Chapter Thirteen #2
Jane peeked up at Benedict. She hadn’t seen him since their ‘engagement’, which was one of the reasons she’d run to the city.
He had his mask on again, despite his gesture in sending her the books, and she had no idea what he was thinking.
She watched him smile, nod, and everything seemed normal.
But there was a distance in his eyes. She longed to reach out, but she had no idea how.
He kept that wall up, remained polite and impenetrable.
She pointed out a few of the rooms, the art studio and space for dance classes, and then opened a door at the end of the corridor.
‘And this is our library, or what we call a library,’ she said as she led him into a small room lined with shelves.
‘It was a storage cupboard, but was the only room left we could use. Your donation will add to it tremendously.’
And so it would, no matter his reasons. She had to be grateful for that.
He ran a fingertip over a row of volumes: poetry, novels donated by Jane, sermons and embroidery patterns, donated by other patrons. ‘It’s the least I can do. It’s… Well, it’s a kind of apology, really.’
‘Apology?’ She studied his handsome face in the shadows, his long fingers tracing the book sbvg chpines, and she couldn’t help but muse on what a real engagement to him might be like.
‘For not being able to think of a more graceful way out of our predicament in front of Mrs Astor. I was…’
‘Caught off-guard?’ She smiled, remembering seeing the Mrs Astor standing right there. It had indeed been a shock.
‘Exactly so.’
‘That makes two of us.’ She thought of them leaping apart, her lips still tingling from his kiss, her heart still racing. ‘I can’t blame you, Benedict. It was a very strange moment indeed, and you did what you could to save us. You did save me—from Paul.’
He stared down at her, his eyes growing dark.
‘Jane, he had no right to treat you in that way. When I saw what was happening…’ Those eyes narrowed with focus, as if staring into something only he could see, the fury of that moment with Paul.
His jaw tightened and his lips pressed into a thin, rigid line. The anger was contained, but fierce.
Jane laid her hand gently on his arm. ‘I was never so relieved in my life as when I saw you! It would be poor repayment for saving me to trap you in an engagement now. We must think of a way to extricate ourselves.’ Surely his reputation would recover very quickly, and a new American lady would spring into place, though there would be whispers about his shocking behaviour.
Her own, though… She couldn’t do that to May and Connor. She didn’t care about herself; she could make another sort of life somewhere else. But they loved their New York home.
He looked strangely puzzled. ‘Extricate ourselves?’
‘Of course. You still have to find your perfect duchess.’ Those words felt like an almost physical pain that she had not expected.
It felt as if she were tearing something out of herself that had never meant to be removed.
It was the right thing, the only thing to do, but it still felt unnatural, like saying goodbye to part of herself. It would be a memory, a ‘what if?’.
He stood straighter, and it was as if a shutter clapped down over his face, his expression closing. He drew back, suddenly chilled. ‘I am willing to marry you, Jane.’
She stared at him, incredulous. Something settled in slowly, like cold water creeping through her veins. Maybe he did care about her in some way, but not in the way she hoped in her secret heart, and it made her feel invisible in the worst way. ‘You…what?’
‘It is the usual thing, I think, on such occasions, when people find themselves in such an unfortunate situation. It’s what would be expected in England, and I’m sure it’s not different here.’
He looked so utterly resigned, so stoic. The man she’d thought saw her, knew her, didn’t know her at all.
‘You are willing to marry me, are you, Benedict… Your Grace? To throw yourself on your sword?’ she managed to choke out.
How he would come to resent her if she took him up on this terrible proposal!
How miserable they would be. How she would long for him, while he’d see her as a burden. ‘I thought you were my friend.’
‘I am, Jane. That’s why I have to…’ He looked away, his lips pressed together.
Had to. ‘A friend would know why this is so repulsive.’
‘Repulsive?’ He stared at her again, astonished. ‘Is that what marriage to me would be?’
Of course it would not—not a true marriage.
A true marriage with Benedict would be heaven.
But a marriage like this, forced and hurried, a marriage he was willing to submit to…
She couldn’t fathom the loneliness of it.
Living in a strange country, with a man who thought her a burden he had to drag with him, would wreck her.
He stood before her now, looking baffled. And as gorgeous as ever, drat him. Even being ruined here in New York would be much easier to bear than being with Benedict and knowing he hadn’t really wanted her.
‘Very kind of you, Your Grace,’ she said coldly. ‘But I fear I must decline.’
She managed to hold her head high as she marched out of the room, leaving him behind.
But inside she felt as if she were making her way through the wreckage of something once beautiful, unsure whether to mourn it or still believe in it.
She felt hollow, wondering what she could have done differently.
Love—and she saw now maybe she had dared hope it was love—didn’t just shatter her heart when it broke, but her sense of herself.
She’d given too much of herself to something she couldn’t hold.
Benedict had not expected Jane to marry him, not really. That was what he’d told himself, anyway. Why, then, did he feel so hollow now, so empty of light and hope?
He glanced around him, but did not see the passing people, the windows starting to glow with evening light. He only saw Jane, saw her pale face and her wide eyes.
He felt as if he’d sunk beneath ocean waves somehow, heavy, alone.
He thought of the gleam of her green eyes, and wondered if she too held back tears as they emerged from some impossible dream.
He saw the tight clench of her hands as she’d turned away from him.
Had left him. He had accepted it. He’d had to.
He cared about her too much to have done anything else.
Yet he thought of how they’d danced together, their bodies swaying together as if they had always been just like that, as if they read each other without words.
He thought of the sweet heat of her kiss, how real everything felt with her.
Yet something held her from him now. Fear? The burden of his title?
Or maybe it was him. She wanted nothing to do with him now. Nothing to do with years and years alone with him in a cold castle.
Yet he could not give up. He would wait for her. He’d heed her own lessons in courtship. Jane was worth any amount of time at all.