The Lord of Heartbreak

by Claudia Stone

  Emily gave a small smirk and turned on her dainty slipper, quietly sashaying back up the hallway to where ever it was she had come from. Jane felt her stomach drop; who on earth was visiting that would require her to look fetching? The slight tension she had felt since Lord Payne's unexpected proposal doubled as she wondered what her sister in law was up to now. From the smug look on Emily's face, her plan somehow involved Jane.

  "Let us have a quick cup of tea to refresh ourselves, before we dress for dinner," Jane whispered to Belinda, before leading her down to her small sitting room and ringing for a maid. She threw herself into the worn, overstuffed Queen Anne chair by the fireplace and gave a moment over to reflecting on the complete absurdity of the afternoon.

  Lord Payne was mad, quite simply mad, she decided as Hattie the maid, scurried into the room and placed a tray of tea and crumpets on the low table in front of her.

  "I hope everything went well with your lecture, m'am," Hattie said, in her cheerful Cockney voice. Jane knew that if Emily were there, that she would scold the young woman for being overly familiar, but Jane adored all the staff who worked for her brother and couldn't bear the thought of spending her days served by nameless, voiceless servants.

  "It went quite well, Hattie. Thank you for asking," Jane replied, glad to have a distraction from the gnawing worry in her stomach; what did Emily have planned? She leaned forward and poured two cups of tea, one for herself and one for Belinda, who was sitting with Henry in her lap.

  "She was simply marvellous," Belinda added, with a wide smile as she stroked Henry's head. "She was so brave to stand up in front of all those serious, stuffy men —and they adored her. The Marquis of Falconbridge said that he had never heard someone speak as eloquently as Jane did."

  "When did he say that?" Jane looked at her companion with surprise; she had not seen Belinda in conversation with the dashing Marquis of Falconbridge, in fact she had not noted him in the audience at all she was so distracted by James Fairweather.

  "I bumped into him, in the pottery room," Belinda replied, her tone overly innocent, "While you were conversing with Lord Payne. I had not known that Lord Payne was so interested in the Romans, though perhaps he finds chariot races an inspiration for his own escapades on Phaetons?"

  When she felt like it, Belinda could be very quick, Jane thought with a smile, for all talk of the Marquis of Falconbridge was forgotten as Hattie gave a small squeal of excitement at the mention of Lord Payne.

  "Oh, was Lord Payne there m'am?" Hattie asked, wide-eyed with wonder. "Is he as handsome as they say? Sarah has been filling my head with tales of him, since she returned from St. Jarvis, and the papers are always reporting on his adventures."

  Jane wasn't quite of the same mind as the London news rags, who had crowned the handsome heir to the Ducal Seat of Hawkfield as the ton's most adored male. True Lord Payne was exceedingly handsome, with an athletic frame that drew the eye —but he could be ever so silly and reckless. Jane actually agreed with his father; it was high time that Lord Payne settled down and lived up to his responsibilities as a future Duke.

  "He was there," Jane conceded, taking a sip of her tea to mask her frown of annoyance. "Though Belinda is right, his interest in Roman history is quite superficial."

  He had only been there to try and persuade Jane to go along with his ridiculous plan, and while his offer to buy Mrs Baker's boarding house was quite tempting, Jane was too level headed to agree to play along.

  "Do you think he was there just to see you then, m'am?" Hattie asked, clutching her apron with excitement. Jane frowned; good gracious, where had she got that silly, romantic notion from?

  "No," she replied with a warning frown, "Goodness knows what his reasons for being there were, but I won't have you spreading idle gossip about me Hattie."

  Her words were a warning but her tone was soft, nevertheless the young maid bobbed a quick curtsy and hastily withdrew from the room to inform Sarah that her mistress required a bath before dinner.

  "Should I join you, do you think?"

  Belinda's blue eyes glanced at Jane nervously. The young woman loathed dining with Jane's brother and his wife, almost as much as Jane did herself. The evening promised to be filled with veiled barbs directed at Jane, which her brother for the most part ignored, as he seemed to inexplicably hear a choir of angels whenever his wife spoke and not the sharp words which actually poured from her mouth.

  "Perhaps you would like to take your dinner in your room, Belinda?" Jane suggested lightly, "For if Mrs Balfour is to join us with a guest, it might be awfully cramped at the table."

  Which was ridiculous, as the dining table comfortably sat more than a dozen people, but Belinda had looked a little pale since they had arrived back from Montagu House.

  Upstairs Jane bathed in the warm, scented bath that her Lady's Maid Sarah had prepared and allowed her cheerful servant to dress her hair in a more elaborate fashion than usual.

  "Hopefully this will satisfy her Ladyship," Sarah muttered mutinously through a mouthful of hairpins as she surveyed the elegant top-knot that she had created. Lady Deveraux had made one of her first priorities as Viscountess to find Jane's Lady's Maid and give her a thorough dressing down for the way that she had presented Jane to society for the past decade. Sarah had been furious, for it was Jane herself who had little interest in her appearance, not the Lady's Maid. Jane had agreed to submit to Sarah's new-found zeal for her job, mostly because she was afraid that Emily would dismiss her from her post if she didn't.

  Sarah helped her dress into a velvet gown of emerald green. It had long sleeves, as a concession to the cool early spring weather and was fitted at the bodice before it flared out into a full skirt. The shape was pleasing, flattering Jane's tall, slender figure and the dark green colour complimented her brunette tresses perfectly.

  "The Viscountess wants your spectacles removed," Sarah said apologetically, reaching to take them from Jane who stopped her with her hand.

  "I shall remove them before I go into the room," Jane said firmly, her sureness bolstered by Lord Payne's earlier comments. Besides, if nothing else, she needed the blooming things to make her way down the stairs or she was at risk of falling and knocking out her front teeth—and then what would the new Viscountess have to say about her appearance? Jane squared her shoulders, bracing herself against the unknown forces that would meet her at the dining table.

  I'm being perfectly ridiculous, she thought with a frown, but as she pocketed her spectacles and pushed the heavy, mahogany door of the room open, she felt as though she was going into battle despite her best attempts at soothing her fears.

  "There you are, Jane."

  Mrs Balfour, Emily's mother, managed to make it sound as though the group seated at the table had been waiting hours for Jane's arrival, when in fact the gong for dinner had only sounded moments before.

  "Yes, here I am," Jane agreed, through gritted teeth, scanning the room to see who else was present. Without her spectacles everything was a blur. She could not make out the features on anyone's faces, but she knew that the fuzzy, blonde shape near the head of the table was Emily, that her brother was seated at the top of the table and that Mrs. Balfour was seated next to her daughter. The fourth figure, who appeared to be dressed all in black, was unknown to Jane. From what she could see, which wasn't much, he was a short man, with a balding pate.

  "Allow me to introduce my sister, Miss Jane Deveraux," Julian said, turning to the man beside him, who pushed back his chair to stand as Jane approached.

  "Jane, this is William Sneak," Julian said carefully, "Emily's cousin."

  "Enchanted Miss Deveraux," William said, reaching out a hand to take Jane's and planting a rather wet kiss on it. Jane struggled to resist visibly shuddering, for it was rather like being licked by Henry, but considerably less endearing.

  "A pleasure, Mr Sneak," she replied lightly, placing her slobbered on hand behind her back, so that she could discreetly wipe it on the skirt of her dress. "What brings
you to town?"

  Mercifully Mr Sneak pulled out a seat for Jane to sit on, for she would have struggled to do it herself, she was so short sighted without her spectacles. Rather unmercifully, however, was that the chair he pulled out was right beside his and so Jane spent the first course of dinner listening to Mr Sneak talk about himself. He seemed to think that he was a rather interesting topic of conversation, for he continued to regale Jane with tales of his life all throughout the second and third course; a stuffed pheasant and a fish bouillabaisse respectively. Jane learned that Mr Sneak had grown up in Yorkshire and had spent most of his youth there in the company of Mrs Balfour, his favourite cousin. He enjoyed reading, cricket and bracing walks on the moores, as well any food that didn't irritate his gout. Of late, he had taken a keen interest in the Good Book, and fortuitously his favourite cousin's new son-in-law was seeking a Vicar for the parish of St. Jarvis.

  "Julian will bestow the living upon you?" Jane asked wondrously.

  "Yes, Joan, your brother has kindly offered me the position as the new Vicar and everything that entails — a wonderful little parsonage on the edge of the village, and ten acres of glebe land that I can farm or let out."

  "My name is Jane," Jane said, absentmindedly correcting his error. It worried her that Mr Sneak seemed more interested in the perks that the living would entail, rather than the parishioners he would be ministering to.

  "Oh, yes of course. My apologies," Mr Sneak said, as he wiped his mouth with a napkin. "There's only one thing that my new life will be missing."

  "And what's that?"

  Jane sensed, rather than saw, that her brother, Emily and Mrs Balfour had stopped eating and were instead fixated on her conversation with Mr Sneak. The room was unusually quiet as Mr Sneak cleared his throat, as though he were going to make a grand announcement.

  "What I'm missing is a wife, and I was wondering dear Joan, if you would do me the honour?"

  "Jane," her head was light as she again corrected his mistake; she had not given the man leave to use her Christian name and here he was taking liberties and not even getting it right. She stayed mute as she digested his shocking proposal, allowing the silence to stretch on so long that Mr Sneak gave an impatient sigh.

  "It's quite an honour, for a woman of your age to have a proposal from a man of Mr Sneak's means, if you ask me," Mrs Balfour called across to Jane, ignoring the fact that, actually, Jane had not asked her her opinion on the matter.

  "Is that why you offered him the living?" Jane whipped her head around to look at her brother, her mind whirring with suspicion.

  "It was a mere suggestion," Julian at least had the good grace to sound slightly ashamed as he addressed his sister. Jane felt her cheeks burn with humiliation at the idea that her own brother would bribe a man with the promise of an income for life on the condition that he take his spinster sister of his hands. She could just picture Emily, her beautiful face innocent, as she suggested the idea to Julian. Was she really such a burden to them?

  "It's for your own good Jane," Emily spoke across her husband, her voice sugary soft and piteous. "You'll never have an offer as good as this. As Mama said, you should be honoured that a man like Mr Sneak would take you as his bride. Who else would wish to marry a woman as old as you?"

  "Lord Payne does."

  "The Marquess of Payne?"

  "Fairweather?"

  Both Julian and his wife spoke at the same time, their exclamations of surprise nearly drowning each other out as they echoed through the large dining room. Jane experienced the queer sensation of feeling as though she was not in her own body, it was almost as though she was hovering above the table, watching herself as she defiantly turned to her brother and said; "Yes. Lord Payne asked me to do him the honour of becoming his betrothed and I have accepted."

  It was half true; even if it was only to be a temporary arrangement, she was truthful in saying that he had asked her to become his betrothed. Jane's head was light and fuzzy and she could hear her heartbeat pounding in her ears as her brother regarded her silently. This was most unlike her —acting without thinking. Usually she considered every action she took carefully before carrying it out, but this surprise announcement had fallen from her lips without her brain even registering what she was saying. True, it had been spurred by a desire to not have to marry Mr Sneak, but also something else— a desire to prove Emily and her mother wrong: someone did want to marry her.

  "Has he lost a bet?" Julian had found his voice at last.

  "No," Jane retorted, ears red with indignation. "He has not lost a wager. Honestly Julian, how can you ask such a thing?"

  "Because I know James," her brother replied with a snort, "And of all the ladies of the ton that he could have proposed to, you would have been at the bottom of a very long list."

  Emily gave a sugary giggle at this statement and even Mrs Balfour joined in with a strained laugh of her own.

  "It's just so unbelievable," the young Viscountess agreed, placing a hand on her husband's arm, "that a Marquess would want to marry you."

  "Yes, I suppose, if you could only nab a lowly Viscount, then it's thoroughly unbelievable that a Marquess would wish a spinster like me to be his bride," Jane snapped back, "However, James only holds the courtesy title of Marquess until he inherits, so I suppose you'll have to grapple with the astonishing fact that a man who will be a Duke wants to marry me. But don't worry sister dear, I'll only have you address me as Your Grace when we are in public."

  Jane threw her napkin down on the table and pushed her chair back. She knew that she was being petty and had fallen far below her usual standards of behaviour, but she was furious. And as she stumbled her way out of the room she was overcome by the wish to be wearing her spectacles, if only so she could see the look on Emily's face. As she grappled with the door handle she heard Mr Sneak give a worried whisper; "Does this mean that Lord Jarvis won't be offering me the living?"

  Jane slammed the door behind her and fled up the hallway, only pausing when she reached the stairs. What have I done? The enormity of the fact that she had just announced her engagement to a man she could barely tolerate was beginning to dawn on her, as well as the worrying realisation that Lord Payne had no idea that he was, in fact, now her fiance.

  "Oh dear," Jane whispered as she gathered her skirts and hurried up the stairway to her room, "I shall have to find a way to let him know."

  CHAPTER FOUR

  "Did you bribe the poor girl?"

  August Fairweather, Fifth Duke of Hawkfield placed his morning paper on the table with a flourish as his son entered the room.

  "Bribe what poor girl?" James replied, taking a seat just to the right of his father and smiling gratefully at the discreet footman who immediately placed a cup of hot, steaming coffee before him.

  "Miss Deveraux, that's who." the Duke pointed at the paper he had folded, his thick grey eyebrows arched in annoyance, "It worries me that you have so many candidates you might be bribing that you can't think of whom it is I'm speaking."

  James took a sip of his coffee, before he responded, grimacing at the bitter taste of it.

  "The papers were quick off the mark," was what he finally settled upon as a response. Gingerly he lifted the offending news rag from under his father's elbow and began to flick through the pages to find out what had actually been reported. He found the piece on his engagement in the society pages, a whole column dedicated to what had transpired in White's the evening before.

  He had been seated at the famous bow window, staring morosely out into the rainy street below, when one of the club's footmen had informed him that there was an urgent message for him. James had taken the envelope, upon which his name was written in unfamiliar handwriting, and opened it nervously. His father had been so vehement in his criticism of him of late, that he was almost afraid the letter would be some kind of missive from King's Inns, stipulating that the Duke was to legally disinherit him. Instead, his eyes wide, he had read a simple, curt few lines from Jane, acc
epting his proposal.

  My Lord,

  I have decided to accept your proposal, please be warned that my brother is now aware of this fact. I hope you will call on me tomorrow so that we can corroborate the story of our false courtship lest anyone question it.

  Yours,

  Jane

  "She said yes," James turned to the footman who had remained standing impassively beside him, lest he was needed, his eyes wide with shock from what he had read. "She's agreed to the betrothal."

  "My congratulations, my Lord."

  The footman's face had remained as expressionless as ever, for White's hired only the best, but another person had overheard James's exclamation, Theodore Blowbury, who immediately summoned for a decanter of brandy to celebrate. Once that was finished he called for another, as the night was young. Then another, and another, and James wasn't too sure, but from the pounding of his head he was almost certain that they had called for a fifth decanter to celebrate his engagement, which by that stage the whole club was aware of. Then, he had stumbled back to his Father's London residence in St. James' Square, rather than his own bachelor abode in Mayfair, thinking to tell his parents about his impending nuptials before anyone else did.

  Except his plan had gone rather awry, due to the fact that someone had obviously alerted the papers to the news and that he had not been able to drag himself out of bed before noon to get to his father before he had read the aforementioned papers.

  "When did they start calling you the Lord of Heartbreak?" his father asked with a derisive snort as James finished reading the column and pushed the paper away from him.

  "After the Italian broke all the mirrors in the suite Grillon's," he offered, picking up the toast that had been placed before him and liberally applying it with butter and jam. James had learned never to refer to Marina by name in his father's presence, as he was still smarting from the astronomical bill that the famous hotel had sent to repair the mirrors in the suite that had once housed Louis XVIII. And for the repair of the windows, and — actually— any piece of glassware that the fiery Miss Fusco had been able to get her hands on that fateful night.