5. Chapter Five
five
Chapter Five
The kiss was sudden and sharp, as quick and as cool as an icicle. It seemed a strange metaphor, but that was what Honor thought as their lips pressed together. It was as cold and refreshing as new snow, and Honor found herself enjoying every second. Their lips pressed together as one, and for a long moment it seemed like it wouldn't ever end. It was as though the world outside the library had ceased to exist—no rain, no thunder, no anything besides them.
Then the world snapped back into its regular, 'sane' setting. And Jane pushed herself away. They stared at each other, eyes wide, mouths agape. Honor could feel her heart pounding in her chest. She wondered if Jane's heart thundered too.
"I…" Jane's mouth worked. She seemed at a total loss for word. "I…"
Honor's jaw shifted as she closed her mouth. "Lady Linton-." She began, desperately trying to put an air of propriety. It was the only thing she could think to do. But it seemed to be the wrong thing to say. Jane's eyes narrowed before she looked down. Her cheeks burned with shame.
"A thousand apologies, Miss Holt," She said quietly. "A thousand and one apologies. I should not have- it will not happen again. Thank you."
Before Honor could stop her, before she could say anything at all, Jane had turned on her heels and was gone. The rustle of her skirts followed her out, as subtle and whispering as a lover's voice.
Honor watched her go. She stared at the empty space where her ladyship had once been for a long moment. As she stared she moved towards a chair. Her legs felt like jelly as she collapsed into the cushioning. Her face burned scarlet. It wasn't entirely from shame.
She had kissed her. She had kissed Lady Jane Linton. She had kissed her ladyship. She had been kissed by her ladyship. She wanted to call her back. She wanted to say that this could never happen again, that she was sorry. Sorry for what, she wasn't sure. But she wanted to call her back, to say anything.
She wanted to call her back and ask her to kiss her again. She wanted to tell her to stay. She wanted to say so very many things.
But like a proper lady did, she said nothing at all.
***
They continued to say nothing at all.
If anyone had known what happened between the two women, they'd be hard pressed to prove it. After Jane departed from Honor, not a shred of evidence of the kiss existed at all. The two women were as cool and as proper as two icicles on the opposite side of a house. They dwelled far from each other, each keeping her distance. Jane continued to sit in on Honor's lessons, and Honor continued to serve as a governess did, but there was nothing more than pure propriety between the two. It was all "Lady Linton, a pleasure to see you", and "Miss Holt, I quite enjoyed this lesson". It was as simple and stiff as new fallen frost. They were irreproachable. Nobody would ever know what had been done.
If Honor hadn't been kissed, she wouldn't have known. But she was doing her very best to ignore that she had been kissed. Proper ladies didn't kiss one another, and they certainly didn't kiss their governesses. The thoughts crept in all the same. No matter how she tried to ignore them, they snuck in. When she lay in bed at night, thoughts of Lady Anna ran through her head. They were not pleasant thoughts.
Honor had never been ashamed of who or what she was. It was her figuring that some people were simply made this way. But for the first time in her life she felt fear of herself. This was not merely the fear of discovery, or the fear of scandal. Most women feared that. Honor was afraid of who she was. Who she was had put her in a precarious situation. She had never done that before. Even her relationship with the Lady Anna had felt more stable than this. In that relationship, it had been Lady Anna who had been at risk. For all her faults, she had kept her promise to keep things obscured. This relationship – not even a relationship, Honor corrected herself – felt wild. It felt dangerous.
It sickened Honor how she wanted more of it.
For she did want more of it. It was madness, and foolish, and stupid. All of those were things Honor had spent her life avoiding. She did not want to be a fool. She was not a fool. Yet, something in that kiss had awoken foolishness in her. She wanted more, and she wanted it completely and utterly. She wanted more, more, more . That quick, cool kiss had driven her mad, and she longed to become even madder.
Honor was, however, quite experienced in ignoring her own longings. It was what made her such a sensible girl, after all. Therefor she did not allow herself to even be alone with Jane until suddenly, she was.
***
It was two weeks before Christmas. Honor had just seen Anne off for a nap. The child was high spirited, but somewhat weak in form. She needed rest, and Honor had forced her to take it. Honor had been intending to take a nap herself when she heard it. There, coming from the parlor, was music.
There was a beautiful pianoforte in the main parlor. Honor had never seen it being played. She had assumed, for some reason, that it had belonged to the late Lady Linton. It had been covered in a thin layer of dust, after all. Perhaps it had once belonged to the dead woman. Yet here it was being played. Honor half-assumed that she'd see some servant engaged in playing music. Perhaps some secret prodigy nobody knew about. What she didn't expect to see was Jane Linton.
Lady Linton was seated at the pianoforte, her back perfectly straight and her eyes forward. Her fingers drifted over the keys without looking, a sign of her prestigious skill. Her blue skirts, the same shade as a summer sky, flowed around the seat as she played. Her blonde hair was twisted back into a simple knot. She looked so terribly simple, like she was some peasant girl who had just walked into a fine house and started to play.
For she could play . Jane Linton could play the pianoforte like nobody else Honor had ever heard could. Once, in the city, Honor had gone to see a concert by some German composer. He had played the pianoforte, and played it well. But if he had heard how Jane Linton could play, he'd have broken his instrument in a fury. Jane could play the pianoforte like she was made of music. She was only playing a little Christmas song, but the beauty of her music was enough to bring tears to Honor's eyes.
The music didn't stop, but Jane spoke up.
"It is rude to linger in doorways, Miss Holt."
Honor blushed. It seemed like she'd been doing a lot of that lately.
"Forgive me," She stammered out. "I- I merely wondered who was playing music."
"It is I." Jane said. "You have your answer."
Honor knew she should leave. She should move, or she should flee, or maybe even simply walk. Any of those verbs would be more practical than just standing there, staring at Jane's back. Her mind was plagued with uncomfortable thoughts about what nice a back Jane had.
"Can I help you, Miss Holt?"
In another time, Jane's voice might have been sharp and cruel. She was somebody used to giving orders and having them obeyed. It was the natural state of a Lady of the Lintons. But she did not sound sharp and cruel here. She just sounded tired.
It was a tiredness Honor knew. It was the tiredness of somebody waiting for the ground to fall out from under them. It was the tiredness of somebody waiting for somebody to betray their deepest secret, the secret that hit at the very core of who they were. It was the tiredness of somebody who had seen this all before, and likely would again, for they were a soul not made to fit into the standards of their day.
It was the tiredness of somebody like her.
"'Someone, I tell you, will remember us, even in another time.'" Honor said quietly. She had a theory that if Jane was truly like her, she would understand the reference. Most women she knew who were like her enjoyed Sappho. It seemed a shared trait.
The music stopped. Jane turned her head. For a long, long moment nobody spoke. Then, Jane sighed.
"Sit," She said. She moved over on the pianoforte's chair.
Honor moved to sit. It was terribly awkward to be sitting next to Jane, but Jane didn't seem to mind. She began to play again. It wasn't a familiar tune to Honor, and she suspected Jane was improvising. "Forgive me," She said quietly. "I shouldn't have…done that. I shouldn't have done that without asking. It was unkind, and impolite."
"It is alright." Honor said. She didn't want to tell Jane how much she had enjoyed it when Jane was unkind and impolite.
"You were simply very good to me," Jane said. "I care very deeply for my family, and you helped me when I needed it most. It seems strange to cry over a doll, but I give all I can for my family. They're all I have. They're all I am ever like to have. I have not and will not marry."
“Why didn’t you ever marry?” Honor asked. "There's protection in it. I know some ladies who barely even have to see their husbands. Those who are better off, ladies of the Ton, they already barely see their husbands. Why didn't you find one?"
Jane paused, lost in thought for a moment. “I’m sorry,” Honor began. “It was a very rude question.”
“No,” Jane said. “It is fine. I…suppose it’s because I didn’t want to."
Jane's hands lingered over the piano. She looked out through the window as her piano music became more somber. "My father was a very strict man. He was a very good lord, but he was not a very good father. He was cold, and he could be cruel. Nobody was ever good enough for me. For a while I thought about marrying just to get away from him, but no suitors came to call. Any who came even remotely close were run off." She smiled, a bit sadly. "Once a man came in London to talk to me. He yelled at him right there in the street."
"Goodness…" Honor said.
"The best parts of him died when my mother died, I am afraid. I had resolved myself to spinsterhood when I was very young. It would be trouble enough to get my brother married. He very nearly didn’t give his permission for Henry to marry Vipsania- er, Lady Linton. When he died before Anne was born, I am afraid it was more freeing than anything else." She glanced at Honor. "Do you think me wicked?"
Honor shook her head immediately. "No. My father is much the same."
"Men can be domestic tyrants no matter the class, it seems," Jane mused. "When he did pass, my options were more open than ever. I thought very seriously then that I might marry.”
“Oh?”
“But then I simply…didn’t feel like it.” Jane said with a dainty shrug. “I truly didn’t. I was happy on my own. I couldn’t imagine anything a husband would improve upon. By the time my mourning was done and I might have arranged a season in London to arrange a match, Anne was born. Once I saw Anne's face, I knew I couldn't bare to be parted from her." Her smile turned genuine.
"I love my niece and nephew just as much as any mother could. Lady Linton was not warm, even for an aristocratic mother. I know we are not particularly sweet mothers. Mine wasn't, at least. But Lady Linton was different, even among women. She had more of an interest in social events than her own children. Anne has always been more my child than anyone else's, and then poor Henry had nobody. I just couldn't leave them. I couldn't think of it, couldn't dream of it. They'd have nobody if I was gone." She shook her head.
"I couldn't leave them to the care of some stranger. Or, even worse, in the care of a stepmother. It seems in the nature of stepmothers to be tyrants. If my brother was to marry again, as I have no doubt he shall, I fear what would happen to the children. I just cannot leave them. Perhaps that makes me pathetic."
"I do not think," Honor said quite firmly. "That it makes you pathetic in the slightest."
Jane looked at her. There was gratitude in those pretty eyes. "I thank you for that," She said quietly. Her music, which she had played all the while, seemed to turn more hopeful.
The two sat in silence for a long moment. Jane continued to play, and Honor continued to brood. Clouds gathered outside as the moorland prepared for another winter storm. Inside Herecross Manor everything was quite snug and warm. For the moment, Honor felt safe. It emboldened her enough to ask a question.
"May I ask you something?" She asked.
"You already have," Jane responded. "But what is it?"
"When we…" Honor trailed off. "You did it like you'd done it before. I know that I had resolved not to marry because I knew I would be unhappy in any union with a man. What about you? Had you ever…?"
Jane paused. She grew quite stiff, but not cold. It seemed more like she was frightened than anything.
“Lady Linton - Vipsania,” She finally said. “We were very close. We were girls together. We…I had a fondness for her. A fondness outside of the norms.
“...Oh.” Honor said. She realized what she was saying. "Did your brother know?"
"I suspect he suspected. But we've never discussed the matter. He and I are not close. We never have been. Truth be told, I think he exacted some pleasure in taking Vipsania away from me. She, in turn, took some pleasure in having a higher position." Jane sighed heavily. "I have come to suspect that Vipsania was more interested in what my brother could provide than in myself for myself. I have no proof of the matter, but her behavior made me suspect it. She treated what we were as a childish game to discard once a serious match came along. Access to my brother was simply much more convenient if she was my friend."
Honor frowned. "I am sorry that happened to you." There was nothing else to say."
"The flame burned, but my niece and nephew are worth the candle." Jane said simply. "They were the best parts of her life, even if she did not see it. I mourn the loss of a human life, and I mourn that Anne and Henry will grow up without a mother. But the wound she inflicted upon me has long since scarred over. I feel little when I think of her. Only a passing train of regret, nothing more."
"Look at me, talking away," Jane said quietly. "I confess, I've never spoken half the things I've said to you this afternoon. Isn't that strange?"
"Very strange," Honor agreed.
"You have an unfriendly face, Miss Holt, but a listener's soul. You are shockingly easy to talk to once one moves past the ice in your eyes."
The song came to a stop. Honor turned to look at the piano, but found herself staring at Jane's hands. She'd never noticed what nice hands Jane had. Wasn't that a strange thought? She had nice hands all the same. Her fingers were slender and delicate, but callouses dotted the pale skin. These weren't the hands of a lady. These were the hands of somebody who had known hard work, even if it was 'just' mending and sewing. These were the hands of somebody who knew how to make music, and make it so well that it could twist at the heart. These were the hands of somebody who was more than met the eye, somebody who was far more than a proper lady of Herecross Manor.
These were the hands of somebody sitting so very close to Honor. These were the hands of somebody who was looking at Honor just as Honor was looking at her.
"You have an unfriendly face, Honor," Jane repeated. Her voice was low and soft. "But not an unpretty one."
Honor's own voice was soft when she spoke. "I shall cherish that as a compliment."
"I wish you wouldn't," Jane repeated. "It was meant as a flirt."
This kiss was not like their first. Their first had been a hurried thing, a thing snatched before both could come to their senses. This was longer, unhurried. Jane had bent in, and Honor had met her half way. It was egalitarian. Their lips came together as one. They were not governess and lady, or lower class and upper class. They were just two women, two women who were different than others. They were different in ways that nobody else could ever understand. But they understood each other here and now, if only for a moment. And they sealed it with a kiss.
The kiss was tender and deep, albeit shy. Honor had been kissed before, and she had liked it. She had kissed others before, and she had liked it. But she'd never been kissed like this. There was something in this kiss that was different. This was being kissed when somebody meant it. Honor had kissed and meant it before, but she'd never been kissed and had somebody else mean it. Her other lovers had been selfish, and had only desired love for themselves. This was being wanted purely for one's self. It seemed mad to know that from one kiss, but somehow she did. Jane never wanted it to end.
Yet it did end. The two broke apart of their own will, the kiss coming to a natural conclusion instead of being interrupted. Jane's wide eyes stared at Honor as they parted. Honor could see herself reflected in those depths. She wondered if she looked as stunned as Jane did.
"You kiss by the book," Jane murmured.
Honor couldn't help but snort. "Shakespeare? You quote like a man." That earned a laugh from Jane. Jane, as it turned out, had quite a pretty laugh.
"Perhaps that was a bit trite."
They didn't move from their positions. They were still so terribly close that they could kiss again. "What shall we do now?" Honor asked. It was half-invitation, and half-sincere question. Jane didn't move, but she sighed.
"Well," She said. "I suppose we might as well set some rules."
"Rules?"
"You don't wish to end up like Prinny, do you?" She asked. Honor's nose wrinkled at the mention of the Prince Regent.
"No. If you wish to…engage, I have no problem with that."
"What a romantic turn of phrase."
"We shall not carry on, and we shall not over linger." Honor offered. "I have experience in such matters before."
"We shall be friends." Jane offered.
"Oh yes," Honor said. "Quite good friends."
She leaned in to kiss Jane again.