7. Chapter Seven
seven
Chapter Seven
All was lost.
What else could be said? There was nothing else to say. All that had begun in a moment had ended in another moment. What could be said? What could be done? All was lost.
Honor quickly bobbed a curtsey, purely out of instinct, and turned and left. She kept her face as stern as a stone as she approached the nearest maid. "Please tell Mrs. Purser I won't be able to tend to the children. I've come down with a headache." Judging by the maid's red eyes, she understood. Word was quickly spreading about the Linton marriage.
Honor managed to hold herself together until she got to her room. She closed the door behind her, and her hand was surprisingly steady as she locked the door. Somehow she was aware of that. It felt strange. She felt strange. She felt as if she'd been divided in two. Her logical side had gotten her behind doors while her emotional side festered and bubbled. Now that she was alone, the emotional side rose up, roaring like a wounded lioness.
Jane hadn't even called after her to stay.
That was the worst of it. She hadn't even asked her to stay.
Honor's feet fell out from under her, and she collapsed onto the floor. Her dress fanned out around her as she crumpled, chest desperately heaving in an attempt to get air into her lungs.
When Honor was just a girl, and it still was cold enough for rivers to freeze, she had gone with her father down by the River Thames. He'd been collecting a debt from one of his rich clients, and he'd taken her along to see how the other half of London lived. Honor had been dressed in a perfectly white dress with a perfectly white bonnet and perfectly white little shoes. Somehow the client had talked her father into taking a stroll by the frozen river. Honor could remember how very beautiful she felt, and how very secure everything seemed.
She had taken a few steps away from her father and had plunged down into the water. She could vividly remember the feeling of being surrounded by frozen, filthy water. She had tried to swim to the surface, but she was so small, and her gown was useless for swimming, so she had floundered uselessly. It had taken her father to save her. In one of his few moments of paternal care, he'd risked the thin ice himself to pull her from the deep. He'd carried her all the way back to the City of London, and had nursed her through the illness that followed. Honor would survive, but it would be with a horror of cold water for forever more. Aye, a horror of cold water, and a horror for ill-made plans and the girls who fell through them.
Honor had known the cold shock of the frozen river. She knew the shock and pain of a cold so severe, it pressed against one's lungs and stole your breath.
This felt just as bad. Lord help her, it did. It made no sense to her, but it did. She felt as if she'd been plunged back into the frigid water of the Thames. But this time, nobody would be fishing her out. She'd made her own judgement, and had ventured out onto the ice, and then had fallen straight through.
This is my fault. This is all my fault.
Honor managed to peel herself off the floor and slink into bed. She pulled her blankets tightly around herself, and only then did she allow herself to cry.
While laying in bed Honor thought of Lord Linton, far off across the sea with his new bride. Did he know that he had, once again, ruined something of his sister's with just a marriage? Did he know? Could he ever care? Did Lady Vera ever think that her love affair could bring to end another?
That thought stopped Honor cold, even as she lay within a pile of blankets. Love? Love?
Was this love? Could it have been? It had only begun a few days before, and it had only lasted a short time, yet it had seemed more real than it had before. She had been in love with a woman who was callous and cruel. She'd loved a woman who had only loved herself, and it had broken her heart. And now here, again, she cared for a woman far beyond her social station. Ladies don't love governesses.
But governesses had loved ladies before. They did. It would happen again, just as it had happened before.
It seemed it had happened again. Because what Honor felt, the passion and the pain and the care and the pain, it only could be one thing.
Honor had been in love before. It had nearly killed her. And now, it seemed, it would again.
***
Honor must have fallen asleep crying. She had not done that since she was a child. When she awoke, the sky was dark. It was streaked and spattered with stars, the winter storm having blown away over the sea. Honor pushed aside one of the blankets and propped her head up on a hand as she looked out the window. The dull pain of her broken heart throbbed in her chest, but for a moment she was distracted by the simple beauty of the night.
It was one of those rare nights that only comes along once a year, at that. It was not a truly black sky, but instead a beautiful dark blue that hinted at something far deeper than mere darkness. Each star twinkled and sparkled like crystals on a debutant's gown. As upset as she was, Honor found herself transfixed by the simple beauty of the night. There, in the middle of the sky, shone the brightest star of all.
The Star of Bethlehem. The Christmas Star. That star that guided the Three Wise Men shone high and proud in the December sky, throwing its light down onto the ground below. Honor slid out of bed, her dress whispering at her bare legs, and padded over to look out the window. For a moment she was transfixed by the sky.
A flash of white caught her eye. Honor looked down below. Honor's window looked out on what had been a courtyard in the era of King Edward and his Elizabeth Woodville. The buildings that had boxed in the courtyard had burned down and crumbled into the sea when Henry VIII was still just a boy pining for his brother's wife. They had never been rebuilt, and instead somebody had installed a staircase down to the rocky beaches below. Honor had taken her charges down that staircase many a times, although never in such weather. But now Honor saw a slender white figure moving towards the staircase. While the sky was now clear, the wind was still howling. The white wraith's shawl was blown back to reveal the pale face of Jane Linton.
Honor stared at the slender figure until she disappeared down the steps. She watched that empty space for a moment or two before sliding on a pair of shoes and rushing out the door. She only stopped to wrap a blanket around her shoulders.
Jane was standing by the shore. Honor could see her in her flowing white gown. She was stark against the dark sea, as pure and clear as a light tossed amongst the tide. Her blonde hair was unbound, and it flowed over her shoulders just as the sea flowed around her feet. The stars above made her fair hair seem as if it too was made of starlight. Her slippers were neatly placed on the rock nearby, and as she stretched she let her shawl float away in the breeze. The gauzy fabric blew towards Honor, and it carried with her the scent of Jane’s perfume. It smelled like home.
“Jane!” She cried.
Jane turned, eyes widening in surprise. “Miss Holt?” The formality broke Honor’s heart. “Is that you?”
“Yes, it is I!” She panted. This heavy dress was not meant for running in, especially over sand. Her calves would hurt tomorrow, no doubt. “Jane! It is I!”
She repeated herself, a grievous fault that she would scold Anne for. But at the moment, teaching was the furthest thing from her mind. All she could think about was Jane. Jane, standing there, in that white dress that stuck to her legs from the water. Jane, with her blonde hair frizzed by the ocean, and her wide eyes as blue as the sea itself. Jane, with her body, and her voice, and her scent, and her Jane.
Honor had always lived in the realm of the mind. She had disdained the heart and the soul. She had feared them. But here, now, her heart, mind, and soul were all united in one thing: Jane.
“You came back.” Jane’s voice was so terribly small, it made Honor want to cry. Perhaps she already was. There was water rolling down her face, but that easily could have been the rain. It was starting to rain. Somewhere, Cousin Catherine with her romantic tendencies was laughing. It always rains during a love confession, Honor. Didn’t you know that?
“I came.” Honor said.
“You came. I told you to go, but you came back.” Jane’s voice was almost awed. “Why?”
Why? Why? Why indeed. The ‘why’ had haunted her. It had haunted her since she’d set foot into Herecross Manor, since she’d stepped into the nursery that November day and seen a very plain woman with the most beautiful hair in the world sing a lullaby to a babe who was not her own. It had haunted her every day since, tangling in her mind like seaweed and choking her lungs like salt water.
Why?
“Because even you cannot order me away," Honor said. "Not even you, with all your Linton pride, and your Linton pomposity, and your Linton arrogance – you Linton shrew!" Jane's eyes widened.
"Because even if you did, I'd come back. I'd come back if you clapped me in irons. I'd come back no matter what you did, no matter how much I may disagree."
"Why?"
"Because," Honor said. "Because this is madness, Jane.” She confessed. “This is madness, and it scares me. You have conquered my mind. You have stolen my mind from me. All I think of is you. All I dwell on is you. I see you in every figure, every fact, every constellation. Every sum I solve equals you, Jane. Every book features you, every poem is in praise of you. I have gone mad for you, Jane Linton. Well and truly mad. And if this be madness, I never wish to be sane again."
Jane stared at her. Her eyes were longing, and hungry, and terrified to hope. She was terrified to dream. She had spent so long trapped inside that she had forgotten how to dream. Honor had forgotten how to dream too. Until she had met Jane.
“Jane Linton,” Honor breathed. “Jane Linton, I love you. Heaven help me, I do.”
Jane’s eyes welled up with tears. It did not seem like she was able to speak. All she could do was fling herself into Honor’s arms. Honor, who had never held somebody like this before, wasn’t really quite sure what to do. But she did her very best. She held Jane as close as possible, as if she could physically put her love within her. She wanted her to feel safe, and warm, and as loved as she possibly could.
It made no sense. And Honor hated it when things made no sense. It wasn’t reasonable, or logical, or any of the things she set her life by. But it was what it was.
What room was there for reason or logic when Jane was so very warm in her arms?
Honor pressed to her chest and buried her head in Jane’s beautiful hair.
"I'm going to talk to my brother," Jane murmured. "I swear it. You're right. You're always right. I can't let anyone just put the house out of work. Propriety be damned, he must know what a terrible idea this is. And if he won't listen, well, I'll…"
"You'll what?"
"I'll become a nun, or something like that." Honor could feel Jane's smile against her chest. Honor laughed.
"It'd be a sin to cloister your beauty away for all time."
Jane and Honor broke apart, their eyes staring at each other. Honor could see her reflection in Jane's eyes. The smaller Honor looked pale, and frightened, but happy.
"Come with me," Jane said.
"Where?" But Honor would have gone anywhere with her.
Jane just smiled. "You'll see. Come."
***
Lynton House was a smaller property on the estate. It barely qualified as a manor home, looking more like a small cottage nestled in the woods. As Honor approached she was struck by what good shape it was in. The stone facade was weathered, but stern and strong, much like the Lintons themselves. Ivy dotted half the stone like a masquerade mask. For as empty as it seemed, there was signs somebody had been here recently.
"This is my private place," Jane murmured. They were walking hand in hand down the road. Jane held up her dress to hop over a puddle as they walked along. "I sneak away here whenever I can. My brother may own Herecross Manor, but Lynton House is all mine."
The house within was surprisingly well furnished. Lynton House was filled with all the modern luxuries one would want. Piles of books lay unread, and a particularly snug bed lay perfect for two. A fire burned cheerfully in the hearth. Somebody had brought a basket of supplies and it rested on the table. Honor guessed that Jane intended to sleep here after her fight. Lynton House was safe enough to sleep in, and Jane was a known eccentric. Nobody would think twice about her disappearance. Their disappearance.
That struck Honor. Jane was so very clever. Under her mask of sober-minded stoicism, she was as clever as any rake stealing away for a tryst in the woods.
The thought was worrying.
The thought was exciting.
“This is Lynton House?” Honor asked, her voice almost an afterthought, more to break the silence than anything else. She had been lost in thought as they approached, mesmerized by the house's strange, quiet allure, the way it seemed to almost blend into the surrounding woods. "I didn't know it existed."
Jane nodded, her gaze lingering on the house. She had always been so composed, so at ease in the shadow of this old place. "I'm not surprised. Few people visit it nowadays. They've kept it maintained purely because my father hated to see anything of ours fall to pieces, but only I visit it regularly. It's fascinated me since I was a child.
Jane laughed, suddenly shy. "I'm sorry. I'm rambling."
"Go on, please," Honor said. She sat down in a well worn chair. "Tell me all about it."
Jane sat down across from her. Their feet brushed together under the table. "The story I always heard about it was that it was built for a Lady Mary Linton and her husband during Henry VIII’s reign." Jane's fingers moved gently over the worn surface of the wooden table, almost absentmindedly. Honor tried not to look at them—tried not to think about what those hands could do if they so desired.
"Some called us the 'Lyntons' then," Jane continued, her voice almost wistful. "They spelled it with a ‘Y’—more romantic, I suppose. It was always ‘Linton’ before, but people do what they want with us, I suppose." She paused, her eyes drifting toward the fire as if lost in the warmth of the hearth. "In any case, Lady Mary didn’t complain. Lynton House was called that, and Lady Mary dwelled here.”
Honor looked around the dimly lit room, at the rough-hewn beams of the ceiling and the firelight dancing across the stone walls. The house felt ancient, worn by centuries of whispers and secrets, yet strangely alive, like a memory half-remembered. It was clear that Jane had a deep affection for the place, a bond to the land that ran through her veins.
Jane turned back to her, her eyes still alight with something almost reverent. “It was spectacular when the Tudors reigned. Or, so the story goes. Nowadays we’ve restored it to be livable, but when Lady Mary lived here, it was a wonder of its time. He was quite proud of it, Old Henry was. The story goes that he even slept here once.”
Honor couldn’t help but imagine the house in its prime—how it must have looked when Lady Mary had walked its halls. She half-expected Old King Henry to walk in the room right now and yell for a glass of wine.
"Her husband must have loved her deeply," Honor said.
At that, Jane laughed again. Honor didn't think she'd ever grow tired of that laugh.
“Him? Oh, no. She was convenient to him. She was the mistress of the King,” Jane said. "And that brought the family prestige. If she hadn’t married, she might have been a queen. But he tired of her before Anne Boleyn got the chop. He saw Jane Seymour, and just lost his head, I suppose. But Mary got Lynton House out of it."
Jane's smile turned more wistful. "After she had her time at court, she retired here. Her husband stayed and courted favor with Old Henry, but she wanted to live in peace – away from men with lingering eyes and false smiles. Those flowerbeds out front – she had them built. I have them reseeded for her every spring. She died in her early forties, and she's buried in our cemetery here on the estate. I make sure to bring her the first flowers of the season."
"You care so much…" Honor said quietly.
"It's my home," Jane said. "And I will fight for it. I pity that the Lintons only have a debauched young lady to save them, but it seems they've always relied on a debauched young lady to save them. From Mary to myself, it's always some fool of a woman who must save the family tree. If I am cut from her debauched cloth, so be it."
The talk of Lintons and debauchery sent a shiver up Honor’s spine. She felt a flush flow over her body. It moved up from her belly up over her face, coloring her cheeks a rich pink. Jane laughed again.
“You’re very fair when you blush,” Jane said. Her voice was lower. “I wonder why you don’t do it more often.”
Honor scowled.
“It even improves your scowl.” Jane said. “You should do it all the time.”
"I should do what? Scowl, or blush?"
"Whatever you desire. You're pretty either way."
“Did you ask me here just to give me advice on my beauty?” Honor asked.
Jane studied her for a moment. “No,” She said finally. “I did not.”
Honor didn’t need to ask why she had been asked here. She could tell it from Jane’s tone, from her eyes, from the way she had laughed. There was a bed in the room downstairs. Honor could see it through the doorway. Somebody had changed the sheets and added fresh blankets. There was a basket of bread, fruit, butter, and cheese resting on the table. Lynton House had been prepared for something, and it didn't have to be for advice. Honor may be a spinster and a shrew, but she was no blushing virgin. Blushing, yes. Virgin? No. To men, perhaps. But not to women.
They both knew why they were here. Honor could protest all she liked, but she had come here because she had wanted to come here.
And she didn’t feel like protesting very much.
“Have you ever done this before?” Jane asked.
It was Honor’s turn to laugh. “If I hadn’t, I doubt I’d have come. I’d have no idea what you were talking about,” She said. “I’m more surprised that you’ve done this before.”
“I’ve done many things before,” Jane admitted. “Perhaps I’ll tell you about them some day.”
“I’d rather not talk, if it’s all the same to you.” The heat in her belly was not fading. It was only growing into a hunger, and passionate burn that demanded to be fed. She wanted Jane, and that was all that mattered.
Jane looked at her, and Honor could see that he felt the same. She nodded. There was nothing else they needed to say.
Honor was no stranger to this deed best done in the dark. All her life she’d had an antipathy to men that had only driven her into the arms of women such as Lady Anna. She'd done it, and had it done, and anything in between. Proper ladies weren't meant to do it, but proper ladies could do much with a quick, steady nerve and quick, steady fingers. Indeed, much could be done, so quickly and so quietly that others would never know it had been done. Honor had plucked climaxes in quiet rooms with a party below, and gone back downstairs to play the stern spinster fifteen minutes later. She knew what to do.
Yet here, she did not want to hurry. Indeed she rather wanted to take her time.
Their hands went to each other's clothes. While they were both longing for each other, neither seemed to want to ruin a good dress. It wasn't long before they were both only in their shifts, and the those too slid off, and they were both naked in the firelight.
Jane looked at Honor, and Honor looked at Jane. The fire reflected in their eyes, and a fire burned under her skin. Jane laid back on the sheets and Honor moved to her side.
"Do you…take the lead?" Jane asked.
"I have, in the past. Would you like that?" Honor asked.
"I would like that very much." Jane said, her chest rising and falling. Despite her breathing, she sounded breathless.
"You're so beautiful," She whispered. "Every part, so beautiful."
Honor moved closer and pressed her lips to Jane. Her hands lingered over Jane's soft flesh, coming to rest on her hips.
"Honor," Jane breathed. "Take me. Please."
Honor did. And again. And again. And again.
After all, she was nothing if not at her ladyship’s service.