Jane locked her knees. She forced her chin up. Her heart beat a frantic rhythm against her ribs, but she kept her face perfectly blank. She had spent four years practicing the art of showing absolutely nothing to women exactly like this one.
"Henry," the dowager said. Her voice was not loud, but it possessed a carrying metallic edge.
"Mother," Henry replied. He did not bow. He simply inclined his head, his grip on his own walking stick remaining loose and relaxed. "I trust your miraculous recovery from death's door continues to progress smoothly."
The dowager's eyes narrowed slightly, a microscopic tightening of the skin around her eyes. She did not rise to the bait. Instead, she shifted her gaze entirely to Jane. It was not a polite appraisal. It was a forensic examination. The dowager took in the frayed edges of Jane's cloak, the practical but scuffed leather of her half boots, and the utter lack of a maid or chaperone trailing behind her.
"I see you have found yourself astray in the city," the dowager remarked. "I was unaware we were taking in charity cases."
The insult was designed to fluster. It was designed to make Jane blush, stammer, and shrink away in shame. Jane did not shrink. She looked directly into the older woman's gray eyes, eyes so terrifyingly similar to Henry's, and offered a thin, perfectly polite smile.
"If I am a charity case, your grace, I'm afraid your son is a very poor philanthropist," Jane said, her voice steady and clear. "He hasn't even offered to buy me a cup of tea."
A dead silence fell over the small patch of the park. Behind the dowager, one of her nervous companions let out a strangled squeak. Henry coughed. It sounded suspiciously like a laugh masked by a cleared throat.
The Dowager Duchess went perfectly rigid. She stared at Jane, clearly unaccustomed to anyone answering her back, let alone a ruined spinster in a dyed dress.
"You have a sharp tongue," the dowager observed, her tone dropping in temperature. "A dangerous trait for a woman with no obvious consequence."
"A necessity, your grace," Jane countered smoothly. "When one lacks consequence, one must rely on wit. It is significantly cheaper than silk, and it wears much better in the rain."
The older woman's jaw tightened. She tapped her walking stick sharply on the gravel. "You are Lady Lynfield's niece, the penniless one. Your father gambled away the family estate on a horse with a limp."
It was a cruel public gutting. It was the absolute truth aired out in the middle of Hyde Park for the eavesdropping ton to feast upon. Jane felt a cold spike of humiliation lodge in her throat, but she swallowed it down. She refused to let this woman see her bleed.
"He did," Jane agreed. "Though in his defense, the horse had excellent lineage, much like many of the gentlemen in society: prestigious bloodlines, but entirely useless when asked to perform."
Henry turned his head to look at Jane, his eyes alight with a dangerous, blazing approval.
The dowager did not blink. She simply stared at Jane for a long, agonizing minute. The tension in the air was thick enough to choke on. Then, very slowly, a single sharp exhale escaped the older woman's nose.
"She does not simper," the dowager said to Henry, as if Jane were a horse they were evaluating for purchase.
"She does not," Henry agreed. "Her coat is appalling."
"I find it endearing."
"She will be chewed alive at dinner," the dowager stated bluntly.
"I doubt that very much," Henry said.
The dowager turned her attention back to Jane. "My son is hosting a dinner this evening at Ashbourne House, 8:00. Do not wear that coat, and do not bring your aunt."
Before Jane could formulate a response to the whiplash-inducing invitation, the dowager turned on her heel. "Come, Beatrice," she snapped at her companion. "The damp is ruining my hem." She swept away, parting the crowds once more, leaving a stunned silence in her wake.
Jane stood frozen on the gravel path. Her hands were shaking so violently she had to clench them into fists inside her pockets.
"Well," Henry said quietly, his shoulder brushing against hers. "That went significantly better than I anticipated."
Jane turned to him, her eyes wide. "Better? She insulted my dead father, mocked my clothes, and invited me to a dinner where she explicitly hopes I will be eaten alive."
"Yes," Henry said, a genuine smile finally breaking across his face. "She likes you."
"Your family is entirely unhinged."