Page 57 of Stolen By the Heartless Duke

Lady Weatherby offered a thin smile as the groups passed one another. “My dear Lady Jane.”

Jane inclined her head. “Lady Weatherby.”

“I do hope matters improve soon.”

Jane gave a thin smile. “Thank you.”

“And your poor mother.” Lady Weatherby clicked her tongue and sounded like the rotten old hen that she was.

“She appreciates everyone’s concern.”

The older woman nodded. “I imagine you shall remove to your country estate before long.”

Jane met her gaze evenly. “I imagine nothing of the sort.”

Lady Weatherby’s brows rose. “Oh.”

“There is still much to be done in London,” Jane replied.

“Indeed.” The older woman seemed unsure how to respond.

“Now if you’ll excuse me, ladies,” Jane curtsied politely before continuing down the path.

Only after they had moved beyond earshot did Lavinia grin.

“Very nicely done.”

“I may have been slightly sharper than necessary,” Jane fretted.

“You were considerably kinder than I would have been,” Lavinia said.

Jane shook her head. “I do not understand why everyone wishes me gone.”

“Because they would rather not be reminded that terrible things happen.”

The words surprised her. She looked at Lavinia. Her friend was watching a family walking several yards ahead.

“People like to believe tragedy belongs somewhere else,” Lavinia continued quietly. “If you remain here, smiling despite everything...”

“I remind them it could happen to them.”

“Precisely.”

Jane absorbed that in silence. She had never considered it that way. The whispers suddenly felt less personal.

A young couple walked past holding hands. The gentleman bent toward the lady, whispering something that made her blush. Jane quickly looked away.

Her broken engagement barely stung anymore. She had never loved Lord Maltby. She had accepted his proposal because it had been sensible.

If anything, she felt relief that she no longer had to spend a lifetime pretending enthusiasm for a man who had abandoned her the instant difficulties appeared.

Strangely, another face rose unbidden in her thoughts. Dark hair. Stormy gray eyes.

The Duke of Sunderford.

A shiver went down her spine as she remembered the feel of his hands adjusting her stance in the alley. The quiet praise after she’d escaped his grip.

Her pulse betrayed her by quickening.