Chapter 8
Jane sat curled into the corner of the drawing room settee.
The pale afternoon light caught in the motes of dust drifting lazily through the air, and she let her gaze wander to the windows now and again, enjoying the rare luxury of perfect stillness.
A book lay open on her lap, and she had been wholly absorbed in its world—far more appealing than her own—until the spell was broken.
The peace ended abruptly.
From the entry hall came the unmistakable sound of raised voices, shuffling boots, and the creak of the front door opening and closing more than once. Jane froze, finger marking her place in the book as she listened. That was far too much activity for an ordinary caller.
The butler entered, his expression hovering between apology and unease. “There are many gentlemen here to see you, my lady,” he said with a bow.
A sinking feeling tightened her chest. “Many? How many?”
“Ten.”
Her lips parted. Ten. Ten determined gentlemen, who only yesterday would not have crossed the street to greet her, and now they were lined up at her door. She had no doubt it was because news of her inheritance had spread like wildfire through the gossiping circles of Mayfair.
“I… I…” Her voice trailed off. What could she say? That she had no intention of meeting them? That she wished they would all go away and leave her to her book? The truth was, she did not trust a single one of them.
Before she could answer, there was a sudden click and a section of the wainscoting slid open. A narrow panel revealed her Aunt Cosima, standing with a conspiratorial smile.
“I knew these servants’ tunnels would come in handy,” Aunt Cosima said with satisfaction. “Come along, dear. Make haste.”
Jane did not hesitate. She crossed the room in an instant and slipped inside the narrow space, the panel closing firmly behind her. Darkness wrapped around them until her aunt struck a match and lit a stubby candle, casting a warm, flickering glow on the close brick walls.
“Now that we are hiding,” Aunt Cosima said, “what would you like to do?”
Jane exhaled, only now realizing how fast her heart had been beating. “I don’t know. Anything that doesn’t involve ten fortune hunters in the hall.”
“You will have to face them sooner or later,” Cosima reminded Jane, the corners of her mouth twitching in amusement.
“Yes, but today is not that day,” Jane replied firmly. “They are not here for me, only for what they believe I can give them. Every one of them turned his back when I was ruined so why should I trust them now?”
Her aunt’s eyes glimmered with approval. “A sensible answer. Come—we shall take a turn in the gardens instead. I have not yet perfected my route through these tunnels, but I shall try not to get us lost.”
As they began their slow progress through the narrow passage, Jane asked, “How did you even know those men were here?”
“I saw them from my bedchamber window,” Aunt Cosima replied with relish. “Two of them were already engaged in fisticuffs on the pavement. I’m surprised you didn’t hear them.”
Jane shook her head. “I heard nothing. I was reading.”
“A fine pastime.”
“My father would disagree.”
“Of course he would,” her aunt said with a snort. “He disapproved of anything that might encourage a woman to think.”
Jane smiled faintly. “He always warned of reading mania.”
“If men said anything that was at least somewhat informative, perhaps women would not need to read so much,” her aunt quipped.
A laugh escaped Jane before she could stop it.
Finally, Aunt Cosima pressed another hidden panel and pushed it open. They stepped into a back corridor, where a waiting footman opened the door to the veranda. Cool air greeted them as they descended into the gardens’ winding gravel paths.
The relief in Jane’s chest was so profound she had to speak. “Thank you for everything.”
Her aunt gave a dismissive wave. “Stop thanking me, Child. It is plain to me you are used to going without.”
“I wouldn’t say that,” Jane protested. “I had gowns and ribbons aplenty.”
“That is not what I mean. I speak of affection freely given, without condition.”
Jane’s gaze dropped. “My father loved me… in his own way. At least, I hope he did.”
“There is only one way to love,” her aunt said. “The way your mother did, freely and unconditionally.”
Tears welled in Jane’s eyes at the mention of her mother. “I miss her every day.”
“So do I. And she loved you dearly, without exception.”
“I sometimes wonder how different life might have been if she had survived. Would Adam have been less cruel?”
“Perhaps. Or perhaps not. Your father’s influence runs deep.”
“I have always wondered what it would be like to belong to a happy family,” Jane murmured, “one where love was not withheld the moment you displeased them.”
Her aunt squeezed her arm. “You are safe here. You may be whoever you wish to be.”
Jane let out a breath that felt heavy with years. “But I am not certain who that is.”
“That, my dear, is for you to discover. But you will be loved no matter what you decide.”
Their moment was interrupted by the butler stepping out onto the veranda. “My lady, Lord Ketteridge demands to speak to his daughter.”
Jane’s entire body went rigid. “My father is here?”
Aunt Cosima spoke up. “Inform Lord Ketteridge that I will see him in the study—alone. He forfeited the right to address his daughter when he cast her off.”
“Are you sure?” Jane asked.
“I am,” her aunt responded. “Enjoy the gardens.”
Jane watched her aunt stride away, feeling her own legs weaken. She sank onto a bench, trying not to dwell on the inevitable day when she would have to face him herself.
When had life grown so complicated? For years, she had done exactly as expected, bending under the weight of her family’s demands. Here, with her aunt, there was no such weight. She was free.
A familiar voice broke her thoughts.
“I thought I might find you here.”
She turned and saw Alistair approaching, his stride purposeful. “Alistair! What are you doing here?”
“I hope I’m not intruding. I came to see how you were faring.”
“You are never intruding,” Jane said with a small smile. “I’m glad you’re here.”
“The butler turned me away, as were many other of your gentlemen callers,” he said, his tone light.
From the townhouse came muffled shouts—her father’s voice among them. Jane glanced towards the sound. “My father came to see me but my aunt is contending with him.”
“That would explain the shouting,” Alistair said dryly, lowering himself onto the bench when she shifted to make room.
His smile didn’t reach his eyes, and Jane sensed the weight he carried. “Something troubles you,” she prodded.
“Another one of my comrades has died,” he admitted, leaning forward. “One murdered in a robbery… another, they claim, took his own life. But I don’t believe it. Not for a moment.”
Her heart tightened. “I’m so sorry.”
The pain in his eyes was undeniable. “When did life become so complicated?” he murmured.
“I was just asking myself the same thing.”
“And your answer?”
“I haven’t one yet.”
“Neither do I,” he muttered. “At least you are an heiress now, and your scandal is in the past.”
How she wished it were that simple. “Yes, but now I must deal with fortune hunters.”
Straightening in his seat, he advised, “Be cautious, Jane. You deserve better than that.”
“Fortunately, my aunt must approve any suitor before I inherit.”
“A wise condition.”
“She helped me escape a hallway full of them earlier,” Jane said with a soft laugh. “Through the servants’ tunnels.”
“I’m glad you have someone looking out for you.”
“I have two people,” she said, nudging his arm. “You’ve always been kind to me, even when I was a straggly little girl trailing after you.”
“You were never that bad,” he said, and this time his smile almost reached his eyes.
A thought came to Jane. A dreadful, chilling thought. “Were your comrades’ deaths… and your attack… somehow related?”
Alistair’s expression changed in an instant. Whatever flicker of warmth had been in his eyes vanished, replaced by a grim hardness. “It has everything to do with my attack.”
Before she could draw breath to ask more, he abruptly stood. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice clipped. “I shouldn’t have come here. I’ve no right to burden you with this.”
Jane rose quickly, the urgency to keep him from leaving stronger than she’d anticipated. “You are not burdening me.”
“But I am…” His voice cracked with emotion. “My friends are dead because of me.”
“I do not believe that to be true.”
“It is,” he stated.
“Alistair…”
He turned away, but not quickly enough to hide the sheen of tears in his eyes. That small, unguarded glimpse broke something in her.
“Excuse me,” he murmured, his voice rough, “but I should go. I won’t intrude on your time any longer.”
She could have let him walk away—perhaps that would have been the polite thing, the easy thing. But every instinct in her resisted. Her heart told her to stop him. She reached for his arm, fingers curling into the sleeve of his coat.
“Jane…” His tone held warning, yet he didn’t pull away.
“I am so very sorry about your friends. Truly,” she said, willing him to hear the sincerity in her voice. “But you are not responsible for their deaths. You cannot be.”
He finally looked at her, and the facade he wore so often—his calm, charming smile—was gone. In its place was a sorrow so deep it unsettled her.
“I wish,” he began, “that I had been the one who died.”
The words struck her like a blow. Before she could think better of it, she closed the small space between them, sliding her arms around his neck and holding him. “Well,” she whispered, “I am glad that you are here… with me.”
At first, he went rigid in her embrace, as though startled by the contact. But then she felt the shift—his breath eased, his shoulders lowered, and his arms came around her, drawing her close.