Chapter 1

At eighteen Jane Ash fell in love with Edward Wincanton, an ensign in the Royal Navy. The youngest son of a local squire, Wincanton did not seem to Jane's father a suitable match for his only daughter. After some thought, for he was inclined to indulge her, Mr. Ash refused his consent to the match. Jane wept. Ensign Wincanton, his leave up, returned to his ship. Life went on.

Unlike several of her favourite heroines, Jane did not go into a decline, or join the Navy in the guise of a cabin boy, or sit mindless in a ruined tower twining jonquils into her tangled locks. As she was a sensible girl and fond of her father and brothers, she very soon entered again into their ordinary country pursuits. If she occasionally sighed without apparent cause or read the naval news with more eagerness than might have been expected in a female of tender years, her family were careful to take no notice.

In the course of the next six years, the Nation continued their sanguinary struggle with the French, Ensign Wincanton progressed in rank and fortune, and, as might have been expected, Jane continued the even tenor of her ways. She danced and sketched and picnicked and was presented by her aunt, Lady Meriden. She even enjoyed a modestly successful London Season in her aunt's household, and received three very eligible marriage proposals and several ineligible ones. She refused the gentlemen kindly and returned to Walden Ash, older and somewhat wiser, content to play hostess in her father's house. There she was reasonably happy and, indeed, scarcely remembered her first love.

Just after her twenty-fourth birthday, however, Ensign Wincanton--now Captain Wincanton of H.M.S Bonheur and suitably enriched with prize-money--returned to Sussex. Waterloo had brought Europe peace at last, and Captain Wincanton retired. Europe might be at peace. Jane was besieged.

The captain, much bluffer and heartier than the lovesick lad who had vowed eternal devotion to her, had a fancy to settle down to a snug piece of land and the life of a country gentleman. If only his dear Jane--his lodestar, the figurehead of his soul's barque--could be persuaded to keep his little nest for him. At that--he was in her withdrawing room as he said it--he clasped her hand and raised it to his full lips, and Jane made an interesting discovery. He was a very silly man.

Which, as she told her companion Miss Goodnight later, served her well for cherishing romantical daydreams.

"Oh, Jane, do not say so," Miss Goodnight cried. "So handsome a young man and so sincerely attached to you. Six years..."

"But, Goody, he snorts so."

"Jane! Miss Ash!"

"Indeed he does. And I find I don't like a red face and gooseberry eyes--if I ever did. And if he says to me one more time, 'stap me, Miss Jane, you're in high bloom today,' I'll...I'll..."

"Jane!"

"I'll stap him," Jane muttered. "Why Papa must change his mind now! It passes wonder. I shall have to find some means of escape soon. Perhaps I could enter a convent."

Miss Goodnight moaned. A worthy lady--Jane's mother's remote cousin--she had little of her charge's liveliness, but she was kindhearted. Jane did not often mind explaining to her what was serious, what a jest. Now, however, Jane merely shook her head in exasperation and ran off to corner her father. If, as she suspected, he was twitting her, she meant to put a period to his levity. If not...it did not bear thinking on.

She found him inclined to laugh at her.

"Is he not the man you expected him to be, Jane?"

"No! That quarterdeck voice..."

"His manners are perhaps a trifle bluff, my dear, but I find him very good-natured and willing to learn. He was most interested in my mangel-wurzels."

Jane sighed. Her father's agricultural experiments were his obsession, and Captain Wincanton had struck a shrewd blow if he had had the wit to admire them. In general Jane supported her father's efforts to improve his estate and the lot of his tenants, but it is difficult for those not directly concerned to feel enthusiasm for the more exotic root crops. Many a time had Jane's eyes glazed at the mention of mangel-wurzels. She could not help but feel that Captain Wincanton was playing unfairly.

When her father went on to remind her of her advancing age--four-and-twenty, very nearly on the shelf--and, with a meaningful sigh, that he could not wait forever to dandle her children on his knee, she recommended that he dandle young Master Thomas Ash as much as he liked and reminded him that her sister-in-law Joanna was increasing again.

"A daughter-in-law is not a daughter," he said with a look of reproach. Jane began to feel decidedly ill-used.

She bore with Captain Wincanton's attentions as politely as she could--and her father's sighs and her brothers' sly looks--but several weeks of nautical ardour had begun to oppress her naturally lively spirits. One morning, she received a summons from her father to join him at once in the bookroom.

She excused herself from a boring recital of her sister-in-law's latest symptoms and went in to him directly.

"What is it, Papa? If Edward has called again..."

"No. No, it is not that." He looked very grave. A much-crossed letter lay open before him. "My dear, your Aunt Louisa writes that Meriden has died and his heir also--young Harry--within a week of each other."

Jane sat down abruptly. "Oh, my poor aunt. But, sir..."

Her father interrupted her. "There is also some sort of scandal. I cannot have misread...that is, do see if you can decipher this word."

"Deal?" Jane said doubtfully, studying the word at which her father was pointing. "Duet?"

"I believe it must be duel. Harry has been killed in a duel."

"Good God, sir, surely not." But with a sinking feeling, Jane realized that it was altogether too possible. The Honourable Henry had been as wild a buck as Society could boast, causing even his doting stepmama to deplore his rackety ways. Harry dead. Jane could not believe it possible.

Mr. Ash peered again at the crossed lines. "Louisa speaks of the new heir--that will be the second son, the military one--as most disobliging, and she appears to think she will be cast out from Meriden Place with her children. Tsk." He set the letter down. "I do not scruple to say, Jane, that my sister is as hen-witted a woman as it has been my misfortune to know. Her marriage-portion was substantial and tied to her children, so I cannot believe the new baron, however unfeeling, has the power to do any such thing, even if he wished to make a further scandal. No doubt Louisa's nerves are a little overset."

Jane preserved her gravity. Lord Meriden had not been a considerate spouse, but to lose one's husband and a son--even a stepson--at one blow might overset the most stolid of females, and Aunt Louisa was far from moderate in her sensibilities.

"I fear we should go to her at once." Mr. Ash frowned. "I do not like it, but she cannot rely on Meriden's sister."

"Indeed not." Jane shuddered. Lady Brackhurst was parrot-faced and stone-hearted, and the two ladies cordially despised each other. Nevertheless her aunt would need counsel and comfort from some near relation. So many children, too--five in the school-room still, though Maria must soon turn eighteen, and one in leading strings. Only the Honourable Vincent, the youngest stepson, was of age. Horrible.

"I cannot myself stay above a day or so," her father was saying, "but I am afraid your visit may extend for some time. Jane, my dear, I am sorry. Shall you dislike it too much? Perhaps Miss Goodnight..."

"I shall certainly take her, and I shall stay as long as my aunt needs me."

"You are a very good girl," Mr. Ash said affectionately and gave her a hearty kiss. "I don't know how we shall get on without you."

Jane smiled. "I'm sure I don't either, sir. Joanna will order every thing you most dislike for dinner, but truly, Papa, there is nothing else to be done. I shall pack at once."

"Jane?"

"Yes?"

"I had forgot." He looked genuinely troubled. "What of Edward Wincanton?"

Jane's eyes widened, and she was hard put not to burst into laughter. Of course. To be set down in Dorset must put her beyond her importunate suitor's reach.

"Dear Papa, only shew him your new seed drill and I'm sure he will forget that his heart is broken."

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