Chapter 10

10

Twelve days until the wedding…

The next day, Jane sat on one of the two sofas in the room, her back as straight as a plank and her face as tense as a wooden mask despite the pleasant warmth. Sumhall Place’s sunny sitting room smelled of tea, flowers—which stood in the vases on the sideboards and on the large, intricately carved, round table—and something citrusy.

Her cheeks burned as though she sat in direct sunlight. She hadn’t had tea among aristocrats in the past five years, and even though she knew how to behave in polite society, it felt as wrong as pushing herself into too-small clothes.

The Dowager Duchess of Grandhampton and Lady Calliope sat next to each other on the sofa opposite Jane. Lady Calliope, Jane felt instantly, was someone she could understand well, with her intelligent, sharp blue eyes and her kind disposition. In a chair with beautiful carved arms sat the current Duchess of Grandhampton, Penelope, the wife of Richard’s older brother Preston, who stood next to her, leaning his hip against the chair’s back. The duchess was a pretty woman with big blue-gray eyes and hair the color of old gold.

Richard sat in a chair at Jane’s side, so handsome and so proud. His blue eyes were as attentive on her as they had been in Hyde Park.

She recalled how he had brushed his knuckles against her cheek, sending a tingling sensation through her. In that moment, the air had crackled with an unspoken desire, and had she not halted him, their lips would have met, sealing their first kiss. Looking at her like that, he made her head spin and her knees fill with water. He made her forget who she was and what she wanted.

Just like now. He gazed at her as though he really could be her fiancé and as if he truly wanted to kiss her.

He was a rake. He seduced. He charmed. She needed to remind herself often. Yesterday she had told him so much more about herself than she’d wanted to. And he had seemed to listen and understand and not judge her. She’d felt heard, understood, accepted.

And then he’d found Hercules and returned him to her.

So she’d melted. But the worst was, if anyone had seen them yesterday, she’d be ruined, and he may be forced to marry her despite their agreement. No matter how good it felt to be touched by him, it was too dangerous to be alone with him. She was playing with fire. And as she sat next to him now, his presence so palpable, it was like an oven lit on a cold winter’s day. It made her so hot, her skin covered with a thin sheath of sweat and stuck to her chemise.

She was clad in her best dress, which was still only half as beautiful and fashionable as what the other ladies in the room wore. But she was not the oddest presence in the room full of silky cushions, sofas, and beautiful tea sets. That dubious honor went to the chaperone Thorne had insisted upon.

Unwilling to let her out of his sight, Reuben stood in the corner of the room, wide-eyed, holding a cup of tea that was so small in his large hands, it looked like he could crush it. His usually shaggy hair was oiled and parted down the middle. His shaggy beard, however, had not received the same treatment and stuck out in several directions. He was dressed in a working man’s clothes, something one saw regularly in Whitechapel—a brown coat with patches and seams, and trousers that looked baggy and had clearly been sewn for another man. He had washed his face for today, but there were crumbs stuck to his moustache and beard as he slowly, but loudly, crunched on a biscuit. Against the luxurious interior of the drawing room, he looked as out of place as a horse.

“Did you spend the last five years in Whitechapel?” asked the duke.

She glanced up to find his cool, dark eyes on her. A shiver ran down her spine at his piercing gaze. “Yes, Your Grace.” She put her teacup on its saucer with a slight rattling sound, her fingers shaking. “With my brother. He’s the only family I have left.”

“Do you know about the circumstances surrounding Spen—?”

“Preston,” said his wife, the duchess, “please, do not torment poor Miss Grant. We’re here to get to know her, not to interrogate her.”

“Preston, truly, there’s no need,” said Richard. “Miss Grant has nothing to do with Spencer’s disappearance.”

A warm wave of appreciation went through Jane, but she could fight her own battles, however uncomfortable. “I am aware of the circumstances and very sorry to hear what happened to your brother,” she said. “I pray for his safety and his quick return.”

“I have been to see your brother,” said Preston. “Did you know that?”

Richard’s face paled. “You have? When?”

“Yesterday. We’re to be family, after all, aren’t we? And he says he has no knowledge of what transpired with Spencer. He is lying. I have proof that Lord Neville was referred to him to get rid of Spencer.”

Jane’s hands went cold. This was going very poorly. “I am very sorry to hear of this,” she said and stood up.

“Preston, this is unacceptable behavior,” said Richard as he stood up, as well. “Miss Grant teaches poor children at a school she started by herself. What, pray tell, can you say against the character of a young lady like that?”

The shock of Richard defending her like that brushed through her. Preston held her in his gaze for a long time, then his expression softened. “Nothing. That is very admirable, Miss Grant. I apologize. I must look out for my family. I hope you understand.”

“Of course, Your Grace,” she said.

“Please, sit down, Miss Grant,” said the dowager. “Would you like more tea?”

Jane exchanged a glance with Richard. Her heart slammed hard in her chest. She had briefly hoped that this would be over, that she’d be free to leave, and their questions and interrogating glances would not torment her any further.

A loud slurping sound came from the corner, and everyone looked at Reuben, who was draining his cup.

“May I have some more, Your Ladyship?” he asked.

“Of course,” said the dowager. She looked at the footman who stood at attention by the wall, but Reuben had already walked towards the tea table, leaving dirty shoe prints on the carpet. “Oh, here you go,” said the dowager with a warm smile as she poured tea. “Milk?”

He nodded and she poured the milk. He picked up three more biscuits from the plate and shoved one into his mouth, crunching loudly.

“I will have our cook, Mrs. Landon, pack a box for you,” said Calliope with a sweet smile.

“Thank you, Your Ladyship,” said Reuben.

While the dowager poured Jane another cup, Calliope turned to Richard. “I’m curious to learn the circumstances of how you two met. How did your love come to fruition?”

Richard sat back down on his chair. “We met at Lady Fitzroy’s soirée.” He looked at Jane with warmth. “At first, I didn’t notice Miss Grant, to my chagrin.”

Jane felt her cheeks heat. She could easily imagine the scene they had invented. An elegant social event. He, handsome and charming, not a minute passing by where he was alone. She, shy and awkward, sitting on a chair in the corner, solitary and invisible.

“But then someone introduced us, and I was immediately charmed by her. Who wouldn’t be? She has more wit and more heart than most ladies in the ton. Not a drop of pretense. Not a drop of ego or desire for attention.”

Jane felt like she was flying, looking into his intense blue eyes as he said that. Did he mean it? Surely not. Just a rake,she told herself. This was what he did.

Still, warm tingles rushed up and down her body. It was so sweet, so seductive to imagine that a man like him could possibly admire a woman like her. And even though this was all a lie, she loved the sound of it and wanted more. She could just imagine them meeting at the fictitious soirée, and him seeing her intelligence and her heart instead of noticing her gray clothes and spectacles.

The dowager smiled and cocked her head at Jane. “I can easily see that, Richard. What a good observation.”

“What did you talk about, Miss Grant?” asked Lady Calliope, and everyone looked at her.

“Dogs,” said Jane with a sudden onrush of embarrassment as all eyes in the room were drawn to her. “We both like dogs.”

Calliope chuckled. “How did you come to that?”

“Miss Grant has a charming English foxhound called Hercules,” said the dowager. “I met the beast, and he’s quite a feisty one.”

“And what do you think of Richard, Miss Grant?” asked the duke. “Do not tell me it’s his brains that equally intrigued you.”

Surprising herself, Jane felt protective towards Richard. “Actually, it was, Your Grace,” she said, meeting Preston’s eyes boldly. “Your brother is very pleasant to talk to. We can talk for hours about anything, can’t we, Lord Richard?” She met the eyes of her betrothed and smiled at him. “Dogs. Cats. Literature. Society. Family. He spoke very highly of each of you. How dangerous it is to play chess with you, Lady Calliope. How Your Grace may be sharp with your judgment and your tongue at first, but you’re the most loyal and protective brother. How wise you are, Your Grace,” she said as she looked at the dowager. “And what a talented artist you are,” she said to the Duchess of Grandhampton. “And I couldn’t wait to meet you all.”

“Where did you even manage to meet after the soirée?” asked Lady Calliope.

“At Hyde Park,” said Jane. “With my brother present, or my maid, or Reuben…”

Reuben gulped loudly and nodded as she’d instructed him to do on their way here in the carriage.

Calliope’s narrowed eyes bounced between the two of them. “What else do you like to do?”

Jane’s mind raced trying to think of another lie, although it felt less and less like pretending and more and more like dreaming of the relationship she wished she had.

“We’re both quite competitive card players,” Jane said with a smile.

“Indeed we are,” Richard said. “And while we play, we often find ourselves engaged in discussions of various topics, literature being one of our favorites.”

Jane beamed at him. “Like in one of the novels by Jane Austen, Sense and Sensibility.”

“Ah,” said Richard, smiling, “Austen is indeed my favorite author.”

Jane felt a thrill at this piece of shared interest. In her nervousness, she had not expected to discover this mutual love of literature, but now she couldn’t help but warm up to the topic. “Is she really?” she asked. “Mine, too. Austen has a certain ability to dissect the hypocrisies and pretenses of high society with her wit and satire. But she also captures the essence of human relationships in a way few others do.”

A spark of curiosity lit Richard’s eyes. “Which of Austen’s characters do you find most intriguing?” he asked.

Jane didn’t hesitate. “Elizabeth Bennet from Pride and Prejudice,” she said. “She’s strong, independent, and has a good sense of judgment. She refuses to be swayed by societal pressures and doesn’t settle for anything less than a marriage based on mutual respect and love.”

“What a delightful thing to say, Miss Grant! And you, Richard?” asked Lady Calliope. “Who is your favorite character?”

“Mr. Darcy, of course,” Richard said, a twinkle in his eye. “A man initially misunderstood because of his aloof manner but eventually seen as a devoted and considerate gentleman.”

For the first time since her arrival, Jane felt herself relax a little. Maybe, just maybe, this would all work out. There was so much Jane didn’t know about Richard, and the more she got to know, the more she liked him.

“Richard, why haven’t you told us about her before?” asked Lady Calliope. “I wish you had.”

“Because I knew you would all be like this. All inquisitive and, pardon me, suffocating. If Spencer were here, he’d be telling you all to give Miss Grant a chance.”

A hush fell over the room, and Lady Calliope, Richard, the dowager, and Preston all looked at a single chair standing by the table at the window. Jane didn’t know Spencer, but she imagined someone who looked like a mixture of Preston, Richard, and Calliope, sitting there, studying her with a somewhat softer gaze than Preston.

“He would,” Preston added. “But perhaps Spencer’s trusting nature had something to do with his disappearance. As the head of the family now, I will make sure we’re all safe. And given that you already had your share of pain with a lady of ill intentions, I must look out for you, Richard.”

“Please leave it, Preston,” Richard said. “This is not the place for a conversation like that.”

“Richard is right,” said the dowager, “but so is Preston. You should know, Miss Grant.”

Richard sighed deeply. “I do not see why she should.”

“She should if you love her like you insist that you do,” said Calliope.

The light in Richard’s eyes dimmed as he swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. He nodded. “I suppose Miss Grant should know about my past…”

Jane held her breath. Something almost crackled in the air as the whole room was silent. Even Reuben’s crunching quieted.

“I was engaged to Lady Charity Davies, the daughter of the Marquess of Wycliffe. It was five years ago.” Every word seemed to come out with an effort. “The match was very favorable for both of our families. Lady Charity was very agreeable to everyone. Most importantly, however, I thought we were both happy. I was, in any case. Quite”—he chuckled bitterly—“in love with her. She was my first and only love. But one night, I came to find her kissing another man in a dark garden during a ball. And that”—he put his cup back on the table—“was the end of it.”

Jane’s heart broke for Richard. Unfortunately, theirs would be another engagement that wouldn’t last. Jane had thought Richard a disruptive scoundrel only a few days ago, but she had revised her opinion. However agreeable Lady Charity must have been, Jane couldn’t understand how any woman could be interested in another man when she had this charming, intelligent, handsome man’s love and affection.

Caught in these thoughts, she couldn’t help but conclude that they should end the engagement as soon as possible for both their sakes. If they passed this test with his family, they needed to move quickly and find Atticus. Tomorrow night, she decided. She’d find a way to sneak out and go look for Atticus with Richard.

The thought of meeting him again had warmth cascade through her body. Not good. These were his rakish charms at work. She needed to keep her cool demeanor with him at all costs.