Chapter 15

15

Nine days until the wedding…

“The announcement of our engagement,” said Richard as he handed Jane today’s paper.

Together with Ruby they stood on the opposite side of busy Bond Street, across from the shop of Grandmama’s modiste.

Madame Dubois, read the sign’s curly inscription. Jane could see roses and dress forms showcasing exquisite gowns in the large paned bay shop windows. Carriages passed by, and fashionable ladies and gentlemen walked down the street holding pretty boxes and packages, on their way to the next store. Bond Street boasted hat makers, tailors, shops for ribbons and lace, and many others. Of course, Jane would rather go to the bookshop she saw nestled next to the store selling tobacco and snuff boxes.

Jane stared at the paper Richard was holding out for her, and read:

Two hearts of nobility have declared their union. The Honorable Lord Richard Seaton, brother to His Grace, Preston, the Duke of Grandhampton, is to be wedded to Miss Jane Grant, daughter of the late Right Honorable Lord Grant on 24 June 1813.

“Wonderful,” she said.

There was nothing wonderful about this. If anything, yesterday morning had shown her that they needed to move faster to break off the engagement. She didn’t want to waste time getting gowns made and going to soirées.

Richard frowned slightly. Good. Something to wipe the unaffected expression from the infuriating man’s face. Not a care in the world that he’d just betrayed her and broken her trust by sneaking around behind her back. How could she trust him again? She’d made a big mistake allowing him into her chamber. Kissing him…letting him hold her…

“Would you not take it to your brother?” Richard asked. “He shall be pleased.”

But Thorne’s pleasure was not Jane’s primary concern. His scrutinizing gaze had felt like a weight upon her since yesterday morning’s events. The threat of a forced marriage loomed large, even if she and Richard intended to end the engagement.

Giving up her school was out of the question. And marriage to a man she no longer trusted was even more unthinkable. She couldn’t bear it.

Jane snatched the paper from Richard’s hand and passed it to Ruby. “Could you please give this to my brother, Ruby?” Jane asked.

Ruby unfurled the paper, a proud smile blooming on her face as she skimmed over the wedding announcement. “I most certainly will.”

“Is something wrong?” Richard asked cautiously. “I thought you’d be happy. I’m following your brother’s rules, which I loathe. The date is set. The announcement is made. The license is secured. Tonight, we will present ourselves as a betrothed couple to the ton. I’m doing everything your brother asked me to.”

“Yes, Lord Richard,” Jane said through clenched teeth. “I’m ecstatic to miss school for this frivolity.” She gestured dismissively at Madame Dubois’s shop. “My students were finally starting to make progress. We began to learn the letter C.”

Richard’s jaw tightened. “I’m sorry you’re missing your class, Jane.”

Jane scoffed. “You’re sorry? I can’t trust a word that comes out of your mouth.”

His smug expression faltered further. “Because of the note?”

Jane met his penetrating gaze, her voice barely a whisper. “Yes, because of the note. And after what happened two nights ago…”

Heat flared in her cheeks as she remembered their shared vulnerability, her boldness. All, it seemed, had been in vain.

She glanced at Ruby, who was still smiling to herself as she studied the page of wedding announcements. She had to make sure the maid wouldn’t hear her.

“You can never kiss me or touch me again, Lord Richard,” she hissed. He blinked, and she was surprised to see a flash of hurt in the depths of his eyes. His eyebrows furrowed, his mouth straightening into a line. “I was the one to break the rules the other night, to my great chagrin. It will never happen again. Do not dare try anything.”

He rearranged his features into the impassive, polite mask of a well-bred gentleman. “As you wish.”

“What was in that note?” asked Jane even more softly.

“If I tell you, will you promise not to tell Thorne?”

“That depends on what’s in it. If it’s something that may incriminate him, I must make sure my brother is safe.”

“In that case, I cannot tell you.”

Jane shook her head. “Cannot or will not?” she demanded.

He held her gaze without wavering, but any trace of warmth disappeared from his eyes. “If you don’t put off your visit to Madame Dubois’s shop until the next century, you could, perhaps, hold school tomorrow.”

Jane wanted to snarl. “All right. Don’t tell me. Can you at least promise you won’t hurt Thorne?”

Richard’s nostrils flared. “Do you mean like your brother wouldn’t have hurt mine?”

“No,” Jane said. “Despite that. Even though Thorne is a dangerous man, he’s my family. He raised me. And I love him. I’m asking you. Promise me you won’t hurt him.”

Richard inhaled sharply and kept his eyes on the opposite side of the street. “I wish I could promise you that. But I can’t. If it comes to my brother’s life or your brother’s freedom, my choice is clear.”

That broke her heart a little. Damn him. She should really stay away from him. Not think about how much she understood him, how she felt sorry for him, and how happy it made her to just talk to him.

That was all a lie, she reminded herself. A rake’s game.

“Well,” said Richard. “Are you going to enter the shop?”

Jane looked at Madame Dubois’s shop. Even the curtains were delicate, fashionable, and pretty.

Despite herself, the idea of her wearing the finest fabrics and the best, most flattering designs made her strangely excited. She remembered the day she’d gone to a modiste to get her gown made for Almack’s. She’d stood looking at her reflection as two women bustled about her, measuring her, writing things down. Then the first fitting where she was poked with pins and needles. And then that exciting day when the new frock had finally arrived—how she had held her breath as she undid the ribbon over the box and lifted the cover and gasped.

For five years, Ruby had sewn her dresses. Not because Thorne didn’t give her money. On the contrary, he had insisted she go to the modistes in Mayfair. But she couldn’t imagine wearing fashionable gowns in Whitechapel while children on the streets didn’t eat for days in a row. She’d rather spend her dress allowance on the school or give it to charity.

But, she guessed, the old Jane, the one born in Mayfair, wasn’t dead yet. The old Jane’s stomach actually squeezed in anticipation at the idea of walking in.

Two ladies exited Madame Dubois’s shop.

“Come, Ruby,” Jane said without looking at Richard. “Let us hasten to conclude this matter.”

Feeling Richard’s attentive gaze scorching her back, Jane crossed the road with Ruby by her side.

“I’ll be in the snuff box shop,” he called after her, but she didn’t turn around.

A few moments later, Jane walked into Madame Dubois’s, Ruby on her heels. The bell over the door chimed. The scents of fabric, wood, and rose perfume with a hint of lavender tickled Jane’s nostrils.

The front of the shop was large. Two dress forms were dressed in the frocks of gentle peach and pastel lilac, the fabric looking more like silk than muslin. Another showcased a pretty, elegant pelisse with artificial flowers in a shiny fabric that resembled mother-of-pearl. The fourth dress form displayed a riding gown of a rich royal blue without any glistening or sparkling accessories, but of a cut so pretty it was clearly an accessory by itself. Shelves with countless fabrics, organized by the shades of rainbow, covered two walls to the left and to the right. In front, there were sideboards bearing flowers, ribbons, feathers, pearls, crystals, and lace that no doubt served as accessories.

A lady in her fifties, dressed in a gown of pale pink and a high-collared spencer of cream silk, and two younger, dark-haired ladies in gorgeous gowns of lavender and pale orange quieted as they frowned at Jane and Ruby.

Three other women were gathered around the fifth and final dress form as they worked their magic over a very different frock than anything Jane had ever seen. Unlike the pastel, gold, and silver shades that most in the ton wore, this gown was crimson and so bright, one couldn’t come into the room and look at anything else. All three women looked respectable and fashionable. All of them had needles in their hands. One sewed red crystals onto the gauze hem of the dress. The second sewed red silk flowers onto the bosom. And the third was crouching and attaching lace onto the bottom edge of the gauze layer.

The woman attaching the lace looked over her shoulder, then put the needle through the fabric and straightened up, facing Jane with her eyebrows raised and an indolent gaze crawling over Jane’s figure. The woman was pretty, in her forties, with dark almond-shaped eyes, and thick straight black hair. She wore a striking, rich forest green dress and a pretty necklace with a single emerald. The two others stopped what they were doing as well and stared at Jane with expressions that bore barely concealed judgment.

The lady in a pink gown and her pretty companions, who must be her daughters, also stared openly, and not in a friendly manner.

Unease crawled up Jane’s spine. She glanced down her brown dress to make sure she had no dirt on it from the streets of Whitechapel. But it was clean. So it couldn’t be the dress. Her spectacles felt too tight on her nose, her shoes—too old. Her bonnet—cheap and common.

“You must be lost,” said the woman in the green dress with a thick French accent. That must be Madame Dubois.

“Good day, Madame Dubois,” said Jane, clutching her hands. The woman didn’t contradict her, so Jane must be right. “I’m not lost, no. I’d like to order some gowns and was hoping you may have something unclaimed that you might finish on me for tonight. There’s this soirée—”

The modiste turned her back to Jane as she began fussing around the red dress, straightening it, correcting the flowers, checking the crystals. She peered over her shoulder at Jane with a look of disdain and interrupted with an unceremonious huff. “Clearly you never heard of me if you think I have unclaimed, unfinished dresses. Besides, the duchesses of the ton are on a waiting list to acquire my services. I cannot take new orders from just anyone who walks into my shop.”

Heat rushed to Jane’s cheeks as humiliation scalded her whole body. Next to her, Ruby stepped from foot to foot, her face somber.

Jane was right to have hesitated about coming here. She should leave. Clearly, she was unwelcome. But she and Richard must attend tonight’s soirée, must make an appearance in the ton after this morning’s announcement in the paper.

Only, she had absolutely nothing pretty to wear. She had outgrown her Almack’s dress a long time ago.

So she had to try again. “But perhaps—”

“I’m afraid I have no openings in my schedule,” Madame Dubois said without bothering to turn to Jane. “I do not take new clients. My current clients occupy all my attention. As you see, Lady Fairchild and her daughters are waiting for a fitting.”

The lady in the pink gown cocked a single black eyebrow at her.

Jane had never felt more like dirt. The unspoken truth was evident.

You are not good enough for my shop.

“Oh… Let us take our leave, Ruby,” said Jane quietly.

With her face burning, she turned around to walk out as the other two seamstresses whispered and giggled behind her back.

A flash of brown caught the corner of her eye, and Jane spun to follow the movement just as a rat scurried into the open, ran right under her feet, and proceeded through the shop and under the form with the red dress. Lady Fairchild, her two daughters, Madame Dubois, and her helpers climbed onto the countertops and proceeded screaming their throats out, clutching at each other in horror. Jane, who was used to the presence of rats in Whitechapel, calmly watched the rat run around the shop, make a circle right in the middle, and then stop, sniffing, its long tail trembling.

Ruby stepped aside, allowing Jane to open the door and put a chair against it to give the little creature a way out, then she followed the rat, shooing it towards the door. Finally, the animal ran out and there were similar screams outside. As the six women stopped screaming, gasping in relief as they climbed down, Jane removed the chair and closed the door, a little satisfied that she hadn’t lost her senses from fear of a little rat as these ladies had.

Nothing impressed Madame Dubois, however. “You brought that vermin in with you. Get out and go back to where you belong before you lower the reputation of my establishment. I suggest you go to Cheapside. There are plenty of seamstresses that have unclaimed dresses there for you. Here, on Bond Street, no client would dream of leaving a dress unclaimed.”

Right. She belonged with the rat, outside of Mayfair. Hot and sweaty with humiliation, Jane nodded and walked out. She should have known her place. Her place was not with Richard and not in Mayfair.

Her place was back in Whitechapel.