Chapter 29

29

Four days until the wedding…

Just before the luncheon of the next day, Richard paced the drawing room in Sumhall. The familiar warm atmosphere and colors did nothing to soothe or uplift him.

“Richard,” Calliope said over her book from where she sat on the sofa. “Stop pacing. You remind me of a lion and you make me positively nervous. What is the matter?”

“Nothing is the matter,” he said.

But they both knew that wasn’t true.

As he paused to look out the window, a lavish carriage pulled up in front of their gate, quickly followed by another. Preston climbed out of it first, Penelope after him, holding a white bonnet over her head, her dark blond hair floating in the wind. From the second one, Grandmama was helped to descend by her footman. “Ah, here they are.”

“Nothing?” Calliope scoffed and closed her book. “Please, brother. Did something happen with Miss Grant? Are you having second thoughts?”

“What?” He followed his family with his gaze as they climbed the stairs and then disappeared from view. “No. I’m not having any second thoughts.”

“Is she?” asked Calliope, standing up.

Richard met Calliope’s blue gaze and dropped his eyes, unable to tell any lies when she looked at him like that, as though he were under a microscope.

“No,” he said. “No one’s having any second thoughts. It’s not about Miss Grant or me.”

Calliope frowned and took several steps towards him. Like a bloodhound who’d just caught a scent, she sensed hidden information. Richard both admired and hated when she did that.

The door opened, and Preston, Penelope, and Grandmama came in. Preston was glowing like a gas lamp in the presence of his wife. Penelope was slightly pale but her eyes sparkled with joy. And Grandmama was, as always, regal and sharp, her eyes not missing a thing.

While they all greeted one another, Calliope threw a scowl at Richard that said this wasn’t over, then sat back down. Richard sighed. She’d know before long what had happened.

“It’s good we’re all here,” said Preston, looking around at them, and then his eyes landed on Calliope. “Because, sister, I have found a match for you.”

Poor Calliope paled and looked like a cornered cat, pupils large, hands gripping the edge of the sofa she sat on.

“No,” she said.

“Yes,” said Preston. “Give the man a chance. It’s Lord Chapman. Rich. Well-bred.”

“I know of Lord Chapman,” Calliope said through gritted teeth. “He isn’t the man I’d choose for myself.”

“Because you wouldn’t choose anyone,” said Preston.

Calliope stared at Richard. “And do you approve?”

Richard had a hard time imagining any man would be good enough for his sister, but she would be better off married, that much was clear. He knew Chapman. He was rich. He was handsome. He wasn’t the smartest fellow in the room, but he wouldn’t restrict Calliope, wouldn’t stop her from doing whatever she wanted. She’d have the upper hand in the relationship.

Richard felt his jaws work. “I do not think there’s a man good enough for you in the universe, sister. But if you must marry, Chapman would be a good candidate. He’s rich, and his name is protection enough.”

Calliope’s gaze broke his heart. “I expected more from you, Richard. Preston trying to marry me off…all right. But you?”

Richard winced from the jab of her words. She was right—they had always been close, always true friends. Had he just betrayed her? He should take more of an active role in searching for a husband for her. Preston didn’t know her like he did.

Penelope threw a worried glance at Calliope. “It goes without saying that you don’t have to say yes if you don’t like him. Meet him at the ball, that’s all Preston is asking.”

“You said it better than I did,” said Preston with a soft chuckle. “Yes, sister. Just meet him. Of course I won’t drag you to the altar without your consent.”

Calliope folded her arms over her chest. “Hard to believe sometimes.”

Richard came to stand before his family.

“We’ll go for lunch shortly,” said Richard as Penelope, Calliope, and Grandmama took their places on the sofas and Preston came to stand by his side with a cup of tea he’d just poured himself. “But before we do, I have some important news.”

The three ladies stared at him, and Preston froze with the cup to his lips.

“I knew there was something,” said Calliope. “What is it?”

“I found out where Spencer may be.”

Gasps went around the room. Preston put his cup and the saucer on the fireplace mantel with a clatter. “Where?” he demanded.

“It is quite likely Spencer was press-ganged that night.”

“Press-ganged?” gasped Grandmama. “Into the navy?”

Richard nodded, his gut churning at seeing her shocked face. He himself recognized the shock, the outrage, the fear at the news.

“How do you know?” demanded Preston.

“I found a witness. He told me there was a press-gang operation that happened that night at Portside. One of Thorne Blackmore’s men thought the dead man wasn’t a nobleman, even though he was wearing Spencer’s clothes. And one of the servants in Portside told him they saw a handsome, clean, and unconscious gentleman being dragged onto one of the navy ships in his smallclothes.”

Silence fell over the room. Richard felt the weight of their gazes on him.

“So it wasn’t Blackmore’s men that press-ganged him?” asked Calliope.

“No,” said Richard. “Blackmore’s men had nothing to do with this. When they arrived, he was already gone, and that poor half-dead man was dressed in his clothes.”

“We need to verify this information!” cried Calliope, standing up. “How likely is all of this true?”

“It’s quite likely,” said Richard. “And you don’t need to verify anything.”

“Richard’s right,” said Preston. “You should stay away. I already see the sparkle in your eyes that shouldn’t be there.”

“Forget the sparkle!” cried Calliope, her cheeks red. “Our brother, the duke, press-ganged? Taken onto a navy ship against his will, unconscious? Who would do that, and why?”

Grandmama, who’d always been so collected and such a proper lady, paled and clutched at her chest. “Which war?”

Penelope shifted closer to her, taking her hand. Calliope, with a worried glance, dropped to her knees in front of the dowager. “Grandmama…”

“Which war?” demanded Grandmama louder.

“No one knows,” said Richard, walking to the servants’ bell pull. “Should I call for some sherry, Grandmama?”

“No, I am all right,” she said. “Someone must know.”

Preston nodded. “This didn’t just happen by chance,” he said through gritted teeth.

“You’re right,” said Calliope, turning to Richard.

“I remind you,” said Richard, “that we do not know for sure that’s what happened. The witness assumed.”

“It’s a bloody good assumption,” said Preston as he marched to the sideboard and poured a glass of brandy. Then he went to the sofa and handed it to Grandmama.

She accepted it and took a sip. “No, it is not a good assumption,” said Grandmama, and Penelope nodded as she let her hand go, probably seeing she was feeling better. “There’s no evidence. Why would anyone press-gang Spencer if they weren’t his enemy?”

There was a silence, and everyone looked at Penelope, who bit her lip and blinked several times.

“Could it have been your papa?” asked Calliope carefully.

“I don’t think so.”

Preston cocked his head. “Lord Beckett only wanted Spencer to have a black eye for a week or so. It was only a few weeks ago that he found out Spencer was not killed by Blackmore’s men.”

“So what do we do now?” asked Grandmama.

Calliope jumped to her feet again and paced the room. “We go to the Admiralty, and we ask them for information,” she stated. “There must be lists of men that were conscripted into the navy, and he must be among them. We find out which ship, the destination. We write letters…ask for the news from the fronts.”

“Calliope,” said Richard softly. “This is not just another fictional mystery in a book. This is serious.”

“I know that perfectly well, brother,” she said coldly as she stopped in the middle of the room.

“Richard’s right. Let me and Richard deal with this,” said Preston. “Do not intervene.”

“I will not sit back,” Calliope said. “It’s Spencer! We now know more than before. There is something we can do to find out where he is, to help him, to recover him!”

Richard sighed. “We will, but I think Preston’s right, Calliope. I know you can’t wait for Spencer to return. I know he’s always been your favorite brother. But let me and Preston do this.”

She scoffed. “In other words, let the men do their thing. Let the weak and gentle women sit back and watch.” She shook her head. “How typical of you two. At least Spencer would have never told me to do that. He’d just ask me, ‘When shall we go?’”

“Calliope…” said Richard gently. “We just want you to be safe, that’s all.”

“I will not sit back and quietly watch you.”

Grandmama smiled at her and at Penelope. “You will not, my dear. And neither will I.”

The door opened, and Teanby came in, perfectly collected as always, with his head high and his shoulders squared.

“Miss Jane Grant.”

He opened the door for Jane to come in, and Richard’s world grew brighter. She beamed, dressed in something Mrs. Newman must have made for her—something airy and white that made her look radiant, her gray eyes sparkling like diamonds as they locked with his.

“As agreed, I came for the fitting for tonight,” she said. “Mrs. Newman is just coming up.”

Richard nodded to her, his whole being coming alive with her presence in the room. He had to do everything he could tonight to convince her to follow through with the wedding.

* * *

Calliope’s room was warm and, with the windows open, full of the scents of lilacs and wildflowers. It was dark outside—they’d had dinner already as the fitting had taken the entire afternoon.

But now, with the help of Calliope’s maid, Abigail, both Jane and Calliope were ready…almost. Calliope leaned against the dressing table in her yellow ball gown, thoughtfully fidgeting with the edge of her elbow-length glove, staring into space. Jane sat looking at herself in the mirror, unable to quite believe this was, indeed, her.

The gown, a silvery-pink masterpiece that Mrs. Newman had worked on yesterday, was like something ethereal. Her glasses removed, she could see only herself if she squinted. But with the help of Abigail, she now had one of the most sophisticated and fashionable hairstyles, with her hair high up on top of her head and soft curls framing both sides of her face. A few curled locks of hair were swept forward over one shoulder, making her look like a finished painting of a princess rather than a sketch of a peasant.

Jane wore a delicate diamond necklace, a present Thorne had given her just before the ball that would have been her coming out event in the ton…if she hadn’t been cruelly turned away. The diamonds were small, no doubt just a fraction of something Calliope, Emma, or Penelope would wear, but every one of them sparkled with her brother’s love, which she felt every day.

Mrs. Newman and her seamstresses were long gone, and as Abigail made her final touches to Jane’s hair, Calliope shook her head and said, “I still cannot believe how Richard and Preston boss me around. Command me. I won’t let them stop me.”

“Did they?” asked Jane as Abigail inserted a rose made of silvery-pink silk into the side of Jane’s bun.

“Oh yes, they did. You weren’t there. You know that Spencer is somewhere out there in the navy. He needs me. He needs all of us. And I’m more than capable of finding out what happened to him.”

Jane chuckled. It was, after all, thanks to her that Richard found out the information that he needed. “I quite agree. I don’t think we women need men to do anything for us. I plan to run my own school. Richard wants to marry me, while—”

She almost said, while I want to break off the wedding, but the words stuck in her throat, feeling so wrong to say out loud. Because it was not true that she wanted to break it off.

She didn’t.

She felt like she had to. For her own good and for his.

But the truth was simple…

“While what?” asked Calliope.

Abigail inserted another small rose into her hair, throwing a curious glance at her.

Jane didn’t have any friends, except for Hercules. And the sudden presence of unconditional female support prompted the need to share.

Jane swallowed, a lump forming in her throat. The words felt as if they were stuck, too foreign to be spoken aloud.

“I…I love him,” she managed, the admission barely more than a whisper. Yet once uttered, the words seemed to echo around the room, reverberating through her very core. An overwhelming rush of warmth swept over her, leaving tingles in its wake. “I love your brother.”

Calliope’s eyes crinkled as her lips curved into a warm smile. “Jane,” she began, her voice soft, “it’s been plain as day to all of us how Richard feels about you. I have no doubt that the two of you will find immense happiness together.”

Jane’s heart fluttered at Calliope’s words. A soft sigh escaped her lips as she caught her reflection in the mirror, marveling at her transformation.

No longer was she merely Jane the teacher, but Miss Jane Grant, a woman of refinement and grace, a woman who had a place in Richard’s world. A woman who could be his wife, waking up in his arms every morning and falling asleep enveloped in his embrace every night. The woman she was always meant to be.

Someone who was a part of the world she’d been born into.

And this Miss Grant could belong anywhere she wanted.

“Ready!” said Abigail with a bright smile. “What do you think, Miss Grant?”

Jane turned her head, the perfect, intricate build of silvery-pink roses and baby’s breath somehow highlighted the elegant curve of her neck, making her cheekbones appear even higher and rounder. The colors hid the dark circles that she sometimes got under her eyes, the imperfections of her skin. Her lips appeared pinker, fuller. Her eyes sparkled like Thorne’s diamonds on her neck.

The gown was made of the finest silk, its soft hue reminiscent of the first light of dawn. The bodice was fitted, with a low-cut neckline that showcased her bosom. The neckline was embellished with delicate lace and embroidered with shimmering silver thread.

The short sleeves were sheer, made of the finest silk chiffon and adorned with silver beading that sparkled in the light. The skirt flowed like water down her legs, sparkling with silver.

“I love it,” said Jane as she stood up, her heart beating hard.

“So do I!” exclaimed Calliope.

Maybe Richard was right that she could have both the school and her life as a gentleman’s wife.

She could do more good with Richard’s help than she could alone, and she could influence others of the ton to help those in need and change the practices that caused this imbalance of wealth and power.

And in that world, maybe, just maybe, she did belong, and she and Richard could be happy forever.