Chapter 3
Three
Jane marked another day off on the calendar she created in a journal of sorts.
Not that she had anything to write about, she just liked to track events.
Twelve days had passed since the harvest fair and Isabel’s marriage.
One week since her sisters had returned to their respective homes after visiting Kellmore Manor for the fair, wedding, and Michaelmas celebrations.
Four weeks until she could visit Alex in Bath.
Ten weeks before she and Rose would go to Terrace Hall to celebrate Christmas with Phil and her growing family.
Best of all, no one had heard from Father in over five weeks.
A blessing since he had caused so much havoc in Mr. Dalrymple and Isabel’s lives.
Why couldn’t he leave well enough alone?
Phil’s letter contained news which was to be noted on the calendar.
The Duchess of Aylton passed in childbirth on Michaelmas.
The society pages are full of the scandal, as they believe the funeral was not lavish enough.
Michael is, of course, worried about Richard, as he hoped his cousin to return to the hopeful man he was before he was forced to wed the — I should not speak ill of the dead, but I have no kind words for the late Duchess.
I have seen glimpses of the kind and generous Duke that Michael knows beneath his sullen exterior and I hope the Duke can find a future full of happiness.
Michael extended an invitation to Richard to join us at Christmas.
I doubt he will accept. However, if he does, I do not feel the need to curtail our plans since it was only family attending.
I do not feel equal to hosting a ball when it is not required by the society we keep at Terrace Hall.
If he does come, I can only hope Richard can be somewhat less gloomy now that he does not need to cater to the Duchess’s whims.
Jane had only seen His Grace the Duke of Aylton a handful of times, and only once had she been required to squeak out a greeting.
She could not picture the man in mourning, as he never seemed happy.
Could he be sadder? According to Michael, his unhappiness came from the Duke’s marriage, which was in part why the Duke intervened to help make Michael and Phil’s marriage a reality.
Then helped coordinate and finance Johnathan and George’s elopement.
If any man deserved felicity in marriage, it was the Duke of Aylton.
Jane hoped in time when the Duke chose another wife, as he must since he was still young and without an heir, that she would be kind and everything amiable.
He deserved no less, and if he came to Phil’s Christmas celebration, that he might have a reason to smile instead of hiding in his chambers the entire two weeks and spreading misery.
Jane chided herself for the unkind thought. The man had been generous to her family, the least she could do was to not begrudge him time with his cousin after the tragedy of losing a wife and child. He must be terribly alone.
Loneliness was a difficult thing.
The year since George’s marriage had taught her that.
After spending most of the past year either alone at Kellmore, as alone as one could be with attentive servants, or visiting her sisters or grandfather, Jane was becoming used to her nomadic lifestyle.
If she could endure for another 77 weeks until her twenty-first birthday, she could move to Bath and live with her sister as a happily settled spinster for the rest of her days with no fear of father upturning her life.
Jane closed her calendar with a sigh, 77 weeks loomed before her as big as if it were that many years.
She could visit Aunt Healand in Town and fill up more weeks, but with the Little Season starting soon there would be invitations, dinners, and endless afternoon calls.
She shuddered. The few weeks of her first and only season she endured with her twin George had been more than enough to convince Jane that the drama of society was not for her.
Though she wished to be wed and have children of her own, the price of enduring endless balls and meaningless teas was too high to pay.
Perhaps she could do as Isabel had and find a man residing in the neighborhood.
There was hardly likely to be another man moving to the area and Mr. Dalrymple’s friend Lord Barlow was too much of a flirt and rake to be considered, even if she doubted his reputation as a rake was entirely deserved.
A maid came in with a pot of tea. Cook insisted that Jane not waste away and sent up a teapot accompanied by two biscuits each afternoon, even when Jane had no visitors.
Gathering up the letters from her sisters, Jane moved to the chair nearest the fire.
The unusually cold and drizzly summer had turned into a nippy October.
She poured her tea, adding a dab of honey, and broke off a corner of the biscuit.
Jane held the piece of biscuit over the side of her chair for several seconds before she remembered Sir Galahad was not there to take his afternoon treat with her.
She dropped the morsel onto her plate and closed her eyes, forcing back tears.
Of all the losses in her life, the death of her faithful dog was the hardest to take since her mother’s death.
Losing George to marriage and a future in America was a happy sort of loss that also caused pain daily, but there was hope and joy mixed in. Perhaps someday Jane would meet her niece, and any other children George and her husband might have.
The letters from her sisters were both plentiful and predictable. Jane moved on to the next letter, careful not to litter the paper with biscuit crumbs.
Rose wrote from school; today’s letter extolled the latest fashion plate featuring “a delicious celestial blue gown” and included an embroidery pattern for the hem of a dress that she pressed Jane to add to one of her drab gray gowns.
The drawing was the third pattern in as many weeks.
Jane was a fair embroiderer, but not quick enough to embellish a gown a week.
Rose’s brief letters were filled with sketches.
Even the school had failed to instill a love or even a tolerance for reading and writing in her sister.
Perhaps if Jane had taught her sister differently in those four years after Mother’s death, Rose might enjoy academics more.
Alex discussed the concerts planned for Bath’s season and her plans for Jane’s upcoming visit and included a copied page of music. Jane set it aside. She did not play nearly as well as Alex but she did find time at the pianoforte a way to break up the monotony of the afternoons.
Finally, George’s letter. Written almost three months ago, was full of baby Hannah and poor weather.
Jonathan had broken ice on the well on their American Independence Day.
Odd to have her sister to be celebrating a day of independence from her native England.
Fortunately, the only military person Jane knew was Edward Godderidge, and he had never been on ships near America.
Though not with her, her sisters were not truly lost to her.
She could write to them and see either Phil or Alex every couple of months.
But she missed talking. Her poor dog had heard so many secrets.
Now she would have to walk to his grave to tell him more.
Sir Galahad rested in a spot on the rise overlooking the river.
Jane pulled out the miniature her friend Isabel painted of her faithful dog.
Grandfather had the tiny painting framed with glass the day she received the gift.
Jane was sure she would have rubbed the paint off the ivory with her tears if not for the glass.
Her eyes teared up again. She hadn’t cried this much since her mother’s death.
If her father knew, he would surely punish her for mourning over that “mangy runt.” Sir Galahad may have been small, but he was always clean and well cared for.
Father hated the dog only because she loved it.
Or perhaps because the dog protected her more than once by barking a warning heard by the staff, or alerting Jane to his presence as Sir Galahad did the morning Father kicked him down the stairs breaking his little body beyond repair.
Enough melancholy. Jane took the sheet of music Alex had sent to the music room.
Hours later, alone in her bedroom, Jane rearranged the pillows on her bed.
She laid the pillow that once belonged to George and a quilt down the right side of the bed, filling the space her sister had once occupied.
Then, lying down on her side facing her cloth and down sister replacement, Jane wrapped her arms around the ornamental pillow that was just smaller than Sir Galahad and pretended he was there to protect her from the squeaks and thumps that echoed through aged manors like Kellmore.
She settled into the restless sleep that had been her nightly companion for weeks.
A crash woke Jane to the darkness of the night.
The glow of the coals in the grate illuminated little in the room.
A second thump had Jane sitting up, ready to give the command to her dog to hide.
Instead, she hugged the pillow closer. Jane strained to hear the rushing footsteps of footmen.
None came. Perhaps she had dreamed again.
The sound of breaking wood, followed by a curse sent a chill down her spine. Father.
Jane pondered her options. The noise came from the rooms across the hall where her parents once slept.
If she could creep to the end of the corridor, she could slip into the servants’ stairs, but she would have to pass Father’s room.
If she turned the other way, she might make the grand staircase.
By now, someone must be aware of Sir Lightwood’s presence.
If only she were brave like George, she might face the man and demand that he leave.
If she did nothing and Father failed to find whatever it was he searched for, he would come after her demanding answers.
The memory of her dog crumpled at the base of the grand staircase last August filled her mind. She would not cower again.
Wrapping George’s quilt around her for extra strength, Jane opened her door to the corridor and followed the sounds to her mother’s door, which stood open. A carriage lantern lit the space. Her father pulled a drawer from the finely carved armoire, dumping the contents on the bed.
“Stop!” The single word was the loudest she had spoken in her father’s presence since her mother died over six years ago.
Father whirled. “Where are they, you useless girl?”
“Where are what?”
“Your mother’s jewels. I need them!” In two steps he crossed to her, the stench of alcohol and unwashed clothes enveloped her.
“They are not—”
Father grabbed her braid and yanked, cutting off Jane’s answer.
Not for the first time Jane wished she had cut her hair short as was the rage among the London ton. Her waist-length hair, two feet less than last year, was too easy a target for her father’s wrath.
“Do not lie to me!”
Tears stung her eyes. “We divided the jewelry among us long ago. Remember? Phil wore hers at her wedding.”
Father’s hold momentarily relaxed on her braid.
Where were the footmen? Dare she shout?
“Where is your portion? The pearl earrings were yours, correct?” Father pinned her against the door, one hand on her shoulder, the other wrapped tightly around her braid. “I need them more than you. You will never marry since no man will ever have you. What use could you have for pearls?”
“They are mine.” The exhilaration of standing up to her father ended as fast as it began.
Father’s answer was swift and wordless. Jane dropped the quilt as she doubled over. Dragging her by her hair as one would a dog on a leash, he forced her from the room. Jane tripped on a rug, the yank on her braid threatened to leave her bald if her neck did not break first.
“You stupid, worthless girl.”
If only she had screamed when she had the chance. Sir Galahad was not here to bark an alarm.
At her doorway, her father allowed her to stand. “Get me your jewels.”
They were among the few things Jane had from her mother. Gathering the biggest breath she dared, Jane screamed, “Never!”
The slap across her face was as predictable as frost in January.
With her sisters gone, Father wasn’t as careful in delivering his blows as he had once been.
The law allowed her to be punished at her father’s hand.
Even the servants loyal to Grandfather could not stop Sir Lightwood from slapping her.
At least he let go of her hair before delivering a second blow.
He shoved her into her room. This time Jane could not keep from falling to her knees.
Her father’s boot met her backside at the same moment she heard shouts from the servants.
A kick sent her sprawling. Her head connected with the solid bedpost. Pain shot through her as she passed into unconsciousness.
Jane awoke to the concerned faces of the housekeeper and the cook.
They wasted no time telling her Sir Lightwood was gone, as they attended to her injuries.
Her head hurt to talk or move. Jane did not even have the strength to ask if her mother’s earrings were safe in their hiding place inside a hollowed-out book.