I try to mediate between them when I tactfully can, to soften words, but there is much I cannot do. Charles, my mind is so full of doubt! Would that you were here beside me; then I might be at ease for twenty minutes together. I know we are hoping to marry in the summer, six months from now, but witnessing our two friends’ difficulties I wonder whether we might delay our union? Do we know that we won’t fall into the same traps? If there were days when I couldn’t stand the sight of you I don’t know that I could go on living. I can hear your wise words from across England: that Toto and Thomas rushed into marriage; that we have long been friends; that our tempers are quieter than theirs; that our history and upbringing suit us to each other, as well as the content of our minds. Still, I cannot believe that it is right to marry so quickly upon the heels of your wonderful proposal (which I still count the happiest moment of my life, Charles). May we give it a year? Or longer? Please believe that this is written in love. From your own, Jane

At the bottom in a hurried and untidy scrawl she had added: I send this by Graham. Please don’t mistake my doubt for doubt in you, dear one.

Lenox sat in his bed, dumbfounded. What surprised him more than the sentiment of the letter was its wavering fretfulness; for years Lady Jane had been so dependable, the person in his life he knew he could count on should all others desert him. It was out of character. He wondered if there was something more than she confessed to in the letter, to make her feel as she did.

As he was about to read it for a second time, there was a sharp rap at the door, and Hilary came in.

“Good morning, Lenox. Sorry to catch you waking up.”

“Oh-it’s quite all right, James, of course.”

“Your first speech is in forty minutes?”

“That’s right, yes.”

“Do you know what you’re going to say?”