Chapter Ten
Jasper
August let out a low whistle. “I take it back, Brother.”
Of all his siblings, Jasper felt the most distant from August. Their personalities had been too alike and their vices too similar for anything more than a rivalry between them before their father died, and now that Jasper was the earl, it was their differences that divided them.
So he was in no mood for August and his uncanny ability to needle right to the very core of him. “Oh?”
His brother surveyed him lazily from the chaise, his hair artfully tousled in a way Jasper could never achieve, his clothing finely tailored and in keeping with the latest styles, his air nonchalant, relaxed even. Had August not suffered this past year? Had he been able to put the tragedy behind him in ways his siblings had not?
August smirked at his older brother. “I mistook loathing for passion. Easy to do with the tightly laced Earl of Belhaven. You know, you might think of loosening up a bit. Couldn’t hurt.”
Frustration rose in him as inevitably as the tides. “Tell me, August, would you rather take on the title yourself? Because—”
“I think the role of earl suits you fine, Jasper,” August interrupted, his tone scathing.
“August only means that we wish to see you happy again,” Freddie, a peacekeeper like Helena, interjected softly.
Jasper scoffed. “Happiness is the least of my concerns, Freddie.” Happiness had been abandoned as he watched his fiancée, parents, and brother die, powerless to help them. Happiness was as foreign to him now as the thought of a new beginning. No, Jasper meant only to survive and see his siblings settled. Though, as that conviction solidified, an image of Jane filled his mind, both unwanted and unexpected. Jane and her impertinent tongue had something of a hold on him, one he meant to sever or embrace, depending on the moment.
His youngest brother offered a pitying frown, but mercifully a commotion at the door stole their attention. Isobel marched in, hands on her hips in a manner that had Jasper bracing for the blow.
“You really are an idiot sometimes,” she announced, her gaze on him direct and blistering.
August offered her a hearty “Hear hear!” before Freddie smacked him.
He waited for elaboration, but she didn’t offer any. “I suppose there is a reason behind the insult?”
She huffed. “Jane heard every unkind thing you said about her!”
Jasper’s blood went cold. What he had said to his brother was an attempt to get him off Jane’s scent, as he was desperate to make her seem uninteresting. Dull. Unworthy of a second glance. Because he knew his brother. August Maycott had left a trail of shattered hearts from Wrayford to Mayfair and all the way to Oxford, and while Jasper had been something of a libertine himself in his younger years, August was a great deal more callous about it. Cruel, even. He had heard the whispers of his brother’s cold heart, had read of his escapades in the gossip rags. Perhaps, he thought, his earlier evaluation had been unfair. The tragedy weighed upon them in different ways. August was a rake, yes, but he was as broken as the rest of them. The difference was his skill at hiding it.
In that very moment, said rake was eyeing him suspiciously, reading Jasper’s distress as easily as ever. He had to do something, but he was torn between his efforts with August or racing to Jane’s side to ensure she knew he didn’t mean it.
Isobel went so far as to stomp her foot angrily. “You need to apologize to her, Jasper.”
Deciding August was the larger threat at the moment, Jasper feigned disinterest. “I refuse to apologize to an eavesdropper who didn’t learn her lesson the first time.”
August tilted his head at their sister. “Hello, Izzie, I’ve returned from Oxford, if you hadn’t noticed.” His tone was lightly perturbed. They hadn’t seen him in months, after all.
She held up a finger to him. “We’ll get to you in a moment,” she said, never taking her eyes off Jasper. “But for now, let me assure you that you will get no peace from me until you make this right, Jasper.”
He believed her, but he didn’t know how to move forward without stirring August’s interest. He couldn’t rely on his brother being a gentleman, not anymore.
A decision was made for him in the form of a maid appearing in the doorway, clutching a bit of paper.
“My lady, I went after Miss Jane like you asked, but…” She held the paper out toward Isobel, lost for words.
“She’s gone, hasn’t she?” he asked, already rising—to hell with trying to deceive his brother. The maid simply nodded, her face frozen. “Damn it.” He strode from the library without a backward glance, cursing himself and Jane both for jumping to conclusions and failing to act rationally.
He looked out a window as he traversed the hall, noting the grey heaviness of the sky. There was a storm coming. “Damn!” he said to no one in particular. “Nash!” he shouted, hoping his valet was near. “I need my coat!”
“Where are you going, Jasper?” Isobel had caught up at last.
He didn’t slow down. “Where do you think?”
“There’s a—”
“Storm coming, yes, I am aware.” He pushed his hair back out of his eyes. “Keep August occupied, will you?”
“You don’t want me to come with you?”
He was of two minds on the matter. On the one hand, he could use all the help he could get. Jane couldn’t have gone far but he wouldn’t put it past the woman to wander in the wrong direction. The road to Wrayford wasn’t as obvious as she might have assumed. But on the other hand, Jasper understood keenly that convincing Jane to return with him would require much penance, and that was not a scene he wanted anyone witnessing.
He looked at his sister out of the corner of his eye. “I think it best I go alone, don’t you?”
She nodded. “Though I think Aunt Adelaide would have much to say about the matter.”
“Well, she isn’t here, is she?”
“Only by the grace of God himself,” Isobel muttered.
They had reached Mulgrave Hall’s imposing entrance. Nash stood at the threshold, coat in hand, having heard Jasper’s shouted request.
“My lord—” his valet began.
“Not now, Nash,” he replied, slipping into the heavy garment. He looked to his sister and Nash both. “If I’m not back in an hour, send footmen in either direction.”
“If the storm’s set in, it will be difficult—”
He clapped Nash on the shoulder. “I’ll have found her by then, surely. How far can a woman go?”
Nash and Isobel looked at each other, their expressions grave. Outside, the wind howled and snow began to fall in earnest.
Jasper cursed. “Don’t answer that.”
…
Jasper’s words came back to haunt him almost immediately.
Jane had made it a great deal farther than he’d thought she would. He found her almost two miles away from Mulgrave Hall, trudging through great drifts of snow. The Smithfields’ farm stood as a lonely sentinel on the hill above her, without even a fire flickering in the window. It took a moment for Jasper to recall that Roger Smithfield and his eldest daughter had died last year, taken by the same scarlet fever that had ravaged Mulgrave Hall and the village of Wrayford. Had Mrs. Smithfield and her son moved away? It seemed unlikely, given their circumstances, but the home looked abandoned. Jasper had helped repair a damaged fence on the northern end of their land not two months prior. He made a mental note to check in on them at the earliest opportunity. But for now, his mind was occupied with quickly reaching a stubborn, likely frozen woman.
“Jane! Bloody hell, Jane, come back!” he shouted, but the wind ate his words. Christ, but the air was biting, and she was clad in only a traveling cloak, and a thin one at that. He battled against the wind and rising snow, the storm he had been hoping to avoid now upon them.
Jasper dashed the last fifty yards or so and managed to take her by surprise, causing her to slip in the sleet. He caught her before she fell, pulling her hard against his chest to keep them both upright. She barely reached his chin when she looked up at him, her brow furrowed in surprise. Her eyes were that uncanny silver once more, veiled by dark lashes heavily laden with snowflakes, despite her spectacles. All Jasper could think of was how similar it was to when he’d found her in the snow before, covered in blood and begging for him to protect her.
I’m bloody trying.
“Christ, Jane, it’s freezing—”
He watched as her eyes narrowed and she wrenched out of his grip rather ungracefully. “I hadn’t noticed.” But her red cheeks and strands of frozen hair betrayed her. She had a great deal of pride for someone on the verge of losing several toes to frostbite.
He took a steadying breath. “Jane, what you heard back in the library—”
“I know perfectly well what I heard, my lord.” He hated the way the honorific rebuilt the wall between them. “It should please you to know I won’t be imposing upon you any longer.”
“It certainly doesn’t please me, and you’re the furthest thing from an imposition. What you heard wasn’t the truth.” His feet were soaked by the slush beneath his boots, sending an icy chill up his legs. “Christ, how did you make it this far?”
“Sheer grit, I suppose,” she offered through chattering teeth. And yet, she took up her angry march once more. He’d have to try a different tack.
“My brother August is… Well, he’s a scoundrel in every sense of the word. I didn’t want him to make a challenge out of you.”
“You supposed I needed protection from him?” She cocked her head, glaring. “Or was it August who needed protection from me ? I am a brazen fortune hunter, after all.”
That thought hadn’t even occurred to Jasper, though he supposed it should have, if he’d had anything resembling a clear head these days. “You cannot think that, I would never—”
She paused mid-stride. “I cannot think of anything, my lord, without feeling taxed.” Her frustration was evident, and he understood then that not all of it was reserved for him. “It is a devilish affliction, to be parted from my true self, and I understand why you would think me a charlatan. Hence why I am relieving you of your duty.” She gestured to the road, as if the logic in her plan was obvious.
The woman was maddening. “You cannot be serious. Do you have any idea what could happen to you?” She ignored his entirely valid query, so he continued. “How did you imagine you’d make it through the storm you’re marching straight into?”
She looked up at the dark sky through the swirling mists of falling snow and grimaced. “I thought perhaps I’d find an inn. I assume there are lodgings in Wrayford.”
“And how were you planning on paying for your accommodations?”
She fidgeted, as if reluctant to respond. He raised a brow. She relented. “Surely a room is worth less than a gold ring,” she replied miserably. Jasper hated to think she would have parted so easily with the only material object she had left from her past. Is she so desperate to get away from me? No . She was as beguiled by him as he was her. He saw it every time she looked at him. Heard it in the way she said his name. Jane didn’t want to leave any more than he wanted her gone. She was simply angry, and he could handle anger.
“And what name would you have given them? Have you thought of how others might receive your tale of woe? Because I can assure you, most anyone you meet would seek to take advantage of you once they learned you lost your memories.” He stepped closer, gesturing to her relatively well-made cloak. “It’s plain to see you are not a pauper, Jane. Your speech is refined, your clothing finer than you’d find on a servant or shopkeeper. One could assume you come from money—”
Anger flared in her eyes. “That may be the kindest thing you’ve said about me since our meeting, my lord.”
“Worse yet,” he continued, ignoring her jab, “you might find yourself confined to a madhouse. All it would take is the word of one man to have you declared insane.” Annabelle’s work with so-called fallen women had taught him as much. Any behavior deemed abnormal was scrutinized. Annabelle had met women who were punished for the crime of challenging their husbands or fathers, or for being interested in politics, or not smiling enough—all of which filled him with a non-trivial amount of concern for Isobel’s prospects, to say nothing of Jane’s in this moment. “They’d paint you with the brush of hysteria, and you’d be stripped of your rights. Did you consider that?” She pressed her lips together, as if preventing herself from speaking. “Is Mulgrave Hall so abhorrent that you’d rather risk your freedom than recover there?”
She glared. “I am but a tiresome and unworldly girl, my lord.” She stepped even closer to him, the distance between them barely a breath now. “To know me is to be burdened by me.”
But he didn’t back down. “I’ve already told you I didn’t mean any of that.”
She had to look up to meet his eye. “It’s not only what you said to your brother. You retreat each time we…” She seemed unwilling to finish the sentence.
“Each time we…what?” he asked, his voice rough.
A flare of defiance kindled in her gaze. “Each time we get close, my lord.”
She had noticed his cowardice. Had been hurt by it, perhaps. “That has nothing to do with you, Jane.”
“No?” she scoffed as though disdain were the only possible reason for his hasty retreats. He hated how easy it was for her to assume the worst of him, and how much the desire to correct her eclipsed every other thought or feeling he had.
“I retreat not because I do not wish to get closer to you,” he said, stepping even nearer still, willing her to be the one to pull back this time. But her feet remained rooted in place. “I do it because I know I should not.”
Jane’s breath hitched in her chest. They stood improperly close now, but neither of them withdrew. Rather, her eyes seemed to feast upon him, grazing over the contours of his jaw, his throat, his shoulders. For once, he didn’t smother the heat that was building inside him. For once, he let himself feel it, let Jane feel it. He banished his doubt, his guilt, his regret. Damn the consequences. They were two people standing in the heart of a storm. What could possibly reach them there?
“Because I may yet prove a conniving fortune hunter?” she asked, breathless.
“Because you deserve my protection, not my—”
“Attention?” she offered, though they both knew the word to be a weak representation of what was unfolding between them, that blossoming of warmth when he had found her spectacles, that rush of heat when she’d parried words with him in the library, the sparking inferno when she’d first spoken his name…
“My attention, yes,” he conceded.
He watched as she bit her lip, felt himself stiffen at the gesture. Jasper burned to feel those lips on his, to know what she tasted like, and hear what she sounded like when she surrendered to ecstasy in his arms. He blinked, trying to throttle the rising desire in him, but it had been a mistake to allow himself to feel even an inch of it. Now it had unleashed in him an entirely different kind of storm.
Her hands rose up to rest on his chest. They stood in the middle of a tempest and still he felt the heat in her touch. His arms wrapped around her waist without conscious effort, as if holding her were the most natural thing in the world.
When she spoke, her voice was small but clear. “And what if I desire your attention, my lord?”
Jasper’s own unspent desire threatened to level him. “Jasper,” he managed to choke out.
“What?” she asked as though in a daze.
“I told you to call me Jasper, none of this ‘my lord’ nonsense.”
She looked up, her smile undoing him. “Jasper,” she repeated, and he suspected then that he was doomed. “I find I do prefer it. But what would Lady Adelaide say?”
“I find I do not give a damn about her opinion, Jane.” She smiled and then frowned slightly. “What is it?”
“It’s nothing,” she started, but he persisted with a nudge. She sighed. “Saying your name feels right in a way I can hardly quantify.”
“But my saying Jane does not compare?” he guessed.
“I’m afraid there’s only so much I can fool myself.”
All at once, Jasper felt the brutal cold that surrounded them. He hadn’t been thinking about Jane’s past, caught up as he was in her more immediate future. He was a fool for letting his guard down, and even more a fool for giving in to the desire to touch her, hold her. He would spend the rest of his life haunted by how right she felt in his arms. He forced himself to step away from her warmth. “We cannot do this.”
Her brow furrowed in confusion. “What’s wrong?” She began to follow him, but he turned from her, not letting her get close—there was witchcraft in her touch. She paused, hurt by the distance he forced between them.
“This is a mistake, Jane,” he said. She opened her mouth to argue but he didn’t let her. “And not because of who you are, but because of who you could be.”
“What does that mean?”
How could she not see that they stood on a precipice and that one terribly selfish move on his part would mean her ruin? “What if you’re engaged? Married, even?”
She placed her hands on her hips. “What if I’m not?”
“We cannot dismiss the possibility,” he said. “This…” He gestured between them. “This was a moment of madness. A fantasy. It would never work.”
She looked to her feet. “Because you’re an earl and I’m—”
“Jane, don’t.” His last shred of reason prevented him from telling her that her dubious background meant less to him now than it ever had. That truth wouldn’t help matters.
“Is it because of Annabelle?” she asked. She didn’t wield the name like a weapon; if anything she said it delicately. He wasn’t sure which would have been worse. “You loved her, didn’t you?” she pressed lightly. “What happened to her?”
But he couldn’t bring himself to tell Jane about the girl he had loved, even if he suspected it would serve to heal him in a way he long thought out of reach. He couldn’t find the words.
“I…” he began, choking on all the things he wished to say. “I cannot…”
Watching him struggle, Jane rushed toward him. “I’m sorry, Jasper.” She stroked his shoulder. “I don’t have any right to ask you about her.”
But his first thought was that she did have the right. Jane was correct about how he chose to retreat from her each time the barriers between them were knocked down. Jasper was afraid of what this woman could do to him, if he let her.
Still, he pulled her into a tight embrace as he sorted through his thoughts. She sank into his arms and accepted the comfort he offered, the shelter from the cold.
He’d kept Annabelle’s memory locked in his mind because he couldn’t bear others’ pity. For months he had been waiting for some great sense of quietude to settle upon him. Then, he thought, when his grief became bearable and the memory of Annabelle did not wound him so, he would be able to move on, whatever that might mean.
But how could he ever find peace without remembrance? And standing here before him was someone who had felt loss, but not his loss. He could not burden his siblings with the pain they shared, but Jane had felt a loss of her own, one deeper than the erasure of her memories. It was impossible to miss how she winced when the subject of family came up, or how the sheer force of her empathy could only mean she had suffered similarly. He could help her remember the things she lost in the accident, even if remembering them brought her pain.
But this was neither the time nor the place to unburden themselves.
“I cannot talk about her, Jane. Not yet,” he murmured into her hair.
She nodded into his chest. “I understand.”
“All I want right now is for you to get well, and you cannot do that out here in a snowstorm.” He stepped back, holding her by the shoulders. “Come back with me, please.”
She sighed. “I suppose I’m not very close to Wrayford, in any event.”
Jasper swallowed his grin. “Another hour, at least.”
“And I do already have a rather comfortable bed at Mulgrave Hall,” she ventured. After a moment of consideration, she spoke again, her voice a bit smaller. “Will your brothers think I’m mad?”
Jasper let out a laugh. “I don’t mean to offend you, Jane, but you’re a woman who cannot remember her own name. They likely didn’t think you particularly sane to begin with.”
Jane let out a genuine laugh, loud enough to echo off the snow-covered trees that surrounded them. “A harsh assessment, but a fair one,” she told him with a nudge from her shoulder.
Jasper tried to ignore how her laughter filled his own heart with joy. He could not risk being further charmed by this woman. “Let’s head back, shall we?”
They began their march back toward Mulgrave Hall, both of them too cold and tired to say much of anything. Jasper was relieved that Jane had listened to him, in the end, but he worried there had been an irreversible shift between them, the consequences of which he could not yet fathom. At least he hadn’t taken the coward’s route this time, choosing to be honest with Jane. He didn’t know what that meant for them going forward.
They hadn’t been walking long before Jane stopped dead in her tracks, her head craned toward the snowy wood beside them. “Jasper, do you hear that?”
He hugged himself for warmth. “How can you hear anything over the howling wind?”
“ Shh ,” she hissed, moving to the side of the road where an old, rotted log rested. She bent toward it and gasped, reaching in.
“What is it?” he asked apprehensively.
Jane’s arm emerged clutching something small and orange. “Oh, Jasper, look at the poor thing!” she exclaimed, holding the ball of fluff out to him.
He accepted it with great reluctance. “A kitten.”
“We must save him!” she pleaded, stepping close so she could scratch him behind the ears. He was a weedy, shivering thing, with great big eyes and ears far too large for his head. “Look at him, he’s freezing and starving, and it has fallen upon us to rescue him,” she added matter-of-factly.
He raised a brow. “Has it now?”
“Indeed it has!” she practically shrieked, snatching the creature back and nuzzling him close to her chest in order to button her cloak around him.
Jasper sighed. “I suppose he could find employment as a mouser in the stables.” Jane was suspiciously quiet. “Jane, that animal will not reside in Mulgrave Hall.”
“Of course not,” she cooed at the kitten, scratching under his chin as he peeked out from within her cloak.
Jasper found he lacked the energy to argue further. He set off once more, with Jane following close behind him—ready to defend the creature with her life, should she need to.
But they came suddenly upon a figure in the road, one whose approach had been veiled by the storm. Jane froze, but Jasper could see at once it was a boy, and one he recognized.
“Charlie?” he called through the wind. “Charlie Smithfield?”
“Yes, my lord,” the boy called back warily, looking very much like he wished to run. He held a brace of rabbits over his shoulder that he tried in vain to keep from view.
“You needn’t hide them, Charlie.” The boy was ill dressed for the weather, and thinner than he had looked only a few months before. The Smithfield farm had seemed abandoned when he passed it earlier. His heart broke for the boy, only twelve, and his mother, forced into such dire straits. “Where is your mother?”
The boy swallowed, his throat bobbing. “Home, my lord.”
“Is she well? I didn’t see a fire in the window.”
“She doesn’t like to waste the wood or coal when I’m not there, my lord. Says the house holds the heat just fine for her.”
“Nonsense,” said Jasper, understanding a little of why Mrs. Smithfield would make that kind of sacrifice for her child. “Come with us back to Mulgrave Hall and we shall send you home with a wagon full of fuel and food.”
“But my lord, the storm…”
The boy was right. A wagon would be useless in those conditions. “Do you have wood enough for the night?”
Charlie nodded. “Yes, my lord.”
“Then build the biggest fire your hearth will hold for the night and come tomorrow when the storm abates. I will make sure everything is ready for you.” The boy nodded, his expression one of exhausted relief.
“Thank you, my lord,” he said with a grateful bow.
“Does your mother require a doctor?” The boy hesitated. “It will not cost you anything,” Jasper added.
“The cold pains her, could a doctor help with that?”
“Certainly. I’ll make sure of it,” Jasper replied, making a mental note to have Dr. Ramsay drop by. “And Charlie? It’s not poaching if you’re on my land, and please don’t ever hesitate in coming to me if you need anything at all. Understood?”
Charlie nodded again.
“Keep warm and well, Charlie,” said Jane as the boy departed. Even in the dark of the storm, Jasper could see his cheeks flush.
When he was all but a speck in the distance, Jane turned to face Jasper.
“You really care for them, don’t you? Your tenants, I mean.”
They started back toward the manor as the question scraped against him, demanding an answer. “What kind of earl would I be if I didn’t?” he offered somewhat flippantly.
Jane shrugged. “The ordinary kind, I’d imagine.”
She wasn’t going to let him off easily. “Ah, well, most noblemen didn’t grow up under my father’s shadow. He never minded getting his hands dirty and liked to see that everything around him ran smoothly and efficiently.”
“It’s more than that,” she started, studying him thoughtfully.
“Is it?” he tensed, sensing where she was going.
“Yes. It would seem the protection of the Earl of Belhaven extends well beyond the walls of Mulgrave Hall.”
How did she do it? How did she see right to the core of him? “I have a responsibility to them,” he offered.
But she was right. It was more than that. The Maycotts had not been the only family to lose loved ones when scarlet fever had ripped through the village of Wrayford. The tragedy had bonded them. Whereas the Jasper of before might have been content to remain ignorant of the suffering of others, to do so would have been impossible now. Especially when he was in a position to help.
But why then did he chafe against the recognition of his hard-won decency? Perhaps it was because he suspected the closer Jane got to seeing the real him, the more difficult it would be for him to lose her.
“I know,” she said. “And they are lucky to have you.”
He did not argue against her assessment, but he did not agree with her. Instead, they were silent as they crested the last hill before Mulgrave Hall. Jasper felt a great sense of relief when the manor appeared just where it should be. He and Jane had shared a moment of weakness, of madness, one that promised an irrevocable change between them, but the rest of the world still stood.
They made a spontaneous mad dash the rest of the way, only to be greeted by his siblings, all of them evidently bundled in preparation for a search party. Everyone descended upon them in a rush, speaking over one another and wrapping them in blankets for warmth as they dragged them both inside.
Isobel gave Jasper an approving nod for a job well done as she and Helena shepherded Jane toward the nearest hearth. August and Freddie hung back with Nash, content to allow the scene to unfold around them. Jasper needed a stiff drink and to warm up, in that order.
“We were so worried, Jane,” said Viola, her eyes wide with something akin to awe. “To set off into a storm—”
“Was rather foolish,” Jasper finished for her, careful to nip any ideas that might emerge in Viola’s developing, all-too-curious mind. “But it worked out.” He didn’t dare look Jane’s way.
“Indeed it did, my lord,” Jane replied rather demurely, causing the hair on Jasper’s neck to stand on end. “In fact, it was lucky we were out there,” she added, her voice thick with innocence.
“Oh?” Viola asked, hanging on Jane’s every word.
Jasper realized immediately that he’d made a mistake. Jane pulled the small ball of fluff from within her cloak and held the creature up for all to see. Helena gasped in a rather motherly fashion and Viola squealed.
“We found him shivering in the cold, and your brother kindly offered to give him a home here in Mulgrave Hall,” Jane said as though the matter were settled.
Jasper glared at her over Viola’s head, knowing she had won and promising swift retribution.
“How splendid!” Viola cried, accepting the small bundle and cradling him to her chest. The kitten looked quite content indeed. “What’s his name?”
Jane looked right at him when she answered, her eyes alight with mischief. “Mr. Darcy.”
Jasper had been right about being doomed.