Chapter 2
Jane sat stiffly in the corner of Alistair’s coach.
Her back was rigid and her hands were clenched so tightly in her lap that her gloves had wrinkled.
The plush interior of the coach seemed too soft, too opulent for the turmoil roiling inside her.
She stared unseeingly out the window, watching London blur past.
She was trying to be brave.
For Alistair’s sake? For her own? She wasn’t entirely certain anymore. The mask of composure she wore had already begun to crack, and the farther they traveled, the more difficult it became to keep her fear at bay.
What am I going to do?
The question haunted her, looping endlessly in her mind. She had no home now—of that she was certain. Her father’s glare as she had fled the church would forever be seared into her memory, a promise of his fury. She had no hope of returning to her family, and if Olivia refused to see her—
No. Stop it. She refused to let that thought spiral. Olivia would help her. She had to. She had no one else to turn to.
She turned her head, glancing at Alistair.
Even with the bruises marring his face and a swollen eye that had darkened to a sickly shade, there was still something steadying about him.
His broad shoulders, the way his long legs were crossed with forced casualness, and the familiar dark, unruly curl that refused to stay in place—it all transported her back to childhood.
Back to a time when he was simply Alistair, the boy who had let her ride his horse and rescued her bonnet from a tree.
But now? Now he was a man who had no business escorting her anywhere. He needed rest. A doctor. He shouldn’t be worrying about her future when he could scarcely stand upright. Yet here he was, doing his duty. That wretched word.
Jane’s throat tightened. She had done her duty, too. Smiled when she was told. Curtsied. Obeyed. She had donned her mother’s bridal gown and walked to the altar of her own ruin. And still, it wasn’t enough.
Will I ever be enough?
“It will be all right,” Alistair said gently, his voice breaking through her musings.
She looked at him, her heart aching. “No. It won’t be.”
His brow furrowed. “You don’t know that.”
“I do.” Her voice cracked, despite her efforts to keep it steady. “I left a duke at the altar. Not just some obscure gentleman with a country estate, but the Duke of Brackenford. One of the most powerful men in England.”
He opened his mouth to respond, but she pushed on, her voice rising. “You don’t understand. I have no home. I am ruined. Shunned. No one will receive me now.”
“I’m sorry,” he said.
Her shame returned like a rising tide. She was being rude. “No, I should apologize. You are only trying to help me. And I am grateful.” She paused. “I’m just… frightened. Of what comes next. Of the unknown.”
“It’s normal to feel that way,” he offered.
She sighed. “I had everything. A future secured. A title. A life others would envy. And I threw it away. For what? A foolish hope that there might be happiness out there for me?”
He leaned forward, his bruised face sincere. “You deserve to be happy, Jane.”
“Happiness is fleeting,” she murmured.
The worst part was that Alistair remained silent, as if agreeing with her.
The coach rolled to a halt, and Jane’s stomach clenched. Olivia’s townhouse loomed outside the window, elegant and imposing.
Alistair opened the door and stepped onto the pavement, then turned to offer her his hand. She hesitated for the briefest of moments before placing her gloved hand in his. His grip was warm, steadying.
“Shall we?” he asked.
They walked towards the front stairs, her steps slowing with each one she took. When they reached the threshold, Jane froze, staring at the heavy brass knocker.
Her hand hovered, then fell.
“I can’t do it,” she admitted.
Alistair turned towards her, surprise flickering in his eyes. “Sure you can.”
“No.” She took a small step back. “I can’t do this to Olivia. She’s only just begun to recover from the gossip. Her marriage to Lord Westmere has given her some measure of acceptance. I won’t destroy that with my scandal.”
Alistair glanced up and down the street. “I don’t mean to rush you, but the longer we remain out here, the more curious the neighbors will become.”
“I know, but—”
“Then good, we are in agreement,” he said. And with that, he reached for the knocker.
Before his hand landed, the door opened. The butler’s expression shifted from practiced neutrality to alarm.
“My lord,” he gasped, “are you well?”
“I am,” Alistair replied, stepping inside.
“Shall I fetch ice? A physician?”
“That won’t be necessary.”
Jane stepped over the threshold behind him, her heart hammering. This was it. There was no going back now.
“Will you inform Lady Westmere of Lady Jane’s arrival?” Alistair asked.
The butler bowed. “At once, my lord.”
As he disappeared, Jane took a trembling breath and tried not to show it. What if she had made the wrong choice to come here?
Alistair turned to face her. “Take a deep breath.”
“That won’t help.”
“It will.” His tone was calm, anchoring. “What’s done is done. All that matters now is what comes next.”
She shook her head. “There is no ‘next.’ Not for me.”
“You are being quite the naysayer.”
Lowering her gaze, she replied, “Sorry.”
He stepped closer, his hands lightly touching her shoulders. “Will you stop apologizing?”
“Sorry.” She grimaced. “I’m afraid it is a force of habit.”
He chuckled. “Remarkable. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so undone. You were always the prim and proper one.”
Before she could respond, a sharp voice rang out.
“Alcott!”
Jane turned to see a man emerging from a side corridor. Tall, scarred, and commanding. Lord Warwicke. She recognized him immediately. Everyone did.
He narrowed his eyes at Alistair. “Why do you look like death?”
“I feel like death,” Alistair replied wearily. “Why are you here?”
“I was visiting Westmere, and I was on my way out. What happened to you?” Warwicke asked.
“I was attacked,” Alistair replied. “If it weren’t for Lady Jane, I might not be standing here. She saved me.”
Lord Warwicke’s eyes sharpened. “Do you know why you were attacked?”
“No. I assume it was a robbery, though they never took my coin purse.”
In a low voice, Lord Warwicke asked, “How many attackers?”
“Three, I think,” Alistair said. “But it all was a blur.”
Jane interjected. “It was three men. I remember.”
Lord Warwicke turned to her. “If you were called upon in the future, could you recognize them again?”
“Yes, I could,” she said.
Alistair swayed slightly in his stance. “I don’t… feel so good.”
Warwicke moved quickly and caught his arm. “Let’s get you to a chair.”
As they moved towards the drawing room, a voice called from above.
“Jane!”
Jane turned and saw Olivia standing on the stairs, smiling down on her.
“You’re here!” her friend exclaimed.
Surprised by Olivia’s exuberance, she asked, “You’re… glad?”
“Of course! It means you didn’t marry him.” Olivia reached the bottom step, her eyes sparkling. “Dare I ask when you came to this realization?”
She winced. “At the altar.”
Olivia giggled. “Dear heavens, I cannot wait to hear this story. You must tell me everything,” she said. “How did the duke respond? Was he furious? I bet he was furious.”
Jane touched her cheek. “He slapped me. In front of the vicar. That’s when I knew I had to leave.”
Olivia’s face fell. “I’m sorry. Did your father or brother say or do anything?”
“No, they said nothing. They just looked… furious, as if I were the problem.”
“I take it they disowned you.”
Jane’s eyes burned. “I have nowhere else to go.”
Olivia reached out, her voice kind. “You’re not alone. You’re here. With me.”
Another voice entered the room. “My wife is right,” said Lord Westmere, appearing beside her. “You can stay as long as you like.”
“I don’t wish to intrude.”
Olivia smiled, slipping her arm around Jane. “You would offend me if you left, especially now.”
Tears spilled freely down Jane’s cheeks. “Thank you.”
With a glance at the drawing room, Lord Westmere asked, “Did I hear Alcott was attacked?”
Alistair answered from the doorway. “You heard correctly, but do not worry. I’ll live.”
“Have you seen a doctor?” Lord Westmere asked, his eyes perusing his friend in concern.
“Not yet, but now that I am assured of Lady Jane’s well-being, I can be on my way,” Alistair said.
Jane turned to him, her heart full. “Thank you… for everything.”
He inclined his head. “Take care of yourself, Jane.”
After he departed, Lord Warwicke joined Lord Westmere by the window.
“I can’t believe Alcott was attacked,” Westmere said.
“I can,” Lord Warwicke replied. “The streets of London can be dangerous, even during broad daylight.”
“That’s why I carry a muff pistol,” Olivia shared.
Jane’s eyes went wide. “You do?”
“Oh, yes. It’s been quite useful.” Olivia gave her a warm smile. “Now, how about a bath and some chocolate?”
Jane managed a laugh. “You know me too well. And now that I won’t be a duchess, I can eat and drink as much as I like.”
With Olivia’s arm linked through hers, Jane allowed herself to be led upstairs. Her chest ached, her future was uncertain… but for the first time in days, she didn’t feel entirely alone.
Alistair’s entire body ached with each jolt of the coach.
His ribs throbbed, his jaw felt as though it had been struck by a brick, and every muscle protested the very idea of movement.
He had kept up a brave front for Jane’s sake since he hadn’t wanted her to see how close he’d come to collapsing.
But now that she was safe, he could no longer ignore the pain that radiated through him like a dull, merciless drumbeat.
The coach lurched to a stop in front of his townhouse. Before the footman could come around, Alistair forced the door open and climbed down, gritting his teeth against the fire in his side. He ascended the stairs slowly, one hand gripping the railing for balance, and pushed through the front door.