Chapter Twelve
It was a fine day for tennis, as almost every summer day was in Newport.
The manicured gardens at the Casino were drenched in golden sunlight, gleaming off white dresses and pale linen suits.
The grass was clipped to velvet precision, surrounded by pavilions and galleries.
Crowds sporting parasols and stylish straw hats lined the shaded verandas, sipping champagne and applauding the volleys.
On the courts, the players leaped and twirled as if on a dance floor, their strokes crisp, the thwack of the balls sharp on the breeze.
Even the Mrs Astor was there, her black hair shining like a crow’s wing beneath her feathered hat, her daughter and maids scurrying around her.
It was the men’s matches that morning, so Jane sat with May and her mother in the canvas chairs ringed around the court, basking in the blue-yellow light as champagne and strawberries were passed around. Kate pranced on the end of her lead, making Jane laugh.
She thought of Benedict when he’d brought Kate to her, his tender smile when Kate had cuddled close to him.
She’d known then he was good in the truest, rarest sense.
And she cared about him more than she ever should, because she’d seen how open-hearted he could be.
Not for praise, but because that was who he was when no one was watching.
She finally glimpsed Benedict and his aunt, just arriving at the lawn, and gave them a wave.
It was ridiculous how much brighter, more buoyant, the whole day felt just seeing his face.
She saw how his eyes scanned the gathering, until he saw her and smiled.
It was a wonderful look, a look that seemed to say he’d been watching for her all the time, and suddenly the air felt warmer, more alive.
She wanted to go to him, just because being near Benedict made everything feel easier, better.
The merriment continued all around, but she noticed none of it.
He started to come towards her, when he was stopped by Regina Van Joort.
She beamed up at him from under her elaborate feathered hat, her hand resting on his sleeve.
She leaned in too closely, laughed a little too brightly, her expression all sweetness.
Seeing him with Regina made Jane feel as if a cold thread pulled tightly through her chest. Much as she disliked Regina, she knew the truth: he needed a wife just like her.
‘Jane!’ Amy called, and Jane gratefully turned away from the sight of Benedict smiling down at Regina. ‘The men’s matches are nearly over; shall we start with doubles against the Windermere twins after luncheon?’
‘Yes, of course, that sounds marvellous.’ She stood up and reached for her racket. But it wasn’t there, and she realised she must have left it in the pavilion. ‘I’ll be right back, Amy, dear. Can you watch Kate for me?’
‘With pleasure,’ Amy said with a laugh, clapping her hands to make Kate leap up and twirl.
Jane made her way round the back of the Casino, away from the laughter and light. ‘Jane,’ she heard a rough voice say, and for an instant she dared hope it might be Benedict. There was a quiet flutter deep in her stomach, not from nerves, but from anticipation.
Then she realised it was not his golden, whiskey-smooth English accent.
Cold fear replaced the excitement. She whirled round to see Paul, watching her from the edge of the path, blocking her way back to the party.
It was like a shadow slipping over sunlight, something about the moment making her skin prickle.
She felt a heaviness, a sense of being studied rather than seen.
She took a step back, but he just moved closer.
‘What—what are you doing here?’ she gasped. She glanced around but found she was quite alone. Everyone else was still watching the match, too far away for her to cry out.
‘I saw you come this way. You shouldn’t be alone. Are you waiting for someone?’ There was a flicker in his eyes, a quick glint of something like satisfaction that he’d caught her there. His shoulders straightened slightly, as if catching her alone was something he’d been waiting for.
‘You look as if you were waiting for someone. Luring someone here?’ He moved even closer, his smile turning chilly, knowing. ‘No man could resist. I couldn’t.’
‘I’m expected back at the courts,’ she said, trying to sound calm, cold. She glanced around frantically, surreptitiously, searching for an escape she couldn’t find.
He moved closer, hemming her in. There was something in his smile, a quiet hunger, a confidence born of control.
‘Jane, I thought about you all this time, all these years. Worked for you. Why can’t you see that?
’ He held out his hand to her. ‘You know someone like the duke isn’t for you.
You’re just an Irish lass, new money, not good enough for him. ’
‘I don’t intend to marry anyone,’ she managed to whisper.
She shivered from his closeness. Her heartbeat was fast and fluttering, like a bird trapped in a small room.
He said he loved her, but there was something in the way he blocked her path, the way his eyes held hers with too much certainty.
‘I want only to make my own path in life.’
‘And you expect me to believe that? Believe that you feel nothing for me? An Irish lass like you, you’re not good enough to be a duchess, and no one would ever accept you. You belong here, with me.’
He reached out, quick as a striking snake, and caught her in his arms. His lips came down hard on hers.
It was just like that moment years ago when he’d caught her in the empty corridor, that instant in which her body was no longer her own.
There was a strange stillness in the moment, a shock that stole her breath before she could pull away.
She bit down and tasted coppery blood on her tongue.
‘Let her go. Now.’
It was Benedict’s voice, hard, cold as ice.
Paul let Jane go and she fell to the flagstones, scraping her hands, her lips stinging.
But the relief of knowing Benedict was there, that she was not alone, was like a sudden return to herself, to the world, after a moment in which she had felt as if she was slipping out of control.
But she was not alone now. He was there, and there was not just relief, but safety.
The sense that the world was set back to rights.
She leaped to her feet and spun round to face them.
Benedict’s eyes flickered over her, as if to see if she was hurt.
She shivered and wrapped her arms around him, suddenly ashamed he saw her that way.
His jaw tightened with a fierce, protective clarity, his hands curled into fists.
He stood between Paul and her like a solid wall, calm and unshakable.
She was not good enough for a duke; Paul had been right about that one thing.
But Benedict had known; he had come to her.
She stumbled to her feet, her legs shaking too much to hold her up, and managed to lean back against the wall behind them.
She knew she should run away, but something held her there.
She sucked in a deep breath and watched the scene before her.
Time seemed to slow down, turn blurry, as if this wasn’t happening at all.
Paul stared back at Benedict, fury black as a thunderstorm on his face.
The veneer of gentlemanly conduct cracked away.
Paul lashed out with a sudden lunge, a punch thrown.
Jane gasped, but Benedict easily evaded the blow with a graceful feint.
Paul was not so lucky. Benedict’s punch landed solidly on his jaw, throwing him backwards.
He straightened, his bruise darkening, his face even blacker as he stared at Benedict, at the duke who had just knocked him down.
‘This isn’t over,’ he growled as he backed away. ‘Remember, Janey, you’re no good for a man like this. You’ll come round very soon.’ Then, to her vast relief, he left. She sagged backwards, wanting to cry, scream. All she could do was hope she wouldn’t faint.
Benedict hurried to her side, the sudden violence of only a moment before vanished into concern. He reached out tentatively, as if afraid she would run from him, and touched her shoulder with such gentleness. ‘Jane? Are you all right? Did he hurt you? If he did, I will…’
‘No!’ she cried. She couldn’t bear to think of Benedict being hurt because of her, though after what she had just seen, she knew he would probably prevail in any brawl. ‘I am fine. Just… Oh, Benedict, I am so glad you’re here!’ A sob escaped.
His arms came tightly around her, holding her up with his strength and warmth.
Feeling safe in someone’s embrace was like exhaling after holding her breath for much too long.
The noise and fear of the world dimmed away.
She felt small, but not weak now. She was held with care that said nothing bad would happen.
‘It’s all right, Jane, you’re safe,’ he said roughly. She felt his lips press fleetingly against her hair, and she let out another sob. ‘Are you sure you aren’t hurt?’
She shook her head, and her fingers curled into the softness of his jacket. She pressed her face hard into his shoulder, trying to hold back the sobs. Her anger and fear were ebbing away, and it left her shaking.
She was almost as afraid with Benedict as she’d been with Paul in that moment, but in a very different way.
With Benedict, in that moment, she was so very vulnerable.
Every defence fell away. It wasn’t safe to feel like that.
Not for her heart. But she couldn’t move away from him.
He was her only anchor in the middle of the storm. She held on tighter.
He held onto her too, his arms so close around her.