Chapter 20
Chapter Twenty
The next morning, Wynten House felt different. Jane noticed it the moment she descended the staircase.
For weeks, the house had carried the strange emptiness that came from loss.
Rooms echoed more than they once had. Corridors seemed wider.
Every familiar object reminded her of something that had disappeared, whether it was Colin, their old life, or the certainty she had once possessed about the future.
Today, there was movement. Footmen crossed the entrance hall carrying large, cloth-covered frames. Jane slowed on the last step.
“Thomas?” she called.
One of the younger servants turned, nearly dropping the portrait balanced against his shoulder. “My lady.”
She frowned. “What is happening?”
Before he could answer, Mrs. Ellis, the housekeeper, emerged from the morning room with unmistakable excitement shining through her usual composure.
“Oh, Lady Jane.” She almost laughed. “They’ve come back.”
Jane blinked. “What has?”
“The paintings. And the furniture.”
Jane stared. “What?”
Mrs. Ellis hurried toward her. “The duke’s men arrived just after sunrise with three wagons. They’ve been bringing everything inside for nearly an hour.”
Jane looked around as another pair of servants carried in the carved walnut side table that had once stood beneath the portrait gallery.
Her breath caught. It was Father’s table. She hurried toward it, her fingertips brushing the polished wood. The tiny scratch along one corner remained exactly where Colin had accidentally gouged it with a practice sword at fourteen.
It truly was theirs.
Another servant carried in the marble clock. Then the landscape painting Father had loved. Then the silver telescope.
Jane covered her mouth. “He...He bought them back.”
Mrs. Ellis smiled softly. “So it appears.”
Jane turned as two men carefully maneuvered Father’s favorite leather chair through the doorway.
The very chair where he had read aloud every winter evening. The chair Colin had refused to let anyone replace after Father’s death. She felt tears prick unexpectedly.
Mrs. Ellis reached into her apron. “The duke’s steward also asked that I give you this.”
She held out a folded ivory note sealed with dark green wax. Jane recognized the seal immediately. Her pulse quickened. She accepted it carefully before breaking the seal.
Inside, the handwriting was bold and unmistakably his.
Lady Jane,
These belongings belong at Wynten House.
No memories should ever be sold to satisfy a man such as Zachary Deverell.
I have also secured a special license.
There is no reason for us to delay our wedding while your uncle waits to tighten his hold upon your family.
If you are still willing to become my wife, then allow me to remove that burden from your shoulders as quickly as possible.
I shall call tomorrow to discuss the arrangements.
H. Lockwood
Jane read the letter twice. Then a third time. The words blurred. He had not written of romance. He had simply solved another problem before she had even asked.
Mrs. Ellis watched her carefully. “My lady?”
Jane smiled through damp eyes. “I believe...I believe I am going to marry a remarkable man.”
One week later, the bells of the village church rang across the countryside.
Jane stood in the small antechamber beside the sanctuary while her maid adjusted the final folds of her ivory silk gown. The dress was elegant without being ostentatious. Soft satin. Long fitted sleeves. Pearls stitched delicately along the neckline.
She had never imagined wearing it under these circumstances. Not after Colin had been kidnapped. Not after Lord Maltby had broken their engagement. Not after believing she would spend the rest of her life trying to protect her mother alone.
Yet here she stood.
Anna, her maid, arranged her veil. “There now.”
Jane smiled. “Thank you.”
The other woman stepped back. “You look beautiful.”
Jane glanced into the mirror. For the first time in months, she scarcely recognized herself. Not because of the gown, but because the frightened woman she’d become after Colin vanished no longer looked back at her.
She still worried, still missed her brother terribly, still wished Father could stand beside her. But she had changed. She was stronger. Perhaps Hector had seen that before she ever had.
A gentle knock interrupted her thoughts. Ambrose stepped inside. He looked surprisingly solemn in formal morning dress.
He offered an exaggerated bow. “My lady, you truly look happy.”
She nodded. “I am.”
He studied her for a moment. “I have known Hector for nearly twenty years. I’ve seen him angry. I’ve seen him impossible.” Ambrose paused. “I’ve seen him win fights, lose arguments, terrify politicians, and frighten grown men without raising his voice.”
Jane laughed. “That sounds familiar.”
“But I have never seen him look at anyone the way he looks at you.” Ambrose continued quietly. “You’ve given my friend something I wasn’t certain he’d ever find.”
Jane lowered her eyes. “I believe he’s given me rather more.”
He offered his arm. “Ready?”
She inhaled deeply. “As I’ll ever be.”
The church was modest compared with London’s grand cathedrals. Sunlight streamed through tall stained-glass windows, painting patches of blue and crimson across the stone floor. White flowers decorated the front pews.
Guests rose as Jane entered. She scarcely noticed them. Her gaze found her mother first. Lady Wynten sat near the front wearing soft lavender silk. She was already crying. Jane smiled reassuringly.
Then her eyes found Zachary. He occupied a pew farther back. His face was rigid. His bruised pride had not healed nearly as quickly as the marks Hector had left upon him. Their eyes met only briefly.
Jane looked away without hesitation. He no longer frightened her. They had only invited him because they knew what society would say if he were absent. Presumably, that was the reason he had come as well.
Ambrose leaned closer. “Ignore him.”
“I intend to.”
“Excellent.”
The organ began to play. Together they started down the aisle. Jane felt every heartbeat. Then she saw Hector, waiting.
He stood perfectly still before the altar. Black formal coat. Immaculate white cravat. Shoulders squared. Hands clasped behind his back. His expression remained composed. Only his eyes betrayed him. They never left her. Not once.
She reached the altar. Ambrose gave her hand a brief squeeze before placing it into Hector’s.
“For the record,” Ambrose murmured quietly enough that only they heard, “if either of you changes your mind, I’m leaving.”
Jane laughed softly. Even Hector’s mouth twitched.
“Thank you,” Hector said.
Ambrose grinned. “I expect repayment in excellent brandy.”
Then he stepped away. Jane finally looked fully at Hector.
“You look beautiful,” he said, quietly but entirely sincerely.
Warmth spread through her chest. “So do you.”
One dark eyebrow lifted. “I hope not.”
She smiled. “I meant handsome.”
The rector cleared his throat politely. “If we might proceed?”
Both of them looked appropriately chastened. The ceremony began. Jane barely heard the opening prayers. She found herself studying Hector instead. He stood perfectly still.
When the rector spoke of duty, Hector did not flinch. When he spoke of fidelity, Hector’s fingers tightened ever so slightly around hers. Then came the vows.
Hector spoke first. “I, Hector Lockwood, take thee, Jane Deverell, to be my lawful wedded wife...”
Jane swallowed. When her turn came, her voice trembled only slightly. “I, Jane Deverell, take thee, Hector Lockwood...” She looked directly into his eyes. “...to be my lawful wedded husband...”
She meant every word. The rings were exchanged. Hector slid hers gently onto her finger. His thumb brushed her knuckles for the briefest instant. A tiny, private gesture.
The rector continued with the final blessing. Jane scarcely heard him. She simply stood beside Hector, overwhelmed by the quiet certainty settling inside her.
At last, the rector smiled. “I now pronounce you husband and wife.” He paused. “You may sign the register.”
Jane almost laughed in surprise. No kiss. Of course. Special licenses often meant private formalities afterward, and the rector preferred propriety inside the sanctuary.
She rather appreciated it. The moment somehow felt more intimate without an audience watching. Together they crossed into the small vestry.
One after another they signed the marriage register. Hector first. Jane beside him. Their signatures looked strangely natural together. Lockwood. Deverell. Soon… Lockwood.
When she set down the pen, Hector looked toward her. “So.”
“So,” Jane repeated.
“We appear to have succeeded.”
She smiled. “I believe we have.”
Outside, church bells rang once more. Their new life had begun.
The journey from the church to Hector’s townhouse passed in a pleasant blur.
Jane sat beside her new husband in his carriage while the London streets rolled quietly past the windows.
Neither of them spoke very much. They did not seem to need to.
Every now and then, she became acutely aware of the gold band resting upon her finger, and a strange warmth settled over her. Married.
She was married. The thought still felt unreal.
Across from them, Lady Wynten dabbed discreetly at her eyes every few minutes, insisting she was perfectly composed before promptly reaching for her handkerchief again.
“I cannot help it,” she murmured for perhaps the fifth time. “My daughter is married.”
Jane laughed softly and squeezed her mother’s hand. “I am not leaving London, Mama.”
“I know.” Another sniff. “But it is still emotional.”
Even Hector’s mouth twitched into the faintest hint of a smile. Jane caught it. The expression disappeared almost as quickly as it had come, but she treasured it nonetheless. He smiled more often now than he once had.
By the time the carriage stopped before his townhouse, servants were already waiting to receive the wedding party.