Chapter 4
Jane pulled the needle through the embroidery hoop with more force than was strictly necessary, nearly tearing the linen.
She stared at the nearly invisible flower petal she’d just stitched.
It was her third failed attempt at getting the shade of blue right.
It hardly mattered. Her mind wasn’t on the design.
Or the thread. Or the needle pricking her fingertip.
Her mind was consumed—haunted, even—by the weight of her family’s silence.
Silence that had stretched on for days now, thick and suffocating, broken only by the distant tick of the clock and the occasional creak of the townhouse’s wooden frame.
Her father. Her brother. What were they saying about her behind closed doors?
Or worse—had they stopped speaking of her entirely?
She tried to swallow the ache that lodged itself in her throat. It was easier to stitch than to think. But the fabric blurred as unshed tears welled in her eyes.
“You did the right thing,” Olivia said gently.
Jane paused mid-stitch. Her eyes lifted to the woman seated across from her, poised with a book in her lap and a quiet steadiness that Jane envied. “Did I?” she asked.
“You did,” Olivia said again, more firmly this time. “Your family will come around.”
Jane arched a brow. “Do you truly believe that?”
Olivia winced, folding the edge of her book closed. “No,” she admitted with a sheepish sigh. “But I’m trying to be optimistic. Someone in this room ought to be.”
Jane dropped her embroidery hoop into her lap with a sigh. “I must be a dreadful bore,” she murmured. “I can’t seem to think of anything but... well, everything I wish I could forget. And this needlework is dreadful.”
Olivia smiled faintly. “Is anyone’s heart ever truly in embroidery? Come with me to the circulating library instead. We could get a French romance novel, or two.”
Jane shook her head. “I’m not sure I can bear the stares. Or the whispers. The shame follows me everywhere. Even in my thoughts.”
“I understand,” Olivia responded. “But you are still coming to Vauxhall Gardens this evening, aren’t you?”
“I don’t know…”
“You must!” Olivia interrupted. “I won’t accept excuses. You need air. And light. And music. And perhaps a tart or two from the pastry vendor.”
Before Jane could form a reply, the butler appeared in the doorway and announced, “Lord Barkley has come to call for Lady Jane.”
Jane’s head snapped up. “My brother is here?” she asked, her heart leaping with a confused mix of hope and dread.
“Yes, my lady.”
She shot to her feet, smoothing her skirts with trembling hands. “Please send him in.” She turned to Olivia with wide eyes. “This is a good sign. Don’t you think?”
But Olivia’s expression had gone guarded. “Let’s hear what he has to say first.”
Jane barely had time to brace herself before her brother strode into the room—tall, broad-shouldered, and stone-faced. His jaw was clenched, and his eyes were hard, unfeeling.
“Jane,” he said curtly, no warmth in his tone.
She forced a smile to her lips. “Adam.”
He gave Olivia a brief, stiff nod. “Lady Westmere.” His gaze returned to Jane. “I brought your trunks.”
“You did?”
“Yes. I believe that concludes our business.” He turned towards the door.
“Wait!” she called out.
He stopped, one hand on the doorframe. “Yes?”
“That’s it?” Her voice wavered. “You have nothing else to say to me?”
He turned fully, his eyes narrowing. “What would you like me to say? That you’ve disgraced the family name? That you made a spectacle of yourself and dragged us all into scandal?”
“I couldn’t marry him,” she whispered. “I just—couldn’t.”
“You could have been a duchess, Jane.” His voice grew cold. “Instead, you chose humiliation. You should be ashamed.”
“I—” Her throat tightened. Words failed her.
He advanced a step. “You are a worthless chit,” he seethed. “And I’m ashamed to call you my sister.”
Tears stung her eyes. Still, she stood her ground. “I don’t expect you to understand my reasons—”
“Oh, I understand,” Adam snapped. “You humiliated one of the most powerful men in England at the altar. You’ve ruined your prospects, and ours.”
“The duke struck me,” she said, her voice breaking.
Adam’s lip curled. “And perhaps you deserved it.” His fists clenched at his sides. “Frankly, I’m struggling not to do the same.”
“No,” Olivia said, rising to her feet. “We do not permit violence in this home.”
Adam barely acknowledged her. “You permit scandal, though. This whole house is a festering pit of impropriety.”
“Enough,” came a deeper voice from the doorway. Lord Westmere entered the room with a stern expression. “It is time for you to leave, Lord Barkley.”
Adam didn’t flinch. “Gladly. But know this—Jane is no longer welcome in our family. Father sent me to deliver that message along with her trunks. As far as we are concerned, she is dead to us.”
A cry burst from Jane’s throat as she lowered herself onto the settee. “How could you say that?”
“It’s no more than what you’ve earned,” Adam stated. “Enjoy your life among ruined women and spinsters.”
Lord Westmere stepped forward, his voice commanding. “You’ve said your piece. Now get out.”
Adam turned his scorn towards him. “You’ve made enemies of us and of the Duke of Brackenford.”
“Excellent. My list of enemies was woefully short,” Lord Westmere said dryly.
“You’ll regret this,” Adam growled. “She’ll bleed your coffers dry and then you’ll cast her out, too.”
“Your sister will remain here as long as she wishes,” Lord Westmere declared. “She is welcome in our home. Always.”
Adam’s voice was full of venom. “Why would you protect this worthless girl?”
“Get out!” Lord Westmere exclaimed.
Adam spun and stormed out. Moments later, the front door slammed hard enough to rattle the windows.
Jane rose shakily and rushed to the window. She caught sight of her brother entering his coach, not once looking back.
And somehow… she felt relief.
Olivia stepped beside her. “Your brother is awful. Just awful.”
“I know,” Jane whispered.
Lord Westmere’s voice joined theirs. “Forget what he said.”
Jane rested her head against the cool glass of the window. “He wasn’t wrong.”
“He was,” Olivia asserted. “He had no right to speak to you that way.”
Jane’s lips trembled. “He’s always spoken to me like that. Since we were children. Quite frankly, it wasn’t the worst conversation that we have had.”
“That doesn’t make it right,” Olivia replied softly, resting her hand on Jane’s sleeve.
“No,” Jane agreed. “But he spoke for my father. That much I know.”
“Then I’m glad you are here, and not with them. You deserve better.”
Jane straightened. “No, I don’t. I’ve nothing. No money. No future. One day you will tire of me and cast me out. What will I do then?”
Olivia’s expression softened with compassion. “Jane…”
“Excuse me, but I need to be alone,” Jane said, her voice tight as she turned from the drawing room. She didn’t look back, didn’t dare meet their eyes. Not Olivia’s, not Lord Westmere’s. Not even the sympathetic footman who quietly bowed as she passed.
The moment she entered the entry hall, her steps faltered.
There, positioned neatly beneath the wide arching windows, stood her trunks—her life reduced to two battered cases and a few hatboxes.
The sight of them struck her like a blow to the chest. They were a symbol of what had been done.
She was nothing more than a burden to be packed off and delivered.
For so long, she had been the good daughter. The obedient one. The one who smiled at the right time, curtsied just so, and bit her tongue when it ached to speak. All of it—every silent sacrifice, every forced smile, every carefully measured step—had been for their approval.
And in the end, none of it mattered.
She would never be good enough for them.
The realization landed not with despair, but with clarity—sharp and almost blinding in its honesty. Tears flooded her eyes, but these were not the same tears she had wept over the past few days. These tears were laced with fury.
They had never seen her—not truly. Not as someone with thoughts and feelings and desires of her own. Just a vessel for ambition. A bargaining chip. A means to an end.
Footsteps echoed behind her on the marble floor.
“Jane?” Olivia’s voice came gently. “Are you all right?”
Jane did not turn around. She stared straight ahead at the trunks and the life she no longer lived. Still, her voice came out steady. “For the first time… in a long while, I think I am.” She paused. “No matter what I did my family would never have truly accepted me. They never did.”
“No,” Olivia agreed. “They wouldn’t have.”
Jane turned to face her. “I made the right decision.”
Olivia’s lips curved into the barest smile. “Yes, you did.”
“I don’t know what comes next,” Jane admitted. “I don’t even know who I am beyond them. But I do know… I have a future. It just looks nothing like I once imagined.”
Relief brightened Olivia’s face. “I know that look. You aren’t giving up.”
Jane reached up and wiped the tears from her cheeks. “No, I am not,” she said with determination. She glanced towards her trunks. “At least they didn’t toss my clothing into the street with yesterday’s rubbish.”
“Shall we begin preparing for Vauxhall Gardens?”
Jane gave a nod. “Yes. And I already know the gown I mean to wear.”
With a graceful pivot, Olivia turned towards the butler. “Will you see that Lady Jane’s trunks are taken up to her bedchamber?”
The man bowed. “At once, my lady.”
Olivia looped her arm through Jane’s as they began to ascend the grand staircase together. “Out of curiosity, can you draw?”
“I can. Why do you ask?”
A mischievous grin formed on Olivia’s lips. “I was thinking… perhaps you might sketch your brother’s face, and we could use it for target practice the next time we shoot.”
A laugh escaped Jane’s lips. “That may be the best idea I’ve heard in days.”
“I thought you’d like it.”