Jane shook her head frantically. “Oh, no. Your event is not tedious.” Terrifying, yes. Tedious, no.
“And yet, you are here,” the woman admonished contemplatively.
And yet, she was here. Her Grace’s words provided Jane the necessary window with which to make her escape.
Except, the duchess glanced about the room, and her earlier amusement and gentle warmth slipped. Concern flooded her eyes as she skimmed her gaze about the room. What brought the hostess away from her own ball?
As though sensing her question, the Duchess of Crawford looked to Jane. “I lost something.” She captured her lower lip between her teeth and worried the flesh. “It was a gift given me by my husband. It was…” The muscles of her throat worked. “is very precious, a treasure worn by others and I’ve gone and lost it.” Ah, so this is what would take the woman away.
The thin chain in Jane’s palms throbbed with warmth and she looked down at her tightly clasped fingers. She unfurled her hand and held the pendant up. “Is this perhaps it, Your Grace?”
The room rang with the woman’s startled gasp. Relief washed over her face as she accepted the delicate necklace. “Thank you so very much,” she said on a reverent whisper. Her gaze caressed the inanimate object with lovingness. “How very odd.” she murmured more to herself. “I’ve heard told the clasp was broken and yet, this evening was the first time I’ve ever been parted with the piece.”
Jane shifted. She’d not known people to look upon even other people with that gentle connectedness. In a rush to fill the awkward silence, she said, “I discovered it by the hearth, Your Grace.” Clearing her throat, she dipped one more curtsy. “If you’ll excuse me. I should return to the ballroom.”
“Wait!” the woman’s soft cry stayed her movements and she turned back, fisting her hands at her side. Of course it was too much to hope the powerful peer would forgive her presence in her library. “You are just married?”
Grief knifed through her. Yes. That was what she was. Married. An obligation. “I was, Your Grace.”
The ghost of a smile danced on the woman’s lips. “Daisy,” the duchess absently corrected her again. She wandered closer to Jane and walked about her in a slow circle, as though taking her in.
Jane stiffened under the unrepentant scrutiny.
Then the woman froze and shifted her attention to the necklace in her hands. She turned it over in her palms, passing it back and forth, repeatedly. “Someone once told me the necklace finds its way to the person who is supposed to possess it.”
Perhaps it was the tumult of her emotions, but she now struggled to follow the woman’s words. She tipped her head. “Your Grace?”
The duchess blinked slowly. “It is meant to go to you.”
Jane searched about in consternation. She wanted to understand the lovely woman. She did. The Duchess of Crawford could have, by all rights, been put out with Jane for her bold commandeering of her room. Yet, she’d not. She spoke with kindness and warmth. “I’m afraid I don’t understand, Your Grace—Daisy,” she corrected at the woman’s pointed glance.
Daisy thrust the metal into her palms and the charge of the hot chain penetrated Jane’s gloves. She gasped at the inexplicable warmth generated by the piece.
The duchess watched her closely. “There is a legend surrounding that necklace. It was given to several friends by an old gypsy woman. She promised the wearer of the pendant would earn the heart of a duke.” There was a wistful quality to her words.
Jane bit the inside of her cheek to keep from saying that she’d long given up on dreams and fairytales. “I do not need the heart of a duke,” she all but spat. “As you see, I am already wedded.” To a man who does not love me. “There will be no l—” She let the words go unfinished. The woman gave her a probing stare. Jane held the long, gold chain out. “I thank you for your offer, but you’ve likely heard the details around my marriage to the marquess.” She wagered she’d be hard-pressed to find a single servant, soldier, or member of polite Society who did not know of those circumstances.