And so, Jane returned to London. The trip could not have been more different. Instead of Miss Thorn and Fortune beside her, she rode with the girls, Alaric, and Mr. Mayes, the solicitor’s horse tied behind and the duchess coming in her own coach. While Alaric was pleasant and the girls beyond excited, Mr. Mayes kept a narrow-eyed gaze on Jane, as if expecting her to pull out a pistol and rob them like a highwayman.

She supposed he had reason. He’d been the one to bring the poor report of her, after all. Mrs. Kimball had filled his head with tales of the brazen girl she’d imagined Jane to be. Jane didn’t like thinking how he would react if he heard Mrs. Travers’s complaints. She could only hope her former mistress would keep her vow to have nothing further to do with Jane.

She thought Mr. Mayes might go about his business once they reached London, but he insisted on accompanying them on nearly every outing. Trying to protect Alaric and the girls, no doubt. At least Alaric agreed to let her off her duties the first full day in London so she could search for her benefactress. He’d even left the girls with Her Grace so he could accompany Jane.

But the white stone town house on the southern edge of Clarendon Square was quiet when Jane and Alaric approached it. Now that she had seen his town house, an impressive edifice set off by itself on the northern edge, she too wondered at the proximity.

“She hadn’t lived here long,” Jane said as they climbed the stairs for the green-lacquered door. “I remember seeing boxes in unused rooms, as if she was still getting settled.”

“Mr. Mayes mentioned the house used to belong to a Lady Winhaven. An earl’s widow in Cumberland, if memory serves.” He raised his gloved hand to rap with the brass door knocker, which had a rather fierce face of a snarling lion.

Jane beamed at the elderly butler who answered, relief flowing through her. “Mr. Cowls, it’s good to see you again. Is Miss Thorn at home?”

The tall fellow blinked bleary blue eyes and trained his gaze on Jane’s face. There was no recognition. “All deliveries are to be made at the back,” he intoned.

Alaric drew himself up. “We are not tradesmen, sir.”

He transferred his rheumy gaze to the duke. “The lady of the house donates to charity only through her solicitor. Good day.”

He started to close the door, but Alaric stepped forward, card held between two fingers.

“I am the Duke of Wey,” he said, and no one seeing him in his dove-grey mourning coat, black trousers, and perfectly tied cravat could have doubted him. “Take my card to your mistress. She will want to see me.”

Mr. Cowls accepted the card, squinted at the writing, then glanced back up at Alaric. “I will place your card with the others requiring my mistress’ attention, Your Grace, but the lady of the house is not at home.”

“When will she be at home?” Jane asked, knowing that many aristocrats used the phrase to mean they refused to receive visitors but were, in fact, upstairs with their feet to the fire.

“I cannot say, madam,” he replied. And he shut the door with surprising alacrity.

They tried again later that day and at odd times the next two days, but his answer was always the same. They received a similar story at the coffee shop where Jane had first met Miss Thorn. The owners remembered the lady and her cat fondly but could not guess where they might have gone.

“It makes no sense,” Alaric insisted when he took Jane to Julian Mayes’s place of business, a neat office near Westminster. “Surely even in London, ladies cannot simply disappear.”

“They can if they know the right people,” Mr. Mayes told him darkly, gaze still on Jane.

“By the way she was able to uncover things,” Jane added, “Miss Thorn knows the right people. Something frightened her into hiding. I’d like to know what.”

“So would I,” the solicitor assured her.

So would Alaric, Jane thought. The fact that she had arrived on his doorstep with nothing and no one to recommend her had to undercut his confidence in her. Certainly Mr. Mayes suspected her of wrongdoing. But, unless Miss Thorn wished to be found, Jane was on her own.

 

~~~

 

“Another card for your collection,” Cowls said, bending to offer Meredith the duke’s calling card. “I believe that is four, now.”

Meredith hunkered down in the satin-striped armchair near the withdrawing room’s marble hearth, Fortune curled in her lap. “Throw it away or toss it in the fire. I have no use for it.”

Her butler made his slow, steady way to the credenza against the yellow wall to lay the card on a silver salver there. “They will only return,” he predicted. “Mrs. Kimball seems quite distressed. I dislike having to prevaricate to her.”

Fortune wiggled, and Meredith opened her arms so the cat could drop to the carpeted floor. “It cannot be helped. The duke brought this on when he enlisted the aid of that odious solicitor.”

Turning, Cowl gazed off in the middle distance, as if he were seeing something far away or long ago or both. “I always like Mr. Mayes. A shame he never returned for little Mary. It would have been a good match.”

Despite her best intentions, she felt the memories stealing over her as well. She’d known Julian Mayes all her life, admired him since she was a girl. How amazing to discover he’d felt the same way.

“But why must we wait to wed?” she’d asked, as eager as any sixteen-year-old for life to start now. “We have pledged our love. I’m sure Mother would allow us to marry.”

He’d caught up her hands, holding them against his chest. “I can’t support you, not yet. Give me time to make my mark in London. I’m to start work at a solicitor’s firm next week. Once I’ve established myself, I can treat you as you deserve.”

She’d believed him, had even thrown his name at her cousin Nigel the day he’d come to take her home. The sniveling weasel had only laughed.

“With no estate and no dowry? Mr. Mayes has far better choices.”

“He’ll come for me,” she’d bragged. “I’ve written to him. It’s only a matter of time.”

But he hadn’t come. The little time Nigel had given her to remain in her home had passed. In the end, she’d had no choice but to accept the offer of an old friend of her long-dead father, a man she had never met, to come serve his sister as companion.

Twelve years of indignities, cruelty. Twelve years cut off from everything and everyone she’d ever known. Twelve years of utter servitude. After all that, who would have expected Lady Winhaven to bequeath her such a blessing? Now she need bow to no one.

Especially not for the unreliable Julian Mayes.

“Mr. Mayes was not the man for me,” she told her butler. The words must have been sharper than she’d intended, for he blinked himself out his reverie. “Do not forget who Lady Winhaven’s nephew had represent him when he attempted to contest the will and prove me a villain.”

“Mr. Mayes has had his own firm for some time now,” Cowls reminded her, moving about the room and straightening pictures and figurines as he did so. “He may not be cognizant of what cases his former mentor has taken.”

“No, but it would require little to connect the Mary Rose he knew to the Meredith Thorn who barely avoided being accused of murder. And then where would Jane be? Where would any of my clients be? We are far safer this way.”

As if she disagreed, Fortune raised her head and stalked to the door of the room. Sitting on her haunches, she leveled a look at Meredith.

“Quite right,” Cowls said in his wheezy voice, addressing himself to the cat. “I never knew Miss Mary to lack for courage. But times change. Might I interest you in a nice saucer of cream?”

Fortune scampered out the door behind him.

Meredith eyed the fire. Surely, she hadn’t lost her courage. She was merely being practical. Jane had professed herself pleased with her situation. Why unsettle things by making a sudden appearance?

Or were things already unsettled? Did the duke doubt Jane because of Meredith? Was that why he’d brought Jane to London, accompanied her around the square? Was Meredith doing more harm than good by avoiding them?

Perhaps she should take a chance and call on Jane, just to be certain everything was fine. And she would be equally certain to do so at a time when she would avoid meeting the duke or Julian Mayes.

 

~~~

 

Miss Thorn’s disappearance was the one concern overlaying Jane’s delight in seeing the capital in the company of Alaric and the girls. Everything went so well, even with Mr. Mayes’ continued surveillance. For one thing, though the duchess kept busy with friends for the most part, the elderly staff at the London house were welcoming and eager to help.

“His Grace stays with us so infrequently,” the round-cheeked housekeeper Mrs. Winters confided in Jane, “and never before with the darling girls. It’s a real treat to be of use.”

For another, the house sat a few blocks from Hyde Park and had its own mews, so they were able to ride or walk every day.

“Though I miss Unicorn,” Belle said, eyeing the prancing iron unicorn mounted on the crest on the gates of the park’s main entrance.

Most of all, though, seeing London through Larissa, Callie, and Belle’s eyes made everything seem wonderful. They gazed up and up at the stuffed giraffe on the top floor of the British Museum, leaned over the railings to watch the great ships pass under London Bridge, and ran through the just-risen daffodils in Hyde Park holding hands. Every day was a new adventure, a chance to see and try and do. She could tell Alaric felt the same way, for that smile his mother so prized hovered about his lips on a regular basis, and never more than when they took the girls to see Astley’s.

Astley’s Amphitheatre was located on the other side of the Thames, a short carriage drive away. Though the equestrian display generally opened after Easter, the owner had consented to start early with so many lords and their families in town for Parliament. The great dome curved over a dirt-floored arena more than forty feet across, with a stage and painted scenery three stories tall along the back and a pit for the orchestra in between. Four tiers of seats soared around the circumference, crowded with ladies and gentlemen eager for spectacle, more than two thousand people, according to Mr. Mayes, who had accompanied them. With Alaric on one side and him on the other side of the girls, Jane had no concern for the boisterous crowd.

Neither did the girls. They cheered for the juggler, applauded the brave bear tamer, and laughed over the antics of the clowns. Even Mr. Mayes praised Madam Chivka, who rode with the reins in her teeth while twirling flaming batons.

“She should ride for Wellington,” Alaric murmured, breath brushing Jane’s ear. She shared his smile.

Finally, the ring cleared, and the master of ceremonies stepped to the front of the stage. “Ladies and gentlemen, Astley’s is proud to present our wild allies of the Peninsula, the Russian Cossacks!”

The troop came pounding into the arena, whooping and hollering, their dark hair flying under their tall blue hats. Brandishing curved swords, they followed the rim of the space, dirt churning under the hooves of their shaggy mounts. Mr. Mayes gave them a rousing “Huzzah!” Belle shrank back against Jane, Callie watched mesmerized, and Larissa clasped her hands against her flat bosom. Alaric glanced at Jane with a grin that set her stomach to fluttering again.

It was the panorama. It had to be. She couldn’t afford it to be anything else.

“But what’s this?” the master of ceremonies cried. “Ladies and gentlemen, I have been given terrible news. Napoleon has crossed the Channel!”

Ice raced through her veins even as cries rang out on every side. No, it couldn’t be! They’d fought for years, by sea and by land, to prevent that invasion. What would they do? How could she protect Alaric and the girls?

Before panic could do more than raise its ugly head, she realized her mistake. Likely old Boney was still wreaking havoc on the Peninsula, for surely he wasn’t the short, stout fellow riding into the arena below, his French Corsairs right behind him. Drawing his cutlass, he charged at the Russians, who turned to meet their enemy. Swords flashed as steel rang on steel.

“It seems our valiant allies are faltering,” the master of ceremonies lamented as the Cossacks began to tumble from their saddles, one going so far as to allow his horse to drag him through the dirt. “Can no one help them?”

Callie hopped to her feet. “I will!”

“Me too!” Belle cried, scrambling off her seat.

“Rule, Britannia!” Mr. Mayes shouted, rising as well.

“Shh!” Larissa scolded. “You’ll spoil it.”

But all around them, others took up the call. Men lifted their voices along with their top hats, ladies waved handkerchiefs. Alaric surged to his feet and added his voice to theirs. Larissa stared at him. Jane pulled her up.

“Look!” Jane pointed to the troop that entered the arena now. “It’s the Dragoons!”

The master of ceremonies confirmed it. “But all is not lost. Here comes the Tenth Dragoons, the prince’s own unit, with his Royal Highness leading the way.”

She thought the muscular fellow in the front looked a great deal fitter than the frivolous fellow Alaric had described, but the others certainly followed him. They flattened the French, until the so-called Napoleon and the pretend prince faced off against each other.

“You can do it!” Callie called to the prince.

“Show no mercy!” Larissa cried.

“Do it for your unicorn!” Belle shouted.

Something touched Jane’s hand, warm, secure. She wrapped her fingers around Alaric’s and hung on tight.

The two men circled each other, sneering and snarling. Napoleon tugged on the reins, and his horse reared, pawing the air.

“Coward!” Mr. Mayes called. “Face him like a man!”

The clash of their steel echoed over the cries of the crowd. Then the prince’s sword flashed, and Napoleon fell.

The crowd erupted—shouting, cheering, applauding, stomping their feet. As the prince rode the circle, hands up in victory, the French and Russians dragged their men from the dirt.

“I knew he’d win,” Larissa said. “Princes always win.”

Jane was more aware of the hand cradling hers. Did Alaric know he was touching her? Surely he could tell the hand he held was bigger than his daughters’. She glanced his way, but his gaze was on the ring, and she’d never seen such wistfulness. He deserved to have become a cavalryman, to ride to defend his country. He deserved better than to be shut up in a library, making decisions that would daunt other men.

He deserved a helpmate, a wife, someone who would love and cherish him, encourage him when things became difficult. If only she could be that woman.

 

~~~

 

Alaric kept Jane’s hand in his as he chivied his little band out of the building for the carriage. It was only practical, after all. He wouldn’t want to lose any of them in the crowd. Anyone who could afford the price of a ticket flocked to the famed amphitheater. He’d seen street mongers brush shoulders with viscounts. He felt a little like a sheepdog as it was, even with Julian alongside.

“Our coachman will find us,” Alaric told Jane. “Stay close.”

“Right at your side, Your Grace,” she promised.

And she had been. He had never enjoyed London—the crowds, the noise, the demands on his time. He’d had to make an appearance in Parliament, which had only resulted in a throng of petitions to support this upcoming bill, that worthy cause. Julian had brought several issues to his attention. And Society had attempted to impinge on his time. Even now, before the Season had started in earnest, a dozen invitations lay waiting for his reply. A duke in need of a wife was always of interest.

Yet Jane had been a constant source of support. She kept an eye on the weather, reminded him that it hadn’t done more than drizzle since they’d left. She arranged activities for the girls, kept him apprised of the schedule, and worked with Mrs. Winters to make sure meals and staff were available as needed.

And yet Miss Thorn’s mysterious disappearance cast a shadow over Jane. Try as he might, he could not forget Julian’s report. His friend remained wary; Alaric had noticed the number of times Julian frowned at Jane, as if trying to determine which woman graced Alaric’s home—the loving, unorthodox governess or the lawless former minister’s daughter, determined to take what she could from life.

The last few days should have been proof enough. Jane had been everything Alaric could have asked. Seeing the sights with her and the girls had opened his eyes to wonders he’d forgotten—the roar of the tiger in the Tower Zoo, sunlight shining on the Serpentine, the smell of roast chestnuts from the street vendors. He found himself nearly content for the first time in a long time. It was almost as if they were a family.

He reined in his thoughts. They could never be a family. Jane Kimball was the governess of his children. He owed her protection, respect, fair remuneration. He owed his daughters assurance that he had chosen their governess well. When he convinced himself to marry again, it would likely be to some fair flower of the aristocracy who had been trained since birth for her role in Society.

“That’s a very big sigh,” Jane said beside him. “Do you want me and Larissa to go in search of the carriage?”

Julian stepped closer. “No need. It will be along shortly.”

“Jane! Jane Kimball!”

Alaric turned to see three fellows striding toward them. Their navy uniforms had a scarlet blaze down the front, and their trousers boasted a gold stripe.

“You were in the panorama!” Callie cried.

“Not these boys,” Jane said with a smile all around. “These are the real things. His Grace, Duke of Wey, Lady Larissa, Lady Calantha, Lady Abelona, Mr. Mayes, may I present Captains Montgomery, Fremont, and Holmes of the Twelfth Dragoons. Gentlemen, I serve His Grace as governess to these fine ladies.”

They clapped their heels and bowed, the scarlet plumes on their black and red helmets fluttering. Alaric thought he heard Larissa sigh. At least, he hoped it was Larissa.

“Ladies, gentlemen” Montgomery said, russet mustache quivering. “Forgive the intrusion, but when we saw Jane, that is Mrs. Kimball, we had to pay our respects.”

“I take it you know Mrs. Kimball well,” Julian said with a look to Alaric, as if Jane’s association with the cavalry was somehow more significant than having a husband who had ridden for glory.

Fremont nodded, blond hair glinting. “Great gun, is our Jane. Seen her stare down a cannon’s mouth without blinking.”

A cannon’s mouth? Alaric couldn’t help glancing at her. Pink was climbing in her cheeks.

“They’re exaggerating,” she insisted. “I wasn’t the one riding neck for leather across the plains screaming like banshees and scaring the French into retreat.”

“Indeed,” Julian said. “I’m surprised to see you gentlemen here. I thought the Twelfth was called to Badajoz.”

Now he even seemed suspicious of the cavalry. The action had been related in the papers.

“They let a few of us come home,” Montgomery said. “Wellington has old Boney on the run, just like in that show, eh your ladyships?”

Larissa and Callie nodded. Belle drew herself up. “I’ll send him my unicorn to help. He’ll be sure to win then.”

“That’s the spirit,” Montgomery said. He turned to Alaric. “I wonder, Your Grace, would you mind if we borrowed Mrs. Kimball? We’ll be back at the front shortly, facing our last moments. It would be good to speak with an old friend.”

Again, Julian cast him a look. The cavalryman was doing it up rather brown, but he was right. In a war, a cavalryman knew that any charge might be his last. He ought to give the fellows some time alone with Jane, yet something made him want to keep her close.

“Now, now,” Jane answered for him. “I can’t go deserting my post. What would Wellington say?”

Montgomery opened his mouth, glanced at Julian, and seemed to think better of his words. “Well, I’m glad to see you’re doing so well.”

They all bowed with such respect she might have been the Queen Mother. Jane smiled fondly. Holmes, the youngest, face still sporting spots, emboldened himself to speak at last.

“I’m not sure when we’ll see home again. Would you wait for me, Jane?”

Alaric wanted to put her safely behind him, inform the upstart he should move along. Jane would not be waiting for anyone but him.

He was only glad the words hadn’t tumbled out of his mouth.

“Now, then, Johnny,” she said with a sisterly cuff on his shoulder, “what would your dear Elena say? Off you go, and behave yourselves.”

“Too late for that,” Fremont said with a grin, but they bowed again and took themselves off. This time he was certain Larissa sighed.

Callie elbowed Belle. “I think Larissa changed her mind. She doesn’t want to marry a prince anymore. She wants to marry a cavalry officer.”

Jane flushed, but Larissa shook her head. “No, I don’t. Cavalry officers leave their wives behind.”

“They do indeed,” Jane murmured, gaze following her husband’s comrades.

Something tightened inside him. She deserved a husband to support and cheer her, someone who would appreciate her canny insights and unique character.

“There’s the coach,” Jane said. “Come along, girls.” She elbowed her way forward.

Julian caught Alaric’s arm before he could follow. “Well? Will you accept that she isn’t a proper governess?”

Alaric removed his hand. “No. You may prefer to doubt everyone you meet, but I have better ways to spend my time. I saw nothing out of keeping with the stories Jane has told me.”

Julian sighed. “Then I’ll just have to keep digging. I can’t see you taken in, Wey. You deserve better.”

Perhaps. But he couldn’t help thinking that what he really wanted was Jane.