From London With Loyalty (Highbury Variation Book 2) by Corrie Garrett

Author:Corrie Garrett [Garrett, Corrie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2021-09-30T04:00:00+00:00

{ 16 }

Jane was out in the storm, and the first peal of thunder had sent her cowering under the eaves of the nearest row of town houses.

She’d refrained from crying until then, somehow, but the thunder, and the gush of cold water as she accidentally dashed under drain spout, broke the dam.

It rained on, she tucked her wet hair back up inside her sensible bonnet, and she cried.

Carriages went by, all closed up like clams. Coachmen were hunched on their benches like barnacles on the prow of a ship, hats pulled down, collars up. No one looked at her. There were fewer coaches than usual, just a trickle of private vehicles conveying wealthy patrons to their house or club in comfort.

Most of the foot traffic in the region had dried up at the coming of the storm. One man did walk by on the other side of the street with an umbrella, but he did not look to the right or left.

Jane felt as if she’d strayed into the story of the Good Samaritan, only she was the man traveling to Jericho who’d been beaten and left for dead. And no one who passed her was willing to look or help: they were the priests and the Levites, and she was not worth their attention.

Nor was she! It was her own stupid, spineless fault that she was in this predicament. And she was not precisely beaten and left for dead, though she felt as if she had taken a beating.

She clasped her valise in one hand—it was heavy with her belongings and her few governess dresses. In her other hand she held the strap for her hat box which was packed with more of her personal items, like the brush and comb set from her mother, and the two books she had from her father. It also was heavy.

As she tried to get her tears under control, Jane set them both against the wall, where the pavement was still dry-ish. At least there was not a puddle.

She was not quite drenched, but she was very wet. Even her petticoats felt sodden and stuck to her legs. Her bonnet dripped. Her hands were so cold.

How stupid she had been. To think that she could see Frank Churchill last night! She should have just refused to go downstairs! (But would he have persisted?) Or just tied up the books and told the footman to deliver them. (But would he have played along?) Still, it would have been a resounding no!

Mrs. Hawksley had come home from the party after midnight, and Jane had not seen her until today. Mrs. Hawksley rose late, so it wasn’t until late morning that the horrible truth burst upon her.

She was let go. Sacked. Scuttled. Discharged. Her employment terminated.

Clarissa had looked on, smug. Amanda was shocked, but more in the manner of one watching a melodrama, not as if she cared.

Mrs. Hawksley had been—for her—very harsh. “I do not like to let you go, for I quite dote upon Mrs.

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