Chapter Sixteen #2
Miss Irene Chance—far too beautiful, likely to have many other suit
His hand darted out. “That’s nothing, don’t look at it.”
“You… You have written about me. About all of us,” Jessica whispered, rising to her feet and taking the piece of paper with her just as Reginald tried to snatch it from her hands.
“It’s not—”
Not what it looks like. That was what Reginald was going to say, but how on earth could he say such a thing when the evidence was right there in her hands?
His heart was ice, his whole chest frozen as he stared at Jessica, watching her gaze rake down the paper, knowing how it ended.
Miss Jessica Chance—by all accounts, dull as ditchwater and very shy. Should be easy enough to win over, as a wallflower, as she’s had no attention. Poor thing.
He had hardly given a second thought to the ranking he had created for the seven Chance cousins who were eligible and unattached. What did it matter, now that he had fallen in love with Miss Jessica Chance?
The trouble was, it clearly did matter now.
“Jessica,” Reginald said, rising hastily to his feet. “You must understand—”
“I do understand. I understand perfectly,” said Jessica in a dull voice that contained absolutely no joy within it.
“‘Miss Gwendoline Chance—not officially out, might be too young.’ Oh, you think so, my younger sister? ‘Described by the few who know her as a wallflower just like her older sister, which of course is a downside.’ That older sister is me, I suppose.”
Reginald swallowed, but there wasn’t enough moisture in his mouth. “Please, Jessica, don’t—don’t read that.”
“Why not? Do I not deserve to know how I was ranked alongside my cousins and sisters—how you came to determine that I was the best wife for you?” she shot back, lips flattening into a curl and her shaking voice rising in volume. “I suppose you know this by heart.”
Jessica thrust the paper at him and Reginald, despite his better judgment, looked down and saw with regret pooling in him just how callous he had been before he had met a single member of this gracious, hospitable, loving family.
In addition to the youngest, Miss Gwendoline, a thought that made him shudder now, he had written:
Lady Maude Chance—too old, though she is part of the most senior branch and so may therefore have more sway when it comes to influencing Society.
Lady Francesca Chance—rumors conflict about this one. Perhaps there is also a cousin Frank Chance with whom people confuse her? Far too dominant—I need a wife I can control.
Miss Theodora Chance—almost no dowry, as far as I can tell, and therefore doesn’t have much social standing. Could she be enough to help with Peter? Probably not.
Miss Irene Chance—far too beautiful, likely to have many other suitors. No point in attempting to win her over; probably far too stuck-up for her own good.
Lady Lucy Chance—passionate prisoner reformer, perhaps far too close to comfort to the problem. Though on the bright side, might be able to help Peter if he got into a real pickle?
And then the words about his Jessica.
Jessica Chance—by all accounts, dull as ditchwater and very shy. Should be easy enough to win over, as a wallflower, as she’s had no attention. Poor thing.
Somehow, he had to find the words. Somehow, he had to explain himself. Precisely how he was going to manage it, Reginald did not know, but the idea of losing Jessica over something that he himself was ashamed of…
“And there’s this,” she said coldly, thrusting another sheet of paper at him.
Reginald could not help but wince again as he beheld it. The marriage license, for Reginald, Lord Llyne and…
There was a gap for the bride’s name. The only element already filled in…was Chance.
He had told the viscount he would take care of the license. Because he’d already taken care of it when he’d asked.
“How can you stand there so silent?” Jessica’s voice was ice and it sliced through him just as easily as a knife could have.
“I should have known you’d put some thought into this, considering we had not even met when you rode up to this house and asked for my hand.
The cheek! Now that I think of it—the very cheek of your actions! I was so foolish.”
“Jessica, please!”
“No! No. But I never imagined you sat there and wrote it all out. I never imagined your thoughts to be so callous, so calculating. How can you stand in judgment of us all—”
“I did not know any of you when I wrote this—and I was wrong to do that, I know that now,” Reginald began.
He was not permitted to continue. God knew, he hardly deserved it.
“My sister is too beautiful for you, is she?” Jessica asked coldly.
Reginald winced. Damn. “I did not—I was going off rumor. I had no other information to go on.”
“Other than taking the time to actually meet us, and get to know us, and form your own opinions, I presume,” shot back Jessica, her voice warming now but not toward him—against him. “I mean, I-I knew this was a marriage of convenience, but…”
“It’s not. Not anymore.” Reginald stepped forward, desperate to take her hand and show her, not tell her just how much she meant to him. “It’s so much more than that—Jessica.”
Jessica stepped back, almost tripping on her skirts but managing to retreat from him at great speed, crossing the entire library as she stared in almost disbelief. As though she could not believe he had done such a thing. As though she could not believe anyone could be so heartless.
Damn, but he had been. And now it was too late.
“As I said, this is—this was a marriage of convenience,” Jessica continued, her voice breaking, “but I did not know that I had been roundly compared to all my sisters, my cousins, in order to win the prize. The prize is you, I suppose.”
The guilt was eating away at him and Reginald did not know how to make it stop. “I-It was not the best way of doing things, but—”
“I have spent my life compared to others, always coming out ill, and to know that…that you…” Jessica did not appear to be able to continue. There was a sparkling in her eyes that Reginald hated to see, but he did not know how he could stop it.
He had hurt her. The woman he cared about the most in the world, and he had hurt her.
“I can explain,” he said foolishly.
All too late did he realize his mistake.
“You can?” Jessica crossed her arms and appeared to swallow back her tears. “Go on, then. Explain.”
Reginald opened his mouth, realized that there was no possible explanation for what he had done that any rational person would accept, and closed it again as pain tightened around his temples.
What had he done—other than preemptively utterly ruin the happiness he had found? Other than destroy the confidence of a woman who had not had much to begin with? Other than end all possibility of joy with the woman he loved?
“I wish I had burned the whole thing,” he found himself muttering.
Jessica’s dark laughter was enough to turn his stomach. “Yes, that way, you never would have been found out, and I would have married you and been trapped forever!”
Trapped. It was a harsh word, and it scratched across Reginald’s already bruised heart, causing him to wince. “You would not have been… I love you.”
“That is not what love looks like,” Jessica snapped, pointing at the piece of paper. “I know I said a husband and wife should be allowed some secrets from one another, but you had me convinced that you and I would be different. That there would be no secrets between us.”
Reginald threw it to the ground, trying to keep his temper. “That was all before I met you—before I knew you, before I fell in love with you!”
“How can I believe that? How can I believe anything you say?”
“Because it’s the truth!” Surely, there had to be a way to explain this. “My steward sent this from Llyne Hall. I haven’t been back there since I met you. Look, people—gentlemen, even ladies, matchmakers—do this all the time—”
It was the wrong thing to say. Reginald could sense that the moment the first few words of his sentence had left his mouth.
Jessica’s laugh was pained now, almost mocking. “You think that every gentleman in Society has a list of myself and my sisters and cousins, ranking us, discussing whether we would make them good wives?”
“Damnit, woman, you know what I mean!” Reginald could no longer hold back the panic, the fear that he was going to lose her—had she not said she would have married him—and he hated that it came out merely in shouts and frustration.
“Every match made in the ton balances the positives and negatives of both parties.”
“But I had no opportunity to balance out your positives and negatives, did I?” Jessica pointed out, her cheeks still red but determinedly dry. “Were you concerned that I would discount you based on some idiosyncrasy—on your birth? Again, how little you know me!”
“I did not know you then, but I love you now.” Reginald tried to take a steady breath, knowing that he had to make her see, make her understand just how much he loved her. “I love you, Jessica, and I—”
“And who is Peter?”
Four words. That was all it took to halt Reginald in his tracks, to make his words fade in his mouth, to force his pulse to skip a beat.
Peter.
Well, he should have known that in the end, it would be his brother who would be his undoing. That was where this had all started, had it not? With Reginald attempting to prevent his brother from ruining everything, to protect their sister and their good name from Peter.
In a way, he supposed dully, he should have known that just as it had started with Peter, it would end with Peter.
“Peter,” Reginald said heavily, “is my brother.”
Jessica narrowed her eyes. “And… And he is in some sort of trouble with the law, I suppose? You might have needed Lucy’s help. Is he in prison?”
No, Reginald wanted to say. But I wish he were.
He could lie. It would be easy enough to lie, and she would never know, until perhaps, she read about the scandal in the papers.
He could lie, spin her some tale of mistaken identity and how it would all blow over, and he could leave.
He could walk out of Stanphrey Lacey and act as if all of this had never happened.
Send the viscount enough funds to cover the wedding preparations to date and walk out of Jessica’s life.
The mere thought was so distasteful, so impossible, that he almost laughed.
“My brother, Peter,” Reginald said quietly, “is in trouble with the law, but not as you might think.”
Jessica raised an eyebrow. “He is innocent, is he?”
“No.” It cost him a great deal to admit it, but he was never going to lie to this woman again. “No, he is not. He is a traitor.”
Her lips parted, but no sound came out.
“He betrayed secrets of ours to the French. He is on the run,” Reginald said quietly, surprised that he was able to speak on the topic so levelly.
“He is a wanted man by the Crown, and when the news gets out, my family name will be ruined. That… That is why I wanted to marry a Chance. And when I wrote that list, I would have any Chance I could take. And now I know you and I love you and I want you, Jessica. Only you. No other Chance. No other woman. For all my life.”
The last few words had come out in a rush and Reginald had not intended to plead, but he would if it meant he could have his Jessica.
Who was standing in complete silence, merely staring.
After a few minutes, Reginald could bear it no longer. “Jessica?”
“I…I think you should leave,” she said faintly.
His shoulders slumped, all the hope to which he had been clinging on was extinguished by the coldness of her words.
“‘Leave’?” Reginald repeated faintly, hardly able to believe it.
“Yes, I want you to leave. Leave this room, leave Stanphrey Lacey, leave my life,” Jessica said, turning away on the last word. “I never want to see you again.”
He stared at her back, her dark curls, the curve of her neck. “But—”
“I think I made myself quite clear, Lord Llyne,” came the quiet voice.
Reginald had never known it was possible for a heart to actually break. He had presumed that was the poetic license that such creatives were permitted to use in times of great trouble. He had not actually known that it was possible for this agony to weigh so heavily on one.
“This was why I did not tell you,” he said listlessly, taking a step forward but stopping as Jessica did not turn around.
She did not love him enough to forgive him. She did not love him enough to stand with him against disgrace.
He loved her. She might even, in a small way, love him. But she did not love him enough.
“Very well,” Reginald said aloofly, trying to cut off all the pain, trying to tell himself that he no longer cared. “I shall be gone within the hour. Good day, Jessica—Miss Chance.”
It was only when he stepped outside the library and began making his way up the stairs that he allowed the tears to fall.