Page 33 of A Stormy Season

“I’m so sorry. I thought you were happy.”

“I was happy . . . sometimes. But I worried about his character, if I am honest. But I should not be telling you this.” Catherine waved her hand and shook her head. “You have enough worries, and all that is over now.”

“You know you can confide in me,” Jane said. “I would never betray your trust.”

“I know. Of your character, I have never had a doubt.” Catherine squeezed the hand that Jane held out to her.

“We none of us are perfect, I suppose.”

“No, we are not. Why don’t you go home, Jane, and see what was said between Mr. Watley and your brother? If I were you, I wouldn’t be able to concentrate on the books anyway.”

“Perhaps you’re right. I am finished with what needed to be done.”

After bidding farewell to her friend, Jane found the guard her brother had hired waiting for her. He stoically accompanied her home.

She walked in the front door thinking how she wished she could go to a ball and dance away her frustrations to lively music and good company. And if anyone said one word to her about her reputation after being held by kidnappers all night in Luke Watley’s company, she would look them straight in the eye and say,How dare you accuse me?

But it was more likely that they wouldn’t accuse her to her face. She sighed.

Luke Watley emerged from the drawing room and bumped into her.

“Forgive me—” He stopped short when he saw it was her.

“No harm done,” Jane said, starting to walk past him.

“There you are, home early,” Henry said, coming out of the drawing room behind Luke.

“I am home early.” Jane waited for someone to say something. When Henry and Luke simply looked at each other, she turned and started toward the stairs.

“Miss Gilchrist, if you please,” Luke called after her.

She turned, her stomach flipping over itself. “Yes?”

“May I have a word with you?”

“Of course,” she mumbled, and led him into the sitting room.

This was the moment she had half expected, half dreaded.God, give me the words to say.

Chapter Eleven

Luke followed Jane Gilchrist into the sitting room. He hadn’t been this nervous when he asked Anne to marry him. He’d been sure she would say yes, but the outcome of this proposal was much more in doubt.

He cleared his throat, trying to remember what he had decided to say.

As they sat opposite each other, why did his mind choose now to notice how blue Jane’s eyes were? And how long her eyelashes were. And how soft her cheek looked.

But her expression was very no-nonsense.

He cleared his throat again.

Jane was still looking at him. He must speak, sooner or later.

“Miss Gilchrist, it has come to my attention that, given the events of the evening of the ball your brother and sister-in-law gave at the assembly rooms, people have begun to say some rather alarming things about the two of us. In situations such as this, with the fact that your reputation is in danger, owing to the kidnapping, which was entirelynotyour fault, I believe I must . . . that is, I wish to ask you to . . . marry me.”

Sweat was running down his sides under his arms. He even had to take out his handkerchief and dab at his forehead. And by the amount of heat in his cheeks, he was sure his face was red.

“Mr. Watley, please allow me to put your mind at rest. I do not hold you responsible for what the gossips are saying about us or for the ruination of my reputation. Therefore, I will not accept your proposal of marriage.”