“Waverly?” his friend looked up at him, worry stamped on the lines of his face.
“Fine, fine,” he said and moved out from behind the table. Only he was not fine. Nausea twisted in his belly. He had no choice but to wed her. Society saw her as a companion—beneath him in station. She was illegitimate and, by their vile standards, they’d found her unworthy of entry into their world. “If you’ll excuse me.” He sketched a bow and before his friend could utter another word, Gabriel started through his club and to the exit.
With each footfall, he recognized, in light of his meeting with the duke, those were also the reasons he had no choice but to wed Jane. A woman of her origins, shamed and scandalized, would never find respectable employment. You can provide her the funds, a voice whispered. Tell her they are from her father, put her aboard a carriage, and be done with her forevermore. He braced for the rush of relief at the prospect. Except…he slowed his stride. Jane would never be able to retreat to any corner of England to set up her finishing school. Which families, noble or not, would entrust their daughters to the care of a woman with her history who’d also been discovered locked in a man’s embrace at the Opera House? And she would still be alone.
The noose tightened all the more. He’d spent his life trying to care for others but now, there was not another person more in need of his protection than Jane. That ugly idea of her dependent upon the Montclairs of the world entered once more and drove back his own selfish fears. What other course would she have?
An image flitted through his mind. Jane lying with some other man, her golden curls draped in a curtain about her silken, naked frame—Rage slammed into him and sucked away all reservations.
When presented with the possibility of turning her out with no one to care for her, there really was no other option. He reached the front of the club and a servant hurried to the open the door. Gabriel strode through the exit, grateful to be free of the whispers and stares.
His friend, for all the nuisance he’d made of himself, had been unerringly accurate in this. There was little recourse but for him to wed her. And with their union, she would become one more person whose happiness and safety he was responsible for. Gabriel scrubbed his hands over his face. There would be the expectation of children, just additional tiny human beings who would also become figures who would forever look to him. More people to fail.
God help him.
For with one moment of weakness in an alcove with Jane in his arms, he’d consigned himself to this eternal hell that forever reminded him of his previous failures. With wooden movements, he accepted the reins of his horse from a waiting boy in the street. Now, it was a matter of convincing Jane.
Chapter 21
Jane sat at the edge of the window seat and looked down into the streets and scanned the quiet cobbled roads below. Her open book lay at her feet. The dark clouds of night had ushered out the afternoon sun.
She’d expected him hours ago. Of course, that idea had only come from her own opinion. Gabriel had not told her when he intended to meet with the duke or when he’d visit. She’d just assumed. And now, she sat, a stranger in a new world, the ruined lady taken in by his benevolent family.
Gabriel had no obligations where she was concerned and yet, even so, had met with her father in attempts to secure her funds and had enlisted the help of his family to protect her. In the crystal pane, her lips twisted in a melancholy smile. He seemed to be the only one who believed she merited protection.
She stiffened as her benefactress, Lady Imogen Edgerton, appeared in the doorway. Jane swung her attention around. “Lady Imogen,” she greeted. She glanced past the woman’s shoulder and some of her eagerness dipped.
“No need to rise,” she assured as she strolled over. “And please, just Imogen.” She came to a stop at the edge of Jane’s seat and peered around her shoulder into the streets below. “I daresay you’re wondering where Lord Waverly is?”
She mustered a smile. “Have I been so very obvious?” After all, she’d closeted herself away in their parlor with her book and claimed the very same seat by the window for the past nearly six hours.
A light twinkle lit the other woman’s kindly eyes. “Just a bit.” Some of the gentle teasing lifted and she sank into the seat beside Jane. “For my friendship with Chloe and my marriage to Alex, I do not know the marquess, hardly at all. I venture no one truly knows Lord Waverly.” A loose tendril escaped her neat chignon and she brushed back a crimson curl from her cheek. “He’s a rigid, formidable gentleman who invokes fear, but a loyal brother.”
Rigid, formidable, a man who invoked fear. Is that how the world viewed him? But for that last, very important, telling statement by Lady Imo—Imogen, she rather suspected it was. How could they not look past the rigidity and coldness to see the person she’d known these past seven days?
Imogen plucked at the fabric of the window seat. The other woman wished to say more. That much was clear. Alas, Jane had spent too much time with her own company and could not fill the uncomfortable voids the way Imogen, Chloe, or any other lady of their respective station might. Gabriel’s sister-in-law stopped suddenly. Jane followed her gaze to the book beside them. “May I?” the woman inquired. However, she’d already retrieved the small leather volume of Mary Wollstonecraft’s work. She trailed her fingers over the gilt lettering.
Jane stared blankly at that poor volume, forgotten more times in this past week than the course of her life. For years those words had filled a void. They’d given her a belief in a world she thought she desired for herself. It was a world in which she was dependent upon no one and found contentment in her own accomplishments. And though there was the dream of a school for women such as herself, there was all this never before confronted desire for more—a family, a connection. She closed her eyes a moment—love.
“It is a cruelly harsh world oftentimes for young women, isn’t it?”
“It is,” she said softly. Until Jane had slipped into the fold of the Edgerton family she would have scoffed at Imogen’s words. What did lords and ladies know of the trials and uncertainties that came in being born on the fringe of their glittering, opulent world of perfection? But it wasn’t perfect. Gabriel and Chloe’s life spoke to the same struggles known by so many and, in that, Jane’s unfair lumping of all the peerage into one self-absorbed category had proven incorrect. If she’d been so very wrong about that, what else had she been wrong in?
The young lady fanned the pages of Jane’s book. “I once believed the ton was horrible and cruel and all things unfair where young ladies are concerned.”
She recalled Montclair’s tepid breath against her lips. “Aren’t they?” she asked, unable to keep the bitterness from creeping in.
Imogen stuck her finger on a random page of the book and looked down at the words. “Yes, yes they are often that,” she said matter-of-factly.
They. She’d not consider herself a member of the world to which she rightfully belonged?
Gabriel’s sister-in-law placed her hand on Jane’s and she started at the unexpected contact. “I was…” She wrinkled her nose. “There was a scandal that involved me,” she substituted.
“Oh.” For what really was there to say, with realization after realization she was not as unlike these people as she’d believed. Once more, it was harder than ever to resent the whole of them for the crimes of a few.
“You won’t ask me about that scandal.”
“Never.” She shook her head. “I’ve been gossiped about by too many,” she said with a bluntness that brought the young woman’s eyebrows shooting up. “Most of the things whispered about me were untrue.” She thought of her father, the powerful duke, and then the scandalous discovery of her and Gabriel last evening. “But some of them are not. I would not ask you to share the stories which belong to you.”
The woman gave Jane’s hand a slight squeeze and a gentle smile wreathed her cheeks. “I would not have volunteered unless I wished to share.” Which was, once again, all the more t
errifying. “My betrothed jilted me for my sister.”
She blinked several times.
“I swore to never wed for any reason but stability and order, to a gentleman who inspired no grand sentiments. Do you know what happened to that pledge?”
Jane recalled all of Chloe’s words about her brother, Lord Alex—the infamous rogue. “I do not,” she said for politeness sake.
The gleam in the woman’s eye indicated she knew as much. “I fell in love.” How often had Jane scoffed at that emotion that had so weakened her mother? And yet, there was nothing wrong about Imogen, or Lord Alex, or Chloe, and Gabriel and the entire Edgerton family who loved so passionately. “So, there are scandals,” Imogen said bringing her to the moment. “And they are awful when they are happening, and some of them are disastrous and horrible in every way, but sometimes, just sometimes, good comes from them. As it did for me.” She touched her neck, as though searching for something. Then, she let her hand flutter back to her lap. “And I suspect as it will be for you.”
Of course. The lady believed Jane would wed Gabriel. Even with her own scandal, Imogen had not disavowed marriage. She’d merely sought to avoid a match based on the volatile emotions that Jane herself feared. A lump formed in her throat and she swallowed several times. “Why are you being so nice to me?” she asked, desperate to understand why these strangers were so different than all others she’d known. They’d shared parts of their lives with her, an outsider, an interloper, and thief.
“Mrs. Munroe—”
“Jane,” she corrected.
“Jane, kindness costs us nothing, but brings us everything.” She squeezed Jane’s hand once more. “And you must call me Imogen.”
Footsteps sounded in the hallway, calling their attention to the front of the room just as Gabriel stepped in. His brother, Lord Alex, stood at his side. He favored his wife and Jane with one of those charming smiles that had likely earned him the reputation of rogue and then looked to his wife.
Imogen jumped to her feet. “Gabriel,” she greeted with a smile and sailed across the room in a flurry of skirts. Jane rose and a thousand questions sprung to her lips about his meeting. She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from blurting any one of them out.
He stepped into the room and sketched a polite, proper, and perfectly formal bow. “Imogen,” he said. All the while, his gaze remained on Jane. “Mrs. Munroe.”
His family was too polite to draw attention to the great hypocrisy in him referring to her so very formally when they’d been discovered en dishabille at the opera. Instead, Lord Alex held his hand out, and his wife walked the remaining distance, and then slipped her fingers into his.
Jane studied that sweet, intimate moment as he clasped his larger palm around Imogen’s much smaller one and a sudden hungering slammed into her—a desire to know even just a sliver of that connection to another person. She stared after them as they took their leave, until only she and Gabriel remained.
He fully entered the room and closed the door quietly behind him.
Yes, with her already non-existent reputation in tatters there was no need for a chaperone and apparently closed doors were permitted, too. She glanced down at the tips of her slippers.
He spoke without preamble. “I spoke to your father.”
His words brought her head up. Her father. Had the duke truly been a father? He’d sired her, yes. But she’d only seen two glimpses of the man in the course of her existence. “Thank you,” she said. She pressed her palms together.
It was done. He’d secured her funds, then. She would have her freedom and security. The Edgerton’s would be nothing more than a reminder of a family who’d proven themselves different than all others. His thick lashes dipped. He may as well have been carved from stone for all the reaction he gave. She scooped up her book and pulled it close to her chest. “I—”
Gabriel held up a hand. He took a step toward her, his expression darkening. “There is, however, something we need to speak on.”
*
He’d spent the better part of the afternoon and evening grappling with just what to do with Jane Munroe—the woman who wanted to wed even less than he wanted to be wed.
The truth of her father’s betrayal had tumbled around his mind since he’d taken his leave of his club. He’d turned around and over and through all possible answers. Jane was, of course, deserving of the truth about his meeting with her father and yet…he could not tell her. To do so would shatter her dream and end her security. He could not do that. Not and live with himself.
Jane picked her way carefully toward him and then paused with the gold upholstered sofa between them. She had a white-knuckled grip on the volume in her hands. “What is it?” Concern darkened her eyes and he was struck once more by how very much alike they were. Life had given them reasons to be wary.
He cleared his throat. “I spoke to the duke,” he corrected from earlier. For the monster who’d given her life, more alike than different from his own sire, did not deserve the distinction of parentage. “There is a condition of your acquiring the funds.” For that was the only resolution he’d come to in his own mind.
Jane cocked her head. “A condition?” she repeated back dumbly, as she set her book down on the sofa.
A niggling of guilt pebbled his belly and he forcibly thrust it back. He’d ruined her. He would do right by her and compromising the pledge he’d taken as a boy was the very least sacrifice he could make for ruining her. What right do I have to make that choice for her? He took a step away and wandered over to the window seat she’d occupied moments ago. The small leather volume on the upholstered seat snagged his attention and he dropped his gaze to her beloved book. The book she had in her possession whenever he came upon her. The book that had served as her motivation all these years to establish her finishing school.
“Gabriel?” she asked. Unease laced that one word—his name. And just like that, he was Gabriel again to her and the decision was made.
He swiped Mrs. Wollstonecraft’s work from the seat and welcomed the comforting weight of the book in his hands. “I will speak bluntly, Jane,” he said as he turned to face her.
A wry smile formed on her lips. “I’d prefer bluntness to this stilted silence.”
He returned her smile with a faint one of his own. “I have never been the one with ready words. That skill has been reserved for my brother.”
“I’d have you be sincere to filling that quiet with platitudes and false cheer.” False cheer.
“Your three thousand pounds is dependent upon our marriage,” he said on a rush, before the wrongness in his decision cemented in his mind or before his own courage to move forward in this uncertain marital state registered.
Jane opened her mouth and closed it. And then tried again. “What?”
“Marriage,” he supplied, though he far suspected that she very well heard and understood. “To me.”
She furrowed her brow and then shook her head slowly back and forth. “I don’t understand.” Her whisper-soft statement may as well have thundered about the room for the absolute still of the parlor. “Marriage?” She paused. “To you?”
Was the prospect of marriage to him really so unpalatable to the lady? He bristled, feeding the indignation which was far safer than any other more dangerous sentiments that could or would suggest there was any other reason to care about Jane’s response. He set aside her book. “As I said, you will receive the funds for your school if you wed me.”
She gave her head a forlorn shake and then looked away. “I see.” By her flat, emotionless tone he suspected she saw nothing at all.
“Marry me.”
Her gaze shot to his. “Are you asking me?” She squared her shoulders at that same high-handed order he’d made just the prior evening.
Gabriel nodded. “Marry me?” he said again and this time the words were a question.
Jane eyed him with a wary confusion. “But you don’t want to marry me.”
No. He didn’t wish
to marry anyone and especially not a woman who roused these tumultuous sentiments within him that he didn’t recognize or care to identify.
“Why?”
It took a moment for him to register her question. “Why?”
She nodded. “Why would you wed me to help me secure my funds? What benefit is that to you? You will not have a proper wife, a lady as your hostess.”
Why, because there was little choice except marriage. He opened his mouth but then immediately pressed his lips closed and searched for a suitable response that would not offend a woman who was now presented with marriage to him. Gabriel forced a wry grin. “I expect it is fairly clear why we should wed.” I want you… No, that is not what now drove his offer. It was the protection and security of his name. That was the impetus behind his proposal.
“No, it is not clear, Gabriel,” she said slowly, as though picking her way through a conversation in Latin when she only spoke French.
He strolled over and stopped before her. “Very well,” he said and brushed the back of his hand along her jaw. Like silk. Who knew satiny soft skin could be so very erotic?
Jane tipped her head at a slight angle, leaning into his touch in a trusting way that jerked him back to the perils of her.
“You are ruined.” She went taut and drew slightly back. That movement forced his hand down to his side. He grimaced. “That is you are unmarriageable.” Was there really a difference between the two? He thought not and, by the dangerous narrowing of Jane’s eyes, she also thought not. He’d spent his life scolding and passing judgment on his rogue of a brother. Now he’d have traded his left hand for a handful of charming words to help him wade through this quagmire with Jane.
“You would marry me because of…” Her cheeks pinked. “Because of what transpired.” What transpired? That was a good deal more polite than referencing the passionate exchange that had found her with her skirts up about her delicious lower limbs and her skirts wrinkled. “All so I could secure my funds?”
To Love a Lord Page 21