Chapter 6
Jane moved slowly through the grand townhouse, her steps quiet against the polished black and white marble floor that gleamed beneath her slippers.
Her eyes traced the towering white columns that lined the hall and the ornate gold sconces affixed with precision between floor-to-ceiling mirrors.
Crystal chandeliers glittered from above, catching the sunlight and scattering it in delicate rainbows across the walls.
It all felt so surreal.
She had heard whispers—rumors, really—of her Aunt Cosima’s wealth, spoken in hushed tones at family dinners or behind fans in drawing rooms. But they had always sounded exaggerated, embroidered tales meant to pass an idle hour.
Her father had refused to speak of his estranged sister-in-law, his mouth pinched and voice curt whenever her name arose.
It had pained her mother, Jane had no doubt of that, though she had never said so out loud.
She simply wore that smile of hers—a smile that tried too hard, one that never quite reached her eyes.
Jane reached out and brushed her fingertips against a tapestry hanging in one of the parlors.
The colors were still vibrant, the scene exquisitely detailed—a pastoral countryside with fine embroidery that must have taken someone years to complete.
She wondered who had created it, what story it told, and how it had come to hang here.
“Impressive, isn’t it?” came a familiar voice behind her.
Jane turned to see Aunt Cosima standing in the doorway, her dark brows arched in amusement. “I was taken by that tapestry as well,” her aunt added, gliding into the room with effortless elegance.
“How were you able to let out this place so quickly?” Jane asked, genuinely puzzled.
“I told you that it all comes down to money,” Aunt Cosima said with a wry smile. “And I have plenty of it.”
Jane lowered her gaze. “Thank you for coming to help me… but it wasn’t necessary.”
“Nonsense,” Aunt Cosima replied, waving off the sentiment with a dramatic flick of her hand. “I suspected your father had disowned you the moment I read you were staying with Lord and Lady Westmere. He’s always been as predictable as he is arrogant.”
Jane swallowed hard. “He told me he would if I didn’t go through with marrying the duke.”
Her aunt’s features stiffened. “Distasteful. Though not unexpected. And Adam? Does he feel the same?”
Jane’s voice faltered. “He… he sided with our father.”
“Spineless little man.” Then with restrained fury, she asked, “And how did the duke respond when you refused him?”
“He slapped me. My father stood by and did nothing.”
Aunt Cosima went rigid. “I would have punched the duke. I don’t care who he is. No man has the right to strike a woman—least of all you.”
“That’s why I ran,” Jane admitted. “I couldn’t stay after that.”
Closing the distance between them, Aunt Cosima placed her hands firmly on Jane’s shoulders. Her touch, though steady, held surprising warmth. “I am so glad you did. Though I wish you’d come straight to me.”
“I didn’t have any money,” Jane admitted, shame warming her cheeks. “My reticule was stolen the moment I stepped into the square after leaving the chapel.”
“Well, it matters not now. I am here and I will fix this.”
Jane’s brow furrowed. “I don’t think you can, but—”
“Ah!” Cosima held up a finger. “What did I say about the word ‘but’?”
Jane managed a faint smile.
“Let’s look at you,” her aunt said, stepping back and giving her a critical once-over.
Jane bit her lower lip, acutely aware of the state of her gown—clean, but plainly cut and showing the signs of too many wearings. Still, she lifted her chin, prepared to defend it.
“You’re a pretty enough thing—no doubt there—but your wardrobe is entirely uninspired,” Cosima declared. “We must dress you in colors that bring out your beautiful blue eyes.”
“My gowns are sufficient,” Jane replied.
“Yes, and bread is sufficient, but one tires of it quickly. I want you to walk into a room and be the envy of every simpering debutante.”
Jane shook her head. “I have no desire to be noticed in that way. I’m quite content remaining a wallflower.”
Her aunt arched a brow. “Your mother said the same once. But even she stepped into the light on occasion. It’s good to surprise people.” She paused thoughtfully. “And you need diamonds. And pearls.”
“I was given a diamond bandeau for my wedding, but I suspect my father will ask for it back when he realizes I still have it.”
Aunt Cosima’s eyes narrowed. “What of your mother’s jewelry collection? Did you not inherit it?”
Jane’s heart sank. “No. My father never mentioned it.”
“Why am I not surprised?” She frowned. “Your mother insisted those pieces be yours. Fortunately for us, I inherited your grandmother’s collection, and I see no reason you shouldn’t wear them.”
“Thank you, but—”
“No buts, Jane.”
Jane gave a tiny nod.
Her aunt turned and strode to the doorway. “The dressmaker is already en route. I’ve commissioned an entirely new wardrobe for you. No arguments.”
There was little Jane could say. “Thank you,” she murmured, following after her aunt, unsure whether she felt grateful or overwhelmed.
“We should begin dressing for the ball this evening,” Cosima said over her shoulder.
“Ball?”
“Lady Devon’s,” her aunt replied, as if it were obvious. “I informed her I was in Town. She insisted I attend and that I bring you.”
Jane stopped short. “She must be mistaken. No one wants me at their events… not after what I did.”
Aunt Cosima turned, her expression unreadable. “Then why did Lady Devon write me personally?”
“Perhaps… perhaps to laugh at me.”
Her aunt’s voice went firm. “No one will dare laugh at you—not with me there.”
The conviction in her voice sent a strange feeling rushing through Jane’s chest. Could it be… safety? Still, she whispered, “You cannot stop the gossip.”
“No,” Cosima agreed. “But we can make them gossip about something else.”
Just then, the butler appeared, his slicked-back black hair as perfectly in place as his decorum. “Forgive the interruption, my lady, but Lord Alcott has arrived. He asks to see Lady Jane.”
Her aunt’s brow lifted. “Well, this is interesting.”
“It’s not,” Jane said quickly. “We’ve been friends for years.”
Aunt Cosima’s eyes sharpened. “Is he anything like his father?”
“No,” Jane rushed out. “He’s nothing like his father.”
Cosima gave a small, satisfied nod, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “Good. That man was dreadful,” she said. “Why don’t you go greet your Lord Alcott and give him a tour of the gardens?”
“Lord Alcott is not my anything,” Jane replied.
“Yes, of course,” Aunt Cosima said airily, but the sparkle in her eyes betrayed her amusement—and her meaning.
Jane pressed her lips together as she turned towards the entry hall. Alistair was not hers. They were merely friends. Whatever girlish fancy she’d once had for him had long since been locked away and forgotten. She had buried it years ago—hadn’t she?
Still, her breath caught for the briefest of moments as she spotted him standing just inside the doorway, looking devilishly handsome.
He bowed as she approached. “Lady Jane. You are looking well.”
“As are you,” she responded. “Would you care for a tour of the gardens?”
“I would be delighted,” he said, offering his arm.
She placed her hand lightly in the crook of his elbow, and they began their walk through the corridor that led to the rear of the townhouse. Jane’s gaze flicked to the walls, where dozens—perhaps hundreds—of antique mirrors hung in deliberate asymmetry.
“Quite the collection,” Alistair remarked, glancing around. “I’ve never seen so many mirrors in one place.”
“My aunt claims they reflect light and fortune,” Jane said. “Though I suspect she also likes the idea of being surrounded by her own likeness.”
A nearby footman opened the rear door, and they stepped out onto the stone veranda. The scent of blooming roses rose to meet them, carried on the breeze. The gardens’ path stretched ahead, lined with perfectly trimmed rose bushes in soft blush, ivory, and deep crimson.
Jane gently slipped her hand from his arm but remained close as they began to walk. “What is it you wished to speak with me about?”
Alistair’s expression sobered. “Warwicke visited me this morning. He said the men who attacked me have been captured and are currently in Newgate.”
Jane stopped short, a gust of relief sweeping through her. “That is wonderful news!” she exclaimed.
Alistair nodded, though his smile was subdued. “It is. But Warwicke asked if we might go to the prison and identify them.”
Her heart stuttered as she turned to face him fully. “Surely there is another way?”
“I’m afraid not,” he said. “Do you believe you could recognize them if you saw them again?”
She looked away, down the rose-lined path that suddenly felt too narrow. “I remember their faces every time I close my eyes,” she admitted. “And the way they looked at me…” Her voice caught. “Like I was prey. I have no desire to ever see them again.”
“I understand,” he said. “And I wouldn’t ask you if there were any other way. But—Jane—I didn’t get a clear look at them. Everything was blurred. I need your help.”
She clasped her hands together, her fingers tightening as dread curled in her stomach. She knew what he was asking of her—knew how much it mattered—but even the thought of stepping foot in Newgate made her feel ill.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I don’t think I can.”
Alistair took a step closer. “I know you’re afraid. I would be, too. But I’ll be with you the entire time. No harm will come to you—I swear it.”
Her eyes searched his. “What you’re asking is… difficult.”
“I know,” he said, his voice sincere. “But if anyone has the strength to do it, it’s you.”
She gave a small huff, shaking her head. “You think too highly of me.”
“No, I don’t,” he said. “Or have you forgotten that you walked into that alleyway alone and saved my life? If not for you, I’d be dead.”