Chapter Fifteen
Jane
Isobel’s words had shocked Jane to her core. She looked down, somewhat relieved to see she still wore her gown from the night before, though the buttons at the back had been undone. It hadn’t made for the most comfortable sleep, but at least she hadn’t unknowingly revealed her undergarments to the Earl of Belhaven.
But Christ, Jasper had spent the night in her room, watching to ensure she still breathed.
It was as impossible a revelation as she could imagine. Jasper, the man who seemed to vacillate between desiring and disliking her, had slept the night in a chair in her stuffy room while she’d snored next to him.
But hadn’t she known that the sternness was a mask he wore in order to protect the people he loved? Jane supposed she simply hadn’t anticipated that she would ever be the recipient of that protection. She had assumed she was a distraction. An impermanent diversion from the weight of his duties and responsibilities as earl. Jane hadn’t dared imagine that the Earl of Belhaven’s attention might mean that he truly cared for her.
“It seems Jasper has within him the capacity to surprise us all,” Isobel added, reading her mind. It was then that Jane noticed how rumpled her appearance was. A flicker of guilt passed through her, to have been the cause of anyone else’s discomfort. Isobel took the empty glass from her hand. “You should go back to sleep. As I said, it is indecently early. I will be here when you wake.”
“You don’t have to—” Jane protested, not wishing to burden Isobel any more than she already had.
“I know I don’t,” she replied, tucking Jane back under the counterpane. “But I will.”
And so she drifted back to sleep, safe in the knowledge that there was someone watching over her.
…
She awoke hours later, groggy but much improved. “What time is it?”
“Well after midday.” Isobel wasted no time pulling back the curtains and stripping the counterpane from her tired body. “Let’s get you out of that dress, shall we?”
Before Jane could argue, Isobel had hauled her rather unceremoniously out of bed, holding tight to Jane’s arm as she swayed in disbelief.
“You know, the muscles in your arms are quite developed, Jane. I might have thought you a pugilist if I didn’t know any better.”
Jane attempted to breathe through her shock. “For all we know, I am.”
Isobel laughed and pulled her outer gown over her head and tossed it to the floor.
“You’re efficient,” Jane offered weakly.
“Plenty of experience,” Isobel replied, already loosening Jane’s corset. “May I?” she asked, and in no time at all, and certainly only because Jane felt rather incapacitated, Isobel had her out of the wrinkled chemise she had slept in and into a clean one, adding over top of it a plain dressing gown.
“That’s better,” she remarked as she helped Jane settle back into her bed.
Jane still didn’t quite understand how she had managed it. “I did not expect the daughter of an earl to be so…”
Isobel began retrieving pins from Jane’s hair. “Unabashed?” she offered. “Shameless, perhaps? Lord knows I’ve heard that before,” she added with a wink, pulling a comb from her pocket and tending to Jane’s hair. “I am no wilting violet, Jane. And besides, it’s nothing I haven’t seen on numerous occasions.” Jane was reasonably certain that at least one of the occasions she was referring to was the manner of their meeting, when Jane had been rather at the mercy of the Maycotts, but she had tried to put that helplessness behind her. “Boarding school is an effective way of ridding oneself of any latent modesty, a particularly useless quality, if you ask me.”
Jane winced as the comb got caught in a snag. “Helena still seems rather modest,” she pointed out.
“Yes, well, there was never any hope for Angelic Helena,” Isobel replied, not unkindly, twisting Jane’s hair into an efficient, though perhaps unfashionable, knot. “How are you feeling after sleeping like the dead?”
It was a simple question, but thoughts of Jasper immediately filled her mind. The chair next to Isobel’s was empty, but he might as well be sitting there still, for all the mortification she felt. Heat rose to her cheeks and spread to her chest. The man affected her even in his absence. She was torn between fury and gratitude. How dare he care so much for her well-being but only in secret. How dare he add another layer to her confusion.
Isobel gave her a quizzical look. “Should I send for the doctor?”
Jane slammed back into the present. “No, that won’t be necessary. But I do think I should have passed on dinner last night. I was feeling dizzy almost as soon as Helena and I reached the parlor.”
“And now?”
She paused, taking stock. “A slight improvement, perhaps.”
“Well, that’s a relief, then.” Isobel stood and gestured to the water closet. “I’m sure you wish to see to your needs. I’ll send for some food, shall I?”
Jane nodded, but her mind was still with the Earl of Belhaven. She could recall how he’d studied her from across the table, before she’d fainted like some overwrought heroine from a penny dreadful. She had read his behavior as needlessly watchful, as though he was waiting for her to commit a grave error. But had he simply been concerned for her? Was he capable of such gallantry?
He was indeed. She knew the depths he kept hidden. Why was she so surprised?
Perhaps it was because each time she took a step toward understanding him, Jasper was quick to turn away from her, relying on the rigidity of protocol and a mask of duty to sever their connection.
But a night spent at her bedside said so much more than words ever could. Jane shifted restlessly under the weight of her sudden understanding. Jasper did care for her. What she had interpreted as animosity was perhaps better explained as a feeling of confliction in the Earl of Belhaven. She could not fault him for his hesitation. Even stripped of her memories as she was, Jane sensed he had more to lose than she did. More to fear, too, perhaps.
But that didn’t mean that she would accept his reticence. He could not occupy both positions—that of trusted confidant or mere acquaintance—whilst also treating her fairly.
She stood rather unsteadily and stepped over the dress Isobel had failed to retrieve from the floor. It had served her well the night before, making her feel at least a little like she belonged among Jasper’s friends. Lady Louisa had complimented her rather sincerely, and Miss Beatrice had not managed to find a way to snub her about it. Most importantly, it had seemed to stop Jasper in his tracks.
After she was done seeing to her needs, she went to the basin on the desk and splashed the frigid water on her face, taking care to avoid her bandage, which she remembered would have to be changed soon. Only, when she looked in the mirror, she saw it wasn’t one of the maid Lottie’s bandages. This one had been cut rather cleverly, leaving more of her skin exposed. She still didn’t have the courage to look beneath it, but she hoped whomever had dressed her wound the night before would do so again. The smaller dressing helped her to feel less like an invalid. Even the worst bruising and swelling had reduced somewhat. Most was hidden behind her hairline, and when she pressed on the skin it smarted fiercely, but otherwise she looked almost normal. Very nearly healthy. So why hadn’t her memories returned?
Isobel had returned and left a dress out for her, a dove-gray tea gown with white lace edgings and embroidered cuffs. The gown laced at the front rather sensibly, meaning Jane required no assistance. She donned it behind the screen while stuffing herself with the sandwiches that had arrived while she washed. Thoughts of her missing memories persisted. The small threads she had uncovered of her father weren’t enough to paint a full picture, but they were something . And then the memory of the Prince of Wales’s brush with typhoid had emerged, as if from a veil of fog, sneaking up on her when she’d least suspected it. She supposed that was progress. Infuriatingly slow progress, but progress nonetheless. It was certainly more than she had awoken with days ago. All she required now was an immense amount of patience, even if she suspected she’d never possessed that quality, and while that wasn’t a memory, it was the truth.
A knock on the door interrupted her thoughts and her meal both.
“Yes?” called Isobel from where she was remaking Jane’s bed.
A man spoke. “It’s Lucian.” He paused, cleared his throat. “Er, it’s Dr. Hill.”
And then it dawned on Jane. The doctor who tended to her the night before would be Sir Hill, not the anonymous, kindly old man she had been picturing in her mind.
Isobel looked to her for confirmation. Jane nodded, because what else was she going to do?
“Do come in, Sir Hill,” said Isobel.
He walked in, just as handsome as she remembered, and gave them a quick bow. “Miss Danvers, I wanted to check on you after last night’s events, if you are amenable.”
She sat back in the armchair, wiping crumbs from her lap, noting he was even more handsome in the light of day. “Of course, Dr. Hill.”
He stepped toward her, hands extended. “May I?” She nodded and he began feeling along her scalp and in her neck, twisting her head slightly, seeking any errant pain. He let go, using his fingers to tilt her head upward gently until he was peering into her eyes. “How are you feeling?”
Jane was beginning to hate the question, because she did not know how to answer it, not accurately at least. There was the polite, false response of fine or more of the same . But it wasn’t true, was it? She might not be in immediate danger, but she was far from fine.
“Adequate,” she said before thinking.
A small smile teased at the corners of Lucian’s lips. “Simply adequate?”
“What I meant to say is—”
“I understand, Miss Danvers. The question is a complicated one. I should have been more specific.” He removed his hand from where he held her chin in place and stepped back. “Have your memories returned?”
“No,” she replied before she understood what he was asking. “Who told you?”
His hand came to the back of his neck. “Lord Belhaven. And only in the interest of helping you, I assure you.” Oddly enough, she was assured. Jasper must have been quite concerned for her well-being to have revealed the truth of her ailment to someone new. It seemed to Jane that Dr. Hill and Isobel were describing a man she desired very much to know, if only Jasper would let her in. But grief had built a fortress around the Earl of Belhaven’s heart, one Jane wasn’t sure she could conquer, or even if she should. Between his siblings and his friends, he had enough people to care about. What exactly could she offer him?
For her part, Jane wanted Jasper to trust her with all of him, to understand, as she did, that they were kindred spirits. That they could help each other through the darkness, if only he would allow it.
Dr. Hill continued. “I don’t have much experience with amnesia, but in my professional opinion, you will recover, Miss Danvers. It is simply a matter of time.”
She was heartened to hear it. “Thank you, Dr. Hill. How lucky I was to be injured on the property of a man with such accomplished friends.”
He quirked a brow at her. “I suspect you weren’t the only lucky one, Miss Danvers.”
All at once, another knock interrupted them, and Helena and Lady Adelaide entered the room, the latter looking a bit worse for wear with dark circles under her eyes.
“My goodness, Aunt, are you ill?” asked Isobel, her voice filled with mock concern. Helena shot her a look that demanded she behave, which Isobel promptly ignored. “Thank heavens there is a doctor present.”
Lady Adelaide glared at her. “Achieving my long-awaited retribution kept me up much later than I am used to,” she said, tucking an errant strand of hair—a true rarity for Lady Adelaide—behind her ear.
“By ‘retribution’ do you mean fleecing Lady Louisa’s maiden aunt for all she’s got in a game of whist? Best of eleven, was it?”
“That was vengeance decades in the making, Isobel, and I will speak no more of it.” Aunt Adelaide shifted her flinty gaze from her niece to Jane, her eyes softening slightly upon her. “I hear I missed quite a spectacle at dinner.”
“Jane can hardly be blamed for her injury, Aunt,” began Helena. “I rather think the blame lies with us for pushing her before she is ready.”
But Lady Adelaide was ignoring her, having just noticed a man among them. “Who are you?” she asked with a tone that suggested she had discovered something unpleasant under her shoe.
Lucian, who had been doing his damnedest to sneak away, paused and straightened. “Dr. Hill, my lady.”
Helena leaned closer. “He’s one of Jasper’s friends, Aunt Adelaide.”
Lady Adelaide eyed him appraisingly. “Yes, the Prince’s physician, no?” she asked Helena as though Lucian himself were not present.
“Not quite,” he began, seeming to sense that a correction would be pointless.
“Modest, too,” she added, impressed. “A quality not equally shared amongst my nephew’s friends. Tell me, Dr. Hill, is there a betrothal in your immediate future?”
“Aunt Adelaide!” Helena cried, entirely mortified. Isobel pressed her lips together in obvious delight at her aunt’s antics.
Lady Adelaide waved her arm impatiently. “I’ve found I must be direct when it comes to you girls, what with all the years wasted.”
Lucian looked to be caught somewhere between horror and amusement. “Not formally, no. But there is someone.”
Lady Adelaide sighed. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that a man of…” She looked at him expectantly.
Sensing that he was trapped, Lucian gave a small sigh. “I am twenty-eight, my lady.”
“That a man of twenty-eight, and one so accomplished at that, would be attached.” She looked at him a bit longer than was necessary before speaking again. “You may go, Dr. Hill.” He nearly ran from the room. “Now then,” she said, turning her attention back to Jane. “You are recovered?”
“From last night’s spectacle?” Jane asked wryly. “Yes, Lady Adelaide. Overall? Not yet.”
“As I thought,” she replied. “No reason to keep you shut up in this room in the meantime, is there?”
A part of Jane wanted to bury her head under the bedsheets for the rest of the day, but it seemed the cowardly move to beg off with claims of a headache. As she weighed her options, she noticed Viola lurking in the doorway, perhaps seeking a way into the room, but fearing invoking her aunt’s ire at her impropriety.
Jane decided to end her agony. “Lady Viola, do come in,” she called, a spark of an idea forming in her mind as to how the girl might come to rescue her.
Viola, sensing opportunity, rushed in past her aunt and sisters. “Miss Jane, did you really faint at the dinner table?”
Jane couldn’t help but cringe. “I’m afraid so.”
“Why, you’re like the heroine of a novel,” she exclaimed.
“Do you only read novels with particularly dramatic and flighty characters, Viola?” Lady Adelaide asked with a sniff. Jane tried very hard not to read it as a slight against her, not after all the progress she had made with the woman.
“As a rule,” Viola replied with a satisfied grin.
“I wonder if you might try novels with unflappable heroines,” Lady Adelaide mused. “Good, sensible women possessing sound judgment—”
Viola scrunched up her nose. “I don’t believe that would be very interesting, Aunt Adelaide.”
“Nor I,” added Isobel with a wink. “Give me a Marianne Dashwood or Catherine Earnshaw any day.”
“In any event, I am much recovered,” Jane said, willing it to be true. Needing it to be. “And I think it’s high time you show me that piece of embroidery you’ve been working on.” She raised her eyebrows significantly. “The one that’s been troubling you.”
To her credit, Viola caught on exceptionally quick. “Come with me,” she replied conspiratorially. “I’ve left it in my chambers.”
“Now what is this all about?” Lady Adelaide asked, her tone deeply suspicious.
Viola turned toward her aunt with a flourish. “It isn’t proper to discuss a gift before it is ready to be presented, is it, Aunt Adelaide?” she asked innocently.
Lady Adelaide preened briefly before turning to Jane and pinning a distrustful gaze upon her. “And how might you be helping, Jane? I seem to recall needles bending in fright at your hapless touch during our previous experimentation.”
Jane was at a loss for words before clever Viola swooped in. “It is in the act of teaching that we may find the clarity we seek, Aunt.”
Lady Adelaide, incapable of detecting fault in her niece’s sage observation, seemed flustered. “I suppose that is a suitable reason for missing tea, but only this once,” she snapped, settling the matter.
As Viola and Jane left the room, even Isobel offered them a dubious look, likely well aware of her own sister’s distaste for needlework.
But Jane did not regret her subterfuge. There was little she wanted to do less than face Jasper’s friends after the drama of the night before. The relative peace of Viola’s chambers would be a welcome refuge. Surely none would miss her.
As they left sight of the room, Viola reached for Jane’s hand and broke out into an excited run. Jane allowed the girl to tug her along, unwilling to dampen her spirits after the solemn conversation they had shared before dinner the night prior.
They arrived in her room and Viola collapsed on her bed in a heap. Mr. Darcy—curled up in a tight ball near the pillows—hardly reacted to the disturbance.
“I hope you don’t mind—”
She raised herself up on her elbows. “You crafting the perfect escape? Not in the slightest!” she exclaimed. “The most brilliant part of it is the fact that she can never ask me for her gift, not without being intolerably rude ,” she added in a frighteningly accurate imitation of her aunt’s voice. “Now, let me get my things; we want them close in case Aunt Adelaide comes investigating.” She pulled a haphazard pile of cloth and bundles of thread from beneath her bed. “What is it you’d like to actually do?”
“Anything you’d like,” Jane offered. “Perhaps you could read some of your writings to me. I’m not sure how helpful I’ll be, but I’d love to hear what you’ve been working on.”
Viola’s smile could have lit the darkest room. “If you truly mean it…”
“I do.” Jane wanted nothing more than to be someone Viola felt safe with, as she felt safe with the Maycott siblings. “But only if you promise we can hide out here for the rest of the day. I’m not yet ready to face everyone.” Jasper, specifically, but she kept that to herself.
“We’ll dine here!” Viola exclaimed with a clap of her hands. “No one seems able to deny me my more reasonable requests.”
“Wonderful.”
And so they passed the afternoon and well into the evening together. Lady Adelaide had a lavish tea spread sent up to them, and Jane felt the smallest twinge of guilt, knowing she had only done so under false pretenses, before sampling the array of scrumptious biscuits.
They spent the rest of their time reading in contented silence or reciting the most dramatic of Shakespeare’s soliloquies aloud. Mr. Darcy moved between them, seeking pets and mischief in equal measure. After Viola caught Jane up on a year’s worth of Society gossip she had dutifully collected from letters written by cousins and friends, dinner arrived. True to her word, they dined at Viola’s table, which was set with fine but mismatched china and a floral tablecloth. Jane suspected they would be served finer fare in the dining room later, but her meal with Viola was exactly what she wanted.
After dinner, Viola gathered her courage and read some of her writing to Jane, though she could not meet her eye as she did so. Jane, genuinely impressed by her prose and witticisms, offered praise freely and small suggestions only when needed. Eventually, they returned to reading silently next to each other in the bay of Viola’s window, propped up by pillows and wrapped in blankets.
Viola, absorbed in her book, reached for Jane’s hand, perhaps without conscious thought. She allowed her to take it, and before long, the girl was fast asleep, and Jane was left alone with her thoughts for the first time since waking.
She hoped it escaped everyone’s notice that she’d spent the day hiding in a child’s bedroom. It had felt selfish at first, but when she looked down at Viola’s small hand in hers, and listened to her soft snores, Jane had to wonder if the girl had needed this as much as she had.
But it was time to go. She carefully removed her hand from Viola’s, prepared to sneak away so as not to wake her, but a creak from behind startled her. It sounded like someone stood in the doorway, but there was no one there that she could see.
Jane made her way across the room and peeked out, but the hall was empty.
Her heart raced, but not from fear. Instead, it beat with anticipation. Like she had expected someone in particular to be looking in on them.
But that anticipation quickly shifted to disappointment when she realized she was, in fact, alone, and perhaps always would be.