Where there is Love: The Colchester Sisters Page 8

  “Oh, Richard, you always know how to cheer me, do you not?”

  “It is my life’s work,” he said, and his smile, whilst broad and boyish, was also manly and handsome.

  “And I am glad of it.”

  “And you must not forget, even if Woolford and Normanton are complete duds, there is still a mystery man. I think he holds promise, my dear, and I do not think you should dismiss him out of hand. After all, he is the only one of the three who has at least gone out of his way to adapt the little scenarios found in the book. You must give him credit for that much at least.”

  “You do surprise me, Richard. Almost as much as Verity has surprised me,” Jane said and looked from one to the other. “For I had never imagined either one of you to be as romantic as you have turned out to be.”

  “Anything we can do to help, my dear,” Verity said.

  “Yes, anything at all. We shall always be on hand to advise will we not, Verity?” Richard chuckled.

  “Yes, we shall,” Verity said firmly.

  “Well, good luck romance,” Amos said, amused by the banter but clearly relieved that he was not the source of his sister’s upset.

  “I think you should wait and see what the mystery man comes up with next, Jane.” Verity went on.

  “Yes, I agree with Verity wholeheartedly,” Richard said. “You must not have that glorious romance desert you, not now.”

  “Well, perhaps my old spirit of romance is much as it ever was,” Jane said, feeling a little bereft now that Richard had removed his hand. “But I must declare that I am done with Beatrice.”

  “You are not going to read to the end?”

  “No, I am not going to read to the end, Verity,” she said, surprised by her sister’s look of concern. “I have been looking at it all wrong, I know that now. This business of copying, it will not do. I cannot wait and hope for somebody simply to recreate little scenes from a book. No, I am done with Beatrice. I do want a wonderfully romantic suitor in my life, but I only want one with his own ideas,” Jane said and felt suddenly a little better.

  “Well, let us toast it with tea,” Richard said as the maid came in carrying a tray. “And bread-and-butter, of course,” he went on and Jane laughed.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “But this is a disaster, Verity.” Richard hissed as Verity showed him out after tea.

  As much as he had enjoyed a very pleasant afternoon with the Colchesters, he had been left with a sense of dread at the idea that he no longer had The Romancing of Beatrice to lean on.

  He could understand Jane’s dismissal of the book entirely and realized how terribly disappointed she must be. He even welcomed the idea that the woman he loved had come to realize that romance must be far more real and far less contrived to have any worth at all. But that did not help him in any way, for he could not think of a single thing to do now that was not something he had already done or something that would fall very flat.

  “Why is it?” Verity said in a whisper, speaking quickly so that she would not be missed too long in the drawing room by her brother and sister.

  “Because what am I to do now? Jane wants a romantic man with notions of his own and as you very well know, my dear little friend, I have none. And since you have none either, I cannot even rely on you, my partner in it all.”

  “Richard, you will just have to think of something,” Verity said, seeming exasperated with him. “Really, I wish I could help but as you know I do not think in such circles.” She spread her arms wide and let out a great sigh.

  “But I do not think in those circles either, Verity. I am sunk now, am I not?”

  “Oh, Richard, I think that perhaps you do think in those circles sometimes.”

  “How so?” Richard said with a hope that he knew was entirely false.

  “Because you love my sister for who she is,” Verity said, still whispering but speaking a little slower now. “You love her for who she is, for all the romance in her heart, for all the silly notions in her head. You have done everything in your power to give her what it is that she wants and even a novice such as myself can see quite clearly that there can be no better love than that. You must take heart from that, Richard, if nothing else.”

  “I do take heart from it, Verity. And you are right, I love everything about Jane. I love her from head to toe, inside and out, and I wish that I had a way to show her all of it. That is where I lack, and that is the one thing that she values above all others.”

  “No, it is the one thing that she thinks she values, Richard. What she truly values is something a lot truer, a lot more stable. All you need to do now is to prove to her that you love her. Just find a way to make her see what is really important for I know she already knows it in that heart of hers. It is just that that wonderful heart is so big and so cluttered with all manner of things that it must be a true nightmare to pick through it all. It is not a simple life my sister leads, believe me,” Verity said and looked exhausted by the very thought of it.

  “Oh, I know you are right, Verity. I will have to sit down and think about it very seriously and come up with something sooner rather than later.”

  “It must be absolutely unique, something entirely of your own. But not just something which speaks about Jane, but something which speaks about you also. Tie together the best qualities of each of you and think of something which embodies it all.”

  “You really are very clever, Verity,” Richard said appreciatively. “And you really have helped me more than I can ever express. I would never have begun any of this had it not been for you. I would have sat back and let it all happen, patiently waiting for the day I had to stand and bear witness to her happiness with another.”

  “Just think about everything that you both are. Jane loves romance and excitement, you love fun and amusement. Forget the book, forget Beatrice and all her ridiculous wants. In the end, Jane is not Beatrice. They are two very different women and I believe that Jane has come to see it finally. Perhaps that is even why she has been a little low spirited of late. But put Beatrice out of your mind. Forget about Lord Pemberchook and Mr. Dalrymple and all the rest of the silly men. This is not about any of them. This is about you and Jane.”

  “Right, I can surely think of something,” Richard said, as much to himself as to Verity. “For goodness sake, if I can create a poem out of thin air, I can come up with something that would please her.”

  “That is the spirit, Richard,” Verity said and patted him with a rather surprising force on his upper arm. “Now off you go and start thinking. But do not think for so long that you have no time to put the thing into practice. Time is of the essence, Richard. Time and originality. Remember; excitement, romance, fun, amusement. There, that is as helpful as I can be in any creative sense. As to the practicalities, you may rely on me for anything.”

  “Thank you, Verity,” Richard said and patted her upper arm too, although with considerably less force. “Right, I shall away.”

  “Good luck.” Verity called quietly after him before closing the door.

  “Goodness knows I shall need it,” Richard said under his breath as he strode towards the Colchesters’ stable to retrieve his horse.

  Chapter Seventeen

  After a mercifully dream free night, Jane awoke the following morning a little cold. She could detect the slightest breeze and the end of her nose bore witness to the coolness of the room.

  She opened her eyes and slowly sat up in bed, reaching out for her shawl and wrapping it about her shoulders. Turning to look at the window, she could see that the sash was a little ajar and she stared at it quizzically for a moment or two.

  She had certainly not opened the window at all the night before for it had been a chilly spring evening, one she had not wanted to let into her room. Rising from the bed, she padded across to close the sash and it was then that she saw it.

  In that curiously elaborate handwritten script she recognized from the poem of the mystery man, sat a sealed letter addressed to her. W
ith a little gasp, Jane closed the window down completely and lifted the letter, hurrying back to her bed to sit down and read it.

  Hardly able to believe what she was seeing, she left her room and hastened through the upper story of the house in her nightgown to wake her sister.

  “Verity, Verity,” she said in a very loud whisper. “You must wake up,” she said and Verity, grumbling incoherently, began to sit up and stared at Jane as if she did not recognize her at all.

  “What is it?” Verity said, blinking as she tried to make sense of the world.

  “It is him, it is the mystery man!” Jane said and scrambled into the bed beside her sister, pulling the covers up around her.

  “Goodness, you are cold,” Verity said in a most objecting tone. “Do not lean against me with your frosty little body.”

  “Forget my frosty little body, sister,” Jane said and waited for Verity to concentrate.

  “The mystery man?” Verity said as if she were waking from a deep sleep of many years standing. “Oh, the mystery man. What about him? What has he done now?” Forgetting her sister’s chilly intrusion, Verity was suddenly all excitement.

  “He has left me this. Goodness knows how he managed to get up to my window, but he has done so and left this on the sill.” Jane held up the folded letter.

  “Oh, he must have used a ladder,” Verity said, and Jane laughed, thinking how her sister always turned to practicality. “He could never have clung onto the wisteria without it breaking free from the wall and throwing him to the ground.”

  “It does not matter how he got up to the window, Verity. What matters is that he did. And what matters more is that he left this.”

  “All right, go on. Read it out,” Verity said and ground her little fists into her eyes in an attempt to wake herself further still.

  “He begins,” Jane said and cleared her throat.

  “My dear Miss Colchester,

  As I write this, I know what a wonderful treat it will be for me to climb secretly up to your chamber window and regard you as you sleep. What greater opportunity would there be for me to stare so openly at your beauty and not have you reprimand me for my impertinence?

  But I must find more than my carefully written words to show you what you mean to me, must I not?

  And so it is that I now invite you to spend the day on a most wonderful treasure hunt. I hope that you are in the mood for such a thing and, if so, I would beg that you first attend Mrs. Deary’s tea rooms in Colington. You need say nothing when you arrive, Mrs. Deary already has her instructions.

  Please do not be afraid. Indeed, you may take a friend or relative to keep you company if that is what you wish.

  I do hope your curiosity is piqued enough to see that you will accept this little invitation of mine, however unusual it might seem and however unconventionally it was made.

  With all my love.”

  “With all whose love? Does it not say?” Verity pleaded urgently.

  “No, that is how it ends. With all my love,” Jane said dreamily.

  “I do not remember you saying anything about a treasure hunt in The Romancing of Beatrice,” Verity said. “Is there such a passage?”

  “No, or at least I do not think there is. I have read nearly to the end and have seen nothing about a treasure hunt.”

  “Then we must get up and dressed and have breakfast as early as possible. I will accompany you to Mrs. Deary’s tea rooms and we will see what this is all about,” Verity said and looked for all the world as excited as her sister.

  “You really will come with me?” Jane asked, her eyes prickling with unexpected tears.

  “Of course, I will,” Verity said and scooped her into her arms. “I am excited for you. And I must admit, I am also very curious.”

  “Then I shall go and get ready now,” Jane said and sniffed, smiling through her little show of emotion as she scrambled out of bed.

  “And I will get dressed also and meet you in the dining room,” Verity said, smiling broadly and already climbing out of bed herself.

  Washing, dressing, and taking breakfast really did consume so much more time than Jane had ever realized before. In the end, it was almost a further two hours before she and her sister left their father’s house for an allegedly impromptu trip into Colington.

  They rode into town in their father’s carriage chattering non-stop all the way. Even Verity seemed excited, surprising Jane so much.

  When they arrived in town and the driver drew the carriage up just a short distance from the tearooms, Jane felt her heart beating and her mouth going dry.

  “Now that we are here, I am a little nervous,” she said breathlessly. “Do you really think he is in there waiting for us?”

  “I do not know,” Verity said. “Perhaps he is not there. After all, he said that Mrs. Deary has her instructions. Perhaps he does not mean to be there at all. But you must not be disappointed either way, Jane. Just accept it all as it comes in all its wonder. If nothing else, it is an adventure. It is romantic and exciting but is it not also fun and amusing?”

  “Yes, I suppose it is,” Jane said, and finally reached out for the driver’s hand and stepped down from the carriage.

  There were very few patrons in the tearoom at such an early hour and Jane’s heart leaped when she saw Mrs. Deary’s look of excitement. No doubt that good woman really did know everything.

  “Good morning, Miss Colchester,” she said to Jane, smiling brightly. “And Miss Colchester.” She turned to Verity.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Deary.” Jane looked at her a little quizzically, not really knowing how to continue.

  “Well, do take a seat the both of you. I already have an order set out and paid for,” Mrs. Deary said with a smile and disappeared.

  “Goodness, are we to eat?” Verity said quizzically.

  “I think we are,” Jane replied. “But as you said, we must go along with it, for it is an adventure.”

  “Here we are,” Mrs. Deary said when she reappeared carrying a tray. “Tea, coffee, and my finest Chelsea buns,” she said with a flourish.

  “Oh, Chelsea buns!” Jane said excitedly. “Oh, but I am at sixes and sevens and wonder if I will even manage them.”

  “If you do not manage to eat them, my dear, I will box them so that you might take them for later,” Mrs. Deary said.

  “Oh, thank you, Mrs. Deary,” Jane said and then remembered herself. “But I am forgetting, you know exactly who has laid on this wonderful treat for us.”

  “Indeed, I do, Miss Colchester,” Mrs. Deary said with an air of mischief. “But I am afraid that I am sworn to secrecy,” she said somewhat tantalizingly.

  “Then how am I to know who he is?” Jane said, looking a little desperately from Mrs. Deary to Verity and back again.

  “Perhaps things will be a little clearer when you read this. I do not know, of course, for I do not know what is inside it. But he left it here for you and asked that I would deliver it,” Mrs. Deary said and pulled another sealed letter from the pocket of her heavy white apron.

  “Oh, my goodness,” Jane said and looked at Verity with excitement.

  “Come on then, read it,” Verity said the moment Mrs. Deary had discreetly made herself scarce.

  “My dearest Jane,

  I do hope you are enjoying the little treat and that you are not too disappointed to receive Chelsea buns from me for a second time. But still, it is all part of the treasure hunt and a way of bringing you from one point to another. A little sugary sustenance and a few raisins can only help, surely?

  Anyway, when you have relaxed for long enough to enjoy the little meal, I would beg that you attend the flower shop on Buxton Street and present yourself to the proprietor. Just give him your name and the next part of the mystery will become clear.

  With all my love.”

  “Goodness me, it really is a treasure hunt,” Verity said, her wide-eyed astonishment strangely satisfying to Jane.

  “This mystery man really is a mystery, i
s he not?” Jane said and finally reached for one of the Chelsea buns.

  “He is.”

  “And this man is a true romantic, is he not?”

  “I would say he is the very best, my dear,” Verity agreed.

  “Then let us hurry up with our meal and hasten to Buxton Street. I cannot wait to see what happens next.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Jane and Verity walked to Buxton Street rather than have their father’s driver make such a short journey. They walked arm in arm, subconsciously moving faster and faster with every step.

  “If we do not control ourselves, we shall be running, Jane,” Verity said with a little pant to adequately describe her mild exhaustion.

  “Oh yes, of course.” Jane slowed her pace gratefully, despite the fact she was still in a desperate hurry to arrive at the flower seller’s stall.

  “I can see it. The stall is in sight,” Verity said unnecessarily. “No, please do not speed up, I am gasping for air as it is.”

  “Forgive me,” Jane said, her face pink from exertion and excitement. “But I can hardly wait to get there.”

  As they made their ungainly approach, it was clear that the flower seller had been expecting them. He was smiling with amusement as they breathlessly presented themselves to him and Jane gave her name.

  “Good morning, Sir,” Jane croaked before clearing her throat. “My name is Miss Jane Colchester and I wonder if you have a message for me.” Even as she spoke the words, Jane felt herself a little ridiculous.

  “I do indeed have something for you, Miss Colchester,” he said and took a sealed letter from the inside pocket of his coat. “There you go,” he said with a smile.

  “Thank you,” Jane said and hurriedly opened the letter with Verity, so much smaller than Jane, trying to look over her shoulder.