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‘More importantly, Christopher, is that she makes Octavia happy.’
* * *
Chalfont House was the Lansbury seat in the heart of Oxfordshire. Jane was irrevocably touched by its timeless splendour. A wide stretch of stone steps led up to the colonnaded front door, while on either side two great wings stretched out to portray, in perfect proportions, the great arched dome which surmounted the centre of the building. Inside, the pomp and grandeur, which the countess took for granted, left her breathless.
As soon as she entered the house she was greeted with unaffected warmth. She felt this was a house where courtesy and mutual affection ruled in perfect harmony.
A maid appeared and whisked a tired Octavia to her room, leaving Jane with Lady Lansbury. She stood in the hall, looking about her with interest. And then, as if she was seeing a dream awaken before her, Lord Lansbury appeared from one of the many rooms leading off from the hall and strode toward them.
It was strange, but it was as if she had first seen him only yesterday. He had made such an impression on her on the ship and it had remained, only now it was stronger. He had a look she saw rarely—the complete indifference of inherited position. It was something that could not be acquired or even reproduced. It had to develop over time. Attired in a dark-green jacket and pristine neck linen, tall, lithe, his features strong and darkly, incredibly attractive, he moved with the confident ease of a man well assured of his place in the world and completely unconcerned about the world’s perception of him.
Accustomed all her life to foreigners and older men of her father’s acquaintance, men who gave thought of nothing other than their work and gave no thought to their appearance, she had never seen anything like Lord Lansbury. Unable to tear her eyes away from him, she was bowled over anew by that same dark, delicious magnetism she remembered vividly from her first glimpse of him on the ship.
His hair was thick and dark brown, as shiny as silk brushed back from his brow, his glorious grey eyes the colour of smoke. He had a long aquiline nose and his eyelids were heavy, drooping low, giving him a lazy, sleepy look. At over six foot tall, he was built like one of those Greek athletes she had read so much about, lean and muscular, all supple grace, and when he spoke his voice was deep and throaty, reminding her of thick honey and making her think of bodies, of bedrooms and the erotic engravings she had seen on her travels through the far east and Europe with her father.
Lord Lansbury had travelled to Chalfont ahead of Lady Lansbury. When Lady Lansbury introduced her, he looked at her, inclining his head courteously. But he did not see her, not really, and she hadn’t expected him to. He did not look at her in the way a man would look at an attractive woman. His eyes were startling and distracting, not so much for their silver-grey colour or the size, which was substantial. What gave them their unique power seemed to be the fact that the centre of his eyes filled the clear white from top to bottom and the thick lashes both obscured and revealed his gaze, depending on his whim.
‘Miss Mortimer is here to take care of Octavia, Christopher. You will remember that she was the young lady who saved Octavia’s life on the ship. I informed you she would be coming today.’
‘Yes, so you did.’ He fixed Jane with a cool gaze. ‘We are in your debt, Miss Mortimer, for what you did that day. But your work will not be easy. Getting Octavia to do anything she doesn’t like is like piloting a ship into the harbour. It needs a steady hand on the tiller.’
Jane laughed, suddenly nervous. She felt Lord Lansbury was only being polite and sensed he was uncomfortable and wishful to escape. A sense of disappointment rippled through her. How she wished he would look at her differently, that he would find her attractive.
‘Please don’t be concerned. My navigational skills are quite exceptional.’
‘I’m glad to hear it. Your father was a well-known writer and antiquarian, I believe.’
‘He was Matthew Mortimer, a knowledgeable writer on many things—Roman and Greek history and antiquities were his passion.’
‘He must have been an interesting man. My mother tells me you have spent a great deal of your time abroad.’
‘Yes. Together we travelled to many countries—Europe and beyond. We lived in India for five years.’
‘Really?’ Jane felt and saw his interest quicken. ‘You must find life here very different indeed from that hot clime.’
‘Very different,’ she said, trying not to let herself sound too regretful.
‘And dull.’
She laughed. ‘I’m afraid I haven’t had time to find out.’
‘You appear to be a sensible young woman, Miss Mortimer. I am sure you will adjust. I hope you won’t find the English winters too cold and miserable.’
‘I’m sure I will,’ she said with a wry smile. ‘I’m also sure that I’ll survive.’
‘You must miss your father.’
‘Yes,’ she replied, struggling to conceal the sadness she always felt when speaking of her father. She still felt his loss deeply. ‘Not only was I his daughter, but his assistant. When he died I’m afraid much of his work was unfinished so I have a lot of loose ends to tie up for his publisher. Lady Lansbury has kindly offered me the use of your library—when I’m not looking after Lady Octavia, that is.’
‘Of course. Feel free to use it any time. I am sure you will do an excellent job taking care of Octavia. I hope you will enjoy your time here.’
Jane’s heart skipped a beat as his beautiful grey eyes met hers. Pleasure washed over her. ‘I’m sure I will, Lord Lansbury.’ She swallowed hard, unable to think of anything else to say until he had turned his back on her and walked away. ‘Thank you,’ she finally managed to call out, but he must not have heard her words, for he did not turn to look at her again.
‘Oh, dear! My son is hasty sometimes,’ Lady Lansbury said, noting Jane’s dismay. ‘He has grave matters to worry him and he is always so busy. But come, my dear. I’ll take you to Octavia’s rooms.’ She looked at Jane who was somewhat flushed. ‘Are you all right, my dear?’
‘Yes—perfectly.’
A cloud shifted across Jane’s face and her eyelids lowered. The expression in them was unreadable, which was just as well, for she loved Christopher Chalfont from that moment. How else could these feelings that consumed her be explained—she, who had no experience of men in the romantic sense? She told herself that she should doubt her reactions to Lord Lansbury, the first man she had ever been attracted to. She was unable to understand why this should be.
The day she had left France and climbed aboard the boat bound for Dover would live with her for ever, because that was the day she had met him, the day he had entered her mind so that she was unable to think of anything else. Because the differences between them were too vast, she did not fool herself into believing it could ever be any different and that he would ever return her love.
Nothing was normal any more, least of all her feelings about herself.
Jane had been at Chalfont for one whole month and had no reason to regret her decision. The servants were not quite sure about her position. The other young ladies who had cared for Octavia in the past had been employed as governesses. Although Miss Mortimer’s position filled that role, Lady Lansbury treated her as more of a friend. Miss Mortimer was frequently invited to dine with the family, but she always declined, opting to eat in the rooms she shared with Octavia.
Jane realised she had a talent for entertaining Octavia that surprised her. In spite of her lack of experience with children, she managed to win Octavia’s trust and arouse her eager curiosity with the activities they did together. They would walk in the beautiful