Chapter 13 #2
“I do know that ,” she said. “But I suppose I want to keep this secret just a wee bit longer.”
“Wee? I am in trouble if you are speaking like a Scotswoman now.”
It earned him the laugh he had intended, the tension breaking. “Goodnight, Alistair,” she said, her smile lingering.
“Goodnight, Charlotte.”
He watched her leave, the door closing softly behind her, and he wondered what secrets his sister might be keeping from him.
Jane stood straight, her hands lightly clasped before her as Marie fastened the small pearl buttons running down the back of her gown.
The silence between them was not uncomfortable, but it carried a weight that Jane knew rested largely on her own reticence.
She wanted to confide in her maid, but the years of guardedness made it difficult. Still, she ought to try.
She cast a glance over her shoulder. “You once told me your mother was a lady’s maid. But what of your father?”
Marie’s nimble fingers paused briefly before resuming their work. “He was a butler. They met when my mother entered service at a grand estate. Alfred was then an under-butler and a widower. His wife had died in childbirth, leaving him with a baby.”
Jane’s heart gave a tug. “That must have been very difficult.”
“It was,” Marie responded. “He sent the baby to live with his sister until he could provide a more settled home. Years later, when he and my mother married, little Suzy came to live with us.”
The final button slipped into place, and Marie stepped back. Jane turned to face her and asked, “Were you close with Suzy?”
“I was. I was close to all my siblings,” Marie replied, a fond light in her eyes.
A pang of sadness swept through Jane. “That must have been very nice. I was never close with my brother. He… he delighted in cruelty.”
Marie’s gaze was steady. “You cannot choose your family, but sometimes—under the right circumstances—they may become your dearest friends.”
Jane shook her head. “My life is simpler without him. I must admit, though, I envy your closeness with your siblings.”
Marie’s lips curved faintly. “From what I’ve heard of Lord Barkley, he is not a man I would wish to call friend either.”
A grateful smile touched Jane’s lips. “Thank you.”
“Family is not always blood,” Marie said. “It is made up of those who want you in their lives, who accept you as you are.”
Before Jane could reply, the mantel clock chimed, reminding her of the hour. “I should go. But… thank you, Marie.”
Marie gave a modest shrug. “I did very little.”
“You listened,” Jane replied, moving towards the door. “And that is more than most people do.”
As she stepped into the corridor, she nearly collided with her aunt, who approached with brisk steps.
“Good morning,” Aunt Cosima greeted warmly. “You look lovely.”
Jane glanced down at her gown, one of her simpler muslins. “This is nothing extraordinary. I had thought to do a little gardening after breakfast.”
“I believe I shall join you.”
Jane’s heart lifted. “I would enjoy that greatly.”
They proceeded together down the corridor. Aunt Cosima’s voice carried a note of cheer. “Last night was rather enjoyable, was it not?”
“It was,” Jane agreed. “Does that mean you have altered your opinion of Lord Alcott?”
“For you? No. But for someone else—perhaps.”
Jane’s brows drew together. “I am confused as to your reasoning.”
Aunt Cosima stopped at the top of the staircase, regarding her with sharp eyes. “Does this mean you are interested in Lord Alcott as a suitor?”
Jane’s heart gave a sudden flutter, but she forced steadiness into her tone. “No. We are merely friends.”
“Then it ought not matter what my reasoning is,” her aunt replied, and descended the stairs.
Jane lingered a moment, wondering why her aunt’s disapproval bothered her so much. Alistair was honorable, brave, and far kinder than most men of her acquaintance. Any lady would be fortunate to marry him. Even her.
The thought startled her. She had always considered him a friend. Yet something warmer, something deeper, had been stirring in her breast. Not love—not yet—but something perilously close. And it frightened her.
“Are you coming, Jane?” Aunt Cosima called from below.
“I am,” Jane answered quickly, descending after her.
A sharp knock reverberated through the entry hall. Aunt Cosima huffed. “Who can that be at this hour? We haven’t even had breakfast.”
The butler crossed swiftly to the door and opened it. The Duke of Brackenford stepped inside.
Jane felt her breath seize. She forced her spine straight, reminding herself the man no longer held any power over her.
His sharp gaze found hers. He did not bow. Merely inclined his head a fraction. “Lady Jane, might I have a word? In private.”
Every instinct screamed no. She did not wish to be alone with this man ever again. “I would prefer my aunt be present as a chaperone,” she attempted.
“That will not be necessary,” he said with a dismissive wave.
“I believe it is,” Jane insisted.
The duke’s frown deepened, emphasizing the creases in his weathered face. He was a man accustomed to obedience, not opposition. “What I have to say will take but a moment. Surely even your aunt can allow me that.”
Jane caught Aunt Cosima’s quick glance towards the servants’ passages—an unspoken signal that she would remain close, unseen. Understanding, Jane inclined her head. “Very well. We may speak in the drawing room.”
The duke strode past without acknowledgment of her aunt, as though she were invisible. Jane followed, her chin held high though her pulse pounded in her ears. The last time she had seen him was at the altar, when she had rejected him.
Once inside, he stopped in the center of the drawing room and turned, his thin smile like a crack in old stone. “You are looking well, Jane.”
She kept her voice even, despite him speaking so informally to her. “What do you wish to discuss, your grace?”
“I have come to ask for your hand in marriage.”
Jane nearly forgot to breathe. “I beg your pardon?”
“Your father informed me that you regretted your hasty actions,” he continued, unbothered. “That you would be amenable to correcting your error.”
“My father was mistaken. I have no intention of marrying you.”
The smile collapsed into a scowl. “You owe me. You humiliated me before my friends and family, before the ton. But I am willing to forgive you now that your circumstances have improved.”
Realization hit her. “You mean since I became an heiress.”
“Yes. With your fortune, I would be richer than the king himself.”
Jane’s mind raced. He would devour her inheritance, discard her once he had it, as he had his other wives. She lifted her chin. “My position remains unchanged. I do not want to marry you.”
“That is because you are thinking too small,” he sneered, advancing a step. “Once we are wed, we can have your aunt declared mad. Two doctors’ signatures, and the fortune is yours.”
“But my aunt is not mad.”
“That is irrelevant,” he said with a smirk. “Her eccentricities will suffice. After all, what sane woman marries a merchant?”
“One who follows her heart,” Jane shot back.
“The heart has no place in marriage. Marriage is a business transaction.”
She moved behind the settee, needing the barrier. “I intend to marry for love.”
“Love is fleeting,” he snarled, shaking his fist. “But power endures. You would be a duchess. No one would ever slight you again.”
“My answer is no,” Jane said.
He advanced towards her, his breath sour with brandy and tobacco. “Perhaps you do not understand what I am offering.”
“I understand perfectly,” she replied, refusing to shrink back. “And I do not want it.”
His eyes glinted dangerously. “You will not defy me again. We will marry, and your fortune will be mine.”
Summoning every ounce of strength, Jane met his gaze without wavering. “I would not marry you if you were the last man on earth.”
“How dare you!” His hand rose, poised to strike.
Jane closed her eyes, bracing—yet the blow never came. She opened them to see Alistair behind the duke, his hand gripping the raised arm.
In a stern voice, Alistair said, “I suggest you leave, your grace. You are no longer welcome here.”
The duke wrenched his arm free. “You do not speak for Jane.”
“You are correct,” Alistair answered evenly. “She speaks for herself.”
Jane lifted her chin. “Leave. And never come back.”
The duke’s face mottled with rage. “You impertinent chit. You dare defy me?”
“Yes.”
With a final glare, he spun on his heel to face Alistair. “You have made a dangerous enemy, Alcott.”
“I expected as much,” Alistair retorted.
With a violent scoff, the duke stormed out, slamming the door behind him.
Jane’s knees trembled, but Alistair’s steady gaze anchored her. His eyes swept over her as though ensuring she was unharmed. “Are you all right?”
Jane drew in a breath, shaky at first, then steadier as she forced her shoulders back. “I am,” she said, though her heart still galloped within her chest. “And I am glad you came when you did.”
Alistair’s expression was grim, the muscle in his jaw tight. “You should not have been alone with that man.”
“I was not,” Jane replied quickly, gesturing towards the paneled walls. “My aunt has been observing from the servants’ tunnel.”
Alistair’s frown deepened. “That would not have stopped him from striking you.”
Before Jane could defend her aunt’s caution, a panel in the wainscoting swung open with a soft groan of hinges, and Aunt Cosima stepped forth, a pistol gleaming in her hand.
“You are right, my lord,” Aunt Cosima said calmly, as though brandishing a pistol in her own drawing room was the most natural thing in the world. “But in truth, you saved the duke from being shot.”
Alistair’s brows lifted high. “You would have shot a duke?”
Aunt Cosima’s grip on the weapon was unflinching. “If he had laid a hand upon my niece, I would have done so without hesitation. Rank means very little when a man behaves like a brute. Besides,” she added with a dry edge, “he intends to commit me to an asylum.”
“I would have never let that happen,” Jane stated.
Aunt Cosima turned her head, and her eyes softened as they met Jane’s. “I know, my dear.”
Alistair cleared his throat, his gaze moving between aunt and niece before settling on Aunt Cosima. “I was hoping to speak to Lady Jane… alone,” he said. “That is, if it is agreeable to you.”
Aunt Cosima lowered the pistol but did not yet relinquish it. “I have no objection, my lord. But I do not speak for Jane.”
Alistair turned then, his green eyes fixing upon Jane, and in that moment, the gravity in his expression made her pulse quicken. “Are you agreeable?”
Jane pretended to be put out. “I suppose I can speak to you since you did just save me from the duke.”
“I will always save you,” Alistair said, his tone fierce with conviction.
The words struck Jane with more force than she had anticipated. They were not mere gallantry; he meant them.
Aunt Cosima spoke up. “Why don’t you two take a turn in the gardens? Fresh air will do you both good. But rest assured, I shall be watching from the window.”
Alistair stepped forward, extending his arm towards her. “Shall we, my lady?”
Her fingers hesitated for the briefest of moments before curling around his sleeve. “We shall.”
Together they moved through the corridor and towards the rear of the townhouse in silence.
A footman opened the back door, and they stepped onto the veranda.
The cool morning air swept over her, carrying with it the mingled scents of roses, damp earth, and clipped herbs.
It should have calmed her, but her pulse only quickened.
She was acutely conscious of the warmth beneath her hand where it rested on Alistair’s arm, of the strength she felt there, steady and unyielding.
Neither of them attempted conversation. Jane was grateful. Words would have betrayed her, for her heart was thundering—not with fear now, but with something altogether more dangerous. Affection. Admiration. Perhaps even the first stirrings of something she dared not name.
Her treacherous heart would not be silenced, whispering to her with every step that she felt far more for Alistair than mere friendship.