been assured that they are very fresh.’
‘But to buy them in a box like that,’ her aunt said and frowned. ‘So extravagant! A paper twist would have been adequate.’
‘I bought them as a gift for you, to thank you for your generosity towards me,’ Jo said, giving her a straight look. ‘I shall go up and change now.’
‘Do not be long. We have a visitor I particularly want you to meet, Jo.’
Jo nodded, but made no reply. She noticed her aunt staring rather oddly at the box of sweets as she left the room.
As she changed out of her walking dress into a silk afternoon gown in a pale green colour, the skirt flounced but otherwise quite plain apart from a sash of darker green, Jo was thinking about what Ellen had told her concerning Hal Beverley. It seemed that he was an exceedingly generous man—as indeed she had known before, for she believed that his offer to buy her sister the singing bird had been made genuinely and with no thought of reward.
She thought that of late her wicked earl had stepped out of character, and was becoming a true gentleman, for she could no longer write of him as she had in the past, and must think of a way to redeem him in her novel.
The idea of changing her story so radically entertained her thoughts until she went downstairs. She heard voices coming from her aunt’s drawing room and her heart beat rapidly for a moment, wondering if the caller might be Mr Beverley, but as she entered she discovered that their visitor was unknown to her.
‘Ah, Jo, my dear, how delightful you look,’ Aunt Wainwright said. ‘You must come and meet the Reverend Mr Thomas Browne. Sir, this is my niece, Miss Josephine Horne, of whom I have already told you.’
‘Mr Browne,’ Jo said, coming forward. She held out her hand to him and smiled, for she was prepared to be welcoming to anyone who followed her papa’s calling. ‘I am very pleased to meet you, sir.’
‘And I you, Miss Horne. I am a little acquainted with Lady Wainwright, and when I spoke to her of my difficulty, she was kind enough to say that she thought you might be willing to help.’
‘If it is possible,’ Jo replied. ‘But I am not acquainted with your difficulty, sir—in what way would you like me to help you?’
‘Oh, I thought…but no matter. I am holding various fundraising events this coming week, and I need a helper. The lady who was to have performed certain little tasks—helping to make banners, write notices, and assisting with a bring-and-buy stall at the church hall—is unwell and finds herself unable to help as she usually does.’
‘Oh, yes, of course I shall be pleased to help you, Mr Browne—if my aunt permits. I must not neglect her, but otherwise I should enjoy being of assistance to you.’
‘I have said that you may go in the mornings,’ Lady Wainwright told her. ‘You know that I have taken up bathing for the sake of my health. I shall not need you until teatime, Jo. You may wish to visit other friends, of course, but I am sure you can spare two or three mornings this coming week.’
‘Yes, certainly,’ Jo said. She was very accustomed to such tasks and willing to be of service. ‘I shall enjoy it, though on Tuesday mornings I have the debating society, and on Thursdays I visit a friend, as I have today.’
‘What friend is that?’ Lady Wainwright asked. ‘I know it was not Chloe—she was at the Pump Room with her mama and inquired after you.’
‘Mrs Ellen Beverley, Aunt. I told you. She is a widow and I went to her aid her when she was unwell. We have become friends.’ Jo knew that if she told her aunt that Ellen was related by marriage to Lord Beverley her attitude would change completely, but her friend was determined not to trade on her husband’s family and Jo must keep that part of her identity a secret until she was given permission to reveal it.
‘Well, as long as you do not spend all your time with her. We are promised to Mrs Marsham and Chloe this evening. You have not forgotten?’
‘They are holding a card party,’ Jo said. ‘I had not forgotten, Aunt.’
‘Tomorrow is Friday,’ the Reverend Browne said. ‘Perhaps you would come to the church hall at ten—if that is not too early for you?’
‘No, that will do very well,’ Jo said and smiled. She could leave after two or three hours and perhaps call to see Ellen on her way home. ‘I shall enjoy helping you, sir. Please tell me something of your good causes—are they here in Bath or elsewhere?’
‘I have several causes I feel worthy of my attention,’ he replied, giving her a look of approval, for not all young ladies would wish to spend their time helping the poor when they might be enjoying the delights of Bath. ‘I support a home for orphaned children in Bath itself, and similar ones in London—but I also send money to overseas missions, Miss Horne. We must do what we can to educate the heathen and alleviate their ignorance.’
‘And their poverty, I hope, sir? Papa told me that the people live in terrible circumstances in some countries, perhaps even worse than in the slums here.’
‘Ah, yes, I believe your father was also a man of the church, Miss Horne?’
‘Papa was a wonderful man,’ Jo said, her eyes lighting up. ‘He taught all of us that it is our duty to be charitable and caring towards others—and he said that we must see it as a privilege to help them. I am proud to be his daughter.’
‘Ah, yes, a worthy sentiment,’ the Reverend Browne said and beamed with pleasure. ‘I have seldom met a young woman who thinks as deeply as you have on these matters, Miss Horne. It is a delight to have made your acquaintance.’
‘Oh, do not praise me too highly, sir,’ Jo said. ‘I enjoy helping with these things, and therefore it cannot be held a duty.’
If anything, the Reverend looked more approving. However, he abandoned the subject in favour of others, speaking with some intelligence about the political situation, which was quite troublesome for it seemed certain that there must be yet another war with the French. After thirty minutes he took his leave, touching Jo’s hand for a moment as she escorted him to the door and thanking her once again for her promise of help.
‘I am only too glad to be of help,’ Jo said and meant it sincerely, for she liked doing the kind of task that he had asked of her and had often assisted her papa in much the same way. ‘Thank you for calling, sir.’
Jo returned to the drawing room, where her aunt gave her what could only be a look of respect.
‘That was very well done,’ Lady Wainwright said. ‘You showed yourself to be just the sort of gel that a man in his position would wish to know. I am sure that he liked you. If you continue in this way I believe he may make you an offer, for I have it on good authority that he is looking for a wife. It would be just the thing for you, Josephine—and you could hardly expect to look higher. I believe he has a small allowance from his family as well as his stipend, which means he can afford to marry.’
Jo stared at her in disbelief, for her aunt seemed to think that it was a perfect match. ‘I hardly know Mr Browne, Aunt. He seems pleasant enough and speaks well of many things, but I am not certain we should suit one another. Indeed, I do not yet know if I wish to marry anyone.’
‘That is ridiculous! Every gel must marry. It is expected and the only possible future—unless you wish to remain at home for ever?’
‘I should like to be sure that I could be happy in my life, and I do not think that the kind of marriage you envisage would bring me happiness, Aunt. I think that I might find his company tedious if I were obliged to live with him.’
‘How can you possibly know that?’ her aunt demanded, the familiar look of annoyance returning to her face. ‘You said yourself that you do not know him.’
Jo realised her mistake. She could not possibly tell her aunt that she would never marry the Reverend Browne, even if it meant that she remained single all her life. Lady Wainwright would simply become angry,