Chapter 23

23

Five days until the wedding…

Three days later, Jane found herself in Sumhall Place, in the center of a whirlwind. Calliope’s rooms hummed like a beehive, with Mrs. Newman and her diligent seamstresses bustling about, needles dancing and thread weaving a tangible energy around Jane. She stood still, a serene statue despite the tumultuous thoughts in her head.

Her wedding was in only five days. She’d tried asking Ned and John if they were with Reuben and Atticus the night the Duke of Grandhampton disappeared, but both refused to tell her anything, and she’d stopped trying, afraid word would get back to Thorne.

She had heard from Ruby that Reuben was supposed to be back tonight. But the hope that Reuben would tell her what happened to the duke was shrinking. If Atticus, Ned, and John refused to tell her, would her special bond with Reuben be enough for him to break his master’s trust and confide in her?

With every day that passed, she felt more anxious to find the information before it was too late. Each day seemed to etch Richard’s image deeper into her heart. And his words—“my wife”—still echoed within her, the sound rippling through her soul like a stone skipped across a placid lake.

Her reflection in the mirror stole her breath away. The dress she was being fitted into was a vision of the morning sky—a soft blue gray, adorned with patterns of crystals that resembled delicate frost-kissed flowers. The bodice was elegant, a thin layer of lace applied with such a deft hand that it appeared painted onto her skin. The gown was undoubtedly beautiful, but it was her reflection that stirred something profound within her.

Calliope, standing by the mirror, smiled, her eyes twinkling with pride. “What a transformation!”

Penelope chimed in, a ginger biscuit clasped in her hand to keep her morning sickness at bay, “Oh, Jane. You look stunning!”

“Mrs. Newman”—Calliope turned to the modiste—“you have outdone yourself. And so quickly! Jane, you could wear this for your wedding.”

Jane’s breath hitched, a cold wave of reality washing over her. Of course, there would be no wedding. She forced a smile, meeting Calliope’s eyes in the reflection.

“Or not,” Calliope faltered, the smile on her face fading like a wilting flower. “You should, of course, have a proper wedding dress. It’s just, there’s not a lot of time left.”

Emma, the Duchess of Loxchester, stood nearby, her fingers tracing the silky fabric of a stunning silvery-pink ball gown. Next to it lay three day dresses—two in muted tones of silver and blue, and one a brilliant splash of red. Jane had never dared to wear anything so audacious, so attention-grabbing.

“Whatever you wear, Richard will be delighted,” Emma assured her. “But most importantly, you will be. Won’t you?”

Jane’s lower lip found refuge between her teeth as a subtle, gnawing uncertainty stirred within her. Could she ever see herself as one of those ladies, dressed in the finest gowns, with their hair done in the latest fashions, sparkling in the center of admiring glances? Or was she destined to return to Whitemouth, to blend into the backdrop of modest browns and grays, her hair done in a simple knot, her eyes shielded by spectacles?

The lady looking back in her reflection was a stranger, an apparition from another life. This wasn’t the awkward adolescent of her past, but a woman who knew the allure of a man’s embrace, the tantalizing potential of a temporary betrothal.

The lady in the mirror, adorned in silken fabric and intricate lace, seemed to demand the grandeur of London’s finest ballrooms. She appeared ready to command respect, capable of standing up to unkind critics. Could this woman truly belong in Mayfair’s grand houses, beneath their tall, paned windows, surrounded by art and servants?

“I will be delighted,” Jane affirmed, her voice laced with newfound conviction. “I already am. And I certainly can wear this for the wedding.”

She had experienced a similar elation when trying on Calliope’s dress, but this time, the sensation was different—these clothes were her own, tailored specifically for her, complementing her figure and skin tone.

The stark contrast to how Madame Dubois had made her feel was evident, and she had Richard and Calliope to thank. They believed she deserved such elegance, and although she was yet to fully embrace this notion, their confidence infused her with hope. Could she dare to dream of the life she might have lived if fate hadn’t intervened?

“As you should,” Penelope said.

Emma, toying with a pair of elbow-length gloves adorned with petite flowers, asked, “How is your marriage with Preston, Penelope? You two have seemed much happier since you mended things.”

Penelope’s pale complexion bloomed into a rosy blush. “It’s very good.”

“Very good?” Emma’s suggestive tone elicited heated blushes from both Jane and Calliope.

“Well, yes, but let’s not discuss that with the unmarried ladies present,” Penelope giggled, her eyes finding Jane’s heated expression. “Oh, Jane, we didn’t mean to embarrass you.”

“But Jane is soon to be a married woman,” Emma countered. “You don’t have a mother to discuss these things with, do you?”

Jane shook her head. “No, I don’t.”

“And, Calliope,” Penelope began, only to be interrupted by Calliope herself.

“Calliope has no intention of getting married. So, you might as well talk about these things because I’ll never have to go through them, anyway. Besides, how do you know I don’t already know?”

Emma gasped, leaning forward in anticipation, her brows knitting in confusion. “Calliope, whatever do you mean?”

Nonchalantly, Calliope propped herself against the mirror, picking at her fingernails, a mysterious air about her. “Remember my penchant for reading? And not just any books but the forbidden ones?”

A chorus of “Yes” echoed from Emma, Penelope, and Jane.

A sudden shadow of pain clouded Calliope’s eyes as she stared down at her hands. “In Grandhampton Court, the library held more than just detective novels.”

An uncomfortable silence descended upon them. Calliope looked away, fumbling with the skirt of her dress, her gaze distant and preoccupied.

Breaking the tension, Emma took hold of the conversation. “Well, that leaves you, Jane. Wouldn’t you appreciate a few…tips before the wedding night? My mother never prepared me, and oh, how I wish she had. Sir Jasper was not the most considerate of partners. Not like Sebastian.”

“Sir Jasper was your first husband, right?” Jane inquired. “The one who sold you at a wife sale? I only know bits and pieces of your past.”

“Yes, the very same. He had entrapped me in an invalid marriage as part of a calculated fraud. His intention in selling me was to teach me a lesson. He expected me to end up with a farmer or a blacksmith, but fate had a duke in store… The duke who became my world. And trust me when I say he is the epitome of consideration, thoughtfulness, and pure goodness.”

A smile slowly unfolded on Jane’s face, warmed by the happiness radiating from the two married women. A part of her yearned to surrender to this enticing life, to accept Richard’s proposal genuinely, to envision herself being happy with him for the rest of her life.

Yet, the image of her pupils flashed across her mind. She couldn’t just renounce her ambitions, her sense of duty to them for a more lavish existence. Even though Richard had said “my wife’s school,” he couldn’t really mean it. He wouldn’t like the reality of having a wife who was in Whitechapel every day.

“Perfect,” declared Mrs. Newman, stepping back to admire Jane with a satisfied smile. “That is it, Miss Grant. Why don’t you try on these slippers and see how they feel?” She produced a box, revealing the daintiest silver slippers adorned with artificial flowers. As she placed them next to Jane’s feet, a collective gasp filled the room. “Try them on. Stroll around a bit, and let your feet get acquainted with them. We wouldn’t want them pinching on your special day.”