Chapter One

Chapter One

Miss Jane Mifford was in something of a quandary. Having spent most of her one-and-twenty years espousing her wish to remain unwed, the past few months had shown her that if she were to fulfil this desire that it would not be without its downfalls.

Or rather downfall, singular. Her mother.

Jane did love her mama—she even liked her on occasion—though she knew that any fondness she felt toward her was intrinsically linked to how much time they spent together. Absence, Jane firmly believed, made the heart grow fonder—especially when it came to Mrs Mifford.

Unfortunately for Jane, the marriage of her elder sister Mary to the Duke of Northcott had left a position vacant by Mrs Mifford"s side, and she was determined that Jane would fill it.

"Where are you off to?" Mrs Mifford questioned, as Jane—having finished helping Nora, the maid of all work, in the kitchen—made her way downstairs after fetching her pelisse.

"For a walk," Jane answered, as she shrugged the ankle-length coat on over her walking dress.

Mrs Mifford cast a despairing eye over Jane, her green eyes coming to rest on the hem of her skirts which were, for once, pristine. Jane, as well as being a prolific reader, was also a prolific walker. The activity did much for her constitution but little for the hems of her skirts and petticoats, which were often stained with mud.

"I rather think that you would be better suited to spending the afternoon here with me," Mrs Mifford decided, forcing a smile so that her offer might look more inviting. "Mary dropped over the latest issue of the Belle Assemblée before she left for town; I do know how much you love to read."

"I love to read books, Mama," Jane countered, not for a moment fooled that her mother was interested in any of the periodical"s articles, "Not periodicals filled with fashion plates."

Mrs Mifford gave a moue of distaste at Jane"s objection and she would have argued against it, had the arrival of her younger sister, Emily, not offered a distraction.

"Emily will sit and read with you," Jane said firmly, unable to look her younger sister in the eye as she offered her up as a sacrifice to appease the Mifford matriarch.

"What"s that?"

As ever, Emily, who lived somewhere between their village of Plumpton and the cloudy blue sky, did not quite catch the gist of the conversation on her first attempt.

"I was saying," Jane said, patiently, "That you would be happy to sit with Mama in the parlour and read."

"Oh, no, I really wouldn"t," Emily, whose social nous did not stretch to knowing that occasionally it was necessary to tell white-lies, answered honestly, "Gosh, there"s nothing I"d like to do less."

Jane placed a hand to her brow; Emily was the sweetest and softest of her three sisters, but her softness quite often affected the matter between her ears. Thanks to her blunt opine, Jane might yet be forced to spend the afternoon with her mother in order to soothe her battered ego.

"Eudora," Jane called her youngest sister"s name in relief, as she appeared at the top of the stairs, "What have you planned for the afternoon? Mama is in search of a companion to read with her."

"I"m free," Eudora answered, as she came tap-tapping down the stairs holding the cane that their great-uncle, Lord Crabb, had left behind the last time that he had called. Eudora, as the youngest of the four Mifford girls, was forever trying to be seen as older than her years—though the affectation of using a cane was really quite extreme, even for her.

"Papa has finished with The Times," Eudora continued, as she reached the final step, "We could read through the obituaries together, to see who has died."

Mrs Mifford visibly balked at this idea—obituary reading being an activity for those for whom time was running out—and raised a hand to her neck, to fiddle with the string of pearls she wore.

"That does sound nice, dear," she replied, a moment later, in a tone which suggested the opposite, "But I have just recalled that I have something very important to do. Oh, to be as idle as my three girls, with little else to do bar sit on my hands."

With that small barb, Mrs Mifford turned on her heel and fled for the kitchen where, no doubt, she would attend to the very important business of pouring herself a glass of medicinal wine.

"Would anyone else like to read the obituaries with me?" Eudora asked hopefully.

"Oh no," Emily was as honest with her sister as she had been with her mother, "I"d rather be listed in them than spend an afternoon reading them."

"And I was just on my way out," Jane demurred, as she raced to the door before anyone else decided they wished to waylay her.

Outside, the air was as crisp as crackling, stinging Jane"s nose and biting at her fingers. Another lady might have worn a muff and a scarf, but those ladies were mere promenaders compared to Jane. When Jane walked, she did so briskly; she saw little point in a sauntering ramble, preferring instead to keep a fast pace which might burn through the restless energy which filled her.

It had ever been so even as a child Jane had been plagued by a surplus of energy, which had quite often resulted in broken plates, windows, and—once—bones. She sometimes wondered if she had been born into the wrong sex, for she could never quite master the feminine occupations of sitting, stitching, and staying quiet. As she had aged, she had managed—with some help from her mama and the wooden spoon—to channel some of her energy inward toward reading, daydreaming, and thinking, but she still could not spend a day indoors, no matter what the weather.

At the garden gate, Jane turned left, deciding that she wished to walk through the lands of Upper Plumpton, before looping back around by the river to come back home through Lower Plumpton and the village. She walked a little along the London Road, before veering off it just before the turn for Plumpton Hall into a field used for grazing, which would act as a short cut.

Jane picked her way carefully across the grass; while she had little issue with muck, even she would not relish sinking one of her boots into a pile of cow-dung. She kept her eyes firmly fixed on the ground—though with an ear out for any bovine rumblings—until she reached the low fence, beyond which lay the path which ran alongside the river. Not caring a fig for propriety—for who would see her?—Jane hitched up the skirts of her walking dress and clambered over the style, breathing a sigh of relief as the river came into view.

There was something about the gently flowing River Churn which never failed to soothe Jane"s spirits and help her make sense of her muddled thoughts. Today, her thoughts were especially muddled, given that she had—only last night—had an epiphany.

Jane"s distant wish to be a spinster was completely at odds with her daily wish to avoid her mother as much as was humanly possible. With Mary"s departure to Northcott Manor—and now to town for the Little Season—Jane had been forced to note how much her sister had acted as a buffer between Jane and her mama. If Emily and Eudora were to marry, which they most likely soon would given the family"s sudden boost up the social ladder, Jane would then be left alone in Primrose Cottage with no one to shield her from her mama"s attentions. As her father, Mr Mifford, spent most of his days ensconced in his library—which was so small it might be mistaken for a cupboard—Jane would be left to entertain Mrs Mifford alone.

The thought of endless days spent only with her mother for company had awoken in Jane a realisation; the life of a spinster sounded terribly alluring when one imagined herself living alone and having adventures. When one framed it in the context of living with one"s mother and being at her beck and call until her dying day, its appeal soon lost its lustre.

Thus, Jane, for the first time in her life, finally understood the two reasons why a woman might wish to marry; to have a household of her own and to escape her mother. Though the second reason was, perhaps, only pertinent to Jane.

Marriage, Jane realised, was something which she would have to embark upon—and soon. But where on earth would she find a gentleman to marry? she wondered, as she traipsed along the path. Interesting men, with intelligence and wit, who were also financially solvent and passably attractive did not simply fall from the sky. Especially not in Plumpton, where the bachelor pickings were not just slim—they were in a state of famine.

Jane paused and gave a sigh, and as she did so a loud crack sounded out from the canopy of trees above her head. This crack was accompanied by an epithet—one entirely unsuited for female ears—and Jane glanced up to spot a burgundy shape tumbling through the branches toward the ground.

She leapt quickly out of the way, as the burgundy mass—which on closer inspection was revealed to be a man—landed inelegantly upon the mucky path, rear-side down.

Upon impact, the man uttered another word which did not bear repeating, though Jane decided to overlook this given the indignity of his landing. He muttered to himself for a moment, before glancing up, his expression registering surprise as he spotted Jane.

"Forgive me," he said, in an accent which hinted at gentility, "I did not see you there; if I had, I would not have chosen to land so perilously close to you."

"I was rather under the impression that you did not have much choice in where you landed," Jane replied, amazed at her ability to sound so calm after having had a gentleman quite literally land at her feet.

That he was a gentleman was beyond doubt, if one disregarded his colourful use of language. His buff breeches, fine merino wool coat, and beaver hat exuded wealth and taste, while his Hessian boots were polished to a shine that only a valet could produce.

The gentleman gave a rueful chuckle at Jane"s remark, before hopping—with remarkable agility for one who had just taken such a tumble—to his feet. He stood, Jane guessed, just over six-feet tall, and was in possession of a fine pair of shoulders which Jane had not truly appreciated whilst he was seated.

He glanced down at Jane from his lofty height and she felt a shiver run through her as his green eyes met hers for the first time. He wasn"t handsome in the current fashion; his eyebrows were thick and dark, his nose a tad larger than most would consider attractive, and his square jaw was shadowed in stubble despite the early hour. All this, however, when combined with his unfashionably tanned skin, gave him an air of masculinity which Jane guessed that none of the Romantics like Byron might ever hope to master. His raw, almost visceral, maleness, sent Jane"s heart askitter in her chest, and she struggled against an urge to giggle.

"I see that I cannot convince you that my tumble from the tree was intentional," the man spoke again, a rueful smile playing at the corners of his generous mouth, "And as I have already disgraced myself once before you, I am a tad reluctant to do so a second time, yet needs must."

"Oh?" Jane was momentarily taken aback, for it was not often that she found herself alone with a man intent on disgracing himself. Another lady might be worried by such a statement, though Jane was more curious than frightened.

"I am lost," the gentleman quickly supplied, having perhaps realised the error of his words, "I have been walking for nearly two hours and cannot find my bearings. I thought to climb that tree, in the hopes that I might spot the direction in which the village lies—but, you witnessed how well that went."

Jane hid a smile, as she realised that the disgrace the man had been reluctant to commit was admitting to being lost. Masculine pride was such a fragile thing that Jane sometimes wondered how men had managed to dominate the world for centuries, when they were oftentimes as sensitive as flowers.

"I am usually a much better navigator," the gentleman stressed, as he spotted Jane"s badly hidden grin, "Though I will admit that I do not often travel by foot. When I am not at sea, I prefer to ride, but my mount lost a shoe this morning and my host"s stable was lacking in animals suited for my stature."

"Of course," Jane soothed, adopting a more sombre mien. She had not much experience of men, but if she was not mistaken, she could almost believe that this gentleman was peacocking for her benefit. This thought left her feeling rather flustered and she had to fight valiantly against the blush which sought to bloom upon her cheeks.

"If you are seeking the village of Plumpton, then I advise you to cross the fence just there," she answered quickly, waving a hand at the fence she herself had come over, "Walk straight across the field and on the other side you will meet the road. If you travel uphill you will reach Plumpton Hall, downhill leads to the village."

"My thanks, Miss—?"

"Mifford," Jane answered, feeling both relieved and disappointed that their meeting was now coming to an end.

"Miss Mifford," the gentleman sounded out her name, his expression rather pleased, before offering his own along with a short bow, "Ivo Bonville, much obliged."

"You are most welcome, Mr Bonville," Jane inclined her head, half-torn between lingering and fleeing. Deciding on the latter, she offered Mr Bonville a cheery smile, wished him well on his continued journey, before she herself took off at a break-neck pace.

Jane longed to glance back to see if Mr Bonville was still watching her, but a sense of self-preservation forbid her. If she were to glance over her shoulder and see him gone, without a second thought to her, Jane realised that she would be hugely disappointed.

As Jane continued her walk along the riverside, her mind began to dissect every word that had passed between the pair. Mr Bonville had stated that he was more comfortable at sea, but was that in the navy, the merchant navy, or a one-oared fishing boat? While he did have the look of someone who could afford to buy himself a handsome commission in the navy, there was a rakish—almost piratical—look to him that made Jane think it was the merchant navy with whom he had sailed.

And who was he staying with? He had said his host"s stable had no suitable animal for his stature, which was why he was on foot, but who in Plumpton kept such a poor livery? Any farmer worth his salt had one mount capable of holding Mr Bonville"s athletic bulk, though to Jane"s mind, Mr Bonville did not seem like the type of man who would be the guest of a farmer.

If the Duke of Northcott had been at home, Jane would have assumed him to be one of his friends, but Northcott was in London with Mary. The only other person of status to host a man such as Bonville in the vicinity was Lord Crabb...

That was it! Lord Crabb was as parsimonious as he was cantankerous, and Jane thought it highly possible that his stables were filled with old nags. He was also shortly due to be wed, perhaps Mr Bonville was to be a guest at the viscount"s impending nuptials?

The path before Jane split in two and she took the track which would lead her to the village, her mind now on Lord Crabb"s marriage instead of Mr Bonville. The crotchety octogenarian viscount had recently announced his engagement to Miss Prunella Hughes, eighteen years old and pretty as a picture. The viscount"s first marriage had not resulted in the issue of any heirs—or any children at all—and it was well known that Lord Crabb had contented himself with leaving his title to a long-distant second cousin—the only male heir in a line filled with female offspring.

His sudden decision to marry again at the age of two-and-eighty had caused tremendous excitement in the village of Plumpton, which had only just calmed down following a terrible double-murder and the marriage of one of their own to a duke. Jane was reliably informed that the local tavern, The Ring"O"Bells, was running a book on when the marriage might produce an heir, though Nora had also informed her that a more popular bet was how long it would take Lord Crabb to expire after the wedding night.

Nora had whispered this with a giggle to Jane who had gamely laughed along, though in truth her position as the second of a vicar"s four daughters meant that Jane was not entirely certain what the joke meant.

The path wound through a small copse of trees, before leading into Lower Plumpton. Here, Jane crossed a small bridge which divided Lower Plumpton from Upper, and followed the road up to the village square.

Despite the inclement weather—drizzle and grey skies—the square bustled with activity. Carts and carriages trundled along High Street, while villagers dashed in and out of the greengrocer, haberdasher, and—of course—the pub.

"Mornin", Miss Mifford," Mr Marrowbone, the local constable, called as he emerged from the raucous tavern in a state of high-excitement.

"Has something happened?" Jane asked, for the constable looked fit to burst. Perhaps there had been another murder, she thought nervously, though really that was a ridiculous idea—Plumpton was a sedate, Cotswolds" town. The murders which had happened earlier in the year had been an anomaly in Plumpton"s long—dare one say dull?—history.

"Indeed it has," Mr Marrowbone tipped the brim of his hat as he pushed past her, "Angus has offered new odds on Lord Crabb"s marriage—I must inform Dr Bates."

"A most urgent matter indeed," Jane opined, but she was speaking to thin air, for Mr Marrowbone had already scuttled away in search of the doctor.

It did not occur to Jane to connect the new bets on Lord Crabb"s marriage to anything which might interest her, but when she returned to Primrose Cottage, she found her mama and sisters were as excitable as the constable had been.

"Jane," Mrs Mifford called, as she let herself in through the kitchen door, "There you are, come listen to what Nora has to say."

Mrs Mifford was seated at the kitchen table with Eudora and Emily, as well as Nora. All four were clutching cups of tea, while the three Mifford ladies gazed at Nora as though she were a divine oracle.

"I heard it from Mrs Mason in the greengrocer," Nora continued, as Jane slipped into a vacant seat, "He arrived at Plumpton Hall yesterday, allegedly at Lord Crabb"s invitation. Though, according to Mrs Mason, who heard it from Mrs Hilliard who works in his lordship"s kitchens, Miss Prunella Hughes is insisting that no such invitation was issued. She thinks that he came of his own accord and that he is here to scupper the wedding plans; she was kicking up a right fuss, from what I heard."

Jane was about to remind Nora that any gossip in Plumpton usually resembled a game of Whisper Down the Lane, and that by the time it reached the recipient it had usually been embellished tenfold, but she was interrupted by her mother.

"And what is he like?" Mrs Mifford pressed, her eyes shining bright with interest.

"Very handsome, by all accounts," Nora was coy, leaving Jane to suspect that a rather different turn of phrase had been used in the greengrocer"s. "And a bachelor. If Lord Crabb wasn"t set to marry, I bet half the ladies of the village would drop their handkerchief before him."

"There would be many a ruined handkerchief if they were to try that," Mrs Mifford sniffed, ever the snob, "For even without inheriting, I"m sure he is beyond the reach of most of Plumpton"s female inhabitants."

Nora bristled with irritation, as Mrs Mifford sought to put her firmly back in her place. Jane, hoping to distract her—for Nora could be quite temperamental and dinner might be ruined for a week if she felt at all slighted—interrupted them both with a question of her own.

"Who is it you are speaking of?" she asked, for she had missed the first half of the conversation.

"Lord Crabb"s heir," Mrs Mifford boomed, "He has shown up at Plumpton Hall, intent on wrecking the wedding."

"It is not certain that he wishes to wreck the wedding, Mama," Emily reminded her mother, but Mrs Mifford ignored her.

"Handsome and single, Jane," Mrs Mifford continued, "I have my doubts about Lord Crabb"s ability to produce an heir at his age and, if I am correct, then this Mr Bonville looks set to inherit everything. I should try to arrange an introduction between you both. Imagine! One daughter the mistress of Northcott Manor, the other the mistress of Plumpton Hall."

"I am afraid that your imagination will have to suffice on that matter, Mama," Jane replied idly, though inside her mind was racing as she realised that the gentleman from earlier was the viscount"s heir. "There is a lot of life left in Lord Crabb."

"Poppycock," Mrs Mifford frowned, "In fact, I am certain that I heard a most worrisome wheeze in his chest the last time that he called. He was quite pale too and he"s not very steady on his feet."

"It rather sounds like you are planning to kill him off, Mama," Emily commented, her mindless comment so on the mark that Mrs Mifford was forced to go on the defence.

"Kill my own uncle?" she clutched a hand to her breast, "Whom I love so dearly? Don"t be ridiculous, child. Besides, the only one with any motive to kill Lord Crabb—if such a thing was being plotted—is Mr Ivo Bonville."

"Nobody is plotting to kill Lord Crabb," Jane interjected, as the conversation threatened to descend into farce. A regular occurrence where Mrs Mifford was concerned.

"Now," Jane glanced around the table, hoping for a change of topic. "Is there any other news?"

"An awful lot of important people died last week," Eudora volunteered, "Shall I tell you about them?"

"Oh, look at the time," Mrs Mifford trilled, "I"d best be off."

"I have to wash the linens," Nora added, unusually enthusiastic for one so work-shy.

"I really would rather not," Emily shrugged, standing from the table along with the other two. Only Jane remained and in a fit of sisterly affection, she decided to stay and listen to Eudora recount the obituaries listed in The Times.

It was an exceedingly dull listen, but one which required very little interaction on Jane"s part for Eudora preferred soliloquies to conversations. As her youngest sister droned on and on, Jane allowed her mind to wander back to Mr Bonville.

If it was true that he had turned up uninvited to the wedding, then it was rather strange—though Jane was disinclined to believe the gossip. Mr Bonville was far too handsome—er, kind—to have attached any nefarious motives to his visit, she thought, quelling a blush as she fervently thanked God that Eudora could not hear her thoughts. For, if any hint was to reach Mrs Mifford"s ears that Jane was in anyway taken by Mr Bonville, then it was certain that her mama would engage in a machination to bring them together.

A machination which would no doubt bring embarrassment down upon poor Jane, for Mrs Mifford was about as subtle as a kick to the head from a donkey. No, Jane would not breathe a word of her meeting with Mr Bonville to anyone—though, if they were to meet again by chance, Jane would certainly not fight against fate"s wishes...