Chapter Sixteen
A few minutes earlier…
‘What is amiss?’ the lady standing next to Benedict on the terrace said as a ripple of whispers flowed through the party.
He couldn’t forget the look on Jane’s face when he’d spoken, the hurt expression that had flickered across her eyes as she’d listened to him tell her the unvarnished truth of him, his life; what he could offer and what he could not, and never could.
He felt such guilt and sorrow, slow and heavy, settling on his chest. He wanted to go back, to say things differently, to soften the edges of what had come out too harshly, too fast. But he could not.
He could only hold that regret close, let it teach him and hope that she still had room to forgive in her endlessly kind heart.
But then he could not find her, and lost her amidst the crowd. Why had he let her get away?
Now, a raw worry rose up in him as he sensed something was amiss with her. He felt it in his own heart.
He glanced back at where Connor and May stood, one of Regina Van Joort’s friends with them, her face a rictus of panic, her hands flying in frantic gestures as she spoke a mile a minute.
Connor—the strongest man Benedict knew, a man who had Wall Street at his mercy—looked terrified.
He turned and ran away from the party, and Benedict instinctively followed him.
‘Send for the doctor, now,’ Connor was telling one of the footmen, not stopping on his path through the garden.
‘What is happening?’ Benedict demanded as he caught up with him.
Connor shook his head hard, as if to chase away that fear. ‘It seems Jane has gone too close to the sea cliffs and taken a fall. Miss Van Joort and her friends saw her.’
Jane was in danger. That thought brought an immediate, soul-deep terror. His thoughts raced ahead of the reality of the moment in vivid, brutal detail. Every second felt too slow. ‘Is she…?’
‘Hurt, that is all I know,’ Connor said tersely.
‘I am coming with you.’
He realised now, too late, that he had cracked something precious in his hands. His words, his actions, had drawn pain across someone he’d give anything to protect.
He would not let her down now.
Jane felt as if she was sinking down into the dark waves of the sea, but it was all warm, soft, pulling her deeper and deeper. She only wanted to sleep, but somehow she knew she couldn’t give in, that she had to fight to the surface again. Something waited for her there. If she could just remember…
Then, like a white, sizzling bolt, she did remember. The hard rock, the cold, the pain, Regina and… Was Benedict really there? Had she imagined it all?
She drew in a deep breath and smelled something sharp and medicinal.
She tried to force her gritty eyes open.
Pain shot through her head and she feared she’d be sick.
She ground her teeth and waited for the nausea and dizziness to pass before she looked around her.
She was in her own chamber, but the light was hazy and diffused, as if her draperies were drawn half-closed.
She blinked and saw her mother and May sitting close to her bed, their faces pale in the dim light, her mother clutching at her rosary beads.
Kate lay on a cushion on the floor, silent for once.
‘Well, the party must have been the sensation of the season,’ she managed to say hoarsely, and her mother’s eyes flew open.
‘Jane!’ May cried, and leaped to her feet to lay her cool hand against Jane’s forehead. A man, probably the doctor, hurried over and took out a stethoscope. ‘Oh, you gave us such a fright. How do you feel?’
‘Achy,’ Jane answered, and tried to shift against her pillows until her mother urged her to be still. ‘I fell?’
‘Do you not remember?’ May asked.
Jane did remember, at first in bits and pieces, fragments, but then all in a rush. ‘Benedict found me,’ she whispered.
‘Yes, he did. He hasn’t left the corridor outside for hours,’ her mother said.
How could that be, Jane wondered, when he had told her he couldn’t love her? Yet…
She thought of his expression when he’d seen her there on the rock ledge, stark and terrified.
This was Benedict, who she had come to know so well in these last few weeks.
She pondered endlessly every precious moment they had spent.
Had he really meant what he’d said, when he’d told her those things, when he’d sent her away? Or was he, like her, scared and unsure?
‘I—I will see him now, then,’ she whispered.
Benedict paced along the corridor once more, sure his shoes had worn a trench down the middle of May’s Aubusson rug, then back again, past the still-silent doorway.
Doctors and maids, Jane’s mother and May had all rushed past him, in and out of the room.
His own aunt had made sure everyone left the party, and he was sure there’d be scandalised whispers about it all.
None of it mattered. It never would again. Only Jane mattered.
He paused and glanced at his reflection in a silver-framed mirror.
To his shock, he looked quite normal. A bit rumpled, maybe—his evening tie undone, his hair tousled, his jacket stained with salt water—but basically himself.
Inside, though, he was turned upside-down.
Everything had changed ever since that girl had come shrieking into the party to tell them that Jane was hurt, and they’d found her on the rocks.
Where had he gone so very wrong? When was the moment when he’d taken a misstep and lost the only thing that really mattered?
His old, iron sense of duty had always kept him moving forward, doing his work, keeping up the facade.
At night, though, whenever he was alone in the cold silence of Rollston, he felt he stood above the world, untouched by it even as he yearned for it.
That had seemed to be unchanging, unchangeable.
Then there was Jane, beautiful, sunshine Jane, who made the world better just by appearing.
What had he been thinking with that clumsy, ridiculous proposal?
It was laughable, coming from a man from the land of Shakespeare, nattering on about practicality.
Of course she’d refused him. But he knew now what he had been doing.
What if she had not cared about him? If she’d refused, he’d be protected, he’d be able to go on as before.
At least his heart would not be reached by her rejection.
It would stay behind its armour if he pretended she did not really matter.
No one would be hurt, as his mother had once been, and he would not be hurt as he’d been when he’d lost her.
He ran a shaking hand through his hair, leaving it standing on end. What a great, lumbering fool he was. He’d been protecting himself at Jane’s expense, at the expense of real happiness. He’d realised that all too well when he’d seen her pale, still face and had feared he had lost her.
Still, now something like a tiny, bright seed of hope burned deep inside him, buried beneath that hurt and fear, something he clung to with all his strength.
Once she had looked at him with such tenderness in her eyes.
Could she not again, if he worked very hard to earn it?
She was safe now after her fall. He’d made a huge mistake, but now he had a chance to try and make it right.
Try to grab onto another life, a happy life, one they both deserved. A life they could build together.
The chamber door opened at last, and May emerged, holding a bundle of linen. She looked exhausted, her golden hair tousled, her apron stained, worry written on her face. How close and loving this family was; how he envied them.
‘Mrs O’Neill… May,’ he said, hurrying towards her. ‘How is she?’
‘Resting at last,’ May said, shifting the bundle in her arms. Benedict took it from her, until a maid snatched it, clucking at him.
‘She still has a fever and a sprained wrist, but the doctor says she will recover well. She is very lucky.’ She tilted her head to study him closely. ‘I don’t understand why she was out there all alone.’
Benedict remembered their quarrel, the terrible way he’d behaved, and found he didn’t even have words for how sorry he was. ‘How can I help? I’ll do anything at all.’
May smiled at him and reached out to touch his hand. ‘You’re helping just by being here. I know you are a good friend to Jane.’
‘More than her friend. Or so I hope I can be, if she will let me after how ridiculous I have been.’
She frowned curiously. ‘Jane cares about you too, Benedict. Very much. I’m sure she would listen to anything you say to her now, forgive you. Just as I once had to forgive Connor in order for us to make a life together.’
But would she? Could she even begin to forget the way he’d behaved? ‘When can I see her?’
‘The doctor says you can go in now, just for a few minutes.’
But would she want to see him? He had to find out, to dare as he had never dared before. To leave his heart open for her to accept or reject. It was more fearsome than any fight could ever be.
He hurried into the dim room and saw her pale outline against the bedclothes. Daisy was arranging something on a tray, but she hurried out, Kate at her heels, leaving Benedict and Jane alone.
He knelt down beside her bed. So many emotions crashed into him: relief, tenderness, fear and something deeper he couldn’t quite name.
He studied her—the paleness of her skin, the bruises.
He wanted only to hold her carefully, as though she were made of something fragile and sacred.
He realised how close he’d come to losing something he loved more than words could hold.
She opened her eyes and smiled faintly, maybe with effort, and something in his heart unravelled…because she was there. ‘Benedict,’ she said softly. ‘Is it really you?’
He smiled, laughed and cried in a rush of relief. ‘It really is. You’re home, you’re safe now.’
She touched the bandage on her forehead with a little frown. Her wrist was also bound up, and he was reminded too much of how near he’d come to losing her. ‘Safe?’
‘Yes, I promise.’