Chapter 9 #2
Jane stood with her back straight, gaze fixed on the pale blue wallpaper ahead as her maid, Marie, fastened the small, pearl-like buttons running the length of her gown.
She had no reason to mistrust Marie, but old habits were hard to shed.
In her father’s townhouse, servants had not been companions or confidants.
They had been eyes and ears for his constant scrutiny.
The final button was secured, and Marie stepped back. “Will there be anything else, my lady?”
Jane reached for the gloves laid neatly upon the table. “No, thank you,” she replied.
She let herself out into the corridor, and at once saw her aunt advancing towards her, a knowing smile in place.
“You look beautiful,” Aunt Cosima said warmly. “Now, do you like Marie? I personally selected her to be your maid.”
“She is… fine,” Jane replied, adjusting her gloves.
Aunt Cosima’s brow arched. “Just fine?”
“I do not know her well enough to make a sound judgment,” Jane admitted. “I prefer not to speak much to the servants.”
Her aunt’s expression softened, but curiosity lingered in her eyes. “Is there a particular reason why?”
Jane cast a glance at her bedchamber door and lowered her voice. “They are not to be trusted. At least, not in my father’s house. They would report every detail of my comings and goings to him.”
“I see. And you think I have them spying on you?”
“No… but—”
Aunt Cosima’s gloved hand touched her sleeve in gentle interruption. “Marie is a kind soul. You may trust her to keep your secrets.”
Jane’s lips curved in a faint, self-conscious smile. “I am not accustomed to opening up to anyone.”
“I hate how your father treated you,” her aunt said. “But here, you are free to be who you wish to be. No one is spying on you. I give you my word.”
Jane winced, knowing how ridiculous she sounded. “I am sorry.”
“For what?” her aunt asked. “You did nothing wrong so there is no need to apologize.”
“It is a habit.”
“Well, break it,” Aunt Cosima said briskly, though her smile was fond. “Shall we go spy on our guests?”
“Why would we do that?”
“Why not? Or we could hide in the tunnels and jump out to frighten them.”
Jane gave her a bemused look. “For what purpose?”
“For fun.”
Jane’s lips twitched despite herself. “You and I have very different definitions of fun.”
“You are no fun.”
“I am fun,” Jane protested.
“Then prove it. Slide down the iron banister.”
Jane’s mouth fell open. “I am not ten years old.”
“I challenge you most emphatically.”
“That means nothing to me.”
Aunt Cosima’s eyes gleamed. “I should think you have not the courage… unless you prove me wrong.”
Jane sighed. “Only if you do it with me.”
“Was there any doubt?”
As they walked towards the grand staircase, Jane found herself half-amused, half-appalled. A lady sliding down a banister—it was absurd. But her aunt was already positioning herself at the top, mischief in her posture.
“Shall we race?” Aunt Cosima asked.
“This is ludicrous,” Jane murmured, eyeing the long stretch of black iron.
“Stop overthinking it and live in the moment.” And with that, her aunt was gone, gliding down with an unladylike laugh.
Jane sat gingerly, bracing herself, then loosened her grip. The air caught at her skirts and the polished iron hummed beneath her. By the time she reached the marble floor, she was smiling—truly smiling.
“That was atrociously undignified,” she said, trying to school her features.
“Was it so bad?”
“No,” Jane admitted. “It was actually… quite fun.”
“See? It is the little things that make life worth living,” Aunt Cosima said, looping an arm through hers. “We should see to our guests now.”
They entered the drawing room where Alistair and Charlotte sat on opposite settees. Alistair rose immediately, bowing with courtly ease.
“My ladies.”
Jane curtsied. “My lord.” She turned to Charlotte. “Thank you for coming to dinner.”
“It is far better than being trapped at home,” Charlotte said.
Alistair’s lips quirked. “You must excuse my sister. She craves constant social engagement. She would prefer it if we went out every night.”
Aunt Cosima nodded in approval. “I see no harm in that.”
“I do,” Jane said frankly. “I would rather stay in with a book than endure the ton.”
“You and Alistair are two peas in a pod,” Charlotte murmured.
“Charlotte dislikes opposing views,” Alistair teased.
“That is because I am always right,” she replied primly.
“Not always,” he countered.
“I am right more often than not.”
Alistair chuckled. “We shall have to agree to disagree.”
“Don’t we always?” Charlotte asked with amusement in her voice.
Turning back to Jane, Alistair asked, “How are you faring?”
Jane met his gaze. She wanted to know far more than politeness allowed in company. “Would you care to take a turn about the room?”
“I would be delighted,” he said, offering his arm.
Once they were out of earshot, Jane lowered her voice. “Did you arrive in time to save Lord Rupert?”
“In time, yes, but he had already subdued his attacker.”
“That is most fortunate.”
Alistair’s tone held a touch of wry admiration. “Rupert’s arrogance has always been matched by his skill. It served him well in battle.”
“What did he say when you told him Rosalie warned you?”
His mouth pressed into a line. “He was not pleased. We both believed she belonged to our past.”
“Do we still need to go to Newgate to identify your attackers?”
“Yes. Tomorrow morning, if you are still willing.”
Her aunt’s teasing voice drifted over from the settees. “Can you speak up, dear? Miss Winslow and I cannot hear you.”
Jane stopped mid-step, slowly turning towards Aunt Cosima. “I thought you said you weren’t spying on me.”
“This is a drawing room,” her aunt replied with a playful glint in her eyes. “If you wanted privacy, you should have taken Lord Alcott on a tour of the gardens.”
“She is right,” Alistair remarked, a hint of amusement in his voice.
Jane narrowed her gaze at him, though her lips curved in a smile. “Traitor.”
Before Alistair could respond, the butler entered and bowed. “Dinner is ready to be served.”
Aunt Cosima sprang to her feet with more enthusiasm than elegance. “Wonderful. I am starving. I haven’t eaten since I had a biscuit nearly two hours ago.”
Jane bit back a smile. Only her aunt could make two hours sound like a harrowing fast.
They moved towards the dining room in companionable silence, the rich scent of roasted meat and freshly baked bread greeting them before they even crossed the threshold. Alistair stepped ahead to pull out the chairs for the ladies before claiming the seat beside her.
The footmen moved with precision, placing steaming bowls of soup before each guest. The delicate aroma of herbs and slow-simmered stock rose up, reminding her how little she had eaten herself.
Aunt Cosima lifted her spoon but paused midair, as though making a toast. “Please, enjoy. My cook is phenomenal. I stole him away from the Duke of Clarence.”
Jane was about to take her first sip when Charlotte’s voice cut in. “Congratulations on being the talk of the ton.”
Jane lowered her spoon. “I am hardly the talk of the ton.”
Charlotte made a show of stirring her soup. “Did you hear that I was named the diamond?”
“No, I hadn’t heard that yet,” Jane replied.
“That is because everyone is talking about how you are an heiress now,” Charlotte muttered. “No one cares about me.”
Jane’s brow lifted in mild disbelief, but before she could respond, Alistair glanced heavenward in exasperation. “Please excuse my sister… again. She is in high dudgeon over nothing at all.”
“That is not the least bit true,” Charlotte insisted. “But I am not angry at Jane. I am rather happy for her.”
Jane offered her a small, sincere smile. “Thank you, Charlotte.”
Charlotte pouted faintly. “I wish I were an heiress.”
Alistair let out an exasperated sigh. “You have a dowry of fifteen thousand pounds. That is nothing to scoff at.”
“I suppose not,” Charlotte conceded, though her expression said otherwise.
Jane lowered her gaze to her soup, grateful for the distraction.
Some women might have basked in being the diamond of the Season or in attracting whispers and admiring glances.
But not her. She had no desire to be the glittering centerpiece of the ton’s attention.
If anything, she dreaded it. The more eyes on her, the more likely someone would see past the surface and wonder at the truth she preferred to keep to herself.
Her aunt’s voice broke through Jane’s thoughts. “Why, pray tell, do you need to go to Newgate tomorrow?”
Jane’s lips parted, but before she could form a reply, Alistair’s deep, steady voice filled the pause. “Jane needs to identify the men who attacked me.”
Aunt Cosima’s gaze snapped to her. “My niece was there?”
“Yes,” Alistair said, his tone unwavering. “She is the reason I am still alive.”
“Jane is a hero,” Aunt Cosima said, her voice filled with pride.
Jane tried to shake her head, ready to deflect such praise, but Alistair was already looking at her. His gaze caught hers and held it fast, as though neither of them could quite look away.
“Yes,” he said quietly, his voice meant for her alone. “My hero.”
It was a simple phrase, but the weight of it settled in her bones.
There was warmth in his eyes, yes, but also something deeper—something that made her breath catch and her heart quicken.
In that moment, Jane was uncomfortably aware of how close he sat, of the faint scent of sandalwood that clung to him, and of the truth she dared not name: she liked the way it felt to be his hero.