Chapter Nine
Jane
Helena and Isobel intruded almost immediately on Jane’s not entirely peaceful morning the next day.
“Oh good, you’re awake,” said a relieved Helena, moving a tray of biscuits out of the way so she could sit on the edge of the bed. “There is much to be discussed before our guests arrive, though, truth be told, the storm may yet delay them.”
Jane had hardly slept after Jasper left the night before. He had fled in such a rush after she said his name, she worried she’d offended him, even though he had been the one to tell her to use it. The man was confounding. Every time she thought she got a bit closer to understanding where she stood with Jasper, the Earl of Belhaven emerged to remind her of the gulf that stretched between them. It would be easier to take if she never saw him, never felt pulled toward him, never had to imagine what the heat in his gaze meant.
Jane had decided to put the incident behind her. She had far more important things to focus on. Figuring out how Lord Belhaven felt about her registered very low on her list of priorities, or so she kept telling herself.
Even if a part of her couldn’t help but wonder if hearing his name had felt the same to him as her saying it did. For her, it had been a confirmation of sorts, an erasure of a barrier between them. She had said it and it had felt right on her tongue, especially after learning he had been the one to carry her injured body all the way to Mulgrave Hall. There was an intimacy in the fact that he had seen her at her worst, bloodied and unconscious and utterly vulnerable. In her mind, she’d earned the right to call him by his Christian name, even if it was deeply improper.
“A maid changed my dressing,” she said, indicating the fresh bandages. She had been assured she was healing nicely, though without her memories she could hardly put much stock in that assessment. Aside from the fresh dressing, she also wore another tea gown from the bursting closet, this one mint green and beaded in the bodice. Whoever it had been made for was a great deal taller than her, but it fit well enough and meant she didn’t have to swan about in a nightgown like a Bront? heroine haunting the Yorkshire moors.
Isobel stepped farther into the room. “We need to get our stories straight.”
“Regarding our very long and very real friendship?”
Isobel smirked but Helena frowned. “I should hope you do feel something like friendship between us, Jane.”
“I do,” she assured her, though she suspected the Maycotts would be happy to see her hearty and hale and very much on her way. It was obligation that placed them together, not the true bonds of fellowship. “I only mean—”
“That it will be difficult to invent a history between us when you have none of your own?” suggested Isobel.
Jane was sure women of Isobel’s rank rarely spoke so frankly, but she found she liked that best about her. “Yes, that.”
Helena clapped her hands together. “Well, we shall keep it simple then. You are Miss Jane…”
“Danvers?” she suggested, pulling a name from the ones Jasper had suggested only a few days before.
“Perfect. Miss Jane Danvers, daughter of a…”
“Vicar?” she offered, knowing that not many common-born girls had fathers who were wealthy enough to send them to boarding school.
“No,” Helena said rather forcefully, exchanging worried glances with Isobel. “No, not a vicar.”
Jane sensed she had treaded on a sensitive subject, and if her blunder in the library had taught her anything, it was to keep her mouth shut rather than dig further.
“What about an industrialist?” said Isobel. “Perhaps a man with a textile empire.”
“I know very little about textiles,” she confessed.
“ Psh , my brother’s friends are much like any other aristocrats, Jane. They are utterly uninterested in anything aside from the sounds of their own voices. Once you get past introductions, they will listen to almost none of what you have to say, and remember even less of it,” said Isobel.
“Still, we must take precautions,” warned Helena.
“Miss Jane Danvers of Buckinghamshire, a dear friend from Helena’s time at Cheltenham, though we were lumped together in the dormitories. In fact, with Helena being named a snotty prefect on her very first day, you likely would have spent more time with me in the end.”
Helena sighed. “I was not a prefect for my first three years, Isobel.”
“Regardless, you were always Miss Beale’s favorite and that took up much of your time.”
“Likely as much time as you reserved for mischief and misbehavior.”
Isobel shrugged. “What can I say, I was a dedicated pupil.”
“Back to the matter at hand,” said Helena, doing her best to steer her sister. “Miss Danvers, soon to be engaged to a Mister…Taylor,” she offered. “That’s for your protection, Jane. We must establish you as firmly off the market lest the men swarm you.”
“Seems sensible,” said Jane, not wishing to be swarmed by anyone.
“I suppose we must say something about your injuries, Jane,” said Helena. “There is simply no disguising bruises such as yours, even though they have faded a great deal. And it’s not as if you can do away with the dressing on your wound.”
Jane nodded, having anticipated just that. “I suppose Jane Danvers can be rather clumsy, can’t she? I think she was rather known for it at Cheltenham.”
Isobel grinned. “Why, we had placed bets as to how quickly she would injure herself in Mulgrave Hall.”
“Falling down the stairs on her very first day was sooner than even her most cynical friends had wagered,” said Jane. “You know, it will be nice to have something of a disguise to hide behind.”
“That’s the spirit, Jane! If only my stern bastard of a brother could be so open-minded.”
Battersby appeared at the door as Helena pinched her sister.
“My ladies, Miss Jane.” He gave them a perfunctory bow. “You are needed in the dining room for final approvals, Your Grace.”
“Thank you, Battersby.” Helena stood, smoothing her skirts and giving Isobel a stern look. “Can I trust you to behave in my absence?”
“Have I ever given you a reason not to trust me?”
Helena sighed in an indulgent manner. “More than one could count.”
“We will simply establish a few key stories of the origins of our friendship that we can repeat ad nauseam until our guests are quite tired of hearing about our Cheltenham days and desire never to speak of them again.”
“Nothing salacious,” Helena warned. “We have reputations to uphold.”
“Oh, Helena, I am certain a widow and a budding spinster have very little control over their reputations.”
Helena’s face fell, but only for a moment. Jane had the sense not to mention Isobel’s use of the word widow , though she was beginning to think the Maycott family might be cursed.
Helena cleared her throat. “Do remember what stories you decide on, as I’ll need to hear them as well,” she said before departing in something of an unladylike rush.
“Damn,” Isobel exclaimed once her sister was gone, eliciting a raised eyebrow from Jane, who, despite lacking memories herself, was quite certain she had never heard a lady swear as much as Isobel. She sighed and flounced onto the bed. “I always speak without thinking. It is my only flaw.”
“I won’t say a word about it,” Jane assured her, not wanting a repeat of her earlier faux pas.
“Thank you for that. It’s not as though it’s a secret that Helena’s husband died, but my sister has survived this long by never speaking of it. Perhaps she’s forgotten that she can.”
“The longer something goes unsaid, the easier it is to avoid altogether.”
Isobel gave her an assessing look. “You’ve a keen insight into human behavior for someone without any memories to go off of.”
“It would seem I’ve picked up a lot in my short time here.” The Maycotts had provided much in that regard, from the minutiae of their everyday lives to the fullness of their tragedies. Jane suspected she would carry her time in Mulgrave Hall with her for the rest of her life.
Isobel exhaled sharply. “I don’t doubt it. We’ve skeletons enough for three families, to be sure.”
Jane felt she had some right to ask a question, if only to better understand her caretakers. “How long ago did her husband die?”
Isobel stroked her chin. “Three years ago, now.” She let out a shaky breath. “She was married to the Duke of Pembroke for two years until he perished in a carriage accident.”
“What a tragedy,” whispered Jane, her heart breaking anew for Helena. “But she has no obligations as dowager duchess?” There must be a reason Helena was able to stay in Mulgrave Hall with her siblings in their time of need.
“The duke’s heir is not yet of age, but their mother still lives. Neither has pressured Helena to take a more active role in the wake of our losses.”
“That seems a small mercy,” Jane offered.
Isobel nodded. “Time has not been kind to my sister. Her joys have been all too brief, while her sorrow stretches on. Sometimes, I think caring for us is the only thing that keeps her going.” She paused, seeming to remember whom she was conversing with. “Forgive me, Jane. I shouldn’t be speaking so candidly with you. I suppose we’ve uncovered my second flaw.”
But Jane was beginning to feel a warmth between them that could be mistaken for friendship. She gave Isobel a small smile and nudged her arm. “It’s nice to have someone to speak to, my lady. I’m not exactly drowning in meaningful conversation.”
Isobel’s eyes widened as though seeing Jane for the first time. “But yes, of course, you must be feeling your own kind of pain. Things have been so mad here lately. I hope you don’t feel too neglected.”
“Neglect is not a word I’d use,” Jane assured her. “I already told Helena that I feel like a monstrous burden to your family.”
“And where else would we send you, Jane? We live in a world that would label you a madwoman for your ailment, and I shudder to think where you might have ended up without the benefit of my brother’s protection.”
“Yours, too,” Jane offered, not wishing Isobel to downplay the efforts of herself and her sisters.
“Do not mistake me, Jane. I would do everything I could to help you regardless of my own circumstances. But without my brother’s title? His standing in Society? His power ? We’d all be at risk, with or without you.” She shivered, banishing the unwelcome thought. “Grief keeps me up at night, yes, but never as much as fear does.”
“Fear?” The reply slipped out before Jane could stop it, but her confusion was genuine. From where she stood, Isobel and her sisters were well protected from the evils of the world, nestled away in Mulgrave Hall with every comfort they could ever desire at their fingertips. Tragedy had breached the walls of their loving home, but they were otherwise sheltered in ways Jane could only dream of.
Evidently Jane’s assumption irritated Isobel, who quirked her brow rather derisively. “It is not lost on me that my security is reliant on the kindness of a man. Nor how quickly both can disappear. Imagine, heaven forbid, we had lost all of our brothers to scarlet fever in addition to our parents. The title would have gone to some horrid cousin of my father’s, who would be under no moral or legal obligation to care for me or my sisters. We’d be on our own, our educations meaningless, our old friends little more than strangers to us, our futures bleak.”
“You underestimate your resourcefulness.”
“Perhaps,” Isobel offered. “Helena couldn’t move into Pembroke’s dower house, not with the elder dowager duchess already taking residence there. But even if she could, would we be welcome to live there with her? And if not, where would that leave us? I’ve no actual skills beyond a sharp tongue, which already precludes me from most forms of employment available to women. I suppose I could charm my way into a position as a governess, but could I support my siblings on that pittance of a wage?” She met Jane’s eye, some of her bluster fading. “There I go with another political screed, aimed at a woman already intimately aware of the precarious position we occupy in society.”
“I needed reminding that my troubles are not unique,” said Jane. “In a way, it helps to make one feel less alone.”
“We women must stick together,” Isobel replied with a grin. “All we have is one another. And please, do not fret about being a burden. If anything, you’ve been a blessing. I haven’t seen my brother so lively since…well, since everything that happened.”
Jane sensed that Isobel had been close to revealing Jasper’s particular pain to her, and was glad she had not. It felt like Jasper’s story to tell, but after last night, she wasn’t sure he’d ever feel comfortable enough with her to do so. “I’m happy to be a distraction. I only wish—”
“You knew who you were.” It wasn’t a question. “I cannot imagine how you must be feeling, Jane. But Dr. Ramsay was adamant that you’d recover. He seems to think the mind is quite elastic in its healing abilities. I don’t pretend to know a thing about the body, but I have to imagine that you’d appear quite worse off, if this were to be a lasting ailment.”
“Yes, aside from the headaches and rare bouts of dizziness, I do feel well enough. I suppose I need to have more patience with myself.”
“At least for the time being, I think it would be best for you to feel comfortable, not constrained by my brother’s demands. I’ll make sure he knows it as well.” She stood, offering her hand to Jane. “He’ll have to agree when I remind him our reputations rely on you pulling this off, so to speak.”
Jane took her hand and stood, wavering a bit at the thought of the pressure being thrust upon her. “Oh, please do not trouble yourself on my account.”
Isobel sighed. “The Earl of Belhaven will be so busy entertaining his guests he won’t have time to prod you into wellness. Now, shall we go on a tour of Mulgrave Hall as we come up with our stories? I can’t imagine you’ve seen very much of it.”
Jane forced herself to accept Isobel’s plan, even if her mind rioted at the thought of pausing her quest for answers. “That would be lovely.”
They set a course through the immense manor, Isobel often pointing out bits of architecture or her father’s favorite paintings. At first, mentions of the latter served only to wound her, but as time went on, and Jane proved an eager ear, speaking of her father seemed to revive Isobel, giving her a glow of happiness that Jane hadn’t seen on her before.
“Ah, this one he picked up from a most unsavory curator in Vienna.”
It was a lively village landscape. The artist had managed to capture the frenetic energy of a market, the sun-warmed skin of the peasants and the dusty roads they plodded on. His use of light and shadow was exquisitely wrought, and the way the blues of his sky interacted with the muted tans and browns of the buildings and stalls was breathtaking. He commanded so much detail with each brushstroke, the amount of care he devoted to each figure evident in how he managed to bring them to life even at such a distance. Jane couldn’t get close enough to the painting. Something about it made her fingers itch.
“I swear he paid more than it was worth in order to get us out of there faster. But he did so love a Ferg.”
“Why, the work of an Austrian master would surely have fetched a high price regardless?”
Isobel gave her a sly look. “Look at you, recognizing a painter’s name.”
Jane hadn’t realized she’d done that. “Oh, it just…slipped out of me.”
“While you were focused on something else, see?” Isobel gave a satisfied grin. “And yes, normally a work by Franz de Paula Ferg would fetch a high price, but see…” She pointed to the bottom right corner of the frame, where part of the canvas was missing. “This curator had no way to prove it was a genuine Ferg, and no storied provenance to add to its legitimacy. My father knew it was authentic the moment he saw it, but he never bought paintings for their monetary value. You see, he didn’t hoard art like some aristocrats with masterpieces left to rot in country estates no one visits, never to be enjoyed again. He was in it for the feeling art gave him, and for the hunt that took him all across Europe and into the Orient.”
“And he took you with him.”
Isobel smiled a small smile. “Whenever he could.”
She didn’t need to say anything more; Jane already knew the former Earl of Belhaven had been a unique man and an uncommonly good father. What a tragedy that he had been taken from his children so prematurely. She wondered what Jasper would have been like had he not assumed his father’s place, and if it ever felt to him like he was living a life he wasn’t meant to. She recognized some of that pain in her own predicament. Who was she supposed to be? Was her fate one to be avoided, or had her future been ripped from her unwillingly?
After a while, their journey took them at last to the library, where they came upon three voices, only one of which Jane recognized, simply because she felt it all the way to her toes. Jasper had something of an effect on her, even when she couldn’t see him. The other two were a mystery, until Isobel clapped her hands over her mouth.
“Goodness, my brothers have come home!” she whispered.
Jane looked askance. “There are more Maycotts I’ve yet to meet?”
“Two brothers, Freddie and August. They were away at school.” Isobel leaned in close, whispering conspiratorially. “Do you mind terribly if we eavesdrop once more? I’d like to ascertain exactly how much trouble I’m in with Jasper without reminding him of my existence.”
Jane had absolutely no desire to find herself in another awkward situation, but she didn’t know how to say no to Lady Isobel Maycott, so she simply nodded and allowed Isobel to drag her closer to the door. As the voices grew louder the closer they got, it became clear they were talking about Jane.
“But is she comely, Brother?” The voice sounded a tad young, like a man who had not quite left the trappings of boyhood behind.
Isobel’s eyes widened, but they were both frozen in place, unable to move away from the unfolding scene.
“She’s a nuisance is what she is.” There was no mistaking Jasper’s stern tone. Jane thought she could have done an accurate impression of it, if pressed. Isobel reached for her hand involuntarily.
“A nuisance, eh?” The voice laughed. “You’ll notice, Freddie, that our dear brother didn’t answer the question, did he?”
“In fact, he did not,” the other voice, Freddie, responded, sounding even younger than the first.
“Which would suggest to me that our addled guest”—Isobel’s grip on Jane’s hand tightened—“ is in fact a comely lady.”
“She’s not a lady,” Jasper argued, his words a punch to Jane’s gut. She had suspected as much of herself, but last night in her chambers he had insisted she not dismiss the possibility outright. Why the sudden change of heart?
“Did you not just spend a quarter of an hour explaining to us that she very well might be?” Freddie asked, and Jane felt certain he was the younger of the two. He sounded a great deal less cocksure than August, the elder.
“What does it matter either way?” came Jasper’s exasperated reply.
“I suppose it would matter little to me if you seemed less bothered,” said August, sounding every inch the pompous aristocrat, so unlike his siblings. “Given your current state, I suspect you care a great deal more than you’re letting on.”
“Let me be perfectly clear, August: she means nothing to me. She is unworldly and tiresome to a fault.” Jane’s blood went cold. The words were exacting in their precision, leaving no room for differing interpretations. “I can’t tell you how relieved I’ll be when she’s finally gone.”
Isobel’s hand squeezed hers even tighter, as if tethering her to her own shame. Jane couldn’t bear it. The tone in Jasper’s voice was more than disdain. It verged on loathing. She had thought she knew Jasper, or at least a part of him, one he might not reveal to many. But now she suspected she didn’t know him at all. She was a fool.
Worse yet, a burdensome fool.
She wrenched her hand from Isobel’s, the hot feeling of shame eclipsing whatever desire she had to preserve her host’s feelings.
“Jane—” Isobel started.
“I think that’s enough touring for me,” she said, amazed at her own ability to speak without shattering. “I must be off.”
To where, she didn’t know. The only thing Jane knew was that she had to get away from the library. Away from him . Her only desire now was to prove she would not be a burden to anyone.
Mortification propelled her all the way back to her room, where she collapsed on the bed, though she knew she couldn’t stay there, couldn’t continue to rely on the Maycotts for anything. It was time to move on.
Jane’s head ached as she packed her meager belongings into an old sack she suspected her hosts wouldn’t miss. She didn’t have much in the way of worldly possessions, but at least the dress she had arrived in had been expertly cleaned and pressed by a servant. She shed the silky tea gown that had never felt truly comfortable on her skin and donned the sturdy traveling gown, feeling immediately more capable.
Next, she wrapped the abandoned biscuits from her breakfast in a linen napkin and placed them in her bag, surmising that it wasn’t theft if she had meant to eat them anyway, and that linen napkins were likely not in short supply in Mulgrave Hall. She didn’t know how far it was to the village of Wrayford, but a glance outside told her the snowy road was packed down enough for walking, at least.
She shot back a frigid cup of tea for immediate sustenance and slung the bag over her shoulder, tapping her palm against her pocket, feeling for the ring that was nestled inside. Though the thought of selling the only piece of her forgotten life pained her, she would do what she must in order to survive. Because while Jane didn’t know much about herself, she did know this: she had been alone before the Maycotts found her, and by God, she could be alone again.
She wrote a hasty note for Isobel and Helena, thanking them for their assistance and begging them not to worry after her, and left it on the nightstand. It was better this way. Jane didn’t want a prolonged goodbye, and she suspected the same of her caretakers. Obligation had placed them together. They would be better off with her gone.
She took one last look at the lilac walls and sumptuous bed, feeling a bit like she was making a mistake. Perhaps she was being too hasty in her retreat. But then she remembered how Jasper’s voice had seemed to curl with hatred, how it had become so unrecognizable to her in that moment, shattering any warmth she thought might have existed between them.
No , she thought, steeling herself for what was to come. I cannot stay.
If Jasper Maycott was too polite to send her away, she’d make it easier on him by choosing to leave.