Chapter 3
Jane hesitated before closing the door to her bedchamber, her hand lingering on the handle a moment longer than necessary.
Three days had passed since she’d arrived at Olivia’s townhouse, and she’d barely seen a soul outside of her maid and the occasional footman delivering meals to her room.
She had told herself she needed time to recover, but she knew she could not avoid the world forever.
This morning, she would be brave. Or, at the very least, she would be present.
She smoothed down the soft folds of the borrowed pale pink gown, grateful that Olivia and she were close enough in size.
It was a small mercy, though it did little to ease the ache in her chest. Her father still hadn’t responded to her letter.
A part of her had expected it, but the reality still hurt.
Being disowned was one thing. Being forgotten was another entirely.
The smell of fresh bread and tea drew her down the corridor towards the dining room.
She paused just outside the threshold, her courage briefly faltering.
Through the open door, she spotted Olivia’s father-in-law, Lord Everwyck, seated at the head of the table, the morning newssheets held wide before him like a shield. Drat. Olivia was nowhere in sight.
Jane’s palms grew damp. She’d spoken to Lord Everwyck only a handful of times, and though he was never unkind, there was something about his manner—so precise, so direct—that left her on edge. Still, she was a guest here. She could hardly remain in her bedchamber forever.
Drawing in a quiet breath, she stepped into the room.
One of the footmen moved to pull out a chair, and she murmured her thanks as she sat, careful to school her expression into something placid. Her hands were steady, though her stomach had begun to knot.
“Lady Jane,” Lord Everwyck said, voice dry, his eyes still hidden behind the newssheets.
“My lord,” she replied, inclining her head politely.
A footman placed a plate of food before her and she reached for her fork and knife, hoping the simple task of eating might ground her. She had just managed a small bite when Lord Everwyck lowered one half of the newssheets and announced, “You’ve made the Society page… again.”
The food turned to ash on her tongue. She lowered her fork. “I assumed as much.”
He glanced over at her then, assessing her with that sharp gaze of his. “Do you regret not marrying the duke?”
She swallowed hard. There were many things she regretted—mostly waiting so long to find her voice—but not this. “No,” she admitted. “I don’t.”
He did not look impressed. “You could have been a duchess. Think of the power and prestige you cast aside.”
“I care little about that.”
“That is rather foolish to say,” he replied. “You threw it all away. For what? And please don’t say a love match.”
She met his gaze squarely, refusing to cower. “And what if I do?”
Lord Everwyck huffed and flicked the page back into place. “You’ve been reading too many novels. Love is not something one falls into. It is developed, slowly, and often reluctantly, over time.”
“Olivia would disagree.”
“She was fortunate,” he muttered. “As was my son. But most people of your station can only hope for mutual toleration.”
Jane frowned. “That’s a rather grim view.”
“It’s the truth,” he said, folding the newssheets and laying them down flat. “You could have had everything. But instead, you’ve chosen some fanciful notion of affection over security.”
Her appetite vanished completely. “The duke is not a good man.”
“And you know this how?” he asked, raising a skeptical brow.
She steadied her voice. “I’ve heard the rumors. Everyone has. His first wife was locked away in an asylum, where she perished some five months later. His second died mysteriously. The third one was run over by a carriage. And the last one, she supposedly fell down the stairs.”
“Purely gossip,” he dismissed with a wave of his hand.
“Perhaps. But a consistent pattern of tragedy follows him. Too many wives, too many unexplained endings.”
Lord Everwyck lifted his glass and took a sip. “Perhaps it was simply a string of bad luck.”
“Or perhaps he only wanted me for an heir,” Jane said. “What if I had produced another daughter? Would he have cast me aside, too?”
“He has six daughters already. That must weigh heavily.”
“And still you defend him,” she said, incredulous. “But what of his wives? Of the women who bore those daughters and then conveniently vanished from his life?”
He looked down at the table. “I can’t justify it. But life rarely gives us neat explanations. You could have been a duchess.”
“At what cost? My life?” she challenged.
From the doorway came an entirely too cheerful voice. “Dear heavens, must we be so morbid before breakfast?”
Jane turned to see Olivia entering the room, radiant in lavender and looking entirely unaffected by the tension hanging in the air. She walked straight to Lord Everwyck and pressed a kiss to his cheek.
“It’s good to see you,” she said brightly, not bothering to wait for a reply.
A twitch of amusement softened Lord Everwyck’s mouth, though his gaze returned pointedly to the newssheets.
Olivia sat beside Jane, placing her linen napkin on her lap with practiced grace. “I’m glad to see you’ve emerged from your self-imposed exile,” she teased.
Jane offered a faint smile. “I thought it was time.”
“And I, for one, believe you made the right choice.”
Lord Everwyck let out a dismissive sound. “Women,” he muttered under his breath.
Olivia laughed. “It must be exhausting being wrong so often.”
“I am not wrong,” he insisted. “Lady Jane should have married the duke. She’d be on her wedding tour right now—admired by every debutante in Mayfair.”
“I believe the word you’re searching for is pitied, not admired,” Olivia said. “She was handed to the duke like a sacrificial lamb.”
“Why do I bother debating with you?” he asked.
“I don’t rightly know,” Olivia replied, sipping her chocolate. “I’m usually right.”
Lord Everwyck pushed back his chair. “Excuse me. I’ve work to attend to.” With that, he left the room, the air relaxing slightly in his absence.
Jane exhaled and looked down at her plate.
Olivia returned her cup to the saucer, then gave Jane a sideways glance. “His bark is worse than his bite, I promise.”
Jane bit her lower lip. “He wasn’t wrong. At least… not entirely. I’ve read the newssheets. The ton is outraged. They don’t understand how I could humiliate a duke.”
“Well,” Olivia said, “the duke will no doubt rebound soon and select another bride.”
The words stung, though Jane didn’t know why. “He never cared about me. We’d only spoken a handful of times before the ceremony.”
“Then you did the right thing.”
“I know. But I still can’t seem to escape the consequences.”
Olivia tilted her head. “Then perhaps we don’t venture to Hyde Park this afternoon?”
Jane laughed weakly. “Heavens, no. I’d be stared at like a two-headed calf.”
“So, your plan is to hide out here indefinitely?”
“Yes.”
“An admirable strategy,” Olivia said with mock solemnity as she reached for her chocolate.
Jane turned her gaze towards the window, watching the light pour across the polished floor. “I haven’t heard from my father. Or my brother. I told them where I was… but I have heard nothing in return.”
Olivia paused. “Would you like Evander to write them?”
“No. I doubt that would help. My father threatened to disown me, and yet… I had hoped—foolishly, perhaps—that he’d understand what I had to do.”
“Your father and brother are not known for their compassion,” Olivia remarked.
Jane dropped her gaze to her lap, her fingers tightening in the folds of her borrowed skirt. The pale pink muslin was soft and lovely, but it felt borrowed in more ways than one—like everything in her life now. Nothing truly belonged to her anymore. Not her home. Not her future.
“Should I go see them?” she asked, though she already knew the answer. Still, the question gnawed at her.
Olivia didn’t hesitate. “Why? So they can turn you away to your face?”
Tears pricked the corners of Jane’s eyes. She blinked rapidly, refusing to let them fall. She’d cried too many times over the past three days, and it had to stop. Grief would not fix her circumstances.
It was time to move forward.
Or at least pretend to.
She looked up, heart hammering, and asked, “Do you still require a companion?”
There. She’d said it. It was mortifying for a woman of her station to work for an income, but what choice did she have?
But the slight pause before Olivia responded made her stomach sink.
“Not at this time,” her friend replied.
The words hit harder than she expected.
Before the silence could settle too heavily between them, Olivia reached out and clasped her hand. “I require a friend more.”
Jane’s throat tightened. A friend. It was a generous thing to say. A kind thing. But even kindness, when one felt adrift, could sting like a wound.
“I can’t live off your generous graces forever,” Jane said, trying to keep her voice steady. “You’ve already done more than most would.”
“Don’t worry about that now,” Olivia said with a small, firm shake of her head. “You are more than welcome here, Jane. This is your home for as long as you need it to be.”
As she went to respond, Lord Westmere’s voice echoed from the doorway. “My lovely wife is right. We’re happy to have you here.”
He entered the room and crossed to Olivia, placing a kiss on her cheek.
He lingered just long enough that Jane’s chest ached with something sharp and silent.
They were so clearly in love. It radiated from them in every small gesture—the comfortable banter, the easy affection, the warmth in Olivia’s eyes when she looked at her husband.
And for a moment, Jane couldn’t breathe.
Would she ever have that? That sort of certainty? That comfort? That love?