The Lord of Heartbreak

by Claudia Stone

  "No," Falconbridge sighed, setting his tumbler down for James to refill, "She seems to have disappeared off the face of the earth. If any of you happen upon a Miss Hestia B. Stockbow, be sure to let me know."

  "Shall do," James raised his glass in a toast to the missing ward, "Now - shall we deal again?"

  Dalton cut another deck and the men began playing again. A hint of devilry filled James and he kept raising the stake of the buy in, not by astronomical amounts, but enough so that Jackson's face turned a startling shade of puce.

  "I'm out," the entomologist said in disgust, as he lost yet another round.

  "Bad luck, old chap," James called, throwing his own cards on the table carelessly.

  "That's the only type of luck I seem to have," Jackson replied morosely, "Nothing has gone right since that blasted spider crawled into my boot."

  "Amputations are never easy," the Marquess said solemnly. James rather thought that the amputations Delaney had witnessed during the war were slightly more harrowing than Jackson's two lost toes, but he kept silent.

  "Yes. Lost my toes. Lost the woman I thought I would marry upon my return..." Jackson gave James a dark look as he finished this statement.

  "You didn't lose her," James retorted angrily, "You left her to go hunting for insects. It's your own tough luck that somebody else snapped her up in you absence."

  "Indeed," Jackson took his spectacles off and began polishing the lens on his coat sleeve. "Snapped up by someone who was clever enough to realise he wouldn't have to wait for his father to die, in order to become a wealthy man."

  "I beg your pardon?"

  Had Jackson really just insinuated that he was only marrying Jane for her enormous dowry?

  "You heard me," the weedy man responded churlishly, his words slurred from brandy. "There's no other reason a man like you would marry a woman like Jane, if it wasn't for her enormous dowry. You were hardly attracted by her stunning good lucks. Oh, if I had had the foresight to marry her before I left for South America I could still be there, studying-argh!"

  Jackson's piteous ode to his lost chance was cut off by James' fist connecting with his jaw. It took the other men, who were all half-drunk, a few moments to react, allowing James the chance to get a few blows in before he was dragged off the awful man. In his drunken state he thought he saw a face, pale and white against the darkness, peering in the doorway, but when he looked again it was gone.

  "James, you can't strike your guests," Giles reasoned, as he forcibly restrained his brother in law, "No matter how reprehensible a fellow he is."

  "I was merely stating what everybody else has been thinking," Jackson called, wiping his bloody nose.

  "That's enough," Harry Dalton cut across, glaring at his friend. "You have insulted Lord Payne's intended, under his own roof no less. You're lucky all he delivered was a blow -he could have called you out for that. We will depart at once for London."

  "There's no need to leave so soon, Dalton," Giles soothed, throwing a grateful glance at the Marquess who had grabbed James by the elbow, "It's too late to set off for Town."

  "Well, we shall depart at sunrise," the explorer relented, "And I can only hope you will forgive me for bringing Jackson along."

  "Actually it was Caroline who insisted he came," Giles said in a loud stage whisper, "I fear I might have to have a word or two with my wife about meddling. Goodnight Dalton, I shall see you soon. Good night Mr Jackson, it's -ah- been interesting."

  Giles placed his body between James and Jackson as the latter stumbled from the room. Once the door had shut firmly behind the pair, a solemn Giles walked over to the table and poured three measures of brandy.

  "A toast," he said, raising his glass once he had given the others theirs. "To a most admirable punch. If ever a blighter deserved a crack on the jaw it was Jackson."

  "Hear, hear," Falconbridge let go of James' elbow, to lift his glass.

  "I shouldn't have hit him," James moaned, ignoring his glass of spirits. Jane would be furious with him when she found out —though he could never tell her of what Jackson had said. To know that the man she thought loved her, saw her as no more than a coin-purse with legs, would be a devastating blow.

  "Don't worry about it James," Giles gave a shrug, "He'll be gone in the morning and then you can forget that Alastair Jackson even exists. God knows, I will..."

  Except the next morning, when the house awoke, they rose to find that not only had Mr Jackson fled the vicinity, but so had Miss Deveraux.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  "Well aren't you a sight for sore eyes!"

  Polly Jenkin's greeting to Jane was delivered in her usual cheerful, Northern accent. Jane thought that perhaps it was the sweetest sound she had ever heard, but then she had been travelling alone in a stage-coach for days. Any sound that wasn't her own tortured thoughts was most welcome.

  "Where have you come from then?" Polly asked suspiciously as Jane followed her into the hall, her portmanteau in hand. The flaxen haired woman gave her a quick once over, noting, no doubt, Jane's bedraggled appearance and travel dusty clothes.

  "From Sussex," Jane stated, to which Polly gave a snort.

  "You look like you've travelled from the seventh circle of hell, lass," she replied, ushering Jane into the kitchen. "Not ruddy Sussex."

  Once she was seated at the solid wooden table, Jane allowed herself to relax. The boarding house in St Jarvis had always been her refuge, and even though its proprietress had changed, she still felt safe within its walls. She watched Polly silently, as the woman bustled to and fro as she brewed a pot of tea. Once she had added the requisite milk and sugar, Polly sat down on the seat opposite Jane.

  "Tell me what happened lass," she said calmly, then listened as Jane poured out the sorry saga of her engagement to James and what she had overheard in the library.

  "That slimy slug," Polly said with a scowl, as Jane finished relating the disparaging things that Alastair had said about her. "Does Lord Payne know that you were eavesdropping?"

  "I wasn't eavesdropping," Jane responded, a little aggrieved at the accusation. "I simply overheard."

  "Of course..."

  Jane knew that Polly was only mollifying her, but she ignored it; she didn't have the energy for an argument.

  "Now, I'm not as clever as you," Polly said, after a pause in which both women sipped thoughtfully on their tea. "But from what I'm gathering a good man defended your honour and you repaid him by disappearing in the middle of the night, without a word as to where you were going."

  "That's not what happened," Jane gasped, shocked by Polly's directness. "I was humiliated. I told Payne that I could not marry him because of the love that Alastair and I shared. How could I look him in the eye knowing that he knows me to be stupid, love-struck idiot?"

  "Do you think Lord Payne would think that of you?" Polly questioned lightly. Jane paused, thinking of all that she knew of James. He was the one person in her life who had always treated her with kindness and respect. He was probably, at that very moment, suffering because her pride had not allowed her to face him.

  "I know he would not," Jane relented, fidgeting with the material of her dress. "But I cannot return to London Polly. I cannot face him, nor Julian. He'll be furious with me for vanishing."

  "Lud," the Northerner heaved a sigh, "I have never known such an intelligent woman get herself into such a silly scrape. Chin up though, love. Mrs Actrol is in residence and is giving a reading of her latest manuscript later."

  Mrs Actrol was an author, who spent a great deal of time at the boarding house. She had been fast friends with the previous proprietress, Mrs Baker, and the two women had made the house into a sort of refuge for intellectually minded women.

  "Is anyone else here?" Jane asked, glad of the change of subject.

  "The twins and their Aunt, Miss Devoy and Olive -I mean her Grace - is in residence at Pemberton Hall."

  "Olive is here?" Jane squeaked, near spitting out her tea in excitement at the news th
at her closest friend was nearby.

  "Aye, his Grace attended one ball in London,then declared his season over," Polly said with a snort of laughter. "She said he prefers the company of the cattle in the fields to the cow-eyed cretins in Town."

  Jane could well believe it. Although she, and many of his friends, knew that he had not murdered his previous wife, there were still many members of the ton who believed that the Duke had. Suspicious eyes followed him wherever he went, who could blame him for wanting to return home to the peace of Cornwall?

  "She'll be here this evening," Polly continued, standing up to clear away the now empty cups. "Pop down after supper, everyone will be delighted to see you."

  Polly began to bustle around the kitchen, clanging pots and pans, which Jane took as her cue to leave. With a heavy heart she set off up the road to Jarvis House, which lay just outside the village. The servants were thrown into a tizzy when they saw she had arrived.

  "Oh, Miss Jane," the housekeeper wailed, "You should have sent word. The house in a state - we're not fit to receive a future Duchess."

  "I'm no longer going to be a Duchess Mrs Lacey," Jane said with a sigh, "So, please don't fret. Can you have one of the girls set a fire in my room and draw me a bath. I'm bone tired after my journey."

  Ignoring the woman's open-mouthed shock at the news that she would no longer be marrying Lord Payne, Jane made her way up to her bedchamber. She removed her dress unaided, before flinging her weary body onto the soft feather mattress.

  I'm not going to be a Duchess, she thought, Nor shall I marry Alastair. I'll be a spinster for life. And worse, she realised with a gulp, she would be a homeless spinster once Julian uncovered her duplicity.

  "Oh, look it's Jane!"

  Poppy, or Alexandra Jane wasn't quite sure which, leapt up with excitement as she let herself into the drawing room later that evening. Every head turned to face her and Jane found herself looking at the warm, welcoming faces of some of her closest friends.

  "I thought you'd have abandoned us, now you're to be a Duchess," Mrs Actrol, the grey-haired authoress, called with a cackle of laughter.

  "Yes, we thought you'd be far too busy hob-nobbing with the upper crusts, to bother with us," Petronella Devoy added, with a wink. As the daughter of a Viscount, Petronella was as part of the aristocracy as Jane was.

  "If an actual Duchess has deigned to spend the evening with us," Polly sniffed in a faux haughty manner, "Then a Duchess in waiting should consider herself honoured to be invited to this prestigious event."

  The room fell into gales of laughter and even Jane, morose though she was, felt the corner of her lips tug upward. The boarding house was such a mixture of characters, both titled and not, and yet the atmosphere was one of warmth and welcome. If only she had stuck with Payne's initial plan, she might be here telling her friends that she had saved the house from being sold.

  "The only problem is," Jane said delicately, once the laughter had died down, "Is that I am no longer going to be a Duchess. I shall remain plain Jane Deveraux, I'm afraid ladies."

  Olive met her eyes with a worried glance, while the rest of the women rallied around her, uttering words of comfort.

  "You are many things Jane, but plain has never been one of them," Mrs Actrol boomed loudly from her seat.

  "Thank you," Jane smiled, then catching Olive's eye, she added, "Why don't you allow a Duchess and a nearly Duchess fetch you ladies some tea. Then when I get back, I want to hear all about what has been happening in my absence and Mrs Actrol's newest work."

  Jane hurried out of the room, with Olive hot on her heels.

  "What happened?" her flame haired friend asked, once they were alone in the kitchen, away from prying ears. "I thought that you were to keep the pretence up for the whole of the season? It's barely been a fortnight."

  As she filled the kettle with water and placed it on the hob to boil, Jane told Olive, in a calm measure voice, exactly what had happened.

  "So, you were right," she finished, her voice quaking slightly, "Alastair was nothing but a slimy slug."

  "Oh, dear," Olive reached out and placed a comforting hand on Jane's arm. "I wish I hadn't been right about him. Still - it's best you know now what an odious creature he is. Rather than in two years time when he had disappeared with your dowry."

  "Yes, everything has worked out perfectly," Jane chirped a little manically, "Except I'm right back at where I started. Single, dependant on my brother and without a penny to my name. Do you know has Mr Sneak taken up the living yet? He might be my last hope for a roof over my head."

  "Now, stop that," Olive said sternly, "You will always have a home with me, and Julian will not turn you out on the street. Besides, a woman of your learning could find employment as a governess - or even a companion if needs be. You are not destitute Jane, far from it."

  Olive's words, delivered in her usual assured manner, were deeply comforting, apart from one thing:

  "Oh, no. Belinda!"

  At the mention of companions, the blonde haired woman had popped into Jane's head. She had fled Hawkfield Manor without telling her companion she was leaving. Lord knows where the young woman had ended up.

  "I'm sure she'll be fine, Jane, don't fret," Olive said, taking the whistling kettle off the stove and pouring the boiling water into the waiting tea pot. "What I'm most concerned about is poor Lord Payne."

  Jane felt a stab of guilt at the mention of his name and remained silent.

  "You fled his house and he has no idea where you are," Olive continued, fetching several cups and a tray. "He probably thinks that Mr Jackson has kidnapped you. I hope he doesn't call him out."

  "He wouldn't," fear wracked Jane at the thought of James facing down a pistol for her. How would she live with herself if he died -and all over a stupid misunderstanding.

  "He might, you know how impetuous he can be," Olive said with a sigh. She turned to look at Jane, her green eyes knowing. "And if he did? What would you do?"

  "Why," Jane stuttered, "I'd throw myself bodily in front of him and beg him not to put his life at risk. I couldn't bear the thought of a life without James."

  "Is that so?" the Duchess gave a smirk and deftly lifted the heavy tray, "Then perhaps you are more fond of Payne than you realise. Do you know Jane, for such a clever woman, you can sometimes be very silly."

  That was the second time in one day that someone had pointed that out, and Jane was starting to think they were right.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  "Are you quite certain that Jane would have come to Cornwall?" James asked Miss Bowstock, for what was probably the millionth time on the journey.

  "Quite certain," she replied tetchily, her gaze returning to outside the carriage window. The journey to Cornwall had been long and arduous for the four occupants of the carriage. Upon finding Jane gone, James had wanted to head straight for London, where he was sure that he would find Jane held captive by the odious Mr Jackson. It had only been Belinda's intervention, and her insistence that Jane had fled to St Jarvis, that had stopped him.

  "What makes you so sure?" he had asked, all those days ago.

  "Well, she was a trifle upset about that incident in the library. The one where you punched Mr Jackson in the face," Belinda had whispered. "And she said that more than anything she longed to be back in St Jarvis. So I can only assume that was where she went. Besides, my Lord, if she was being kidnapped she would not have had time to pack."

  And so James, Belinda, Caroline -who had insisted that she chaperon Belinda, and the Marquess of Falconbridge had set off at once. The Viscount and Viscountess Jarvis had opted to travel separately, owing to Emily's delicate condition, which suited James just fine, as Julian was acting like a boar with a tummy ache of late.

  Three days later they were nearing St Jarvis and nerves were frayed, to say the least. James had no idea what had transpired between Miss Bowstock and the Marquess of Falconbridge, but the girl did nothing but avoid his eye, while he did everything to try and catch
hers. It was exhausting watching the pair of them.

  "We're nearly here," James said with relief, as the carriage turned onto a familiar coastal road. Despite his anxiety, he took a moment to appreciate the beauty of the view. The Cornish sky was blue and cloudless, whilst the sea glittered and winked beneath it. The countryside was in full bloom, daises and cowslips peered out of the hedgerows and even the grass seemed greener here.

  "It's beautiful," Miss Bowstock breathed, her eyes lighting up as she absorbed the splendour of the view. "I have never been to the seaside. My father always promised he would take me, but he never got a chance before he—"

  She stopped speaking abruptly, her face slightly paler than before.

  "I did not know your father had died, Miss Bowstock," the Marquess said gently, his first words in nearly a day. "My condolences for your loss."

  "Thank you, my Lord," she responded, bestowing upon him a swift, cursory glance. James watched the exchange subtly, certain that something had transpired between the pair. Oh, well, if it had, he was sure it would all come to light in due course.

  "Tell me we have nearly arrived," Caroline said with a yawn, the conversation having woken her from her slumber.

  "Nearly," James answered curtly, they were about an hour's drive from St Jarvis by his estimates.

  "And what is the plan once we get there?" his sister questioned, her eyes now awake and curious.

  "Ah..."

  Therein lay the issue with their current adventure. What James really desired to do was to get to St Jarvis, sweep Jane into his arms and insist she marry him there and then. However, as he had pointed out to Caroline, he had wanted to win Jane's heart, her whole heart. He could not make her marry him, no matter how much he desired it. And he could not marry her, knowing that he was only second choice.

  "I owe Jane a large sum of money for agreeing to pretend to be my betrothed," James said with a shrug, ignoring Falconbridge's raised eyebrows, which were in danger of disappearing through the roof of the carriage. "She wanted to buy the boarding house. If that is still what she wants, then that is what she shall have."