Both stared at it as though they’d never before seen a copy of The Times. Husband and wife exchanged a look. Gabriel carefully picked it up.
“According to the papers, your most recent headmistress has… uh… quit her post,” she continued, while Gabriel skimmed that sheet. Since she’d made her Come Out, Chloe had been striving for more than the existence of dutiful wife expected of an English lady. Or rather, avoiding that fate altogether. She’d spent her efforts, instead, at playing matchmaker for each of her siblings and her friend. Those goals now achieved—with one brother being wed to said friend—there was nothing else for her here in London. “Of course, one can never truly trust the gossip columns,” she conceded when Gabriel finally lifted his attention.
“It is true,” Jane supplied, her evenly modulated tones still conveying nothing.
Chloe beamed. “Then I will gladly take on the responsibility.”
Emitting a strangled cough, Gabriel slapped the sheet down.
“Do you require tea?” Chloe offered, looking over to the refreshments on a mahogany side table. She made to rise.
“Absolutely not,” he barked.
“You needn’t be so rude about it,” she groused. “I daresay you could benefit from some time at Mrs. Munroe’s.”
Jane’s lips tilted up at the corners, and she made no effort to conceal that smile.
Gabriel surged to his feet. “The Season has just begun and you’ve arrived—” She narrowed her eyes. “We’ve returned so you might…” Make a match. There was no need for him to finish that sentence. Red splotches suffused his cheeks.
Chloe schooled her features into a mask of confusion. “So I might what Gabriel?” The miserable bugger. He, Alex, her mother, all of Society saw that as her eventual… inevitable fate.
He shot a beseeching look at his wife, who shook her head. The meaning was clear. Gabriel yanked at his cravat. “You are not taking on the post of headmistress.” Fire glinted in his eyes.
Their father’s eyes. That fury familiar.
Hand me the rod, Chloe…
Reflexively, she curled her toes into the soles of her slippers. That slight tensing of her muscles provided a distraction from the fury. A mechanism she’d developed long ago and used in this very office. This is Gabriel… The brother who thought he’d been unable to stop their father’s abuse had never lifted a hand in violence to her. The reminder that gave her the courage to continue. She tipped her chin up. “Jane requires a headmistress and—”
“No.”
Hmph. “It is fortunate for me that you are not the one to make the decisions at Mrs. Munroe’s.”
At his growl, she smiled all the more. It was a wonder, with a sister and sister-in-law who were models of strength and resiliency, that Chloe had been relegated to the role of young miss in need of protecting and coddling.
Only, her siblings and mother failed to realize that the time of protecting and coddling had long since come and gone. The time for that had been when she’d, in fact, been a child, suffering a caning at the late marquess’ hands.
Registering Jane’s prolonged silence, Chloe delivered a retort for her sister-in-law’s benefit. “As I said, Jane, I am not asking Gabriel,” she said in deliberately even tones that sent his brow furrowing. “I am asking you.” And there it was. The dream she’d allowed herself nearly two years since her sister-in-law had established her finishing school. Control of her own fate and future.
Her sister-in-law’s smooth, even features revealed not a hint of what she thought of the request Chloe had put to her.
“Jane says no,” Gabriel barked gruffly.
Gabriel, the Marquess of Waverly, was more progressive than most lords of London in allowing his wife the freedom and power to establish and run her own institution. But he was still the same commanding brother he’d always been.
Both women leveled matching glares at him that sent a deserved color rushing to his cheeks.
Chloe swallowed a stinging retort. After all, he’d expect a volatile reply, a response that would only feed into Society’s expectations of how a lady behaved.
He tugged at his previously perfectly tied cravat. “Jane?” There was an imploring thread there.
Husband and wife exchanged a long look, and Gabriel let out a long sigh. “Very well,” he said tersely. “I… we,” he swiftly amended, “are listening.”
Chloe concealed her surprise. She’d anticipated a far grander argument on her brother’s part than… that. Then, since his marriage to Jane, he’d been a changed man. Never before would he have ever heard out her request. It fueled hope in her breast.
“As I was saying,” she repeated in calm, modulated tones her mother had despaired of her exhibiting. “After six Seasons, I’m certainly no longer a debutante.”
“No, you are not,” Gabriel concurred. And rather quickly at that.
Chloe frowned. At twenty-five, she’d not considered herself a woman in her dotage. Yet the truth remained that she would not marry. Nor would she be content to be the eccentric, unwed aunt dependent on the mercy and kindness of her relatives. Oh, she’d no doubt that her siblings and their spouses would gladly take her in. Chloe, however, longed for some control of her existence. A desperately needed control that had been missing since she’d drawn her first breath and suffered through the late marquess’ abuses.
“You were saying?” Jane’s gentle prodding was the antithesis of the tension pouring off Gabriel’s frame.
Chloe cleared her throat. “I have no intention of marrying.” Surrendering that truth to Gabriel eased the tension in her frame.
“Chloe,” her brother began in the same calming tones he’d adopted through the years. Those placating ones. Ones he’d not yet realized were futile where she was concerned. “I understand your,” he began, then grimaced, “reservations in marrying.” He knew how Polite Society was. They spoke of dark memories past in casual words, instead of drawing forth the explicit evil they’d both been victim to. “But there are good, honorable—”
She cut into Gabriel’s protest. “I’ve no intention of marrying, Gabriel. No matter how much you or Mother might wish it.” Or how much her dearest friend and now-sister-in-law, Imogen, or sister Philippa spoke of love and happily ever afters to Chloe. To Chloe, the only end that might bring her happiness was one free of a husband who’d have complete and total control of her life. Chloe turned her palms up, willing him to see. “You have taken it into your head that your responsibility for me can only be complete when I marry. But I do not want to be your responsibility.” She looked to Jane. “Or yours. Or anyone else’s.” She hungered for control of her own existence.
Her brother sank back in his chair. “Is that what you believe?” he asked quietly. “That this is about a sense of obligation? That I see you as a responsibility I’d rather be free of?” Hurt marred her brother’s features.
Guilt needled at her conscience. Drat him for flipping the tables once more. Before Jane, Chloe’s reply to that accusation would have been very different. Then, he’d been driven by his sense of responsibility for the marquisate. “No,” she said truthfully. “What I do believe is that you believe I cannot have a life outside of marriage.”
He made a sound of protest. “Have I proven to be an oppressive husband to Jane?” he challenged.
No, he hadn’t. “But I am your sister.”
“And I would have you wed an honorable gentleman such as—”
“The Earl of Waterson.” They spoke in unison.
The earl, a lifelong friend of Gabriel’s, was proper and respectable, and inspired nothing but boredom.
She lifted her head. “I remain uninterested in marriage to Lord Waterson.”
He frowned. “You need a gentleman who would be considerate of your head—”
Jane held a hand up, staying his words.
Chloe balled her hands, grateful for that interruption. Her bloody megrims. The debilitating weakness that reduced her to the same pathetic, weak girl she’d
been long, long ago. God, how she hated the reminder of that… particularly at this time when she wrestled for her own freedom.
“Gabriel, I’d speak with Chloe,” Jane said.
Bloody hell. Chloe didn’t want to talk about her debilitating megrims. Ones that no doctor could make sense of and that her late father would have undoubtedly seen her imprisoned for, as he’d threatened countless times.
Gabriel leaned back in his chair. “Alone,” his wife clarified.
Surprise sparked in his eyes, and through hooded lashes, Chloe braced for his displeasure. Instead, he hesitated and then came stiffly to his feet. Jane waited until he’d taken his leave and closed the door behind him before speaking. “Since the moment I met you, you’ve disavowed marriage.”
Chloe eyed the other woman cautiously. “This is not about seeking the post to avoid the future my family hopes for me.” Having arrived with false references to secure the post as Chloe’s companion more than two years earlier, they’d struck up a friendship. But even with all the truths between them, and everything Jane no doubt knew about the Edgertons’ pasts, there were parts Chloe hadn’t shared. Couldn’t and wouldn’t with her… or anyone. No good came from giving those darkest secrets life again.
“No,” Jane acknowledged. She came to her feet and strode over to the neat secretaire at the back center of the room. Perching her hip on the edge, she picked up a nearby stack of notes and letters. “You know who my students are.”
“I do.” Young women who were, by their birthright, bastards or children of merchants with scandalous pasts. It increased Chloe’s overall desire to work with those very women.
“I have no doubt with your education, courage, and compassion that you would be the ideal headmistress for them.”
Hope sprang to life, staggering in its intensity. In a world where a woman was remarkably without control and options, this post presented a future where Chloe would be mistress of her own fate.
Wordlessly, Jane grabbed a copy of The Times from her desk and held it out. “I take it, given your knowledge of the latest headmistress to leave, you also know what Society is saying about the school.” And just like that, hope faltered.
Pushing to her feet, Chloe came over and accepted the recent article. She skimmed the page, already knowing the words printed there. Already knowing that Society had called into question Jane’s school, time and time again.
Despite her reading—and already knowing for herself—Jane proceeded to enlighten her. “Regardless of my views of women and independence, the truth remains that Society has expectations. When I hired an unwed woman besieged by scandal, I had honorable intentions…” Worry flooded Jane’s pretty eyes. “And yet, I did not think of the women who are taken in as students at my school.” Women of already scandalous origins who’d been turned out of respectable institutions. “However, in hiring my last headmistress in a bid to help, I failed to truly consider how that decision could possibly jeopardize the security and stability of not only the women employed by Mrs. Munroe’s, but also how it would impact the reputations of the girls who are students there.”
Chloe waited for her to go on.
“Society has not only questioned the institution, but my instructors, as well as my ability to properly staff a respectable institution.” Her sister-in-law’s mouth tightened at the corners.
Having been born a bastard to the coldhearted Duke of Ravenscourt, Jane had been frequent fodder for gossip. Even the good work she did and the schooling she provided had not exalted her in Society’s opinion.
“They can all go hang with their opinions,” Chloe said passionately. Those same lords and ladies who’d so condescend to Jane had courted the late Marquess of Waverly’s favor. She balled her hands. May his black soul be burning even now.
Jane smiled gently. “I do not disagree with you.” Her smile dipped. “However, the fact remains that there are women who desperately need Mrs. Munroe’s. Instructors and servants now rely on the establishment for their own security. If I were to offer you, an unmarried woman without any experience in educating girls in proper decorum, the position… what would Society say?”
Bitterness burned strong in her mouth and, with it, regret turned inside. For whether she liked it or not… her sister-in-law was, indeed, correct. And Chloe was not so selfish that she’d demand a post and endanger everything Jane had created, and all those who relied on the institution.
She studied the damned page. Hating Society. Hating the expectations and more… the lack of expectations. Where Jane had forged a life of her own and then, even after marrying, still continued to do so, Chloe remained… here. Dependent upon her family’s goodwill and the funds in her name.
Her sister-in-law settled a hand on her shoulder. “I am sorry,” she offered. It was a gentle pardon.
“Of course,” she said stiffly. “It was not my place to presume you should offer me the post simply because of our relationship to one another.”
Jane immediately straightened. “Never think that,” she said vehemently. Gathering Chloe’s hands, she gave a slight squeeze. “Never believe I don’t see your worth and strength and capability. But the time for you to take this particular post is not now. Someday…” she promised, dangling that offer that was not truly an offer.
If she’d had experience like the previous headmistress, then there would be merits to Chloe’s request. Jane released her hands. “And yet,” Chloe began, and her sister-in-law went motionless. “It is a situation I can never win. I’ll never come to you with the experience for the position and can never receive a post because of it.” She detested the edge of bitterness to that pronouncement.
Jane smiled wryly. “Oh, I did not say I’d not ever have a post for you, Chloe.” Just not now. An unmarried woman… and without experience. And still, when the offer did, in fact, come, it would come without any genuine work Chloe herself had done.
Footsteps sounded in the hall, and they looked up. Someone knocked once.
“Enter,” Jane called out.
A young servant entered. “You asked me to call when Lady Gabriella awakened, my lady.” The maid lingered.
A little glimmer lit the young mother’s eyes. As much as Jane loved her work with the finishing school she’d established, mere mention of her young babe brought a smile to her mouth and color to her cheeks. That dream carried by so many women, so very far removed from Chloe’s own hopes. Not because Chloe didn’t love her family. She’d lay down her life for her siblings and her mother. However, she’d long ago vowed to sacrifice such a dream so as to never see her own children suffer the way she and her brothers and sister had.
“Go,” Chloe said softly. There was nothing more to say. Certainly not now. Nothing short of begging or pleading for a post that Jane correctly pointed out Chloe had no right to. And Chloe was a good many things: a plotter, a matchmaker, resolute. She was not, however, one with hurt sensibilities over the truth.
Jane lifted her head. “I’ll be along shortly,” she called. After a respectful curtsy, the maid rushed off. When the servant was gone, Jane retrained her attention on Chloe’s face. “I understand what you are feeling, Chloe, because I know what it was like to want control of my life.” Ultimately, the other woman had found it, and love with Chloe’s brother. “After there is some stability at the school. After—”
“It is fine,” Chloe said quietly. She didn’t want her sister-in-law’s apology… and certainly not for being correct in her reservations. Indecision warred in Jane’s blue eyes. “Go,” she repeated. “Gabriella is waiting.”
Still, Jane lingered, searching Chloe’s face. “I’ll speak to your brother. If you wish to be spared another London Season, I can speak to him of your visiting Imogen or Philippa.”
Of course. Again, properly looked after and cared for. For even if her wishes to stay behind were accepted, this was still their home and Chloe was just a guest. A spinster aunt dependent upon the kindness of her family. That was what she was destined to become.
“That will not be necessary.” She would suffer through yet another London Season.
The other woman nodded and then rushed off.
Chloe stood rooted to the floor, counting the passing beats of the clock. When the trail of Jane’s footsteps faded altogether, Chloe let out a frustrated sigh.
The irony was not lost on her. All her life, she’d disavowed the state of marriage because it presented as nothing but a prison… only to be proven wrong. Women such as her sister, Philippa, a proprietor of her own establishment for disabled souls, and Jane were afforded power and freedom Chloe would forever struggle to possess—all because she was unwed.
The broad, mahogany secretaire called her over. Sliding into the comfortable folds of the leather chair with a grace and aplomb even her miserable former headmistress, Mrs. Belden, would have lauded, she sat forward and layered her arms over the surface of the desk.
What must it be like to have such command of one’s life?
She scrunched up her brow.
And how would she go about getting it?
Chapter 3
Bloody, fucking soirees.
Leo didn’t take exception to every ball. The naughty ones were quite all right, those orgies and masquerades where sinners with souls as black as his spent their night descending into further depravity.
As such, if there was ever a doubt as to his sacrifice for Crown and country, attending the Earl of Waterson’s infernal affair was certainly testament enough to take to his grave. And as if it weren’t chore enough suffering through any of Waterson’s balls, he had discovered that the first one he attended turned out to be the one when the blighter had forgone spirits.
Any kind of spirits: champagne, brandy. By God, he’d settle for a bloody ratafia at this point.
“Tennyson, my boy.” He stiffened at the aged, cultured tones of old Lord Carter. He was as bald as he’d always been. His cheeks were as florid and rounded as when he’d visited Leo’s now, thankfully, departed father. The man smiled. “Unexpected seeing you here. Then, all young men, even the rakes and rogues, settle down and find brides, eh?” The man guffawed at his own jest.
The Lady Who Loved Him Page 3