"Oh, well hit John!" Jane Acton congratulated her elder nephew. He had managed a fine stroke on the cricket ball bowled inexpertly to him by his younger brother. "Before you know it you will be playing at Mr. Lord's new ground. You will impress the Prince Regent himself."

Privately she was thankful that there were no horses about to be startled by the crack of the ball on bat. Few fashionable folk were abroad so early in the day. But for children and their nursemaids or family members the Park was deserted, despite the bright sun and warm breeze. And the cows with their milkmaids were at the opposite end of the preserve.

The threesome admired the swift flight of the ball until it sank and bounced. Their admiration changed to concern as, scarcely slowed, the ball traveled on toward a small fair boy in a dark blue skeleton suit. He was walking across the green velvet of the park's sward with his father and two siblings. His curly head was turned toward his parent a few paces away and he was completely unaware of the danger speeding toward him.

Jane opened her mouth to call a warning even as the child's father saw the peril. Despite the restrictions of a superfine coat undoubtedly tailored by Weston, the gentleman lunged and plucked his son from the path of the hard cricket ball. After a moment's colloquy, he set the child on the ground, and at a word from him the other small boy chased after the ball.

The gentleman, with his children in his train, crossed the lawn of Green Park purposefully. He was a large and most handsome gentleman. Black hair curled over his finely shaped head; his nose was patrician and his jaw strongly boned. His neckcloth was arranged to a nicety and his Hessians well-polished, but there was nothing of the dandy about him. His eyes were a steel grey, alight at this moment with determination.

Jane had no doubt that he had the intention of speaking with her. She sighed as her nephews retired prudently behind her fashionably flounced muslin skirts. He was the last gentleman in the world she wished to see. For she had encountered him yesterday as well. And then, as now, her boisterous nephews had brought danger to the gentleman's three children.

Miss Acton and her nephews had been in Hyde Park the previous morning, sailing Georgy's model ship in the eastern end of the Serpentine. The boat had capsized and sunk and had taken with it the ship of one of the gentleman's sons. With a distressed cry the child had leapt into the water to rescue his boat. With a bitten off expletive, the father had immediately removed his son from the water by reaching out a long arm. Though his streaming clothes had demanded immediate replacement, the little boy had taken no hurt.

Nevertheless the gentleman's comments, as he removed his own coat and wrapped it around his sodden child, had been pithy. He had reproved Jane for the license she allowed her charges, allowing Jane no opportunity for response. She had had no time for explanation in any event, as Georgy had jumped in the water to retrieve his own vessel. By the time she had extracted him and mopped his soaking person with her new shawl, much to its detriment, the small family was walking away.

It was obvious that today the gentleman was again seething. Jane admired the children anew as the little boy sent after the ball ran up. The boys were most obviously twins, much fairer than their father. The little girl was an adorable feminine miniature of her parent, gowned in pink muslin with dark curls peeking from her straw bonnet.

The gentleman began to speak as soon as he was within range. "Madam, if you cannot control your sons' activities, you had much better not bring them to London's parks! It is come to something when a child may not enjoy an outing without danger from uncontrolled youngsters like yours."

This was a piece of injustice that Jane could not let pass. "I apologize for the ball, sir. Indeed, I had no notion that John could bat so well."

He took the ball from his small son and returned it to her even as she spoke.

"But I will not apologize for Georgy and John's high spirits. They are good boys."

The eight year old thus praised preened with satisfaction and Georgy, his younger brother, stuck out his tongue at the twins confronting him.

"Yes, I see that madam," the gentleman said.

Jane, noting the rich irony in his tone, glanced down and saw the extended tongue. She reproved her nephew with a shake of her becomingly bonneted head.

The gentleman, it seemed, had not finished. "Perhaps if you spent more time with your sons, you would know their capabilities a little better, and have them under more control."

"Oh, but they are -- " She tried to explain that the boys were the children of her only sister, not her sons at all.

"I know madam. One's own children are always without fault," he said. He smiled suddenly.

Jane felt a peculiar sensation under her ribs. She suspected it was her heart that had quivered under the onslaught of that charming, rueful smile.

"There is a corner in the north of the park that is particularly suited to cricket," he added. He bent and with the ease of great strength swung his little daughter into his arms. "Good day to you, madam."

As on the previous day, Jane had managed no more than a few words, and those had been strangled and inarticulate. She watched him stride off with his little boys prancing beside him. Her own nephews ran away with their bat and ball, shouting their joy at the freedom of the Park and the delight of the fine late spring day.

She was not usually so tongue-tied. She was a woman of seven and twenty, a resourceful, responsible woman who had for many years cared for her ailing father and overseen his substantial household. That she was in London now was due to her father's death, months earlier, and her elder sister's insistence. Lydia had vowed that once their mourning was ended, Jane should spend the Season with her and her family in their Curzon Street home and see something of Society and the world. When eight months of mourning in the Leicestershire countryside had passed and spring had come, Jane was not loath to do so. She had no expectation that the ton would welcome her with more than indifference. A spinster with no more than moderate good looks and modest fortune could cut no dash in the Prince Regent's London. She wasted no time in regrets over that however, and was enjoying her stay in the town.

The next day but one they saw the gentleman and his three children again in the Green Park but only from a distance. Jane was quite certain that the gentlemen saw them and chose a different direction in response to their presence. Her heart gave a sad ache at the thought of his avoidance. Though she had attended at balls, routs, plays and musicales and met many gentlemen in the past weeks this man, of them all, appealed most to her.

She banished the thought for he was of all men unattainable, devoted as he was to his children and, by inference, to his wife. Most fathers spent no time with their children whatsoever, and that he should spend every morning in his children's entertainment marked him as singular. His wife was indeed fortunate, and Jane hoped he was appreciated as he deserved.

* * *

She dressed for the Coggeshall party the next Friday with no particular degree of enthusiasm. She could not at all recall Lady Coggeshall among the myriad of fashionables to whom she had been introduced. Already the steady diet of society, with no real employment, was beginning to pall upon her. She had not thought of herself as particularly a country-woman, but now she could see that a life spent exclusively in the city would not suit her. She longed to be occupied with tasks of importance and the endless rounds of visiting could not fulfill her. Shopping had been a guilty pleasure, but as her new wardrobe contained some serviceable and useful gowns as well as those purely designed for ornament and pleasure, she was not displeased.

When her maid was dismissed, Jane was more than satisfied with her appearance. Indeed she had not thought she could look half so well as she did now that she had had her soft brown hair expertly cut and dressed. She was particularly delighted with the pomona green silk gown she wore this evening. Its cut she considered both cunning and flattering and the colour found some green lights in her eyes of which she had been hitherto unaware.

Her sister expressed similar thoughts as they took the carriage the short distance to Hill Street, and even her quiet brother-in-law paid her a graceful compliment. Jane was in both good looks and increasingly convivial spirits as they mounted the stairs to be received into the drawing room, which had been cleared for dancing.

Lady Coggeshall stood at the chamber's doorway to greet her guests; Jane recalled her face when confronted with it. She recognized also Lord Coggeshall who stood some little distance away. But between them stood the gentleman from the parks, the black-haired, grey-eyed gentleman who had fluttered her spinsterish heart.

She stiffened her spine and very properly greeted her hostess.

"Delighted to see you again, Miss Acton," Lady Coggeshall said. "And may I present to you my brother, Sir Merric Patrington? He is visiting us, come up from his estate near Yeovil."

Jane was passed to Sir Merric who took her hand with a spark of recognition in his fine grey eyes.

"Miss Acton." He bowed. "It is my pleasure to make your acquaintance."

Behind him his sister was speaking with Jane's. "He's a widower you know. And it is so difficult to convince him to visit us. But this time he has brought the children and come, and we are delighted."

Sir Merric had not released Jane's hand. She was at a loss to know how to regain it, particularly as she did not at all object to his possession of it.

"If you have no further need of me, Margaret, I should like to dance with Miss Acton, if she will do me the honour," Sir Merric spoke over his shoulder to his sister. Then, smiling down at Jane, he cocked a dark brow emphasizing his request for the dance.

"Run along my dear Merric." Lady Coggeshall was exchanging a significant look with Jane's sister but she was unnoticed by Patrington or Jane.

Sir Merric spoke so soon as they moved into the dance. "Miss Acton, how shall I redeem myself? Having accused you of child neglect and impugned your supposed parental honour, I am most grateful that you will dance with me."

"Had I been the boys' parent, I should have warranted your comments," Jane replied when the dance permitted.

"But I gave you no opportunity to admit that you were not their parent, but a doting aunt. Am I not correct?"

"You are. But it was scarcely your fault. Both times your children had been affected, and I can only honour your concern for their well-being."

"You are too kind, I think. And I am sometimes I think too concerned a parent."

"Perhaps that is only natural, as you are their only parent."

They talked throughout the movements of that dance, and Jane could only be sorry when it ended. Her curtsey was impeccable.

He said, "I believe that my sister has arranged for a waltz to be danced shortly, Miss Acton. May I engage your hand for it?"

"I shall be delighted," Jane replied. Her heart leapt at the request, and she could not prevent the sparkle of joy that made her wide eyes dance.

She was conscious of his gaze occasionally upon her through the cotillion that followed and the country-dance that succeeded it. She did not dance them both, but visited with acquaintances around the flower be-decked chamber and sat briefly with her hostess. Lady Coggeshall told her a little more of Sir Merric and his fine estate in Somerset.

When he returned to claim her hand for the waltz, she was already a-quiver with anticipation.

He spoke so soon as they were established in the dance. "Do you like children, Miss Acton? Or were you under duress entertaining your nephews on our disastrous previous encounters? I think you were enjoying their company."

Jane relaxed into his strong arms. She had never felt so at ease with a gentleman before, and never had the waltz flowed so smoothly. She was very aware of Sir Merric's hand at her back, and his subtle direction of their steps. She, who had looked after others for so long, felt cared for, even treasured.

"I do like children, Sir Merric, very much." She could answer with complete honesty. "And although I have only nephews, I must say that your little daughter...?"

"Amelia..."

"Amelia...is a beautiful child, and must be a delight to you."

"She is. But you know, doting parent though I am, I find myself more inclined to talk of other things. You, for instance, and your hopes, and your dreams."

Jane blushed a wild rose blush and lifting her eyes to his handsome face, found herself confiding in him.

***

She no longer blushed in his company, by the time they danced at the Kilburn ball three weeks later. They had met at many social events over the intervening days, and chanced upon each other in company with the children in the parks several times.

"Will you waltz with me, Miss Acton?" Sir Merric bowed before her, elegant in a black coat and knee breeches.

Jane cast a rare, uncertain look at her sister. That lady was however was nodding at her smilingly and so, she saw, was Lady Coggeshall across the chamber. Rain beat upon the windows of the Kilburn mansion, and the many candles, lit to combat the gathering gloom without, flared and muttered.

"Thank you, sir, I should like to waltz," she said.

When they had joined the throng upon the floor, he teased, "Did you not wish to waltz with me Jane?"

"You must not make free of my name, Sir Merric," she responded very properly. "And you must know that I hesitated because this is the third dance for which we have stood up this evening. Your attentions will be thought particular." She stared worriedly at the knowing glances being bestowed upon them.

"I want my attentions to be thought particular, Jane. And I will make free of your name, with your permission. I want you to waltz with no one else."

Tears of happiness welled to Jane's brown eyes, and she blinked them away to savour the moment. He felt as she did, she could not mistake it now, not with him smiling down at her with marked appreciation. She tried to speak but failed.

"I feel like a green youth, Jane. A callow fellow with his first calf love -- not a father of five and thirty with three hopeful children."

"And I am as unseasoned as any miss of eighteen!" She laughed up at him.

He whirled them to a curtain-swagged doorway that led out to a long richly decorated corridor. He no longer danced but kept his arm about her waist, and urged her to a dim secluded corner of an ante-chamber.

"Not a green girl, but charmingly inexperienced." He claimed her lips with his warm, mobile mouth.

She thought surely she must faint from the sheer delight of the kiss, and was bereft when it ended.

He held her a little away from him, and when she sighed with disappointment, he laughed. Then he said, "In a moment, my darling Jane. First I must ask if you will marry me?"

Tears filled her eyes once more.

He said, "I want you to know that I am not seeking a mother for my children. I have not ever had that thought and I do not have it now. I know we have not long acquaintance, but I am very certain that you are essential to my happiness. I want you, Jane, for my friend, my lover, and my wife."

He kissed away the tears and found her mouth again with a passion that stole her breath and kindled an answering ardor.

Then he held her close while tilting up her chin so that he could look into her eyes. "That is not to say that I do not look forward to seeing you with a babe of your own -- mine -- in your arms." His look was heated. Then it became rueful. "And once again, I have given you no opportunity to speak; I hope you will cure me of that fault, Jane."

"I shall," she said on a gurgle of laughter. "And yes, I will marry you, for I love you. And your children." She lifted a gloved hand to his cheek, and stretched up to claim another kiss.