‘He is not mine.’ She would not let herself hope, it hurt too much. ‘But thank you for warning Cook that I will be late back. And for lending me the carriage.’
‘There is no hurry to bring it back,’ Althea said. ‘No hurry at all.’
* * *
If she never saw Kensington High Street again, she would be a happy woman, Jane thought, as the carriage stopped lurching over the muddy ruts of the road from Knightsbridge and hit the cobbles again. Soldiers from the nearby barracks marched past, the Mail scattered an unwary flock of chickens as it headed for the White Horse Cellar on Piccadilly, the horses sweating now on this last stage before London.
The memories this place held were too confused. Did she wish she had never seen Ivo, had missed the fight by seconds? Of course not, but...
She made herself watch the slowly passing scene. It was a busy village and it had the inns to cater for that, she noticed now—the Duke of Cumberland, the Bunch of Grapes—and the Civet Cat. Once again the carriage slowed. She peered out of the window, trying not to look at the alehouse. No collision this time, but a herd of cattle emerging from Church Lane.
A tall man was standing on the kerbside, just past the Civet Cat. Time slid backwards, then with a lurch of the carriage picking up speed she saw this was now and that was, unmistakeably, Ivo, arm raised to hail a cab.
Jane jerked the check cord, dropped the window and leaned out. ‘Stop! Coachman, stop! Ivo, over here!’
He swung round and for a heart-sinking moment his face was bleak, expressionless, then he ran, catching the door as she threw it open, catching her as she tumbled out of the slowing carriage.
‘Ivo.’ She was in his arms, safe against the solid strength of him, and it was wonderful. Somehow she managed not to throw her own around his neck and kiss him, but turn her instinctive embrace into a comforting hug. ‘I was so worried about you. Where is Daphne?’
‘I sent her to her aunts in my carriage.’ He looked around. ‘We can’t talk here—whose carriage is that you were in?’
‘My cousin Althea’s—Lady Harkness, Violet’s sister.’
‘They will not allow you to stay?’ He held the door for her to climb in, then said something to the coachman she did not catch.
‘Yes, of course, but I thought how awful you would be feeling when you saw Daphne’s note and realised what she had done and that she had been lying to you all the time. I thought you would need...need a friend.’
‘Is that what you are?’ He sat opposite her and she tried to read his expression.
‘I hope so. Are you very angry that I gave you the note and did not destroy it? I just felt that it was too awful a thing to have done and then deny it, that perhaps she was not at all the person you thought she was and might be... Well, anyway, I felt you had to know so you could talk to her about it.’
This was harder than she had feared. Did Ivo think she had been acting out of spite?
‘You thought she might be dangerous to husbands? Frankly, I do not think she meant to kill him and I suspect that Meredith’s fall was a drunken accident, not what you fear it might have been. Daphne is a creature of impulse.’
‘I only thought that for a moment, but I did think you should know all the facts before you married her.’ Something was hard between her fingers and she looked down, found she was fiddling with the buttons on her glove and one had come loose. She stripped off the glove before she could do any more damage and made herself sit still.
‘Facts are, of course, important, but they are not everything,’ Ivo said. He glanced around the carriage. ‘No luggage?’
Jane blinked at him. ‘What? No. I was going back to Cousin Althea, not on to my parents in Dorset. I only came to find you, to see if I could help. I should not have left like that.’
‘No, I understand. It must have been difficult.’ He reached out and took the crumpled glove from the seat beside her, turned it the right side out and smoothed it flat on his knee. ‘Did you think of simply tearing up her note?’
‘No. I knew you would find it hurtful, but some things have to be faced, dealt with.’
‘You are right, facts are important, but the feelings behind them, the emotions, they matter most of all.’
‘I see,’ she lied. She saw nothing, understood nothing except that she should be happy that Ivo was not destroyed by the revelation about the woman he had loved for so long. She need not have come, he was quite well without her.
‘Your feelings have not changed, then,’ she said, attempting to put some lightness into her voice.
‘My feelings for the woman I love have not changed, you are quite correct.’
‘So you will marry her?’
She will break your heart. Oh, Ivo, my love, do not do it.
‘I have every intention of doing so,’ he said and, for the first time since she had seen him that evening, he smiled.