Lady Jane d'Arc, seventeen years old and only child of Lord and Lady d'Arc, removed her bonnet as she strode through the entry hall of her ancestral home. Although not a cavernous space such as one might find at the estate of the Duke and Duchess of Kippernook it was nicely appointed, with black and white marble tiles laid in a grid across the floor and soft green walls.
To Jane, of course, it was simply home.
She paused by the silver tray which sat on a side table and held the day's mail. There were two letters for her; one from her second cousin Hettie who was honeymooning with her deadly dull new husband in the lakes district and one addressed with an unfamiliar scrawl. Intrigued, she made her way upstairs to read them in the privacy of her room.
The floor creaked almost imperceptibly as Jane set foot on the upstairs landing and her mother's voice rang out immediately.
"Jane, is that you?"
Cringing, Jane rolled her eyes heavenward before poking her head through the door to Lady Adeline's sitting room.
"Hello, Mother."
Lady Adeline was working on her current piece of needlework, but looked up at Jane, her hands not so much as pausing at their task.
"Oh, Jane, look at your hair. What have you been doing?"
Jane reached up to pat her wayward curls. "I was out riding, Mother. I wore my bonnet," she added helpfully, holding said bonnet out for her mother's inspection.
"Riding, Jane? In the middle of the day?" Lady Adeline's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "What are you wearing, Jane?"
Jane cringed. "Mother-"
"Stop hiding behind that door and step into this room immediately!"
Sighing, Jane did as she was bid, closing her eyes as her mother drew in a sharp breath.
"Trousers! Jane! What have you been told-"
"Mother, I stayed on the estate-"
"You could have been seen!"
"No one saw me, Mother."
"This shameless behaviour must stop! You are not a child, Jane."
"Mother . . . ."
"Oh, if we only had the funds to have you finished properly, none of this would happen."
Jane held her tongue and let her mother lament, knowing that to argue would only extend the whole encounter.
"And now I have missed a stitch," Lady Adeline clicked her tongue. "Go and change this instant, Jane. I cannot stand to see you."
Jane bobbed her knees and beat a hasty retreat from the sunlit room.
"Your father will hear about this, and we will discuss it further!" Her mother's recriminations followed her out.
Frustrated, Jane marched down the hallway to her bedroom, slamming the door firmly behind her. She threw her bonnet onto the bed and the two letters tumbled out onto the covers, black ink stark against the crisp paper. She studied them from where she stood, between the bed and the wardrobe. Hettie's familiar dainty hand incited no curiosity, it would be as all of her previous missives had been, a series of lines about the beautiful scenery, nauseating repetitions of witty things Dear Henry had said, and less-than-subtle suggestions that it was time for Jane to join the ranks of the matrimonially blessed. But that bold black scrawl on the other hand was totally unknown to Jane, and the contents that lay within were a mystery.
With an impatient wave of her hand towards the wardrobe, Jane dove onto the bed, gathering up the mystery letter and opening it with haste.
"Lady Jane d'Arc,
You may recall having met me during the ball held at Kippernia Hall by the Duke and Duchess of Kippernook. During my brief time in your presence you made your feelings known on several subjects, upon all of which you were in grievous error. Although your ignorance caused no harm to me, I feel that a young lady such as yourself must be made aware without delay lest she offend the type of gentleman she sought to impress. Thus you will find in the following several corrections and a guide to help your behaviour at future events . . . ."
Jane lowered the letter, her mouth opening and closing in disbelief. She re-read the opening paragraph, certain she must have been dreaming, but no, there lay the words, as bold as brass and twice as offensive.
Who in the world would ever write such a thing?
Her heart pounding as her outrage grew, Jane turned the page over, seeking the signature of the person who had so thoroughly attacked her character in just a few lines.
". . . I understand that your embarrassment should prevent any response, and so I will accept your gratitude without you needing to send it. However, if you cannot go without writing a few lines, you may send it to our London office and it will be forwarded to me with any other correspondence.
Regards, Mr. Gunther Breech."
Jane crumpled the letter into a ball and threw it across the room with a wordless scream.
"How dare he! How dare that, that bog-headed man write such a thing to me!"
Throwing herself off the bed, she ran to the balled up letter and stomped on it, before picking it up and throwing it again.
Oh yes, she remembered meeting Mr. Breech at the ball, not two weeks past. He was there due only to the kind heart of the Duchess, who doubtless had no idea how wretched her guest Mr. Breech truly was. The only son of the vile Magnus Breech, he carried on his tainted family name as though he had nothing to be ashamed of in the slightest.
Seldom seen in polite company, Gunther Breech was usually at sea carrying out his father's business. His visits home were few and far between, although not at all few enough for Jane's tastes in that moment.
So the man had attended a ball, and not been entirely unbearable to look at, and that led him to think he could write such a letter to a fellow guest?
"That pig!" she seethed. "That slimy, fish-breathed, ignorant . . ."
She paced back and forth, kicking the letter whenever it crossed her path.
"Oh, I absolutely shall write to express my gratitude, you frog-faced buffoon!"
Pulling out the paper, pen and ink she kept in the desk in her room, she sat down and prepared to compose her reply, although she had to take several breaths to still her shaking hands before putting pen to paper.
"Mr. Breech,
How unusual it is in this modern world to meet a man who remains untouched by the social conventions by which good society is governed! How liberating it must feel to believe that your opinions on all things must be heard, and that they will be gladly received wherever they are sent.
All credit must go to the education given to a man in your position, in comparison to the education I myself have received. Rarely do I pause to give thanks for the precious knowledge that has been imparted on me in the subjects of polite and acceptable behaviour, but today has been such a day.
I must thank you, Mr. Breech, for casting in sharp relief the many benefits my station in life grants me.
I hope this letter finds you well advanced on your journey to a distant country, and that there are not too many sharks.
Politely,
Lady Jane d'Arc."
Jane blotted the paper firmly before folding the letter, sealing and addressing it to Mr. Gunther Breech, care of the London Office of the Breech Shipping Company.
She then stood, tipping her chair over in her haste, and marched the letter into the hallway and down the stairs, placing it onto the tray with several of her father's outgoing missives.
Let that despicable man answer to that! she thought, spinning on her heel in satisfaction to return to her room.
"Jane dear, there you are!" her father called, and Jane turned to see that his office door was ajar.
Frozen in place she looked down, realising that she had forgotten to change her clothes. "Bother," she muttered.
"What was that, dear?"
"Nothing, Father," she sighed, stepping into his office.
Lord Milton d'Arc looked up at her from his ledgers, numbers collected in neat rows across the pages where they might well have been another language for all the sense they made to Jane.
"Jane," he said with a deep sigh. "Your mother . . ."
"I know, Father," said Jane contritely, knowing how much her dear father suffered when Lady Adeline was upset.
"Good girl," Milton stood and walked around his desk to press a kiss to her forehead. "Now go and change before dinner."
"Yes Father," Jane smiled at him, pausing in her exit to select a book from the shelves lining the walls. "Thank you, Father!"
A good-natured huff was his only response.
She was halfway back up the staircase when the front door swung open, and Jane peered over her shoulder, dreading a second dose of her mother's wrath. To her relief it was only her companion Pepper.
She walked into the house with a dreamy smile on her face, which quickly faded when she caught sight of Jane.
"What are you wearing?" she hissed, hurrying over. "Your mother!"
"I know, I know," said Jane impatiently. "Come along while I change and tell me about your visit to the Gardeners."
She took hold of Pepper's arm and nearly dragged her the rest of the way to her room.
"The Gardeners are all very well," said Pepper primly when they were safely inside. "The children were all on their best behaviour, and Mrs. Gardener said to thank Lady d'Ark very kindly for the honey."
"How nice," said Jane drily. "And Drake Gardener? I am particularly interested to hear about him."
She grinned widely at the blush that bloomed over Pepper's face. Drake was the eldest son of the widowed Mrs. Gardener, and ran the family farm. He was an honest, hard working man and had taken a pointed, if bashful, interest in Pepper.
"Mr Gardener looked to be very well, although he was very busy tending to his turnips," Pepper reported earnestly, growing irritated as Jane began to snort with laughter.
"I do not see what is so funny about that!" she snapped defensively, her hands settling on her hips.
"Oh, Pepper, I am sorry," Jane wiped a tear of amusement from her face. "I simply don't understand how turnips could possibly be more distracting to Drake Gardener than having my own dear Verbena Salter in his home."
"Well, if you must know, he sat and took tea with us for a suitable amount of time," Pepper replied defensively.
"Oh, well as long as it was suitable."
"Jane-"
"Come and help me choose a dress for dinner," Jane implored, changing the subject before she burst into another fit of laughter. "Otherwise I fear Mother will not allow either Father or I to survive the meal."
Pepper swung open the wardrobe doors with a good-natured sigh, and Jane sat on her bed and watched her comb through the dresses therein.
For as long as she could remember, Pepper had been by her side. The daughter of a good but poor family, she had been chosen to keep Jane company in childhood. In exchange she had received the education her own family could never afford. She had become far more than a companion or even a friend to Jane, who regarded her as the sister she never had.
"Ah ha!" exclaimed Pepper, making her selection.
Jane stood up to take the dress and noticed the balled-up letter from Gunther Breech on her bedroom floor. Not wanting to upset Pepper with its contents, she quickly kicked it under the bed.
Life continued on in its usual way for well over a month until the morning that Jane returned from her walk to hear her Father calling from his study.
"There's a letter for you, Jane."
Untying her bonnet, she made her way to the dish, where a single letter sat waiting, addressed to her in a thick hand.
Her fingers froze their worrying at a stubborn knot as she stared at the letter.
"Surely not . . ." she said.
"What was that, dear?" called out Lord Milton.
"Nothing, Father," Jane replied distractedly, snatching up the letter and tearing it open, her bonnet still sitting in place on her head as she wandered towards her room, reading as she went.
"Lady Jane d'Arc.
This letter finds its way to you from Spain, where I gladly reassure you that the sharks are of little bother.
The introspection shown in your previous letter has impressed me greatly. Seldom do I see such self-reflection from members of your social standing.
It is true as you say, the difference in our education has been quite vast. I have been equipped for a valuable and productive life spent furthering the economic growth of our great nation.
You will sit quietly at the home of your parents until a man of suitable means comes to claim you.
Thus I must acquiesce to your greater knowledge on the subject of how one unmarried but hopeful lady ought to behave when released upon society.
I am sure that, in due course, an appropriately wealthy man with an acceptable title will whisk you away to join him in his grand and hollow-halled mansion.
I hope you find nothing but satisfaction during the not insignificant wait that lies ahead.
With due regard, Mr. Gunther Breech."
Jane nearly walked into her closed bedroom door, saved only by the peak of her bonnet connecting with the wood. She reached for the handle automatically, re-reading the letter as she entered the room.
How could one man write such infuriating letters? Was he born with the talent, or had he come to it with practice? Was she not the only victim of his written harassment?
How dare he make such absurd assumptions about her?
Resolutely she sat at her desk, propping the letter up in front of her so that she could most accurately refute each point.
"Mr. Breech,
It appears that you are indeed ignorant to any and all of the manners with which gentlemen comport themselves.
This is, as you say, the result of your mercenary upbringing, which placed such value on money, the acquisition of which must continue to be your greatest motivation in life. I do hope you will find the memory of amassing your fortune comforting when you reach your declining years and face them in solitude.
My beloved parents of course will have me to care for them in their dotage, as I will gladly remain with them in our perfectly comfortable home. Indeed, I should not know what to do with myself in a larger house. I am so often outdoors now that I can think of nothing worse than an increased distance to the door. Why would I seek to spend half of my daily walk traversing hallways when I could be enjoying the sunshine and fresh air?
Certainly, if I were in your position to travel the world, Mr. Breech, money and large houses would be furthest from my mind. Spain sounds a wonderful place, even if it does disappoint with its lack of sharks. I would much prefer to explore such a far away place than to marry even the wealthiest of kings.
How terribly sad for you that your upbringing has left you unable to appreciate your good fortune.
With equal regard,
Lady Jane d'Arc."
Jane sealed and addressed the letter before depositing it amongst her father's several business notes and her mother's letter to distant family in Liverpool. Then, bonnet still on her head, she marched outside for another brisk walk.
The next response came as less of a surprise, some months later, although it was not received with any joy.
Upon reading the opening lines, which set to admonishing her lack of foresight when it came to matters of finance, and mentioning that even if alone in his old age, Gunther Breech would have the means to keep his grand house warm and stocked with servants, but life would be harder for a spinster whose family is widely rumoured to have little resources left, Jane tossed the letter aside, resolving to neither read nor reply.
It sat where it landed for two entire days before she snatched it back up, finished reading it and then sat to pen her reply.
Thus commenced a correspondence between the two, with letters slowly finding their way across the seas before being delivered to their targets, all scathing pretence of concern and thinly veiled insults at first, although with time their contents began to mellow somewhat and the exchange of scornful lines eased.
"To Lady Jane,
With gratitude I report that I do not suffer terribly from sea sickness as your cousin does, although I expect you will be saddened to hear it.
Just last night we sailed through a storm that thrashed us from side-to-side, but all of my men bore it well.
We expect to make port in several days where I must meet with a great number of merchants to discuss silks and spices. The heat becomes more oppressive as we draw nearer to land, without the sea breeze it will be nearly unbearable. It is enough to make me long for the rolling hills of home . . ."
"To Mr. Breech,
The rolling hills of home are currently muddy and grey, with rain for weeks. A little oppressive heat might make for a delightful change. I have been unable to take a good walk all month and am growing weary of being pent up at home, where Mother insists I work on my embroidery. I can barely write to you now for needle pricks in my fingers . . ."
"Dear Lady Jane,
. . . I met a fellow in the marketplace who had passed through London not six months ago. It is a joy to hear recent news of the motherland, and between his conversation and your letters I feel quite up-to-date . . ."
"Dear Mr. Breech,
. . . The church picnic was terribly dull, redeemed only by Mrs. Travers' cream puffs, of which I ate two and a third on your behalf. It was light and fluffy with a perfect dollop of cream and was much enjoyed . . ."
Gunther's letters came rarely but were written over great lengths of time, and totalled sometimes dozens of pages by the time they were sent. Jane could pour over them for days, savouring the descriptions of far away places and exotic people, thrilling at the tales of adventure on the high seas even as they filled her with envy.
Sometimes his letters were interspersed with more solemn tales, written, it seemed to Jane, in moments of quiet contemplation, when his spirits were low. These were thrilling to Jane, too, although she could not say quite why.
"Dear Jane,
We lost a man today, a Mr. Thomas Gregson. He fell from the rigging and broke the bone in one leg. It had to be removed but he did not survive the procedure. He was a good man, honest, quiet and hard working.
I have already written a letter to his widow and children, and a report for my father. Now I write to you, as a salve for my weary soul.
Three letters I must post, two to be received in sorrow and disappointment, and the third which I hope you are pleased to find waiting for you when it arrives.
It is days like this I find myself longing most to return home, to walk on the soft green grass and hear the small birds at work in the trees. The Gardeners' cows must be calving now, I used to like to watching the calves playing when I was a boy.
One seldom sees new life at sea . . ."
Jane for her part found herself writing once a week, although she knew her letters must arrive all at once when a ship from London crossed paths with a ship that crossed paths with a ship that was sailing to wherever Gunther was. She took to numbering the envelopes so that he could read them in order.
"Dear Mr. Breech,
On my walk today I took note of every detail, as instructed.
The grass is as soft as a cushion underfoot, and the early morning dew gathers on my boots and drips off with each step.
Birds are busily feeding their young, the cacophony of crying babies as you walk through the avenue of willows beside Kippernia Estate is nearly enough to drown out all other noise . . ."
"Dear Jane,
My Father has purchased a sizeable estate, although no doubt you knew of this before I did, if the rumour mill at home is working as well as usual.
You once told me that the home you share with your parents is the perfect size, and that you would not know what to do in a large house.
I wonder what I, his only son, am to do when I inherit this monstrous building. I shall rattle through its rooms like a single dried pea in a barrel. Or perhaps I shall invite all of my shipmates, and let them sing sea shanties through the halls.
My Father longs to join the ranks of the Honourable Country Gentleman, although he has no understanding of farming, (or of honour if I am to be honest,) and will soon grow bored and irritable without the distractions of city life.
His ambition for me is to marry a woman with a title my sons can inherit, and raise the Breech family standing.
I am left to wonder what woman in her right mind would want to marry a man who is never at home? Or perhaps that is the dream of every woman, to see her husband only once every year or two, and be left undisturbed the remainder of the time?
But then, such a marriage holds no appeal to me. No good and honest woman would want to live as I do, nor should she. It is a difficult existence, for all of its novelty and excitement.
I will continue this later; I am turning twenty today and the men want to celebrate . . ."
"Dear Gunther Breech,
Tonight was the annual ball at the Duke and Duchess' and I had a most wonderful time. I may have had just a little too much to drink but shush, you mustn't tell Mother. I feel I did a very good job of sitting upright on the carriage ride home and did not give myself away at all.
Your letters to me are always so honest Mr. Gunther that I have resolved to do the same and write whatever comes to my mind.
It is currently very very early tomorrow morning.
It has been a whole year since I first offended you. Goodness! How quickly that went. I am now eighteen and Mother is very determined to find me a match.
What a ghastly thought.
I would rather do as you do, Mr. Gunther. I am very partial to wearing trousers. I do not want to be a dried pea either.
Pepper will leave me soon. Drake Gardener was at the ball tonight because the Duchess is so good and kind and he danced with her three times (with Pepper, not the Duchess.) Everyone was talking about them and the way they look at each other.
I do not want to let her go, Mr. Gunther Breech. I want her to keep me company but I cannot keep her from her happiness. She deserves to be the mistress of her own home instead of the guest in someone else's. She will not be a dried pea in that dear little farmhouse, though.
And so I will be alone for the rest of my life.
There was a new face at the ball, a Mr. Jethro Smith. He was very agreeable and danced with me twice.
I think I will go to sleep now.
Jane."
"Dear Lady Jane,
I recall perfectly attending the ball at Kippernook Estate. To think it was over a year ago now.
I distinctly remember you. You were wearing a pale green dress with pearls in your hair. You did not offend me so terribly, although you talked a lot about your opinions. I wanted to talk to you but I did not think you would want me to, so instead I wrote you a letter before I set sail from London.
It was a terrible letter.
I did not see you dance last year. Will Mr. Smith be in the area very long?
I recently met a woman who wore not only trousers but tall boots and a shirt and vest. I spent many hours in her company and despite her manner of dress I did not forget at all that she was a woman, and a most charming one at that.
Until we met I thought it would be most unsuitable for a woman to dress as she does, but now I do not.
She sings most pleasantly as well, and enchanted the entire ship with her performance of . . ."
Jane sat the letter aside and pinched the bridge of her nose. Something about it irritated her, although she was in an altogether irritable mood.
Pepper's wedding was to be held in a few short weeks and both Pepper and Lady Adeline were in a frenzy over dresses and flowers. Jane was longing for it all to be over, even if it meant that Pepper would then be living a half-hour walk away.
She sat at her desk and picked up her pen, but found herself unable to write.
She did not want to write to Gunther Breech.
Let him go listen to the wonderful singing of his new lady friend.
Jane huffed at a stray lock of hair. If Gunther Breech could see her now he would not want to write to her, either. No pale green dress, no pearls in her hair, just a grumpy Jane who had run out of new books.
She stood again and walked to her widow, unlatching it to breathe in the afternoon air and glower at the world outside. A wayward breeze scooped up the discarded letter and dropped it on the floor.
Sighing, Jane picked it up and carried it to her bed, where she flopped ungracefully to finish reading. She had run out of books after all.
"Dear Lady Jane d'Arc,
Is that still your name?
I believe you must be congratulated, so please allow me to express my best wishes to you, although I am undoubtedly the last to do so.
My Father recently wrote, and mentioned that there was a wedding at your family home. I expect this is why I have not heard from you in some time.
I will soon be passing close to England and had thoughts of coming home, but I have a great deal of work still to do, so I think it will be best if I continue my journey.
Did you marry Mr. Smith?
Whoever he is, I hope he appreciates his good fortune, and never allows you to become a dried pea.
My most sincere wishes to you for a long and happy life, Jane.
With warmest regards, Gunther Breech.
P.S. Your letters to me have been my greatest comfort during my time away. I understand that as a married woman you cannot continue to keep up with writing to me. I am grateful for every word you have sent. -G."
Jane stared at the letter, torn between amusement and mortification.
Gunther thought she was married?
Gunther thought she was married to Jethro Smith?
Gunther was almost going to return home and now he wasn't?
She raised a shaking hand to her mouth.
Gunther wasn't coming home because he thought she was married?
How had this happened? Pepper's wedding had been almost two months ago and, yes, it was true that she had not written to Gunther in some time. The wedding had been all-consuming for the household with Lady Adeline getting completely carried away, and then there had been the matter of Pepper moving out, which had left Jane feeling very down. She had not been in the mood to write to anyone after that.
Had she even mentioned the wedding in her last letter to Gunther? Jane racked her brain but could not recall sharing the news.
A new letter from Gunther had just arrived two days ago and Jane had begun composing her reply when this second, absurd one appeared.
She had been surprised to find it that afternoon when she returned from a visit to Pepper's. She had never received two from Gunther in one week before.
Jane checked the letter. It was dated three weeks ago. Even if she wrote at once Gunther would not get it in time. He would pass by England and not come home.
All of Jane's confusion and amusement fled at the thought.
She could write to Gunther and clear the matter up. She could apologise for neglecting to write him sooner. She could go back to exchanging letters with him.
But he would not be coming home.
Tears stung at her eyes and Jane pressed the heels of her hands against them, startled.
What did she care? Things would go on as normal, all she had to do was write him a quick letter.
But normal was one thing, and Gunther almost coming home was quite another.
"Oh, Jane," she moaned. "What have you done?"
Early morning light spilled over the ground as Jane walked aimlessly across it.
She had sat up late the night before writing her reply to Gunther, clarifying that it was not her wedding at all, but Pepper's, and that she certainly was not married to Jethro Smith, who was a nice enough man but towards whom she felt none of the sort of affection that would persuade her to join him in matrimony.
She had spent hours searching for the right words for what was supposed to be a simple, short letter.
But it was not a simple, short letter. Jane wanted to tell Gunther just how much his letters had meant to her, too. She had kept them all, even the very first crumpled and battered one. They lived in a hat box in her wardrobe and she regularly reread each one, to experience again and again the adventure he had taken her on.
For Gunther Breech had expanded her horizons. Jane now knew about places she had never even heard of before, people she had never met and customs she might never have encountered without his words. He had opened the world up to Jane in a way no book ever could, had told her things that would have made her mother swoon, and had made her hungry to learn more.
And in doing so Gunther had revealed himself to be, not the monster she had assumed he would, but a good and kind man. An honest, and hard working gentleman.
And then Jane had paused, and set down her pen.
She had fallen in love with Gunther Breech.
The thought made her stomach churn even as it brought a smile to her face.
"You fool," she had berated herself, although she could not stop smiling.
She went to bed, determined to finish the letter in the morning and send it off immediately, but found herself unable to sleep.
After tossing and turning all night she rose before dawn, tucked her nightdress into a pair of trousers, pulled on a jacket and set out for a walk. Her hair was a wild, tangled mess that had not seen a brush and tiny droplets of the early morning mist were gathering along the strands, but Jane did not mind.
Whenever she needed to clear her head nothing worked like a morning walk.
She had no direction in mind but simply to walk, although perhaps she would stop at Pepper's eventually. She needed to talk to her friend.
The first bird of the morning sang out shrilly, startling her. Soon the sun would rise fully and Jane would no longer be alone in the world. She changed direction and began towards an oak-lined avenue, where she would at least have privacy. She was not in the mood for company just yet.
She was halfway along the avenue when she noticed another figure walking towards her through the fog. Determined not to be disturbed, she lowered her head and continued on.
The other person passed her in silence and Jane exhaled softly in relief.
Too soon, it seemed.
"Jane?"
She froze and considered ignoring him, but slowly turned to see the man who had stopped and was staring at her.
"Is that you?" he asked in disbelief.
Jane blinked, confusion leaving her mute.
"How can this be? What are you doing out here?" He stepped towards her.
Gunther Breech.
Jane could not believe her eyes as she took in the sight of him for the first time in almost two years. Was he taller? He seemed taller, and he wasn't dressed for a ball, with his hair hanging loose around his face and his shirt untucked, but it was him, and his face. Oh, his face. How had she not noticed his wonderful face?
Jane supposed she looked a mess but all she could do was stare as he studied her in return.
"Gunther," she said, eventually.
"Jane," he said again, shaking his head as though to break through a fog. "I cannot believe it! Are you well?" He reached towards her and then hesitated, before raising one hand to the back of his head instead.
"I wanted to, uh, congratulate you, Jane. Did you get my letter? Never mind, it does not matter. Are you happy,Lady Jane?"
Now it was Jane's turn to break the spell of surprise with a quick shake of her head.
"You said you were not coming home," she said accusingly.
"Oh, you did get it, then," he mumbled. "Did I say that?"
"Yes! I thought I wasn't going to see you for years!"
"Why would you want to see me? You're married!" Gunther's voice rose in reply.
"No I am not, you ridiculous man!" Jane couldn't help stomping her foot as she spoke. How could he go wandering around the countryside, interrupting her walk, believing such nonsense?
Gunther, for his part, looked as though she had struck him.
"You are not?" he asked, his voice quiet.
"No! That was Pepper! I would never marry Jethro Smith! The very idea-"
"You are not married?" Gunther asked again.
Jane put her hands on her hips in exasperation.
"Gunther Breech, has all that salt air made you simple? What are you doing here?"
Gunther blinked at her outburst, indignation on his face.
"I just wanted to make sure," he said, eventually. "I needed to know for certain that you were . . . but you are not? You are certain?"
"Quite certain," said Jane in exasperation, before her expression softened. "I started writing you a letter, to explain. It was all just a misunderstanding. It is at home, I can give it to you, if you would like?" She trailed off as she realised how absurd it was to offer a letter to a man who stood in front of her and could simply be told.
"Actually, I, uh, have a letter for you, too," Gunther reached into his jacket pocket and drew it out.
It was much slimmer than his usual letters, and very battered. Jane watched as he smoothed the creases.
"I have had it for a while," he admitted, embarrassed. "You do not have to read it," he added hurriedly. "At least not right now."
"Gunther, please." Jane held out her hand. "I want to."
Seemingly encouraged by her words, he handed her the slip of paper.
Jane ran her thumb over her name written in his familiar bold writing.
Jane.
She broke the seal as Gunther cleared his throat nervously.
"We should continue walking," he suggested, and Jane fell into step beside him as she began reading.
"Dearest Jane,
With each letter I write to you I feel that I have given a small piece of myself into your care, and it has never come back. Through my letters I have become, in no small way, yours.
This letter confers to you that one piece which I thought I had guarded so carefully that no one could take it. What a fool I have been!
Those few words from my Father; "lately a wedding has been held at the d'Arc Manor," taught me most cruelly that you have long been in possession of my heart, Jane.
Why must I realise this too late?
I love you, my Jane.
From the first moment I saw you, I did not know it, but I felt it. I could not go on then without writing to you, and I cannot go on now without telling you.
I love you.
I am yours,
Gunther."
Jane stared at the paper long after she finished reading the words. She read the letter again as Gunther guided her gently by the elbow around obstacles in their path. She read it a third time as birds began flying overhead.
"You love me?" she said at last, stopping Gunther in his tracks.
"You doubt it?" he asked, his expression pained.
"No," replied Jane, before pressing the letter to her chest. "And yet I cannot believe it! I have been so horrible to you!"
"And I to you," Gunther reminded her.
"But what of the wonderful woman you met who wore trousers and sang?"
"Genevieve?" He looked at her in confusion. "She is forty-five years old with six children!"
"Oh," said Jane.
Gunther dragged a hand through his hair. "Do you mean to tell me that while I was sick with worrying about Mr. Smith, you were here worrying about Genevieve?" He took hold of Jane's shoulders. "Jane, tell me, does that mean . . . ?"
Jane nodded, unable to look up, instead staring down at the letter still clutched to her chest.
"Jane, look at me, please," Gunther implored.
She lifted her head to meet his eyes, and took in his hopeful expression.
"I love you, Gunther Breech," she admitted, her whole face creasing into a smile as he threw his head back and shouted for joy.
She joined his laughter as he scooped her into his arms and spun them both around, the precious letter still crushed against Jane's chest.
Eventually they became still and he lowered Jane back to the ground, one arm holding her as the other hand rose hesitantly to cup her cheek.
Freeing one of her hands from between them Jane grasped his jacket collar and pulled, rising up on her toes to press her mouth to his.
It was the first of many, many kisses.