Chapter 11
Jane sat in the carriage, her back as rigid as the seat itself.
Her gaze was fixed on her father’s townhouse—tall, imposing, and entirely unwelcoming.
She could not say how long she had been staring at it.
Perhaps only moments had passed, yet it felt as though she had been sitting there for an eternity, trapped in the quicksand of her own hesitation.
Did she truly have the strength to face him?
Alistair’s voice broke through her spiraling thoughts. “Are you sure you want to do this?”
“Yes,” she replied, her voice firmer than she felt. “It is something I have to do.”
“I understand,” he said, leaning back in his seat with the kind of calm she envied. “I am ready whenever you are.”
She shut her eyes briefly, gathering what little courage she possessed.
Alistair had been endlessly patient with her, never pressing her, and never hurrying her along.
She knew, without question, that if matters went badly inside, he would protect her.
So why did fear still coil so tightly in her chest?
Her father could not hurt her—not in the way he once had. Not anymore.
“I am ready,” she announced, though her pulse still thudded in her ears.
Alistair tipped his head in acknowledgment. “Shall we, then?” He stepped down from the carriage, then turned back to her and extended his hand.
Jane placed her gloved hand in his and he assisted her onto the pavement. Once her feet touched solid ground, she felt a quiet relief when he tucked her hand securely into the crook of his arm. She had always felt safe with Alistair—safe, cared for, and, in some strange, foolish way, at home.
Nonsense. She could not—would not—entertain such thoughts. Alistair was her friend. Nothing more.
They mounted the steps together, and Alistair’s hand hovered near the brass knocker before pausing. “Just breathe, Jane.”
She exhaled slowly. “I can do this,” she murmured, though the words were meant as much for herself as for him.
“I know you can,” came his quiet reply.
The door opened almost at once after his knock, and the butler’s eyes widened at the sight of her. “Lady Jane, do come in,” he said, stepping aside.
Her boots had barely touched the marble floor when her brother’s voice rang down from the top of the staircase, sharp and mocking.
“Ah, the prodigal daughter has finally returned,” Adam drawled.
Jane lifted her chin and looked up at him. “I am here to see Father.”
“And what makes you think he wishes to see you?” Adam asked, descending with deliberate leisure. “I believe I made our position on that matter perfectly clear.”
“If Father turns me away, that is between him and me.”
Adam stepped onto the marble floor, his expression narrowing into something darker. “Why is Alcott here?”
“I asked him to accompany me,” she responded.
“For what purpose?” he mocked. “If Father did want to see you, this is a family matter. No need to parade outsiders into it.”
“Regardless,” Jane said, keeping her voice steady despite the trembling in her knees, “I thought it best that Lord Alcott came with me.”
Adam scoffed. “I fail to see the logic, but then, I do not expect much from you. You are only a useless female.”
Her cheeks burned, but before she could reply, Alistair’s voice cut through the air. “That was entirely uncalled for.”
“I will speak to my sister however I please,” Adam shot back. “I could not care less whether you object.”
Alistair stepped closer, his voice edged with steel. “If you insult her again, I will have no choice but to challenge you to a duel.”
Adam’s brows shot up. “A duel? Surely you jest—over Jane?”
“I am perfectly serious,” Alistair said. “And I assure you, I do not miss when I fire my pistol.”
Jane’s lips curved into a small, grateful smile. His words were a shield, and under their protection, she felt a spark of bravery she had not known in years.
Adam’s mouth twisted, but he merely said, “Suit yourself. Let us see if Father will waste his time with you.”
As her brother strode away, Jane touched Alistair’s sleeve lightly. “Thank you.”
He patted her hand. “You are braver than you think.”
“With you, I can be as brave as I wish,” she admitted in a whisper.
“You don’t need me for that,” he said. “It’s already in you. I’ve seen it.”
She glanced towards the corridor. “Adam is dreadful.”
“I don’t disagree,” Alistair replied. “But he is a bully, and I have never tolerated bullies.”
“Well,” she murmured, “wait until you speak to my father.”
Alistair’s lips twitched. “I can’t wait.” He gestured down the corridor. “Shall we?”
Before she could answer, her father’s voice thundered from the study. “Jane! Get in here!”
Her shoulders straightened of their own accord. “Let’s get this over with.”
“That’s the spirit,” Alistair teased.
They walked in silence until they reached the study, where her father sat behind his great mahogany desk, Adam lounging near the window.
Her father’s eyes narrowed. “What is Lord Alcott doing here?”
“I asked the same thing,” Adam muttered.
Jane met her father’s gaze without flinching. “He was gracious enough to accompany me.”
“Then he can wait in the hall,” her father said with a dismissive wave.
“No,” Jane replied, her voice calm but resolute. “He stays, or I leave with him.”
“I beg your pardon?” her father growled.
She felt the instinct to shrink under the force of his tone, but Alistair’s quiet presence anchored her. “You heard me, Father.”
Adam’s dry chuckle grated against her ears. “Look who found a backbone.”
Her father leaned back, studying her as though she were a puzzle he had no patience for. “Your little antic at the chapel has cost me dearly. The duke is suing us for breach of contract.”
“I am sorry to hear that,” Jane said, though she felt anything but.
“Since you are of age, I expect you to repay every penny I owe him.”
Her breath caught. “With what money?”
“I care not how, but you will,” her father said coldly. “Perhaps your dear Aunt Cosima will oblige you.”
“How much?”
“Ten thousand pounds.”
She could only stare. “That is a fortune.”
“It is,” he responded. “And you brought it upon yourself by refusing to marry him. You should have done your duty.”
“I told you I did not want to marry him, and I should not be responsible for that amount since I signed nothing. Only you did, Father,” Jane retorted.
“We all have duties in this family,” he snapped. “You failed yours and humiliated us in the process.”
“Surely there must be another way,” Jane said, forcing her voice to remain steady though her stomach twisted in knots. “What about my dowry?”
“That can be accessed only when you are married.” Her father’s lips thinned. “However, the duke is willing to overlook this—indiscretion—and still take you as his wife.”
Her mouth fell open in disbelief. “You cannot be in earnest.”
“I am.”
Adam interjected. “Do the right thing, Jane—for once in your life.”
Her gaze snapped to her brother. “And in what possible way is marrying the duke the ‘right thing’?”
“You would be a duchess,” Adam said, his tone sharp with condescension. “With your inheritance from Aunt Cosima, you would never have to fret over your future.”
A thought struck her—cold, unwelcoming. “Does the duke only wish to marry me now because Aunt Cosima has named me her heir?”
Adam let out a short, derisive laugh. “Well, it certainly isn’t for your sparkling personality.”
“No,” she said, her voice firm this time.
Her father rose from behind his desk, his height and posture meant to intimidate. “You will marry the duke.”
“No,” she repeated. “I will not. And you cannot force me.”
He came around the desk and Jane’s heartbeat thundered in her ears. Before he could reach her, Alistair stepped forward, placing himself squarely between them.
Her father halted, his voice low and dangerous. “Step aside, Alcott.”
“I don’t think I will,” Alistair replied. “If you wish to speak to Jane, you can do so from where you are.”
Her father’s glare sharpened. “And what gives you the right to speak for my daughter?”
Alistair’s jaw tightened, his fists curling at his sides. “I don’t speak for her. She is perfectly capable of speaking for herself.”
The two men locked eyes, their mutual disdain thickening the air. Finally, her father leaned back slightly, conceding nothing. “This is pointless. Jane must do her duty.”
Jane stepped from behind Alistair but kept close enough to feel the steady presence of his arm beside hers. “My duty is no longer to this family.”
“You insolent, ungrateful little chit!” her father roared. “You owe me everything.”
“I owe you nothing,” she stated, the words spilling from her lips before fear could stop them.
Adam moved to stand behind their father, his arms rigid at his sides. “You play at bravery, Jane, but we both know this conversation would go very differently if Alcott were not here.”
Her brother’s words stung—not because they were entirely untrue, but because she refused to let them diminish her resolve. “I think we are finished here.”
Her father surged forward a half-step. “How dare you!”
Alistair extended his arm, and she slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow without hesitation. “If you wish to speak to me civilly, you know where to find me,” she said.
She did not look back as they left the study. The corridor stretched before her like a path out of some oppressive fog, and she kept her head high, even when the sound of raised voices erupted behind them. No doubt her father was seething over her defiance.
Once outside, Alistair helped her into the carriage. The moment the door shut, the vehicle lurched forward.
“That went well,” he said with a wry twist of his lips.
“Quite frankly, it went better than I anticipated,” she replied, her voice lighter than she felt.
He was silent for a moment before saying quietly, “I’m sorry.”
“For what?”