“What happened to her? We can take care of her, find her the best doctors, give her—”

“They found her in her bed a day and a half after she passed away.”

“No.” But Oliver didn’t sound as if he were denying it, just reflexively pushing away the words. “That can’t be. I saw her not so long ago. She looked a little ill, but…”

“It was an apoplexy. They say she didn’t suffer.”

“Oh, Mother.” Oliver’s voice was muffled. “I should have said something to you when I saw her, should have let you know she wasn’t doing well. I should have had you come out and—”

“Enough. I told her I loved her the last time I saw her. We’ve had our differences, but we’ve also had our good times.” The other woman’s voice quavered. “Don’t lay blame. There’s more than enough sorrow without it.”

There were no words for a while after that, just a few sniffles. The sounds of family giving—and receiving—comfort.

Oliver had mentioned his aunt Freddy in the bookshop all those months ago. It was one of the first things that had drawn Jane to him—that he’d talked about a woman who obviously had her own peculiarities with such respect and affection.

It was as if someone had whispered to Jane that if he could love an ornery, stubborn, strange old woman, he might like her.

And he had.

“It’s tomorrow,” his mother said. “The funeral. Everyone is down—Laura and Geoffrey, Patricia and Reuven. Free and your father. We’re having dinner tonight.”

“Of course I’ll be there.”

There was a long pause.

“And Oliver, the woman who is staying with you…”

Jane froze.

“What woman?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You’re here under an assumed name. You’ve never used my soap, and yet someone here has washed with my May blend. I smelled it the instant I walked in. I only wanted you to know… There won’t be many of us present, just family and a few others. If she’s important to you, if she would bring you comfort, you should bring her.”

“Mama.”

“I won’t pinch your cheek in front of her, and if you’re worried about the example you’ll set for your sister…”

“Mama, please.”

“…don’t. Free will probably lecture you better than I could.”

There was a long pause. Oliver had to know that Jane was listening. He had to be wondering what she was thinking, what she would make of all this. Jane wrapped her arms around herself and wanted. Even if this didn’t last. Even if they never saw each other again after their days together, even if he married his perfect little wren next month.

Right now, she wanted to be the one who comforted him.

“I’ll…”

“Think about it, Oliver.”

Jane bit her lip and looked away, trying not to feel the sting of it. They had agreed, after all. And he was upset. She really didn’t have a place in his life, and it was the work of a moment—one soul-squeezing moment—to forgive him the small pain he caused her.

“I’ll see,” he said.

Chapter Twenty-eight

Oliver knew what was coming the instant he closed the door after his mother. He didn’t even want to turn around. Didn’t want to have to look at Jane and see what he had done.

But he did. He went and found her where she was still seated on a bench in the dressing room. She was wearing petticoats and a corset and was gazing off into space. She looked up as he came in.

“Good,” she said. “You’re here. I suppose we need to…” She trailed off and looked at her hands in her lap.

“Jane.” He felt a lump in his throat as he faced her.

“I need someone to help me put on my dress.” She pointed to a blue silk with red ribbons. “That one.”

“Jane…”

“I’m not going to have this discussion with you when I’m half-dressed,” she said, and so he helped her put it on. It was agonizing, to brush her soft skin. To want to kiss her shoulder, as he smoothed fabric over it. He wanted so much with her…but he suspected that this was the end, the donning of this dress, and not a beginning.

When he had finished to the best of his ability, she turned back to him.

“I can…” No. He couldn’t exonerate himself.

“Explain?” she asked. “You don’t need to explain. You already have. I am the last woman in the world you want to marry. You’re upset because of your aunt. Why would you introduce me to your family? You haven’t said anything I don’t already know.”

He took a step forward. “It’s not that.”

“Oh?” There was just enough of a dubious quality in her voice.

“It is that,” he said, “But it’s so much more. I love you, Jane.”

She tilted her head. “What?”

“I love you. And if I let you share in this—if I bring you in at this moment—I don’t know how I could ever let you go. You’d be a part of me. A part of my family.”

She already was. There was some part of him that felt as if he were still on a dark forest road with her. With nobody else around—just the two of them against the rest of the world.

She had not said anything yet.

“I want that,” he said. “It hurts how much I want that. Come with me, Jane. Not as my lover, but as my fiancée.”

She didn’t say anything.

“I know there will be difficulties, but we can work them out. Minnie can sponsor you; she could get the Dowager Duchess of Clermont to train you. And—”

“Train me?” Jane said. “What am I, a horse?”

Oliver winced. “No. Of course not. But a few lessons…”

“A few lessons on what?” Jane’s chin came up, but her lips trembled. “On how to act, how to behave, how to dress. Is that what you mean?”

He couldn’t say anything.

“Tell me, Oliver, how long do you think it will take me to learn to hold my tongue? To talk quietly? To dress as everyone else does?”

“I—Jane…”

“If you want a wren, marry one. Don’t ask me.”

He shut his eyes. “I know. I know. It’s such a horrid thing to ask. But…” He paused, trying to regroup. Trying to explain. “I’ve made a career of keeping quiet. Someone from my background has to be particularly careful. My brother can advocate whatever he wishes; I have to be cautious. To make sure that when people think of me, they think of a reasonable man. Someone who is just like them. Someone who…”