Read Without a Summer for Free Online Page B

a Sir Prescott Worrick. The latter name sounded somewhat familiar, though she could not place it immediately, but the quality of the cards proclaimed them both to be gentlemen. Still, she had trouble applying that honour to them if they were paying a social call to a young woman to whom they had not yet been introduced. It would be quite a different thing if they were known to the family.
    Beneath their cards was one Jane was glad to see. “Oh, we have missed Major Curry. Did he have the opportunity to meet Miss Ellsworth?”
    “No, madam. I told him the family was out, as was proper, with the young lady at home alone.”
    “Quite right…” Although if she were to trust anyone with her sister’s honour, it would be the Major. In fact, it might be worth making an introduction for other reasons. Though not a great match in terms of his situation, in terms of his person, Melody could do far worse than attach the Major. It was something to consider. For the moment, however, Jane needed to turn her attention to the gentlemen now in their home. She handed the cards to Vincent. “Do you know them, my love?”
    “No.” He chewed on his lower lip, frowning.
    “Well, I suppose we should go in. Perhaps they are our neighbours?” Jane examined her reflection in the mirror, as she removed her bonnet, to make certain her mobcap was still straight after the riot. With the cap in place, it was difficult to tell that her mouse-brown hair was cropped like a gentleman’s. She had cut it short the previous summer and kept it so because it had more life that way and was frankly cooler when they were working glamour. It also amused her to see fashionable ladies turn their heads and stare.
    Vincent made a strange grunt. She turned from the mirror to see that he had turned quite pale, with a deep crease between his brows. He held an elegant card of simple cream. The corner of the card had been bent down to indicate that the individual had called, not simply sent a footman.
    “Who is it?”
    “My sister.” He stared at the card, then tossed it on the side table. The cream card slipped along the marble surface, coming to rest against a vase.
    In a clean script, it read L ADY P ENELOPE E SSEX .
    Jane had known he had sisters, of course, though Vincent had called her Penny on the few occasions when he had spoken of her. “The youngest?”
    “Yes.”
    She put a hand on his back, feeling the tension there. “What is it?”
    Vincent sighed, pressing his lips together. “Penny was always my father’s favourite.”
    “Is this a reason for concern?”
    “She would not—without his … I have not heard from her since I left.” He ran his hands through his hair. “I had not looked for her card.”
    Vincent had been born Vincent Hamilton, the third son of the Earl of Verbury. His father had not made his early life anything like easy, and Vincent had been estranged from his family since he had decided to become a professional glamourist. Jane was uncertain which offence his father considered greater: that he worked for a living, or that he worked at glamour, a womanly art. “Do you think your father knows?”
    He shook his head, then shrugged as though he did not even have the resources to hazard a guess. “Shall we go in?” Without waiting for her reply, he strode into the parlour. The lines of Vincent’s back were tight and his carriage stiff.
    Jane followed, wishing she understood fully what about this familial visit upset him.
    *   *   *
    In the parlour, Melody sat in one of the straight-backed chairs by the sofa. She wore a celestial blue day dress that set off her eyes to advantage. A heavy cream wool shawl warded her from some of the chill. Behind her, Betsey presided over the tea tray, but spent most of her time glancing at the two gentlemen who shared the room with them. Jane dismissed her with a nod and the girl bustled out of the room.
    The sofa was occupied by a gentleman of advanced years who had maintained his