Chapter Eight
Jasper
He found his valet in the kitchens.
“We’ve a mission,” Jasper told Nash solemnly.
Nash, who had been flirting rather brazenly with the cook, stood at attention as he hastily swallowed an entire roll, his eyes watering. “What is it, my lord?”
Jasper sighed. “We must procure a tree.”
Nash waited a beat before speaking. “A tree, my lord?”
“For trimming,” he added morosely.
Nash nodded. “I’ll fetch your coat, shall I?”
“Meet me at the stables, we’ll be needing a horse.” Nash set off, and Jasper took a moment to stuff a roll—still warm from the oven—into his mouth and another two into his pockets, managing a wink for the cook before leaving.
The bread did not go down easily, though it may have been Jasper’s mood that prevented him from enjoying it. The day had been one for constant vacillation. He’d awoken feeling apprehensive. Jane had slept through Helena’s attempts to engage her the night before, accepting only a spoonful of laudanum before succumbing to sleep once more. Helena had assured him that Dr. Ramsay had told her that bouts of prolonged sleep were to be expected as Jane healed, but he still had to be talked out of sending for the doctor once more. And then in the morning, Aunt Adelaide had fought her way into Jane’s room, insisting that she alone be present when Jane woke up. It had left Jasper feeling rather unsettled. He had hoped to see how Jane was feeling himself, but then the day had gotten away from him.
Isobel’s plot regarding the imminent arrival of his friends had only served to unnerve him further. And he’d scarcely had time to run through the potential consequences of her meddling before Jane had appeared in the library as if conjured from his mind, a vibrant apparition that had stolen all sense from him.
And then she’d parried words with him, revealing not only that she’d heard the terrible ways he’d insulted her character, but also that his words had not injured her as he’d thought they would, and a potent mixture of guilt and desire had fomented in his mind. It had been enough to overwhelm his senses, enough to make the rest of the library vanish until they were all that remained, two strangers pulled together as if by nature itself.
Her very eyes beguiled him. The way she looked at him was both intoxicating and infuriating. Somehow, she knew things he never said aloud, things he suspected he didn’t know himself. If Jane knew nothing of her own origins, how was it she managed to read him like a book?
But when she’d mentioned his father, any feelings of desire had drained from him. It was clear then that Jane was not lying about her missing memories. How else could she be so unaware of the Maycott tragedy? He’d avoided polite company for a year simply because he could not bear the sad stares and empty expressions of pity. He didn’t think a corner of England remained that didn’t know what had happened to the Earl of Belhaven and his wife and son. News of their deaths had traveled as quickly as salacious gossip. People reveled in the agony of others as much as they did their shame. Jasper had a mile-high pile of unopened correspondence to prove it.
But Jane didn’t revel in it. No, the pain she’d shown when Helena told her the truth mirrored his own. It was the kind of guileless display of emotion that precluded her from the sinister machinations he had suspected of her. Potential motives aside, Jane knew something of the kind of grief that had been drowning him, and in that moment in the library, all he’d wanted to do was speak that pain aloud to someone who would understand but not be harmed by it. He had been hiding it from his siblings out of a sense of obligation, but what if he and Jane could lessen their respective burdens, together?
But then he remembered that while Jane felt the heaviness of grief, she did not know the origin of it. She and Jasper could not commiserate, not when she knew nothing of her past and even less of her future.
Disappointed, he’d watched as she’d come to several realizations in quick succession, including the fact that he himself was the Earl of Belhaven, and all at once his body had felt too large for his skin.
He’d had to get away from her, even if his retreat had felt like a coward’s move.
And now he stepped out of the manor and into the winter wind. The weather was not so bad as the night they’d found Jane twisted in the snow, but it could hardly be called an improvement. A stable hand was harnessing one of the sturdier workhorses for them, having perhaps been tipped off by Battersby.
Nash arrived behind him, an axe in one hand, a coat in the other. Jasper shrugged it on and relished the immediate improvement.
“Is this new?” he asked, admiring the thickness of the wool.
Nash frowned slightly. “It belonged to your brother, my lord. I thought it would serve you better than your frock coat.”
Jasper nodded, seeing the sense in his valet’s choice, even if donning his brother’s clothing made him feel like a child playing dress-up. He brushed past that feeling. “You know you don’t have to call me that, Nash.”
“A hard habit to break, my lo—sir.” Nash had been his brother’s valet before Jasper had inherited him, but they had known each other for years, Nash having been something of a friend to Jasper, back when the mantle of Earl had seemed very far away from him. They were near in age, and while Nash wore the years a bit worse than Jasper, anyone could see the man was handsome.
“Just Jasper will do, I think. At least when we’re alone.”
Nash nodded, taking the reins the stable hand offered him. “Of course.”
The men began their trudge through the snow. Cold as it was, the horse seemed eager to stretch his legs. Jasper found he felt the same.
“I assume by now word has gotten out about our impending guests?”
Nash swung the axe upward and rested it on his shoulder. “The house is in a right frenzy. Never seen such a fuss, though I reckon it was all rather sudden.”
The next question could not be asked delicately, not when Jasper so desperately needed the answer. “What do the servants say of Jane?”
Nash looked at him out of the corner of his eye. “Not much is known of her. Some suspect she is one of your brother’s past paramours, back to get one last piece of him.”
It was a ridiculous theory, but perhaps not as ridiculous as the truth. “Do they know anything of her mind?”
“Her mind?” Nash looked genuinely confused.
Jasper paused, weighing his options. He believed he could trust Nash. The man had seen him at his worst, and when he had shut everyone else out of his world, Nash had been among the only people left who didn’t share his blood. He needed to clear his head, and he suspected talking with Nash would help in that endeavor. “In truth, Jane is a mystery. She arrived here in such calamity, and the accident left her mind rather…blank.”
“Blank?” Nash repeated.
“In that she has no memories. Not of herself or her life before we found her in the road. She could be anyone.”
“And you mean to protect her.” It wasn’t a question, more of a confirmation of fact, as if Nash had already known it to be true. Jasper didn’t like to think that he was that predictable.
“Well, what choice do I have as the Earl of Belhaven? Refusing to aid her could reflect poorly on me. On all of us. And yet, if word got out about her true condition, that would also reflect on me poorly. I’m in a bind either way.”
Nash was suspiciously quiet as he fed the horse a ruddy apple.
“Something to add?” asked Jasper.
“Nothing,” Nash said, hands raised defensively. “It’s only that…” He stopped himself from finishing the sentence.
“You needn’t fear angering me, Nash.”
“I worry about her motives. You and your siblings have suffered immensely and it’s left you lot in a rather vulnerable position. I’d hate to think someone was using the tragedy as a way to get closer to you.”
“You needn’t fear that she’s sunk her claws into me, Nash. Even if I fancied myself in love with her, I could hardly marry a woman who doesn’t know her own name. She could be a laundress, for all we know.” He wondered if it would be the worst thing in the world to marry a laundress. Jasper knew very well how love could erase the ridiculous rules drawn by Society. He had fallen in love with a vicar’s daughter, after all.
But perhaps those rules were not so easily set aside for an earl .
When he’d been simply Mr. Jasper Maycott, second son of the Earl of Belhaven, he had not been so constrained as his brother. But now the title fell to him, and he had a responsibility to his siblings. He couldn’t marry a laundress, even if he did love her.
He shook his head. None of his musings mattered. He had made a vow over Anthony’s body to never love again, and while Jasper wasn’t a religious man, he thought that macabre promise had to mean something.
They came to a copse of trees of roughly the right size for Mulgrave Hall’s tall ceilings. They looked like they belonged in a painting of an idyllic winter scene, their branches dusted with snow like puffs of frosting. Helena could hardly find fault with a tree so perfect.
“These look suitable,” he offered. Nash nodded as he tied up the horse and began to remove his coat, but Jasper extended his hand in his valet’s direction. “Mind if I get it started?”
Nash handed him the axe. “Not at all.”
The first swing of the axe was cathartic, reverberating up his arm like a bolt of lightning. The blade was sharp, slicing into the wood like butter. With his task at hand, his mind emptied like he’d hoped it would, but unfortunately it only took a few more frenzied swings before Nash was able to kick over the tree and sever it from the stump with a satisfying crack that echoed in the wood around them. By then, Jasper had worked up a sweat but he did not feel any less burdened by his thoughts. He pushed his hair from his eyes and wondered if he should take up pugilism once more. Surely a man could still find clarity by beating another man senseless.
Nash tied a rope to the base of the tree and attached both ends to the horse’s harness. “Ready?” he asked.
They set off through the deepening snow, silent until Mulgrave Hall came into view, when Nash cleared his throat and began to speak, sounding as if he had mentally rehearsed what he intended to say the whole return.
“This Jane character has me concerned, if I’m being honest. Some women know how to spot a good man, whether he’s an earl or a farmer, and sink their claws into them. And then they take and they take until there’s not much left.”
Jasper didn’t think it was a flattering or fair description of most women, but Nash had seen a great deal more of the wickedness of the world than he had. “Your point?”
“Women like that know how to leave a good man when he’s of no more use to her.” They reached the stables and he took a deep breath. “You need to be careful, Jasper.”
Jasper stopped himself from telling Nash he knew nothing of Jane’s character. It didn’t matter, when the meat of his message was true. Jasper did need to be careful. “I know.”
“I don’t want any of you to suffer more.”
Jasper tried for levity, both for himself and for Nash. “I hardly think the woman is capable of inflicting lasting suffering upon us. As soon as she is well again, she will be sent on her way.”
Nash eyed him warily as he fed the horse an oatcake. “If you say so, my lord.”
They exited the stables and entered Mulgrave Hall together. It was time for Jasper to ready himself for dinner, but after the earlier scene in the library, the thought of dining with Aunt Adelaide sent him into a cold sweat.
“Join me for a drink in the parlor, will you?” He tried not to feel guilty about his sisters having to manage their aunt without him. Helena would be up to the task, at least. Isobel would punish him later.
Nash nodded. “I’ll have plates sent up for us,” he added, thereby proving his worth as both valet and friend.
“And about Jane,” he began. “No one can know of the ailment of her mind, Nash. Not a soul. It would end badly for us.”
“I’ll take it to the grave.”
Jasper’s heart settled a bit at his friend’s promise. Because that was the thing about Nash. When he said something, he meant it. He might not trust Jane, but Jasper knew Nash would protect her simply because it was the right thing to do.
Nash had called him a good man, but Jasper knew the truth of it: there were hardly any better than his valet.
…
The manor’s halls were quiet by the time he and Nash had finished their dinners, but Jasper was not ready to retire just yet.
No, the trials and tribulations of bloody Elizabeth Bennet were calling to him. Blast Miss Austen and her addictive prose, but at least now he could see what the fuss was about. As it turned out, the bits and pieces he had gleaned from his sisters over the years were not anywhere near the full picture. How could any of them have failed to mention how utterly obtuse both Elizabeth and Darcy were? If they went on to moon over each other from afar whilst trading barbs in person, he was going to chuck the book across the room.
As he strode into the library, peeling off his gloves and intending to settle into his leather chair in front of the fire and snatch a few more chapters before bed, something shocking stopped him in his tracks.
There Jane was, sprawled over the desk, dead asleep, her face using his copy of Pride and Prejudice as a pillow.
After the initial shock wore off slightly, he stepped closer to her to lightly nudge her on the shoulder with the blunt end of a letter opener. She stirred, but barely, proceeding to sink even deeper into the rigid embrace of the book.
“That’s no way to treat the words of Jane Austen,” he scoffed before searching the room for someone else, anyone else to handle this.
But he was alone. He nudged her again, meeting resistance once more.
“Jane,” he whispered rather close to her ear, eliciting a groggy moan from the woman. “Jane, you’ve fallen asleep in the library.”
Her response was unintelligible, though it did remind him of how she had behaved the night prior, when Helena had failed to rouse her fully in order to administer medicine. His sister had resorted to pinching Jane into wakefulness. Jasper could not fathom doing the same.
“Jane,” he tried again, closer still. Close enough to smell the soap on her skin. Close enough to see the featherlight beating of her pulse against her neck in the dim firelight. Close enough to know he was too close.
Her next unintelligible response sealed his fate. Etiquette be damned, good sense be damned, he had to get her out of here before someone found them both. Alone.
Scooping her up was rather easy. She settled into his arms like she belonged there, though he banished the feeling of rightness from his mind.
He peeked his head out into the hall once more, confirming it was deserted. It was rather late. Heavens knew why no one had come to check on Jane. He supposed Isobel’s plot had everyone turned upside down. He traversed the halls as quickly as he could. When he paused before the staircase, Jane had the temerity to nuzzle into his chest, as though being in his arms made her feel completely at ease.
Christ.
He took the stairs two at a time. He needed to deposit her into her room, needed to put some distance between them, needed to forget how her body felt pressed against his.
They arrived at the Lavender Room both too quickly and too slowly. Never before had Jasper felt so acutely torn between two emotions. It was agony and ecstasy both, having her in his arms. He placed her gently on the bed and made to leave before pausing and turning back to remove her spectacles. He hadn’t gone digging through the snow for her to crush his hard-won quarry in her sleep. As he began to retreat, a small hand reached for his, trapping his wrist. He froze.
“I’m sorry I cannot play pianoforte,” she muttered, her voice thick with sleep, her words nonsensical.
“Pardon?” he asked, not sure she was in a position to elaborate.
“Nor can I sew or speak French or…” she replied, sounding distressed but a great deal more conscious. “You must think me a great disappointment, my lord.”
“Why would any of that disappoint me, Jane?”
She sighed and released his wrist. He didn’t move an inch. “I know you’re desperate to solve the mystery of Miss Jane without-a-surname. I hardly made much progress in that regard today. If anything, I am more confused than ever.”
“I don’t understand,” he confessed.
“Lady Adelaide and I conducted a series of experiments. I cannot play an instrument or embroider or speak French, but I can write beautifully and do arithmetic and dance somewhat competently, but what does any of it mean? Perhaps I had a persistent mother who desired an advantageous match for me, or perhaps I taught myself out of spite.”
Her distress would have been endearing if he didn’t know himself to be at least partially the cause of it. But how could he put her at ease when he didn’t have an answer for her? She was right, Jane without-a-surname was a mystery, one he was both desperate and apprehensive to solve. When Jane recovered her memories, she’d return to the life she had left behind, one that didn’t include him. But the longer Jane spent in this unknowing limbo, the longer he got to spend with her.
He hated the thought almost as soon as it had formed. No part of Jane belonged to him, why should he desire to keep her here at Mulgrave Hall? As penance, he tried to placate her.
“Or perhaps you are a lady, Jane.”
She waved her hand dismissively. “At least if I knew I was a penniless maid or a baron’s daughter, I’d have a sense of where I belonged.”
For reasons Jasper could not comprehend, a part of him wished to tell her that she belonged here, with him. The realization made him take a step away from her, because how could they ever belong together? He knew nothing of her, and most importantly, she knew nothing of herself.
He cleared his throat. “I am certain we will get to the bottom of it.” He willed it to be true. “Though, for the time being, I hope you don’t mind too terribly that we’ll have to lie about your origins.”
“Of course not. I don’t wish to put any of you in an awkward position.”
He nodded uselessly in the dark. “It’s late, I shouldn’t even be here.” But even as he said it, he knew he had found some of the clarity he sought in Jane’s room, speaking with her plainly, even if the subject was one she found distressing. There was something about conversing with her that put him totally at ease. It was a calmness he hadn’t felt since Annabelle, and that realization was as much a betrayal to his former fiancée as it was a comfort to him. He was drowning in his conflicted emotions. He had to leave. “Good night, Jane.”
He made it to the door before she spoke.
“My lord?” Her voice was small but not coy.
Against his better judgment, he paused at the threshold. “Yes?”
“Thank you for…” She stopped, apparently not quite willing to admit that he had carried her through the corridors of Mulgrave Hall. “Just…thank you.”
There was his pesky need to put her at ease. “It’s nothing I haven’t done for you before.” As soon as he said it, he knew it was a mistake.
Jane picked up on his meaning at once. “You’re the one who found me out in the storm?”
“I was out with Helena and Isobel. We came upon you in the road, yes.”
“I had assumed…” He could hardly see in the dark, but he knew she stood as if electrified by his admission. “I had assumed a footman found me. It hadn’t occurred to me to ask otherwise.”
Jasper did his best not to stare as she walked across the room, stepping into the slivers of pale moonlight that shone in through the window, the light illuminating her for a few brief seconds, long enough to torment him.
He cleared his throat as she neared. “Yes, well. I apologize for not telling you sooner.”
She shook her head, indicating it didn’t matter. “Did I say anything to you?”
It struck him that deep down, she seemed to know that she had. And then the memory of her covered in blood, begging him to protect her, filled his mind. He blinked it away, dragging himself back to the present, and weighed his options. He could tell her the truth and add another layer of mystery to the story of Jane. Or he could preserve what little progress she had made. Would it even help to know she had been in some sort of danger? If Jane’s memories were ever restored and she needed their aid, they would surely do everything they could. But for now it was safer for everyone that she be allowed to regain them at her own pace.
“No,” he said, swallowing his guilt. “You were unconscious the whole time.”
She nodded, tucking away the falsehood he had given her. Eventually, she offered him a small smile. “Thank you for telling me.”
He couldn’t speak lest he fall apart completely, undone by Jane’s trust in him, trust he did not deserve. She didn’t seem to notice the turmoil he was in.
“I’m so very sorry about your parents and your brother.”
The words wrapped around him, warm and comforting. Normally he would turn away from someone’s pity, but he knew Jane was not offering something so hollow as that. Jasper’s grief had been an intensely private thing, causing him to turn inward. Jane’s words made no attempt to pull him out of it. They were words of understanding, coming from somewhere deep within her. “Thank you,” was all he could say.
“For what it’s worth, I consider myself very lucky to have been found by you and your sisters.”
“Why’s that?” His voice was a rasp. Did she notice? It seemed impossible for her to miss it, not when she seemed to catch everything else.
She looked up at him through dark lashes. “As I’m sure you’re aware, it’s a cruel world we live in. I could have been found by highwaymen or worse. Instead, I was found by the Maycotts.” She paused, tilting her head as she tried to decipher him. “What I’m saying is you’ve done a good job holding your family together, my lord.”
“Jasper,” he corrected without thinking.
“What?” Even the hall candlelight couldn’t disguise her blush, and nothing could have prevented him from noticing how it spread to her chest, sinking below her neckline. The sight of it set his own skin aflame.
To hell with it. “Call me Jasper.”
“Jasper,” she echoed, his name sounding like an incantation on her lips. “You know, a couple more rescues on your part and my debt to you will be impossible to repay.”
There was a coyness in her voice this time, a slight teasing to suggest her words were meant in jest, but it did nothing to smother the uncomfortable awareness that flared to life in Jasper’s chest, the one that told him there was no debt between them, and that he would have gladly ruined himself completely if it meant saving her.
He took the coward’s route once more and fled.