Chapter 13
Chapter
Thirteen
The Hartingtons were not finished with their scheming; she could see that clearly enough.
Even if Miles had challenged them openly in the conservatory, there were other paths they might try, subtler rumors they might send out into the world.
A single whisper, repeated often enough, could sour a reputation beyond repair.
She had seen it before. She had watched other women become the object of sly jokes and narrowed eyes.
She would not become one of them, and she would certainly not stand by while Miles’s name was dragged through the mire because of his connection to her.
The thought of him, standing there between her and Arabella like a shield, stirred something warm and tremulous inside her chest. She had never expected to see him so angry on her behalf.
She had never expected him to look at her as he had—steady and sure, as though defending her were the most natural thing he had ever done.
Even after the strange revelation of feeling following the events of the parlor games, the kiss had been a shock in and of itself.
Unexpected, wholly welcomed and transformative—it had shaken her to her very core.
The sensations of his mouth moving over hers, of the firm press of his lips and the gentle pressure of his arms closing around her, drawing her in to him still hummed along her nerve endings.
When at long last, he’d lifted his mouth from hers and their gazes had locked, she’d seen her own confusion perfectly reflected back at her.
Neither of them could name what was transpiring between them, but neither of them was willing to forfeit the experience or the pleasure it promised.
Lying awake in her bed, staring at the canopied ceiling, Jillian did her utmost to quiet the barrage of internal questions. Was it enough? Could they sustain it? Like so many other couples, would they have a few months or years of happiness before drifting away
There was a knock at the door, soft but unmistakable.
Her heart tripped.
She wrapped her dressing gown more tightly around herself and crossed the room, opening the door only a fraction at first. Miles stood in the dim corridor, already dressed for travel in a dark coat and boots dusted with an earlier foray into the cold.
His hair was still slightly disordered from running his fingers through it, and his expression held that same peculiar mix of resolve and something far more vulnerable.
“Lady Jillian,” he said quietly, “may I come in? Only for a moment.”
She hesitated, then widened the door enough to admit him, hearing the soft snick of the latch behind him as he turned to face her. Something about the early hour, the hush of the house, and the intimacy of her chamber made the moment feel unreal, as though they had stepped outside of ordinary time.
“You should not be here,” she said, though her voice lacked conviction.
“No,” he agreed, “I should not. But I could not wait for the household to convene and discuss our future as if it were a committee matter to be voted upon between courses. I need to speak with you before the others wake.”
She folded her arms, more to steady herself than to chastise him. “Very well. Speak.”
He drew a breath, looking at her fully. “They will expect an offer from me today. They are not wrong to do so. Your reputation is at stake, and I have no intention of allowing it to be destroyed while I stand by wringing my hands. But after what I overheard in the conservatory, I no longer trust that their interference will stop once we are betrothed. The Hartingtons will not accept defeat gracefully and simply wait for us to wed. They will find new angles, new rumors, new ways of turning even our engagement into fodder for their ambitions.”
“You think they would attempt to interfere even then?” she asked, though in her heart she knew the answer.
“Without hesitation,” he said. “In fact, I know it. Mrs. Hartington was wailing about Arabella’s sudden decline in health, that the poor girl is so overset by the scandalous goings on, her delicate constitution is bing impacted by it.”
Jillian’s eyes widened in shock. “You cannot be serious!”
“On the contrary, I can. They are laying the groundwork to be able to remain here after the party ends… when it will have been reduced to smaller number and only family. There is a plot afoot, Jillian, and I will give them no opportunity to carry it out... that means we should wed sooner rather that later,” he paused then, looking away as if in thought before once more fixing his gaze on her.
“If we do this, I should like it to be because we chose it, not because we have been herded into it like cattle at an auction.”
She stared at him, the words sinking slowly into place. “You say ‘if we do this’ as if there is an alternative.”
For the first time, something like a smile touched his mouth, though it was wry and threaded with tension.
“There is one. It is drastic, scandalous, and will likely set Henry’s hair on fire when he learns of it, but it is an alternative nonetheless.
And wholly unexpected from both of us, given our typically circumspect behaviors…
It would, however, require your agreement, and not merely your forbearance. ”
Her throat went dry. “What do you propose?”
He moved a step closer, watching her carefully.
“We are not children. You are well past the age of requiring parental consent for marriage. I am of age and free to choose my own course. There is a common license to be had in York, if one is determined enough to rise early and travel quickly. If we go now, before the household quite wakes, we could be there by nine, licensed and wed by midmorning.”
Her heart pounded so hard she wondered he could not hear it.
“You wish to elope,” she whispered.
“I wish,” he said slowly, “to marry you before any further schemes can be set in motion. I wish to place you—us—beyond the reach of their manipulations. I wish to make clear to everyone, including the Hartingtons, that this is not a matter for debate. And yes, in the eyes of society, an early-morning flight to York would be called an elopement, though it will be perfectly legal and entirely binding.”
She sank onto the edge of the bed, because her knees would not have held her otherwise. “And you would face the consequences? The speculation? The inevitable cries that you have lost your senses?”
“I have never been more in possession of them,” he replied, his voice gentling.
“If I remain, we shall be paraded, interrogated, and judged by an audience of aunts and distant relatives, while the Hartingtons whisper poison in whichever ears will listen and Beatrice will surely deliver poetic soliloquies about spirit interference! If we go, the talk will follow us, but it will be talk about a married couple, and talk cannot undo vows once spoken.”
She looked up at him, feeling something wild and unfamiliar uncurl inside her. “You would bind yourself to me so irrevocably without a word from your family? Without even writing to Henry first?”
“It will be a difficult letter to compose,” he admitted, “but I think I can manage it once the deed is done. He will forgive me. Eventually.” A shadow of humor flickered in his eyes.
“You are under the impression, perhaps, that he will be more upset than Beatrice will be delighted, but I assure you, the two will almost balance each other.”
She gave a shaky laugh despite herself. “You make it sound… almost reasonable.”
“I make it sound inevitable,” he said softly. “Because it feels that way to me. I might have disliked that notion at one point… but I find myself more amenable to it by the second. Do you, Jillian, find it a more amenable prospect?”
The quiet that followed shimmered with possibility.
Jillian felt as though she stood at the edge of a precipice, the ground crumbling behind her, and the only way forward was a leap into the unknown.
The notion of leaving without a word, slipping away with him in the dim, frosty dawn, carried its own flavor of scandal that would have appalled her younger self.
But nothing about this felt like running away.
It felt like choosing.
Slowly, she rose and stepped toward him.
“If we do this,” she said, her voice low and steady, “there is no going back. We cannot undo it because the Hartingtons grow tired of their games. We cannot call it a mistake if we quarrel or discover that your stoicism and my bluestocking tendencies make us entirely incompatible.”
“I am fully aware,” he replied. “If you say no, we will face this in the conventional manner and hope that wisdom prevails over malice. If you say yes, we will leave within the half hour. I will never think you cowardly for refusing, and I will never think you rash for agreeing. The choice is entirely yours.”
Her eyes burned. It was not the proposal she had imagined as a girl—no moonlit garden, no stumbling declarations of undying devotion—but then, nothing about them had ever followed that pattern.
He was offering her something far more substantial than words.
He was offering her a partnership forged in adversity, in scandal, and in the quiet, fierce determination to stand together against those who would tear them apart.
She drew in a long breath, then nodded once. “Very well, Mr. Fairfax. Let us be scandalous on our own terms, for once.”
Relief flashed across his face so quickly it made her chest ache.
He did not reach for her, not yet, but his shoulders eased as though some enormous weight had lifted.
“I will have a carriage prepared at the side entrance. Bring only what you need. We can send for the rest once we are settled. And Jillian…”
“Yes?”
His voice dropped. “Thank you.”
She almost laughed at the absurdity of it. “You are thanking me for agreeing to marry you in secret and flee the house at dawn?”
“I am thanking you,” he said, “for trusting me enough to do so.”