Chapter 10
Jane sat before the dressing table, the soft morning light filtering through the drapes, as Marie styled her hair. She wanted to trust the maid—truly, she did—but trust had become a rare currency, not easily given after years under her father’s watchful, condemning eyes.
In a careful voice, hesitant so as not to sound intrusive, Jane ventured, “How do you like being a maid?” The moment the words left her lips, she winced inwardly. Foolish question. What maid would dare say she disliked her position, especially to her mistress?
Fortunately, Marie merely smiled at Jane’s reflection in the looking glass. “I enjoy it tremendously, my lady. My mother was a lady’s maid, and she taught me her ways from the time I could walk.”
“That is good.” Her voice was polite, but her mind scrabbled for something else to say, some topic that wouldn’t feel so stilted. Conversation had never been her strongest suit since years of being silenced had made her tongue wary.
Marie stepped back and asked, “Do you like your hair?”
Jane turned slightly, studying the smooth coil and artful arrangement in the mirror. “I do. Thank you,” she murmured, and meant it. Marie’s skill was undeniable.
“Now, we should get you dressed.”
Jane rose and allowed Marie to help her into her gown. She stood still while Marie fastened the endless row of tiny buttons along her back.
As Jane opened her mouth to speak, Marie beat her to it. “Lady Cosima hired me especially for you. She thought we might become friends.”
Jane glanced over her shoulder. “I would like that,” she said sincerely.
Then almost against her will, she added, “And I am sorry if I seem distant. I’m afraid that I am not used to maids who are genuinely interested in me.
When I lived with my father, they all reported back to him about everything I said or did. ”
Marie’s hands stilled. “That is awful.”
Jane nodded. “It was… exhausting. I never knew who I could trust.”
“I can see why,” Marie said, fastening the final button with care. “But I promise you, whatever you say to me will be held in the strictest confidence.”
Jane turned fully to face her, touched by the sincerity in the young woman’s expression. “That means a great deal to me.”
Before Marie could respond, the door swung open and Aunt Cosima swept in, bringing with her a faint whiff of lavender and brisk efficiency. “Good, you are ready. Lord Alcott is waiting for you in the entry hall.”
At the mention of Alistair’s name, Jane’s heart made an unexpected leap. Heavens, why did his name alone stir such a reaction?
Aunt Cosima’s sharp gaze shifted to Marie. “You will be accompanying Lady Jane to Newgate for propriety’s sake.”
“I don’t think that is necessary—” Jane began, but her aunt cut her off with a raised hand.
“It is more than necessary,” Aunt Cosima said firmly. “You are going to a prison. We must maintain some decorum.”
Jane conceded the point with a small nod. Her aunt reached into her reticule and produced a small, gleaming object. Jane blinked at it. “What is that?”
“It is a muff pistol,” Aunt Cosima said, as if it were the most ordinary thing in the world.
Jane stared. “Why are you giving it to me?”
“So you can protect yourself. I assume you can shoot?”
“Yes, but—”
“What did I say about the word ‘but’?” her aunt chided, her tone lightly teasing but her eyes entirely serious. “Now, slip this into your reticule and be on your way.”
Jane hesitated. “What if I… accidentally shoot myself?”
“Do you truly think you will?”
“Well, no, but—”
Her voice trailed off as Aunt Cosima pressed the cool metal into her palm. “Trust me. You are an heiress now, and a pistol may come in handy.”
The determined set of her aunt’s jaw brooked no further argument. Jane inclined her head. “Thank you,” she said, meeting her aunt’s gaze.
“You must hurry,” Aunt Cosima urged. “Do not keep Lord Alcott waiting.”
Slipping the pistol into place, Jane looped the reticule over her right wrist and left her bedchamber, Marie following close behind. At the top of the staircase, she spotted him—Alistair—in the entry hall below. Their eyes met, and before she could stop herself, a smile softened her lips.
She descended, her hand gliding along the iron banister, every step measured and graceful. “Good morning,” she greeted.
He bowed. “You are looking especially lovely this morning.”
“I hope not,” she replied. “I wore one of my simpler gowns. It seemed more fitting for a visit to Newgate.”
Leaning closer, he murmured, “You could outshine anyone in a sack.”
Heat bloomed in her cheeks. “That is kind of you to say, my lord.”
“It is merely the truth.”
The way he looked at her—admiring, unapologetically so—made her almost believe it. Her brother’s voice, calling her plain, echoed faintly in her memory, but for once, she began to wonder if it had always been one of his many lies.
Alistair offered his arm. “Shall we?”
Jane glanced back as Marie reached the bottom of the stairs. “My aunt insists my maid accompany me.”
“I assumed as much,” Alistair said, leading her to the door.
Outside, the morning air was brisk. A footman opened the door to the open-air carriage, and Alistair’s gloved hand closed warmly over hers as he helped her inside.
Once seated, the carriage lurched forward into the bustling street. Jane’s gaze drifted to the vendors calling out their wares, to ragged children darting through the crowd, and to the swirl of London life she was still learning to navigate.
Alistair’s voice drew her back. “Thank you for agreeing to this.”
“I was hesitant at first,” she admitted. “But I don’t want those dangerous men to be released.”
“Nor do I.”
She studied him. “The bruising is almost gone.”
“My ribs are another matter entirely,” he said with a faint grimace. “But I would rather not speak of injuries.”
“What would you prefer to speak of?”
He settled back. “How are you adjusting to life with your aunt?”
That brought a genuine smile to her lips. “It has been wonderful. No one spies on me or criticizes my every move.”
He gave a short laugh. “I know the feeling. My father criticized everything I did. I could never live up to his expectations.”
“At least your father had expectations,” Jane said. “Mine only told me I was a useless female whose sole purpose was to marry well and bear sons.” The bitterness in her tone betrayed her, no matter how she tried to hide it.
“That was wrong of him. You are so much more than that.”
Jane lowered her gaze to her lap. The rhythmic sway of the carriage did nothing to ease the knot in her chest. “No matter what I did, I was never good enough for him.” The words were quieter than she intended, as if voicing them aloud might somehow make them truer.
Alistair shifted in his seat, angling his broad frame towards her. His voice held the steady assurance of a man who had already walked through fire. “Stop performing for others just to win their approval. Be true to yourself.”
Her lips twitched into something between a smile and a grimace. “You make it sound so simple.”
He gave a short, dry chuckle. “I do. Yet I ran away and joined the Army just to escape my father.”
The thought of Alistair—strong, capable, decisive—being driven away from his home stirred something tight in her chest. “Do you miss him?”
His gaze went distant. “At times, I do. He wasn’t always a tyrant, but after my mother died… he changed.”
“My father was the same way.”
Alistair’s brow furrowed, his eyes darkening. “For as hard as he was on me, I wish he had spent more time with Charlotte. He neglected her entirely, leaving the servants to raise her.”
Jane winced at the thought. “That must have been hard on her.”
“We all have trials,” he said. “Some more difficult than others, but that is our lot in life.”
Before he turned his head, she caught the pain flickering in his eyes—unspoken, buried, and yet raw.
“I am sorry your father treated you so terribly,” she murmured. “I… ran away, too.”
His gaze snapped back to hers. “I am so glad that you did.”
A lump formed in her throat, but she pressed on. “Some may think that because I keep going, I don’t hurt. But let me be very clear. I hurt, and I keep going.”
Without hesitation, Alistair reached for her hand. The contact startled her, but she didn’t pull away. “We all hurt at times,” he said, his thumb brushing lightly against her knuckles. “But it is in those times that we grow stronger than we ever imagined possible.”
Jane glanced down at their intertwined hands. “I am glad that we are friends, Alistair.”
Something flared briefly in his eyes—something she couldn’t name. Before she could figure it out, it was gone, shuttered away.
“I am, too, Jane,” he said, releasing her hand. “Forgive me. I should not have been so familiar.”
“You can always be familiar with me.” The words escaped before she could stop them, and heat crept up her cheeks in a betraying rush.
His mouth curved into a slow, broad smile. “You shouldn’t say such things to me.”
“I… uh… didn’t mean it quite that way…” she stammered, wishing she could gather the words back into her mouth.
He chuckled again, this time with genuine amusement. “I was teasing you, Jane. And I would never take liberties with you. You must know that.”
A pang of something—disappointment, perhaps—stirred in her, but she forced a smile. “I trust you.”
“And I trust you.”
They held each other’s gaze for a moment far longer than propriety allowed. The quiet hum of carriage wheels on the cobblestones seemed to fade, leaving only the soft thrum of her pulse and the warm weight of knowing she trusted only a handful of people in the world and Alistair was one of them.
The carriage jolted over a rut, pulling her forward, and she caught herself with one gloved hand against the seat.
Alistair looked ahead. “We are almost there. I feel I should warn you that Newgate is… unpleasant. The stench alone can be overpowering.”
She arched a brow, unable to resist a touch of levity. “Do you spend a great deal of time in prisons?”