have had no education beyond a level so elementary, it fits them for little more than menial work,” he had said. “Sir Thomas Camden and I have decided to extend the buildings and facilities of the parish school at Pemberley to provide an opportunity for them to be better taught.

“Furthermore, I have asked Miss Jessica Courtney to manage the school for me and hire two new teachers for the new term. I am delighted to say that she has very generously consented to accept the position and will soon move to live here at Pemberley, so as to be near the school. It goes without saying that her parents, Reverend James Courtney and our dear cousin Emily, have agreed to this arrangement as well.”

Jessica had been overjoyed. It had seemed as if at last, with the New Year approaching, some changes were taking place, bringing hope back into their lives.

But, shortly afterwards, things had got much worse again, when even as they awoke to a new year, news came from London that Josie, who had never been very strong, had suffered a relapse and passed away in the night.

On a bitter January afternoon, the family had gathered for her funeral at Pemberley and Jessica could not help noticing the coldness that had appeared to exist between Mrs Darcy and Josie's mother, Mrs Rebecca Tate. Clearly, Elizabeth still blamed Josie for all that had happened.

Not long afterwards, Julian Darcy had announced his intention to renounce his inheritance in favour of his son, Anthony, and quit his position at Cambridge. Despite his disappointment, Mr Darcy seemed able to accept his son's decision with a level of stoicism and resignation. Elizabeth, however, had continued to suffer and not always in silence, while it had seemed to Jessica that Julian still wore a heavy cloak of misery.

She had chanced upon him once in the library at Pemberley, a book open in front of him, his eyes staring out of the window at the far horizon.

It had been plain to her that he was deeply distressed.

When she had apologised for disturbing him and tried to leave, he had assured her she was not and urged her to stay.

“Don't go, Jessica; stay and talk to me. No one else does,” he had pleaded, and she had stayed. It was soon clear that he longed for some company.

They had spoken variously of her work and the hopes she had for the school, now it was to take in older children too. She was excited and looked forward to the new term.

“It will be a great opportunity for them,” she had said and he had asked, “Will you teach them to read and understand more than just the Bible?”

“Oh yes indeed,” she had replied, “we do so already, both at Kympton and at Pemberley, even to the younger children. They learn to read, write, and count at an elementary level.”

She wanted very much to convince him of the value of their work, “Much as my father wishes them to read the Bible, he insists that while they remain untutored and ignorant, they will grow up unable to improve their lot in life. He is dedicated to the improvement of education for all children as I am and as your father Mr Darcy is. It is his generosity that has enabled us to do this good work.”

When she stopped to draw breath, Julian smiled and nodded. “I am aware of that, Jessica. I know also that my father values your dedication highly. Do you intend to teach as well?” he asked.

Jessica was modest, “Only the little ones; I have not the skills nor the experience to teach the older children, but we do intend to employ a school master from Matlock who will. He is well spoken of and seems a good man. The rector knows him and recommends him highly,” she had explained, and Julian had surprised her by saying, “Well, Jessica, it sounds a very good scheme. I shall look forward to hearing about the progress of your school. Indeed, I have long had an interest in public education and wrote a paper on it once, at Cambridge. I hope you will write to me and tell me how you get on.”

Before she could respond, they were interrupted by the bell that summoned them to dinner.

They had met again when Jessica was returning from visiting a patient at the hospital in Littleford, and Julian had talked with a marked lack of reserve about his decision to relinquish his inheritance.

They were both bound for Pemberley and the question came up quite naturally as they crossed the footbridge and took the path leading to the house.

“And do you, like some members of my family, think me selfish and irresponsible for giving up Pemberley as I have done?” he had asked quite suddenly.

Taken aback by the directness of his question, Jessica had been unable to answer him immediately, but when she did, having gathered her thoughts, she made it clear that not only was it not her place to make such a harsh judgment, but she did not share the opinion of those who had.

“It is not a matter upon which I need make a judgment—I am unaffected by your decision,” she had said, adding when he pressed her for an opinion, “But, since you have asked me, I would not condemn you for giving up Pemberley, if you honestly believed you were unable to give it the time and attention it deserved. After all, Pemberley is far too important to be left in the hands of a manager alone.”

Julian seemed pleased and said, “Indeed, you are right, Jessica, my research work is my highest priority—it can save thousands of lives—and I would not wish to be an absentee landlord. My father appreciates that, but I fear Mama's disappointment in me cannot be assuaged. She feels I have let Pemberley and Papa down. I wish I could persuade her to see my situation as you do, Jessica. It is comforting to know I am not universally condemned.”

“You are certainly not,” she had protested. “I am well aware that your sister Cassy understands too, and so do Doctor Gardiner and young Lizzie.”

“Ah yes, Cassy and Richard do understand. They always have. I should have been lost without them throughout last year. And Lizzie has been wonderful with Anthony—I could not have coped without her help,” he said, and Jessica had been flattered by the confidence he placed in her, discussing his situation with her so unreservedly and openly.

Julian was almost twelve years older than she was, and she had always regarded him with a degree of awe and respect. His learning and erudition, which was far in advance of anyone in her immediate family, had set him apart from them, but more recently, especially since Josie's illness, Jessica had been surprised to find him approachable and genuinely friendly. She had expected that he would be withdrawn and reserved, and would have understood if he had been, but in fact, the reverse had been true. She had found herself feeling some measure of sympathy and understanding for him.

When they reached Pemberley House, they had learned from the housekeeper that Mr and Mrs Darcy were dining with Sir Thomas Camden, leaving them to dine alone. Afterwards, they had repaired for coffee to the smaller private sitting room rather than the formal drawing room, and there, Julian asked if Jessica would read to him, as she did to his mother.

“My mother says you are the best reader she has known. Would you read something for me, Jessica?”

Temporarily surprised by the request, Jessica had hesitated but momentarily, before agreeing, “Of course, what would you wish me to read?” she had asked.

Selecting an anthology of poems from the collection of books that lay beside the chair in which Elizabeth sat each evening, listening to Jessica read before dinner, he had handed it to her, saying, “I am no connoisseur of poetry, Jessica, I shall let you choose something you would enjoy reading.”

She was happy to oblige. It was a popular anthology and she loved many of the poems of Keats, Coleridge, and Shelley it contained. Choosing a favourite of hers, she had read John Keats' Ode “To a Nightingale” and as he had listened to the rich, mellifluous words of the poet, it had seemed from his expression as if he was, for the first time in many long months, at peace. Julian listened, his eyes closed, his head thrown back. When she had finished, he thanked her sincerely for the very special pleasure and commended her selection.

“It is a most sonorous and memorable piece,” he had said. “I shall read it again myself and remember it always. You read very well, Jessica. I am not surprised that Mama delights in having you read to her.”

Jessica thanked him and assured him she had enjoyed reading to him, but as he helped himself to more coffee and port, she had begged to be excused on account of an early appointment at the school and retired to her apartments upstairs.

She had been convinced more than ever that Julian's present melancholy was the result of loneliness and want of companionship, rather than excessive grief.

Before leaving Pemberley for Cambridge, Julian had sought out Jessica, whom he found at the schoolhouse, busy making preparations for the new term. He had brought her some books, which he hoped she would find useful. “They are old schoolbooks of mine, which I have preserved for many years, and I thought they may interest you,” he had said, handing over a large canvas satchel, which Jessica opened with gratitude, exclaiming at the treasures it held.

She was eager to build a collection for the school's library, she told him.

“I have already begged for books from Pemberley and Camden House; these will do very nicely, it was kind of you to think of us at such a time,” she said, pleased when he added, “Well, if you need more, you must ask my father. He has agreed to have the rest of my books placed in storage at Pemberley. You are very welcome to have them; I shall not have much use for them myself and there will be very little room in my luggage for books, apart from those I require for my research. Besides, they would deteriorate very quickly in the humid heat of Africa.”

It was the first time he had mentioned Africa since the funeral, and Jessica asked if he still intended to go and if a date had been agreed.

“Yes indeed, I do, but we have no fixed date for our departure because there is as yet some work that must be finished before the medical board will release the funds for our project. I wish we could go sooner, but we have to await their approval,” he had replied in the most matter-of-fact manner, as though he were merely leaving for the next county.

“Shall we see you again before you leave England?” she had asked, and when he had smiled and said, “You certainly shall, if young Lizzie's wedding date is settled. Cassy tells me she expects her to be engaged to Mr Carr very soon and their marriage may follow not long afterwards. Should that be the case, I have promised to return for the wedding,” she had detected real pleasure in his voice. Changing the direction of their conversation, he had asked, “But you will write to me, Jessica, will you not? I look forward to hearing how you get on with the school and if the children are as eager to learn as you are to teach them. I hope, amidst your many important duties, you will find the time to pen an occasional letter with news of home?”

“Of course,” said Jessica, more than a little surprised at his request, to which he replied, with a smile, “Good, I shall look forward to that,” and taking a card from his pocketbook, he gave it to her. “That direction will always find me. It is a poste restante order.”

She put it away and was preparing to close the schoolroom.

He had assumed that she would be returning with him to dine at Pemberley and had seemed disappointed when she had said, “It's Friday, I always return to the rectory at Kympton on Fridays. Mama and Papa will be expecting me to dine at home.”

“May I walk with you then?” he asked, and she was pleased to agree.

“Thank you, that would be nice; it is such a mild evening, we could walk through the park. When I am alone, I use the road—it's a shorter route but much less pretty,” she said as they set out.

The setting sun had caused the woods around Pemberley to glow in its golden light, and the lake below gleamed like a jewel. The beauty that surrounded them had made Jessica catch her breath, and for a moment they were both silent.

“I can see you love Pemberley,” he had said, to which she responded without hesitation, “I do indeed. I cannot imagine that anyone could not.”

They walked on, and as they did so, they had spoken not of his work or hers but of their hopes. Julian, now seemingly more at ease than before, had asked, “And what do you do with your time, that is when you do have time for yourself, when you are not teaching the children or reading to my mother or training the choir—with all these duties, you must have very little time for leisure.”

Jessica had assured him that she had plenty of time to herself, explaining that she enjoyed her own company.

“I read a great deal and play the recorder and practice on the piano-forte, which I must confess I do not do as often as I should… but that is a matter of application, not lack of time. I have never found it difficult to entertain myself, even as a child.”

When he looked a little perplexed, she added, “Perhaps because my sister and brother were a good deal older than I was, I was frequently alone, left to my own devices.”

“It is a singular blessing to be happy in one's own company. I wish I could make the same claim for myself. I too was a solitary child, but I must admit that now, without my work to occupy me, I should have become a very dull fellow.” He had sounded quite envious, and Jessica had looked askance at him.

“That cannot be true,” she had protested, and he'd quizzed her, playfully, “Do you think not?”

“No indeed, I should never have said you were dull; reserved perhaps, but not dull. Why, you know so much about things that are hidden from the rest of us, you have studied and opened up whole worlds of knowledge that have been closed to us all these years, how could that be dull?”

Even as he laughed at her enthusiasm, he seemed quite delighted.

“Jessica, my dear, you must be the first young lady I have met who has thought so. Most women I know would rather not know that microbes and bacteria exist, much less desire to have a conversation about them! I cannot think of anyone, apart from another scientist, who would have expressed such an interest. Creatures who only come to life under the microscope are difficult to describe and not a lot of fun!”

At this, she had laughed too and admitted that perhaps they were not much fun, in the way that dogs and horses were, but surely they would be fascinating to study and understand.

“I should have thought there would be a special fascination in the very fact that we cannot see them, but we know they are there, mysterious and strange…”

Before he could respond, Jessica, who had looked up at him as she spoke, had stumbled, catching the heel of her shoe on the root of a spreading oak that jutted into their path, and her companion had hastened to catch her before she fell, holding her until she had regained her composure and ascertaining that she had not suffered any injury to her foot.

Flustered and shaken, she thanked him and they walked on; this time he took from her the case she had been carrying and offered her his arm for support, which she took gladly.

The light had been fading fast as they approached a stile, which separated the park from a narrow lane leading to the Kympton rectory. He had helped her over it before climbing over himself.

“We are almost there; I think I will not come in with you, Jessica; I have some work to complete at Pemberley.”

She was disappointed. “Mama and Papa will be happy to see you,” she'd said, but he had pleaded to be excused.

“I did call on your parents after church on Sunday and said my farewells; besides, there are matters to be settled before I leave early tomorrow. I hope to take the morning train to London.”

This time it was she who had said, “If I write to you in France, will you write too?”

“Certainly, though I must warn you I am not an interesting correspondent, as my mother and sister will surely tell you. My letters will probably bore you with accounts of failed experiments and unidentified bacteria.”

Jessica protested, “I promise I shall not be bored. I should like very much to learn something of France—I have never been outside of England and have heard much of the beauty and elegance of France. It has long been an obsession of mine.”

“Then you shall receive letters full of the delights of Paris and the French countryside, which, though it is very different to ours, has a rustic charm all its own; it has grown on me each time I have visited there,” he had said, and Jessica had made no attempt to hide her pleasure at the prospect.

“I shall look forward to reading them. My mother had a small farm in France once, left to her by Monsieur Antoine, but I believe she sold it and used the proceeds for the extension to the hospital at Littleford. I think I should have loved to have travelled to France and spent some part of my life there. But, as it is not to be, I shall have to console myself with your accounts of it.”

With the rectory in sight, they had stopped, and as she had moved to reclaim her case, he had taken her hand in his and said, “Dear Jessica, let me thank you for your kindness to me these past days. For being so open, honest, and friendly, as few others have been. I am truly grateful. I had wondered, after all that has happened, how I should endure staying at Pemberley, but your companionship as well as the kindness of my family has rendered it more enjoyable than I had ever expected it to be. I shall not forget your generous heart.”

“Not even if you go to Africa?” she had quipped softly, hoping to sound lighthearted.

“Especially not if I go to Africa, it will be my happiest memory of home,” he had said, and as she remained silent, unable to think of anything to say, he had bent and kissed her very gently on the cheek, saying good-bye, not once but twice

Then reminding her once more of her promise to write, he had retraced his steps along the lane to the stile and entered the park.

As Jessica had stood watching him, he had turned once and waved; then he was gone, hidden from her sight by the gathering darkness and the trees.

Jessica had felt her cheeks burning. Nothing like this had ever happened in her life before. As she had walked quietly into the garden of the rectory, she had hoped no one would notice anything unusual about her appearance or demeanour.

Her mother certainly had not, as she greeted her affectionately, and later her father, returning from visiting a parishioner, had welcomed her with just as much enthusiasm, but had seemed not to notice anything different about her.

Jessica alone had been acutely conscious of the change in herself, the warmth that had flushed her cheeks and the racing of her heart which made her breathless were so obvious to her, that she had thought they would surely be as conspicuous to her family. Would they not wonder at the reason for them?

After dinner, her youngest brother Jude had monopolised everybody's attention with his clever recitation of a song he had learned by rote, and Jessica, glad of the distraction, commented upon how he had grown.

“He seems taller each time I see him” she had said and both their parents agreed.

“Jude is going to learn to be an altar boy soon,” said her mother.

“And help me with distributing the prayer sheets and hymn books, aren't you, Jude?” said his father, and to Jessica's great relief no one had asked about Julian's plans. She had been especially pleased at not having to reveal her meeting with him that afternoon.

Later that night, back in her own small bedroom, the one she had occupied all her life until moving this year to Pemberley, Jessica had wondered at her own feelings, trying to comprehend them.

Unused to dealing with such situations, she had found it a difficult exercise, to explain even to her diary. How is it that I feel this way? she had written, struggling to understand.

It cannot be that I am suddenly in love with Julian Darcy. I have known him all my life and never felt a particular partiality towards him before. He has been a friend of my childhood, a cousin, and chiefly a rather remote, learned person who engendered feelings of esteem and even awe, but never love.

When he married Josie, I was probably not old enough to experience jealousy, but I felt no loss. So how do I feel this way now? What has changed between us? Why am I all a-tremble because of a single, chaste farewell kiss, and why do I want to hug this feeling to myself and tell no one?

And what of his feelings? She could not help wanting to discover what they might have been.

It is surely not possible that he, in so short a time after Josie's death, would be ready to feel anything akin to love for someone else. Or is it?

Lizzie Gardiner was certain that he loved Josie dearly and grieved deeply for her. If this is true, as she believes it is, he would probably be outraged and embarrassed should he learn that I harboured some childish affection for him. It would probably ruin our friendship.

I must therefore ensure that whatever happens, he does not discover my secret.

Concluding her note, she had locked her diary away in her case and as she retired to bed, resolved that in everything she did and especially when she wrote to Julian, as he had asked her to do, she would quite deliberately steer well away from personal matters that might lead her to betray her affections, however unwittingly.

She had determined that her letters would be friendly in style, informative in content, and lighthearted in tone.

That way, she had decided, she would be in no danger at all of giving herself away.

Of Julian, she knew only that his present plans, which he had revealed quite candidly, meant he would spend most of the rest of his life abroad, in France or Africa. There had even been some mention of a French Colony in the South Pacific, where the team may venture to study some particular tropical pest. Unlikely then, she thought, that he would ever spend sufficient time in England, much less in Derbyshire, to have any chance of falling in love with her.

Yet, as she lay sleepless for almost an hour, her mind rehearsed their last conversation: the walk through the park, the manner of his parting from her, that very gentle kiss upon her cheek, and a bewildering array of feelings crowded in upon her. Uniformly pleasurable, they stayed with her until sleep claimed her, recalling just before it did that Julian had given his word that he would attend his niece Lizzie Gardiner's wedding.

There would be time enough to prepare for that occasion, she thought.

Jessica knew, no matter how eventful her life might be in future years, she would never forget the events of this day.

 

END OF PROLOGUE