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in her mother’s hand, each of them speaking of some party she really must attend or an exhibition she must see. Her mother intended to visit her the day after she arrived and she was to come to dinner that evening and bring the delightful young woman she’d invited as her guest.
    Laying aside her mother’s letters, Jane opened some of the others. Most, as her housekeeper had guessed, were invitations to dances, masques, picnics, dinner and a grand ball. If she tried to attend them all, and this was the tip of the iceberg because as soon as it was known she was in town the invitations would pour in, she would need to attend three affairs in an evening so as not to offend the eager hostesses.
    Picking up a neat cream-coloured envelope addressed to Lady March in a hand she did not recognise, Jane slit the seal and took out the piece of paper inside. She frowned as she read the few lines written on the single sheet.
    Madam, Lady March,
    Forgive me for writing when you do not know me, but I have been informed that my ward, Miss Amelia Bellingham, is to stay with you in town. I would ask that you let me know when it is convenient to call on you both.
    Yours sincerely,
    Paul Frant.
    Brief and to the point, not particularly friendly, Jane thought as she scanned the lines again. She had not been aware that there was any other guardian than Mrs Bellingham. As Melia’s father’s widowed sister-in-law, she would surely be the proper person to have charge of the girl, Jane thought, but obviously Lord Frant—whoever he might be—thought differently.
    It was slightly concerning, because the tone of the letter was distinctly cool. In fact, she would say that he’d been annoyed when he wrote the letter—only yesterday. She wondered if Melia knew of the gentleman and decided to ask when she came down for tea. Meanwhile, she continued to open her letters, discovering two more invitations for balls and one to the theatre from a close friend of her mother’s.
    Major Harte was some years older than Jane, but he had taken a fancy to her the last time she was in London and she’d received more than one proposal from him. As she knew he was a widower with two daughters under fifteen and needed a wife to keep them in order, Jane understood his persistence, but always gave him the same answer. She was not yet ready to remarry...
    She had just finished sorting her letters into piles, those needing replies in one pile and the others in another, when the door opened to admit the housekeeper carrying a tray. Melia followed her in and tea was poured.
    ‘I thought we would dine at home this evening,’ Jane told her. ‘It is the only night we shall be at home, because we are invited out almost every night for our entire stay, and will go from one to the other like bees gathering pollen from flowers.’
    Melia laughed and looked delighted. ‘Could we visit the duchess this afternoon? I do so like your mama, Jane.’
    ‘She informed me that she would be out but would visit us tomorrow afternoon and expected us to dine at night. What we might do is visit my dressmaker and milliner, Melia. I think you might like some new clothes. Your own are pretty, but not quite as stylish as the fashions in town.’
    ‘My aunt gave me fifty pounds, but I’m not sure how many clothes that will buy...’ she said doubtfully and Jane smiled.
    ‘Your aunt told me to have your dressmaking bills sent to her, my love. She would not expect you to spend your pin money on clothes. No, we shall have your measurements taken, and see if there is anything already made up that might fit you with some alteration.’
    ‘Do you think there will be?’ Melia looked anxious. ‘At home it takes ages to have dresses made up.’
    ‘Oh, I am sure Madame François will be able to accommodate us sooner than that,’ Jane assured her. ‘She has many girls working under her and takes no more than a day or so to complete a simple gown—and often there is a half-finished dress from