Chapter 20
CHAPTER TWENTY
The letter sat on the table beside Reuben's armchair like something that knew it was unwelcome.
Jane had noticed it when Mrs Greene brought it in – a folded square of cream paper, the Highclere seal pressed in dark wax – and had set it aside with the intention of reading it later.
However, time was not her only issue presently, because deep down, she knew that she would not be happy with its contents, regardless of when she chose to read it.
The letter kept pulling her attention, kept feeding her anxiety and she was rapidly growing rather weary of it.
What could they possibly have to say to her at this time? Why now, when she was only a few weeks away from the dissolution of the marriage?
Reuben, absorbed in the story she was reading aloud, had not noticed anything her wandering mind.
He was tucked into the large armchair that Jane had long since accepted as his reading throne, feet not quite reaching the edge of the cushion, a blanket pulled to his chin despite the afternoon warmth.
He looked so utterly precious, each blink taking him further and further away from her, towards a restful siesta.
Jane softened her voice as the chapter came to an end, not wanting to break the peaceful barrier around them as she closed the book.
He blinked up at her with a soft, slow look that told her his mind had only just returned from either the lands she had read to him about, or thoughts of sleeping.
“That's enough for today, I think,” she told him, reaching out to tug the edges of the blanket, smoothening it delicately. “You need to rest before dinner and I need to–”
She glanced at the letter, unsure if she should reward or punish herself for predicting the wave of dismay that filled her stomach. “I have a few things to attend to.”
He reached for her hand as she stood, holding it briefly, then let go. Jane cooed at him, leaning down to press a kiss to his forehead, whispering to him softly.
“Rest well, my darling.”
Reuben nodded slightly and waved at her as she waked away.
Jane waited at the door for a moment instead of leaving right away, wanting to see him return to a state of peace first. Once she noticed his eyelids fluttering heavily, she opened the door as quietly as she could and stepped into the hall before closing it behind her.
Reuben had not spoken since he had said those words to his father a few days ago.
Thomas had been so hopeful for more, nearly unable to keep himself from trailing after Reuben in order to catch his next utterance.
Jane believed it was still a gradually progressing occurrence, and suggested that they keep showing Reuben support.
“Will that help? Will it truly get him to talk some more?” Thomas had asked then, as they both stood over the child’s bed while he slept.
“I do not know,” Jane told him honestly.
“What I do know is that we have managed to provide him with a space that he feels safe in. We have tried new things, shown him other ways to live, that are not in solitude and perhaps, he has gotten used to knowing we do not expect much of him. And now he feels he is ready to show us more of himself. I was a child at some point as well, and the more I was expected to do something, the less willing I was to do it. We just need to trust that he will convey his thoughts and feelings to us when he wants to.”
And then, it had been so easy to say all of that, but deep down, she wished she could have more conversations with him, wished she could hear his thoughts and answer all the strange questions children like him had at this age.
The contentment she practised felt almost pretend, but her adoration of him was real enough for her to shake of those disappointed notations and feel fulfilled about the progress they had made thus far.
Now that she was done with Reuben, for the moment at least, Jane could feel the letter burning her fingers in demand for attention.
But she wasn’t brave enough to face its contents by herself.
And so, she determinedly marched off in the direction of Thomas' study, all too aware that if she had to point at an embodiment of bravery, she would refer to him.
Jane had been so wound up with anxiety, that she forgot to knock before she walked into the study. It was only when she was inside the office that she realized her mistake.
“Oh. My apologies. I was in a hurry and forgot to knock,” she apologized softly.
He was at his desk, as always, with his coat off and his cuffs rolled up to his elbows.
Jane noticed there was a smudge of ink on his left hand, as he leaned back from something that appeared to require corrections, his mouth still carrying the prejudiced frown he had likely used to judge the documents.
“Ah, duchess,” he smiled once she had stepped closer, the corners of it faltering when he noticed that the forlorn expression she carried.
What is it?” he asked, setting the pen down immediately.
Jane held up the letter. “It is from my parents, but I am not particularly fond of the idea of reading it. I do not want to ignore it, because then I will be nagged by my subconscious until I do, and if I read it, I would feel as though I need to fulfil whatever was asked of me.”
He looked at it for a moment, then leaned back in his chair.
“Toss it in the fire,” he suggested casually. “We can claim it never arrived.”
She chose to ignore her use of the word ‘we’ and laughed despite herself – a small, surprised sound.
“That is certainly tempting.” She mused, turning the letter over in her hands. “But they'll only try again. If they want something from me, they'll find another method of obtaining it, and I'd rather know what it is.”
Thomas said nothing, which she supposed was his way of agreeing. She sat in the chair across from his desk and broke the seal.
Her father's handwriting was as neat as she had always known it to be, his words clipped and efficient, ever concerned with passing a message than with petty pleasantries. She read it once, sighed deeply, then again.
“Dinner,” she said. “They've invited us to Highclere House for dinner.”
Thomas waited, as though he knew she had more to say and after a moment, she proved him correct
“My father will want to speak with you about business interests,” Jane pointed out as she folded the letter.
“He has – he has always been very interested in the uses to which his connections can be put, ever eager to see just what connections I would bring his way through marriage.
He signed the contract with you because I had failed to secure a match on my own repeatedly and I assume that when he realized a duke was searching for a wife, he eagerly seized the opportunity.
Now he can use the fact that his daughter married a duke to elevate himself considerably in certain rooms. That's the entire reason for this summon.
He doesn't particularly care about my welfare. He never has. But he cares about what my welfare is worth to him.”
Jane’s tone was flat, without self-pity, because it was simply true. She had always been aware of these things, especially since her parents had put in a lot of effort to make sure she knew where her place was.
Thomas studied her for a moment, then he shrugged. “Then we decline. You do not have to pander to their wishes anymore, Jane. You owe them nothing.”
Jane only wished that were true. But knowing her father as well as she did, it wouldn’t be long before he took matters into his hands and did something much worse than a letter with paltry quantities of formalities.
“If you're willing to go,” Jane began slowly, “I think I should like to. I would rather face them with you beside me than receive another letter and imagine all the ways the evening might unfold. I am still angry with him. I am still – I would simply like to get it over with.”
“Then we'll go,” Thomas said, as though the matter were entirely simple. “The choice is entirely yours, my dear. I am intent on staying by your side, regardless of your choice.”
His words were immensely kind, perhaps even more so than she deserved.
Jane inhaled deeply, looking down at the letter in her hands.
“I suppose we’ll be seeing my parents for dinner tomorrow evening then.”
Jane did not expect to feel like a stranger in her own home, and she did not know what to do with that feeling. The butler met them at the door with the careful, practiced blankness of long service and showed them to the drawing room where her parents waited.
Arthur rose from his chair when Thomas entered and moved toward him with an outstretched hand and the particular warmth, he reserved for people he found professionally useful. As he shook Thomas' hand, he immediately began to speak earnestly to Jane’s husband, barely sparing her a single glance.
Jane, used to being ignored and overlooked simply watched the exchange, wondering if perhaps she had made a mistake.
“Your Grace, how delightful to see you again! It was gracious of you to come. I trust you have been well,” He grinned as he steered Thomas towards the table in the corner that carried the spirits, he often used to charm his male guests with, given their quality.
Athur’s back was angled away from Jane and although she was familiar enough with the sight to not be surprised by it, she could not help but feel hurt. After the two months she had spent with Thomas, she felt like a completely different person.
She wondered if her father would ever change, if he was even capable of it.
Her mother approached her shortly after, smiling pleasantly as she kissed Jane's cheek.
“Jane, dearest. I am happy you accepted our invitation!” Harriet remarked, holding her arms out to embrace Jane.
“I did not have much of a choice,” Jane mumbled, allowing the embrace without returning it.
You look well,” her mother said pleasantly. “The dress is lovely. Is it new?”
“Yes,” Jane said.
“Your husband's doing?”
“Mine.”