in acknowledgment and purchased the fire-red ink, unable to tell Mr. Davies that she had no intention of writing in anything other than black.
While there, she met with Mrs. Cutler, who along with her seven children had lost the race to the Cottage front door a few days ago. Luckily, the children were left at home. Mr. Cutler was a solicitor, the village’s legal expert—he was the one advising the town council on the question of the Morgans’ cow path. His wife was very proud of his position as a man of learning and the status it afforded her in town. She could go on for hours about his accomplishments.
It was a very stimulating conversation.
By the time she left Mrs. Cutler to examine a selection of paper for her husband’s business writings, word of Lady Jane Cummings’s carriage having been spotted in the village had spread, allowing for every shopkeeper to display his best goods, and every lady to put on her best lace collar. She stopped at the bookshop, directly next door to and connected with Mr. Davies’s print shop. He must be doing well enough if he can operate two spaces, Jane mused. She followed that stop with the milliner’s. Even though she had more clothes than she could ever wear, she stopped at the dressmaker’s, ordered a few yards of cambric for a day dress. It would be good to have something that she could walk through the woods in, or around the lake, she told Mrs. Hill, the shop’s proprietor. Funny, it used to be Mrs. Thornton’s shop—but she had retired, and her daughter had taken it over.
Maybe some things did change, Jane thought.
And everywhere she went, she spoke with any number of people who came up to greet her.
She met with the Gaineses by the town square, the Pages at another shop, and followed her father’s example of stimulating the local economy by purchasing a number of candles, just arrived from Town, which were advertised as promising much better reading light.
She greeted Big Jim the blacksmith as he walked along the street with another gentleman, headed for the Horse and Pull tavern. He blushed a little awkwardly and bowed, remarking that, “Miss . . . er, Lady Jane. You look so grown up!” It caused Jane to smile, thankful that he did not mention any dogs or naked running.
Her intention was to spend a little money in every shop on the high street, and she almost managed it. But try as she might, Jane could think of absolutely no reason to go into the cooperage. Maybe she should purchase a barrel and give it to Mr. Worth—the mischievous voice popped into her head. Give him something to bathe in other than the freezing lake.
A small smile spread to her lips, and she was forced to lie and tell the Pages that she was smiling over joy at hearing their sheep had been impregnated at an alarming rate that spring.
By the time she left for the Wiltons, it was almost noon, and Jane had enjoyed a thoroughly exhausting morning. She was actually looking forward to her next stop—but only, she told herself, as she would be permitted to enjoy it sitting down.
Jane was not surprised to find that she was not the only visitor—indeed, Lady Wilton often had any number of the town’s ladies at her beck and call. And knowing that Lady Jane could not possibly come through town without calling on the Wiltons—well, that must have sent the genteel population scrambling. But one particular guest surprised her.
“Dr. Berridge!” she exclaimed upon seeing him in the formal receiving parlor, where Lady Wilton sat next to Mrs. Morgan—she of the cow path—and several other ladies, including young Miss Victoria.
“You’ve been introduced?” Lady Wilton asked, her voice suspiciously without suspicion.
“Yes, the doctor was kind enough to come to the house when, ah, my father injured his hands,” Jane replied. It was easier to tell a limited version of the truth, she knew.
“Oh, dear,” Lady Wilton tutted. “My dear doctor, why did you not tell us the Duke had sustained
While there, she met with Mrs. Cutler, who along with her seven children had lost the race to the Cottage front door a few days ago. Luckily, the children were left at home. Mr. Cutler was a solicitor, the village’s legal expert—he was the one advising the town council on the question of the Morgans’ cow path. His wife was very proud of his position as a man of learning and the status it afforded her in town. She could go on for hours about his accomplishments.
It was a very stimulating conversation.
By the time she left Mrs. Cutler to examine a selection of paper for her husband’s business writings, word of Lady Jane Cummings’s carriage having been spotted in the village had spread, allowing for every shopkeeper to display his best goods, and every lady to put on her best lace collar. She stopped at the bookshop, directly next door to and connected with Mr. Davies’s print shop. He must be doing well enough if he can operate two spaces, Jane mused. She followed that stop with the milliner’s. Even though she had more clothes than she could ever wear, she stopped at the dressmaker’s, ordered a few yards of cambric for a day dress. It would be good to have something that she could walk through the woods in, or around the lake, she told Mrs. Hill, the shop’s proprietor. Funny, it used to be Mrs. Thornton’s shop—but she had retired, and her daughter had taken it over.
Maybe some things did change, Jane thought.
And everywhere she went, she spoke with any number of people who came up to greet her.
She met with the Gaineses by the town square, the Pages at another shop, and followed her father’s example of stimulating the local economy by purchasing a number of candles, just arrived from Town, which were advertised as promising much better reading light.
She greeted Big Jim the blacksmith as he walked along the street with another gentleman, headed for the Horse and Pull tavern. He blushed a little awkwardly and bowed, remarking that, “Miss . . . er, Lady Jane. You look so grown up!” It caused Jane to smile, thankful that he did not mention any dogs or naked running.
Her intention was to spend a little money in every shop on the high street, and she almost managed it. But try as she might, Jane could think of absolutely no reason to go into the cooperage. Maybe she should purchase a barrel and give it to Mr. Worth—the mischievous voice popped into her head. Give him something to bathe in other than the freezing lake.
A small smile spread to her lips, and she was forced to lie and tell the Pages that she was smiling over joy at hearing their sheep had been impregnated at an alarming rate that spring.
By the time she left for the Wiltons, it was almost noon, and Jane had enjoyed a thoroughly exhausting morning. She was actually looking forward to her next stop—but only, she told herself, as she would be permitted to enjoy it sitting down.
Jane was not surprised to find that she was not the only visitor—indeed, Lady Wilton often had any number of the town’s ladies at her beck and call. And knowing that Lady Jane could not possibly come through town without calling on the Wiltons—well, that must have sent the genteel population scrambling. But one particular guest surprised her.
“Dr. Berridge!” she exclaimed upon seeing him in the formal receiving parlor, where Lady Wilton sat next to Mrs. Morgan—she of the cow path—and several other ladies, including young Miss Victoria.
“You’ve been introduced?” Lady Wilton asked, her voice suspiciously without suspicion.
“Yes, the doctor was kind enough to come to the house when, ah, my father injured his hands,” Jane replied. It was easier to tell a limited version of the truth, she knew.
“Oh, dear,” Lady Wilton tutted. “My dear doctor, why did you not tell us the Duke had sustained
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