Chapter 46
Buckingham House
Two days later, the Marquess of Egremont walked as quickly as dignity allowed and propriety permitted. He burst into the room, looked about, and locked the door. He handed Mr Bartleby a letter.
“You have two passes of the Clock Tower to complete a transfer of patents.”
Mr Bartleby looked up at Egremont. He set aside the written summary.
“Come, my dear Francis,” said the elderly man. “Tell me what has happened.”
Egremont told him of the heinous doings of the Duke of Somerset and his son, Marquess Beauford. Their depravity towards their servants and tenants, the gaming and debauchery. Now, the infamous betting on a genteel debutante’s honour, the favourite of Queen Charlotte no less.
“You say Miss Bennet is the daughter of a former senior officer of His Majesty’s Royal Horse Guards?”
Egremont nodded and continued his tale of the remanding of the peers to Marshalsea, the duel on Hampstead Heath. “A letter with the entire story found on the corpse there.” He cleared his throat. “Clearly, the marquess killed the duke and then took his own life.”
Mr Bartleby gave him an amused look. “The Duke and the Marquess were most likely murdered in their own beds.”
“Perhaps, but the palace shall put forth the former rather than cogitate on the latter.”
“I have work to do, then,” offered Mr Bartleby.
“Yes, you do, my dear friend.” He turned back at the door. “I shall be here at the last bell of the designated time. Please do not disappoint Their Majesties.”
He closed the door, leaving the sound of furious scribbling behind him.
At Matlock House, Jane stared at her latest gift. A wisp of memory rose up. Why does this remind me of home?
She examined the lilium candidum—a pearl white boat-shaped flower supported aloft dark green leaves. The plant usually grew in pairs or trios, but her admirer had altered this beauty to a single perfect white lily. She relaxed and assessed the natural perfection of the petals, the verdant green of the leaves.
Dare it be true? Does such constancy exist?
“John.” She said his name as if it were a prayer. Since her presentation to Queen Charlotte, he had occupied all of her thoughts. She missed him. She missed home.
She closed her eyes. “Let me see him. Let him come to me,” she prayed.
A knock on the parlour door interrupted her. Mr Clarke handed her a card.
Lord John Seymour, Earl of Lambrook, Seymour House, London
Jane pressed the card to her breast and looked to the Heavens.
“Thank you.”
John entered the calling parlour then stopped. “You are a masterpiece in blue.”
Jane looked up at the looking glass atop the hearth. She wore a day dress in cascading shades of blue; her light-blue bodice sat upon a top layer of a darker hue. That top skirt bled into a richer blue mid-skirt, which fell into a darker shade nearer the hem. These were the very fabrics she had purchased when assembling her trousseau to marry John. Before the accident. Before her injuries had forced her to turn away from him and the life she had led and had planned to lead, by his side.
Blushing, she looked at his kind, handsome face. “You are very kind.”
She presented her left hand; he reverently cupped it and applied his lips in a perfectly gentleman-like manner. She invited him to join her on the long sofa.
“May I say that you look absolutely fluvial?”
“Fluvial? What a singular observation.”
“I speak only the truth. In blue, your presence flows like a wending river. I could drown in it, happily.”
The tea cart was brought in by one of Matlock’s servants who left as rapidly as he had arrived. Jane poured for him and then herself. “This is your first call in three hundred days.”
John lifted an eyebrow. “Are you enticing me with my love of numbers?”
She laughed. “You have caught me out.” She brushed out her dress. “How does your mother?”
“She is well. She enjoys her time spent with your mother, and any news she has of you and Elizabeth,” he replied.
“I am glad. Our fathers had always been excellent friends.”
“It is very good of you to remember him. Your last visit remains painted upon my memory,” he admitted.
“I would imagine it would.” She placed her cup into its saucer. “Would you be shocked if I told you of my disappointment with your choice of companions that day?”
“Shocked? No. My disappointment was with myself. That is another matter.”
Jane looked down at the linen she fiddled with. “I thought I saw you at a ball three nights ago.”
“Had I attended, would you have accepted my request for a dance?”
“Had you attended, would you have asked?”
“Your father’s instructions have prevented me from doing so. Would have prevented me.”
“You have spoken with my father?” she asked in astonishment.
“I did a week past.” He paused. “As I have done every month for the past half-year.”
Jane swallowed. “That is quite a definition of constancy.”
“It is.”
“Your flowery admiration has been my greatest joy.”
He gazed at her earnestly. “Years ago, you sought a friend. Do you recall my reply?”
“Yes,” she said. “You assured me of your lasting friendship.”
“I stand by my claim,” he declared, his voice even and deep.
Jane’s heart raced. John was her oldest and closest friend. They had been betrothed before her accident. She had broken off their understanding to protect him. Protect herself. Her heart. Now she had another chance. Would such a worthy man consider offering her his hand a second time? She wanted to share her true self with him. She wanted to be loved for herself, for who she had been, in the country. There, she had been happy. There, she had been with John. The fickleness of society with its rejections and false acceptances had worn down her equanimity. She was tired of constantly hiding who she really was.
Either he still loves me or…?She reached for his hand. His eyes softened.
“Do you find me tolerable, John?” she whispered. She held her breath, fear warring with hope.
“I find you perfectly tolerable, Jane.” He turned her hands over and kissed her palms. “And should you allow me, I shall remind you of this understatement every day for the rest of our lives.” He looked directly into her eyes. “Together.”
“Together?” she asked. Together, she hoped in wonderment. She slowly exhaled.
She watched as John fell to his knees and looked at her, his adoration clear.
“For eternity.” He held up a ring. “I ask again. As I will repeatedly until you finally agree. Will you marry me?”
Jane recognised Lady Lambrook’s signature opal. “Yes, of course.” She removed her glove and held out her hand. John kissed the ring after placing it on her finger.
Jane sighed deeply, relieved that all was finally right in her world. Their world.