Her eyes lit on the late marquess’s journal atop a low table. Jonathan’s mother must have forgotten it in the confusion of moving furniture and hanging curtains. Perhaps it would lift Jonathan’s spirits to see the complimentary words his father had written. She looked to the door that separated her room from his.
The thought of Jonathan’s distant manner changed her mind, and she decided to leave the book where he would find it. On his desk in the library, perhaps.
She left the room, tiptoeing down the stairs in the dark. As she approached, she saw a light glowed inside the library. Inside, Jonathan stood before the large windows, a drink in his hand.
Maryann started to back out of the room, but stopped when he turned.
His eyes moved over her. “Going out?”
“No. I only thought to bring you this journal. It belonged to your father.” She knew she was prattling on, but continued to talk to dispel her nervousness. “We found it during the renovation, and I thought you might like to read it.” She moved to set it onto his desk, but he held out his hand and she placed the journal in it.
Jonathan looked down at the book. “I cannot imagine there is anything in here that would appeal to me.” His voice sounded slurred—and angry. She glanced at the empty glass in his hand, wondering how many times it had been filled tonight.
“I think you will find exactly the opposite to be the case,” she said. “Your father wrote quite a lot of nice things. He was very proud of you.”
Jonathan’s gaze darted to hers, his head tipped as if he did not believe what she said. At least he was paying attention, which encouraged her to continue. She stepped closer, taking the book and opening it to the page Kathleen had shown her. Lifting it toward him, she pointed. “See here. He was so pleased that you were the youngest member appointed to the Parliamentary Committee for Grazing and Water Rights.” She turned the book toward him, and he took it, holding it toward the candlelight as he read.
When he lowered the journal, his eyes were wet. He set down the glass and rubbed his hand over his face. “Thank you.”
“You are welcome.” She stood for a long moment as he stared at the carpet beneath his feet. She’d almost made up her mind to leave him alone when he spoke.
“Maryann, why do people keep secrets?”
The question was not one she expected, and she did not know what brought it about. Though it was odd, she was glad for it. Jonathan was finally speaking to her. Perhaps she could discover what troubled him.
“I suppose to prevent someone from being hurt is the usual reason,” she said.
Jonathan seemed to consider her answer. “And could that someone be the secret keeper?”
Did he suspect that she kept a secret from him? Should she tell him about Jane? No. She did not know how he would react. His behavior lately had seemed strange. While she did not think he would do anything drastic, she could not take the risk. What if he locked Jane up in Bedlam or another horrible place to protect his family name? She decided an answer as vague as the question would suffice.
“Yes, self-protection is a motive, although in that case, the secret keeper is not acting very nobly, I think.”
He pressed his lips together, squinting. “And do you think you must love someone in order to be hurt by their actions?” He watched her, and she felt as if she were being quizzed.
Are we still talking about secrets? Maryann rubbed her arm. “I do not know. I suppose the more one loves, the deeper one could be hurt.” She did not think her answers were profound or insightful, but Jonathan seemed to consider them thoughtfully.
His fingers moved to his waistcoat pocket, and she saw the lapis lazuli fob dangling from the watch chain. He rubbed the ornament between his fingers absentmindedly.
“What, then, would ever entice one to love if in the end all that awaits is pain?” His voice was low, and his expression was one she could not describe. A combination of anger and sorrow. Was he in pain? Had his love for his father resulted in him being hurt? She did not think that could be the case. He’d only read the journal entry tonight, but his distant manner had begun days ago.
His cryptic questions and strange actions made an uneasy tightness in her shoulders. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what answer to give, Jonathan. Your questions are confusing, and I do not know whether they are meant to lead me to a conclusion, or if you simply wish for my advice.”
She touched his arm, and when he did not respond, she spoke in a soft voice. “You seem so sad, and I wish I knew why.” Her face flushed. “Was it my gift that offended you? I thought you would like it, but I may have presumed too much, and it was a bit costly. I am sorry. I did not imagine you would become so angry.”
Jonathan’s head lifted. He blinked. “The gift? The . . .” He slid his finger beneath the small bauble. “You worry that I thought your gesture insulting?”
Her face heated further, and she found she could not look him in the eye. Very well, it was her turn to study the carpet pattern. “You did not speak to me after. I did not even hear how your speech turned out until I read the report in the Times.” She clasped her hands together in front of her waist. “You were wonderful, by the way. I felt so proud, and I wished I had heard the account from you.”
She turned to leave, confused and anxious. She didn’t understand the reason for his behavior, nor could she account for her own frustration. The entire conversation had made no sense, and she felt as if she was just making the strained relationship worse.
Feeling his hand on her arm, she stopped, closing her eyes and savoring the warmth. He’d not even accidentally brushed against her for days.
“Maryann, your gift . . . touched me.” He moved closer until she could feel the lapels of his jacket touching her back. His palms slid down to clasp her hands, then crossed their arms in front of her. “Your thoughtfulness, helping with my speech, bringing my father’s journal—your consideration for people you care about is what draws me to you.”
Maryann’s pulse grew stronger to the point that she could hear the heartbeat in her ears. Her skin tingled, and she leaned back against his chest, loving the closeness of being held, but feeling as though she could speak easier without looking directly at him. “Then why have you shut me out? I have tried to . . . I want to . . .” She searched for the words to express what she wanted to say, but being held in Jonathan’s arms muddled her thoughts. “I missed you.”
His embrace tightened for an instant, then he moved his hands to her shoulders, then her hair, pulling out the pins and using his fingers to shake loose her curls. She closed her eyes and savored the feel of his fingers in her hair, releasing the tightness of the day. He turned her toward him, tapping beneath her chin to raise her face.
Jonathan drew his fingers through the length of her hair, then cupped her cheeks. His eyes had darkened. His gaze moved to her lips, and he bent toward her.
Maryann leaned back her head. She clung to his arms, rising up onto her tiptoes. His lips brushed hers, and she inhaled the spicy smell of him, slipping her hands to his neck. Jonathan’s thumbs brushed her jawline, and he tipped his head to the side, kissing her again.
A crash of thunder jolted her mind back to the present. Jane! She pulled away and darted her gaze to the door. “I must—”
“No.” Jonathan’s voice was low. When she turned back to him, she saw his eyes tighten, then his brows drew together. “Please, no. Not tonight. Please stay.”
She looked back to the door. Jane needed her—the thunder—but her husband needed her as well. She faced him, biting back her tears as she imagined how frightened her sister would be when she did not come.
“Please, Maryann.” His voice was little more than a breath.
“I will stay,” she whispered.
Jonathan crushed her to him and pressed his lips to hers, lighting her blood on fire. Her heart banged like it was trying to escape her chest. Everything inside her buzzed with energy as she felt the roughness of his whiskers on her cheeks.
/> A flare of lightning lit the room, followed by a thunder crash.
Jane!
But . . . Jonathan.
Breathing heavily, he led her to the sofa, sitting and drawing her onto his lap. Maryann rested her arms on his shoulders, moving her fingers in his unruly hair as he kissed her neck, then touched his lips to a sensitive spot beneath her ear that sent a thrill through her middle. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, leaning forward for another kiss.
A banging sounded from the floor beneath, and the two froze, holding on to each other and listening as Dixon answered the door.
Maryann looked at Jonathan and saw concern in his face. She knew of few reasons for a midnight messenger, and none of them were good. She slid from his embrace and stood on unsteady legs. Her heart still seemed unable to settle down, but now it beat with worry. Had something happened? Jonathan joined her, taking her hand as they listened to the voices below.
Her worry grew as they heard Dixon climb the stairs. He entered the library holding a candle and wearing a dressing gown. He carried no message, but his face was somber.
Maryann’s heart chilled when he turned his gaze to her.
“My lady, your sister is missing.”
Chapter Ten
At Dixon’s words, Jonathan felt Maryann’s muscles tighten. “No.” She rushed toward the door, but he held on to her hand, stopping her.
“Your sister?” he asked.
When she looked back, her face was pale. Her stricken expression made his breath catch in his throat.
She tugged at her hand, but he didn’t release it. “Jonathan, I must go. I have to find her.”
She started toward the door, but he caught her again and held her by the shoulders. “Maryann, take a breath. And tell me.”
Her lip quivered. “It’s the thunder, but Jane is not mad. You must believe me. She lives in a home—a private institution in Craven Hill. But she is not a lunatic. I promise she is not. The thunder frightens her, and I did not go to her tonight. Please, I must find her now. If only I’d gone to her.”
Jonathan tried to make sense of her frantic words. In his mind, the complete story started to come together like a puzzle being assembled.
Craven Hill. An institution. Her sister.
She strained to pull away. Her eyes flitted about the room, and her body trembled. He thought she looked close to panic.
He did not take his gaze from her face. “Dixon, wake Lord Symons and send for the constable.”
Another bolt illuminated the room, and thunder crashed above.
Her hands tightened on his. “No, not the constable. I cannot allow someone else to find her. She will be frightened. And we cannot let word get out, or it will be believed that she is a lunatic. She isn’t, Jonathan. Truly, she isn’t.”
“Not the constable, then,” he said to his patient butler. “Ready my carriage.”
The man hurried away to follow his orders.
Maryann’s lip quivered. “Please, Jonathan, I have to go.”
Her last words sounded choked. Tears dripped from her eyes, and Jonathan’s heart ached for her. Yet at the same time, a cool relief flooded over him when he realized he’d been mistaken about her secret all along.
“Maryann, dearest.” He cupped her chin and forced her to focus on him. “We will find her.”
Her wrinkled brow softened, and instead of darting about, her eyes shone wide as she looked at him.
The trust in her expression, the confidence she placed in him with a simple glance, took him by surprise. He could not let her down.
Archie burst into the room, pulling on his coat over an untucked shirt. “What is happening?” He looked between them with a confused expression, his eyes narrowing as he glanced at Maryann. His friend was nothing if not loyal.
Jonathan handed his wife a handkerchief, pulling her into an embrace as she wiped her face. “Maryann’s sister has gone missing.” He widened his eyes, giving Archie a pointed look over her head. “From a discreet institution in Craven Hill.”
He saw the exact instant comprehension registered in his friend’s face. “Ah, her sister.” He stepped forward, any animosity gone from his expression. “What do we do?”
“Maryann will explain on the way,” Jonathan said.
The group donned their outer clothing in the entry hall.
After a few more tense moments, Dixon spoke from his place at the window next to the door. “The carriage is ready, my lord.”
Jonathan nodded. He gave directions to the driver, who knew the destination immediately. Once the group was settled inside the carriage, Maryann seemed much calmer. Her chin was lifted, and her eyes focused, though she still fidgeted. She seemed hopeful now that they had taken action. He sat on the bench beside her, and she clasped his hand with both of hers.
“Tell us about Jane.” He kept his tone gentle.
“First, you must understand that she is only a bit disturbed. Frightened by an incident in her past. She is not mad.” She looked at both of them with wide eyes. “Please, believe me, she is not.”
“I believe you,” Jonathan said.
She glanced quickly at him, and her hands tightened around his. “Jane was with my mother when she died. They were on their way home from a shopping trip in town. None of us knows exactly what happened. The carriage driver disappeared. When they were finally found, Jane was unharmed, but our mother was . . . dead. Jane had been alone with Mama’s body for hours in a terrible storm. She was only six years old and claims to remember nothing.” She spoke in a toneless voice that he thought was worse than if she’d sobbed uncontrollably.
Jonathan slipped an arm around her shoulder and pulled her against him. She’d kept all this from him? Why had she carried the secret alone?
Outside the carriage, lightning flashed and thunder boomed.
He glanced at Archie and saw his friend’s face filled with concern. He realized, not for the first time, that he was extremely fortunate to be surrounded by the best people.
“Since that night, thunder frightens her,” Maryann continued. “She hides, usually. And if I am there, I can calm her. Often I read to her.” She looked at both of them. “Last summer, there was a particularly bad storm and . . . we couldn’t find her for hours. My stepmother thought the behavior was getting out of hand and a few months ago had her institutionalized.”
“Why did you not tell me any of this?” Jonathan asked the question that was foremost in his mind.
Maryann hunched her shoulders, her loose hair fell like a curtain, hiding her face. “I did not want to disgrace you or your family. I did not know how you would react or whether it would cause a scandal. I am sorry.”
Jonathan turned on the seat to face her. “Maryann, remember what you said to me when I returned from Northampton? We are a family now.” He tapped up her chin. “When you became my wife, your problems became my problems. Your sister is my sister. You do not have to carry this alone.”
Her brow furrowed, and he knew his behavior the past week wasn’t forgotten. He would make it up to her. He lifted her hand, brushing her knuckles against his lips.
She glanced at Archie, who had become quite interested in the view through the carriage window, then leaned close, placing a hand on one cheek and a kiss on the other. “Thank you,” she whispered, her breath warm against his skin. “We are a family.”
The carriage halted just as another bolt of lightning lit the night, followed by a loud crack of thunder. Maryann tensed, and the three looked through the water-covered window.
“Where do we begin?” Archie asked.
Maryann wrung her hands. “I do not know. When she is frightened, she typically hides. If she indeed ran away, I do not think she would have gone far. And she is probably in her night clothes.”
Jonathan stepped from the carriage, holding the umbrella over Maryann. She stood close, clinging to his bent arm as they looked up and down the street.
Archie joined them, holding his own umbrella.
> “Perhaps someone saw her leave.” Jonathan squinted through the rain, hoping to catch a glimpse of a wet young woman. “Maryann and I will speak to the director of the institution. Archie, you search around the building. Perhaps she only stepped outside and remained close by.” Archie hurried away, and Jonathan led Maryann to the house, holding the low gate for her to step through.
As they climbed the stairs to the front door, Maryann stopped.
He stepped back next to her. “What is it? Do you see Jane?”
Maryann’s lips were pursed, and her eyes narrowed. “How did you know it was this house?” She spoke slowly.
He shook his head, not understanding the question, and took her arm to lead her forward. But she did not move.
“Jonathan, how did you know this house is the institution where Jane is kept? There is no marker.”
He realized his mistake immediately. “I assumed when the carriage stopped here . . .”
Maryann’s expression hardened. “It could have been any of these houses.” She stepped past him to the door and pulled the bell. Her face was set in a frown.
“Did you know about Jane all along?”
“No, I assure you.” He took her arm. “I did not know about your sister until you told me tonight. I only knew you visited this house.”
She squinted up at him. “I don’t . . . Did you follow me?” Her words were nearly a whisper. Her brow furrowed above wide eyes.
“Yes. I thought—” His throat was tight, knowing the truth would hurt her.
She crossed her arms. “You thought what?”
“I thought you were meeting a man here.”
Maryann recoiled.
“I should not have jumped to such a conclusion.” He pushed the words through a thickened throat.
She opened her mouth, but no words came out. She shook her head. “How could you even—”
At that moment, the door opened, revealing a woman in a dressing gown and cap.
“Mrs. Parkhurst,” Maryann spoke clearly, but Jonathan could still hear the hurt in her voice. She cleared her throat. “Tell me what happened.”
Spring in Hyde Park Page 7