Chapter Six
Jasper
Isobel’s confession was a blow to the gut. He stood, walking around his father’s desk to confront his sister. “You what ?”
“You were so miserable!” She pointed her finger at him in accusation, as though he was the one who had done something wrong in this scenario. “And I knew you’d never do anything about it, so I took matters into my own hands.”
“Who gave you the right?” he demanded, his anger bursting to life in his chest. It had been so long since he let himself feel the full force of it. So long since he had allowed himself to feel anything other than solemn sufferance. The anger, in contrast, felt almost cleansing.
Almost.
“Let’s remain calm, shall we?” said Helena, ever the peacekeeper.
But Jasper could not find even a thread of serenity within him. “How many?” he asked.
Isobel had the sense to look ashamed. “Six.”
“You invited six of my friends to our home without discussing it with me first?” The idea of welcoming his old friends into his home as though he were a person whole and not simply a shell of a man was intolerable. Jasper was no longer equipped to handle the nuances of etiquette or the niceties of social interaction. It seemed a lifetime ago that he’d been anything other than empty. He didn’t think he had it in him to be the Jasper Maycott they remembered.
Meanwhile, Isobel was moving past contrition to righteous indignation. “Can you at least admit that if they had arrived without warning, you wouldn’t have had time to be cross with me?”
His anger met her indignation blow for blow. “How could we possibly know that?” He sat on the edge of the desk and yanked on his collar, feeling like he needed more air than the suddenly stifled library provided. “Your selfishness knows no bounds, Isobel.”
“You think me selfish? You’re the selfish one, Jasper. Keeping the best version of yourself locked away in your memories as though the only family you have left doesn’t deserve you.”
He stood without thinking, his anger a pulsing, uncontrollable thing. “There is no better version of me left!”
His words cracked through the library like a musket shot. Isobel’s face fell, her features twisting with pity. Jasper turned away abruptly, unwilling to accept any of it. He closed his eyes and forced his breathing to slow, desperate to regain some control over himself.
“Have you had quite enough?” asked Aunt Adelaide between them, her rather light tone pouring an icy calm over Jasper. “Quarreling doesn’t change the fact that Mulgrave Hall is about to play host to a holiday party you’ve done precisely nothing to prepare for.”
Jasper shot Isobel a look that made it clear where he thought the blame lay.
“Aunt Adelaide is right,” said Helena calmly. “We have much to do and scarcely any time to do it. Battersby?” In his anger, Jasper had all but forgotten the butler’s presence, yet another witness to his outburst. Would the indignities never cease? “Instruct the cook to prepare a menu for”—she paused, counting—“at least twelve. I’m sure Freddie and August will arrive at the most inconvenient time, so we should act as though they are already here. Heaven knows we will need to replenish our stores but there should be enough for tomorrow’s meals. Isobel, go arrange with the housekeeper to have rooms aired out and prepared for guests. Viola and I will see to it that the rest of Mulgrave Hall is up to snuff.”
“What would you have me do, Helena?” asked Jasper. He sat in his father’s armchair, suddenly exhausted.
Helena’s eyes were soft on him, making his skin itch. “You will procure for us a tree, Brother.”
“A tree?”
“For trimming. Whether you like it or not, Jasper, we’re hosting a version of Mother’s famous fête.”
Battersby chose that moment to clear his throat. Unfortunately, Jasper’s patience had worn thin since discovering Isobel’s meddlesome plot. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Yes, Battersby?”
“What shall I do about Miss Jane?”
Jasper’s heart thudded to a stop. He had forgotten about Jane and her beguiling eyes and mysterious past. Jane, a woman he didn’t quite trust but who captivated him nevertheless, mixing with the friends he hadn’t spoken to in a year. How was he going to endure any of it?
“The plan does not change,” replied Aunt Adelaide crisply. “She is Helena’s friend from school, come for a visit. It is the only option we have, save for turning her out into the street.”
A thought came to Jasper, insistent and pressing. “It is important to me that we do not discuss Annabelle with Jane.” A part of Jasper still belonged to Annabelle, a part he did not wish to share with anyone, least of all a virtual stranger. He still wasn’t convinced that Jane wasn’t a conniving fortune hunter seeking out his weaknesses to use against him. And given that a part of him was already drawn to her without much effort, he didn’t think she needed any more ammunition in that regard.
His sisters exchanged worried glances. Helena spoke first. “Won’t that be very difficult once your friends have arrived?”
He shook his head. “Not if they follow our lead with respect to the subject.”
“So your plan is to prevent anyone from mentioning Annabelle by sheer force of will?” Isobel scoffed. “It’s hardly how she should be remembered.”
He refused to acknowledge Isobel’s words. “I expect everyone to respect my wishes.” When they didn’t acquiesce right away, he continued. “We still don’t know for certain that Jane isn’t a liar.”
Isobel glared at him. “Her gruesome head wound was fairly convincing.”
“Jasper, you cannot mean that,” Helena admonished. “I’ve spent time with Jane, and she is the furthest thing from a liar—”
“A fortune hunter would hardly own up to her plot,” Jasper argued.
“That’s assuming you’re worth the effort,” Isobel replied cuttingly.
Aunt Adelaide sniffed. “In any event, it would hardly be proper to discuss such matters at a country house party.”
For once, etiquette was on Jasper’s side, and by extension, so was Aunt Adelaide. It was all the army he needed at the moment.
Helena smiled brightly but unconvincingly. “We should probably inform Jane of our years-long friendship. Would you send for her, Battersby? I suspect she’s had enough rest.”
“No need,” came a small, sheepish voice from behind the butler. And then Jane stepped into the room looking deeply ashamed, and Jasper’s heart ceased its beating altogether. He leaped to his feet as she offered the room a wobbly curtsy. “Apologies, my lord and ladies. I was on my way here and stumbled upon your conversation. Not wishing to interrupt, I found myself…” She paused, her cheeks reddened with shame.
“Eavesdropping,” Isobel finished for her with a grin while Helena shot an immensely concerned look his way. He had just finished calling Jane a potential fortune hunter and demanding his family not bring up his dead fiancée. What a disaster. He prayed she had missed the worst of it. Isobel continued. “As we spent a great deal of time discussing you , I find myself disinclined to blame you, Jane.”
The world tilted on its axis when Jane stepped into the light of day. There was the monstrous bruise, stealing a great deal of the attention that should have been paid to the woman beneath it. He noticed her dressing had been changed—a good sign, he supposed—and her hair was damp. She’d had a bath. The mere idea of it robbed him of critical thought. Had Helena arranged for a maid to help her, or had she managed it on her own? Had the water been warm enough? Did she have access to everything she needed? Christ, why am I so concerned?
Distantly, he heard his aunt mutter something that sounded like déshabillée, but he couldn’t be certain.
Jane smiled a small smile and cast her eyes around the room. When they fell upon him, his heartbeat quickened like a lovesick schoolboy being given an ounce of attention. But she looked away quickly. Guilt slammed into him as he worked backward, trying to ascertain whether or not she had heard anything catastrophic. Would she understand who Annabelle was to him? Did she hear him call her a potential fortune hunter? He couldn’t be certain, but he suspected she knew enough not to broach either topic with any of them. Which was what he had wanted, but then why did her shuttered gaze sting so much? He supposed it was just as well, if she sought to avoid him. Perhaps then he’d stand a chance at avoiding her as well.
“I am terribly sorry,” she offered to no one in particular.
“Think nothing of it, Jane. I suppose that means you heard of our accidental party and how we plan to handle it?” asked Helena.
“Ah, yes. School friends, was it?” It was then that Jasper noticed what she was wearing. Ladies’ clothing rarely elicited much reaction from him. He was far more likely to notice the lack of it, when the occasion warranted. But Jane was wearing a dress from Annabelle’s trousseau, which Helena had been helping his former fiancée assemble, and for the first time since discovering her bloodied in the road, Jasper was forced to think of the two women at once.
They could not be more dissimilar. Jane was slight and dark-haired, and Annabelle had been tall with long golden curls, a veritable ray of sunshine. Where Annabelle had been polite and reserved, Jane was curiously sharp-tongued and quick-witted. But most obviously, Annabelle had been steady, a woman with her feet planted firmly in the earth, whereas Jane was terribly unmoored. But even as he thought it he knew it was an unfair juxtaposition, given that Jane’s insecurity was not, strictly speaking, her fault.
Christ, but the devil had him comparing two women who by rights never should have been pitted against each other. But it was hard not to tie them together in some way when Jane stood there in Annabelle’s clothes. Jasper began repeating their differences in his mind as though they were marks against Jane, a litany of her faults. He was far less willing to admit that there were commonalities between the two women, things he had seen in Annabelle that he sensed in Jane. He dismissed them as nebulous similarities. Not anything worthy of further study, surely.
His last shred of sense made him hold his tongue about the gown. Jane didn’t know it had been made for his bride-to-be, or that seeing her in the clothing intended for Annabelle felt like a betrayal deep in Jasper’s wretched heart. He felt quite certain that in this matter, Jane was an innocent. And besides, the thought of bringing up Annabelle again in so short a span of time was unbearable. So he would keep the pain to himself, as he had been doing for the past year, letting it sour and fester in the deepest parts of him.
“Miss Jane, that is such a lovely gown,” said Viola, finding an opening in which to insert herself at last, having been failed in that regard by her older siblings.
“Why thank you,” said Jane, fanning the skirt out a bit for effect. She seemed to catch herself, perhaps embarrassed by the overly familiar gesture. She straightened, her cheeks a tad red. “I do not believe we’ve had the pleasure of meeting, my lady.”
“This is my sister, Lady Viola. She’s been most curious about you, Jane.” He spoke without intending to, his voice rough. Something he couldn’t explain made him eager to smooth over Jane’s slightest discomfort. Perhaps it was that he knew how precarious her position was—he didn’t wish to add to that feeling. Whatever the reason, he sounded like a desperate fool.
“I do believe you meant Miss Jane … What is it then?” asked Aunt Adelaide pointedly, doing her damnedest to remind him of blasted etiquette.
“Oh, we never assigned Jane a surname, Aunt,” said Helena, attempting to close the matter.
“Well, that won’t do. We can’t have you referring to her by naught but her Christian name.”
But even before he knew her as the name she chose, nothing about Jane had felt so very formal as that. Hell, he had carried her in his arms, her blood had stained his shirt, and he knew something about her even she didn’t. Jane was not someone he felt distant from, even if it would have been better if he did.
Jane quirked her brow at him as if to agree with his very thoughts, an expression that hit him square in the chest like a bolt of lightning, but then she diverted her attention to his sister. “A pleasure to meet you, Lady Viola.”
Viola beamed at the attention and Jasper felt a pang of guilt over how neglected the youngest Maycott had been since the tragedy.
“Jane, feel at liberty to explore the library while the rest of us see to our duties,” said Helena, once again adopting a leadership role that had Jasper wishing she had been their father’s heir.
“Please let me know if there is anything I can do to help,” offered Jane. “Fortune hunting only takes up so much of my time, you see.”
Jasper froze. He had assumed Jane had heard his less-than-flattering suspicions of her, but to have her address them outright? It was…unexpected. Jasper’s blood warmed at her boldness. His first, most pressing thought was that he wanted to silence her impertinent mouth with a kiss. It didn’t matter that they weren’t alone. Their eyes met and he knew in his bones that Jane felt the same spark between them. He hungered for more of it, more of her .
“No need,” said Isobel, sounding as though she were choking on suppressed laughter. “Especially since we’ve got the Earl of Belhaven himself offering his assistance.”
The warmth bled from Jane’s eyes as she stiffened, looking away from Jasper and to his sister. “Oh, is your father coming?”
The room fell deathly silent.
It was a question none of the Maycotts had expected. Not after a year of wading through the grief that had accompanied the most devastating of losses, careful not to mention their names lest the waters rise and the current take them. Jasper hadn’t thought he would hear someone speak of his father as though he were living ever again.
It was a cruel impossibility that cut to the core of him, straight to the pain he did so much to bury for the sake of his siblings.
Jane sensed she had said something terribly wrong. “I’m sorry,” she began, her distress evident. “I didn’t mean to—”
But Jasper refused to hear what came next, choosing instead to silence her with the truth. “My father is dead.”
It was the only weapon he had.