by Georgie Lee
‘I forgive you, Jasper. Now it’s time to forgive yourself.’ She shifted closer to him, her scent pushing aside the stale odour of pipes and wine. She laid her hands on his shoulders, her touch light and powerful all at once. ‘I love you, Jasper, I always have and I always will, no matter what.’
He didn’t move back or try to silence her. Every lie he’d ever told, each failing he’d endured had been revealed and still Jane wanted him. Nothing, not his own mistakes or anyone’s wickedness, had stolen her from him. He’d been searching for evidence of his goodness and it had been here before him all along in her. He encircled her waist with his arms, bringing her as close to his body as she was to his soul. ‘I love you, Jane, and I have for years.’
‘I know.’ She rose up on her toes and pressed her lips to his.
In the circle of her embrace the fear of discovery and ruin he’d carried for so long at last lost their hold over him and nothing remained except the mutual love between them. Nothing could take this away. He was worthy of her and her heart and all the happiness it entailed. The warehouse could be burning down around them and he wouldn’t care. The elation inside him was too great. She was peace and he had her.
He broke from her kiss and pressed his forehead to hers. They stood in silence together, their breaths mingling like their hearts. Only one dark spot remained. ‘What will we do about our exile from the Charton family?’
‘I think it will be a temporary one.’ Jane playfully fingered the buttonhole of his coat, beaming brighter than she had at the altar.
‘You think so?’
‘If they forgave your brother, I’m sure they can forgive you.’
‘Even my father?’
‘Haven’t you realised by now, where his children are concerned, he’s all bluster and no bite? Your mother will bring him around. She always does.’
It might be a while before they were invited to dinner again, but with Jane in his arms, he could believe the invitation would eventually come. Until then, he would do all he could to make himself an honest man worthy of their affection and Jane’s.
‘Perhaps another addition to the Charton clan would help ease the way,’ he enticed, nuzzling Jane’s neck, her skin as luscious as his first taste of food after the quarantine had ended.
‘Are you sure it’s wise, given the uncertainty of our income?’
‘I don’t care. I won’t ever put off anything again because I’m concerned or worried.’
She tilted back her head, her eyes wide with her passion for him. ‘Then I’m certainly willing to employ such a persuasive a tactic.’
‘Then we will start at once.’ He pressed his lips to hers and she wrapped her arms around his neck. He had her heart, her life and her future and they were the only things he needed.
Chapter Fourteen
Johnson opened the door and to Jasper’s surprise his mother entered. He braced himself, not having expected to see her so soon. In the three days since the notorious dinner party he’d heard from no other Charton, not even Jacob or Giles, who he’d expected to sneak over here in search of details about the hell and Jasper’s formerly seedy existence. Instead, it had been Jasper and Jane alone in the house with no visitors, spending every day and even more pleasurable nights together, rebuilding the intimacy they’d almost lost.
Behind him on the stairs, Jane stopped, sliding her hand in his as his mother approached them.
‘We must speak.’ She marched into the sitting room, expecting them to follow.
Jasper exchanged a wary look with Jane, then they strode into the sitting room together, ready to face whatever his mother had in store for them.
She sat down in a wide bergère chair and motioned for them to take the facing claw-footed sofa. They sat down together side by side, exchanging sly looks and trying not to smile like naughty children who’d been caught out.
‘To what do we owe the pleasure of this visit, Mother?’ Jasper asked through a restrained smile.
It was then his mother’s stern expression cracked a little about the eyes, and a twitch of amusement lifted one side of her mouth. ‘I wish to discuss with you the events of the other night.’
Jasper squeezed Jane’s hand tight, humility replacing his humour. ‘I’m sorry for what I did. I never meant to hurt anyone, or deceive you, or change your views of Uncle Patrick.’
‘Yes, well, that was a shock. But I already knew about the hell.’ His mother shifted her shoulders with, if he was not mistaken, a touch of guilt. ‘I didn’t think your father would find out about it in such a dramatic fashion.’
‘You knew?’ He and Jane gaped at each other. It wasn’t possible.
‘Of course I did. I didn’t raise seven children, four of whom are boys, and not learn to detect when something suspicious is taking place. It’s how I saved most of my china from being broken when you were younger.’
‘How did you find out?’ His mother wasn’t one to frequent questionable establishments.
‘After your first month home, when you began to look better, I started questioning your tall tales about where you went at night, so I had Giles and Jacob follow you to see where you went and learn what was going on.’
‘They knew, too?’ Jane gasped.
‘Yes.’ She touched one finger to her chin and peered up at the ceiling. ‘Jasper’s father and Milton might have been the only ones who didn’t know, which surprises me given how poorly everyone in this family holds on to secrets.’
It explained Olivia’s boldness about whist at the dinner. ‘Mother, I never took you to be so clever.’
‘Where do you think you got your talent from?’ She settled her wrap around her arm with a sniff of pride.
‘Apparently.’
‘But I’m here to discuss your future. How soon until your club is ready to be opened?’
‘My wife knows best.’ Jasper motioned to Jane. ‘She’s the one who’s been managing it.’
‘In a day or two if we want,’ Jane answered, her pride evident in the quickness of her response and her raised chin.
‘Good, then you must open it at once.’
Jasper tapped his boots against the floor. ‘Men aren’t likely to patronise it if they discover I was the hell owner and I’m sure Chester Stilton has told everyone he knows by now.’
The problem was one of the many things he and Jane had discussed over the last three days, but so far they’d reached no solution. They still owned the building and everything in it, and they had to find a way to make it turn a profit, and employ Mr Bronson, as well as all the old footmen and dealers.
‘No one will find out,’ his mother proclaimed, quite pleased with herself. ‘I met with Mr Rathbone, who spoke to the elder Mr Stilton and explained the risk to his business if you do not maintain your contract with him due to his son’s unfortunate outburst. Mr Stilton is sending Chester to the Continent, mostly to escape his creditors since he refuses to pay his boy’s debt. The truth about the hell’s ownership will go with him. Even if people whisper about it, I think it will help you as much as Mrs Greenwood’s couch and china.’
Jasper stared at his mother in disbelief. He’d expected his entire family to shun him, but instead they were doing all they could to help him. ‘Is there anything about our lives you aren’t aware of?’ Jasper laughed.
‘Heavens, dear, do you think I sit at home embroidering all day?’
‘I’m glad to learn you don’t.’ He’d have to employ his mother to recruit clients. She was a master of organisation.
‘What about Mr Charton?’ Jane hazarded, fingering her wedding ring. ‘He can’t be happy with us.’
‘He wasn’t, but I brought him around by reminding him of how we forgave Milton and by pointing out if he doesn’t forgive and help Jasper, then Jasper might return to gambling.’
‘I
never would,’ Jasper stated with force and his mother nodded.
‘I imagined as much, but the threat was enough to convince your father. Your brother might take a little more time, but I imagine as soon as your club is successful and he sees more to gain in being your brother again instead of your rival, things between you will be much better.’
‘I hope so.’ He and Milton would never be as close as they’d been as children, but that wasn’t entirely Jasper’s fault. Jasper took Jane’s hand again, remembering her desire to help him and Milton reach some reconciliation. If anyone could find a way to make it happen, it was her.
* * *
‘I never realised your mother was so cunning,’ Jane said with a laugh once the door was closed and Mrs Charton was on her way home. ‘I wonder if she’s aware of the gilded bed upstairs and how long it will be before your sisters barge in here to view it, then go home and demand ones of their own.’
‘There isn’t another like it.’ He slipped his arm around her waist and pulled her close. She pressed her hands to his chest, his heart beating beneath her palms in time to hers. ‘It’s an original, like you.’
Jane tilted her head back and savoured Jasper lips on hers. She loved him and he loved her, and all their plans for the club and their life together would unfold just as they’d dreamed.
This was exactly how she’d imagined marriage would be.
* * * * *
If you enjoyed this book
make sure you read these linked stories
by Georgie Lee, featuring characters who appear in THE SECRET MARRIAGE PACT
A DEBT PAID IN MARRIAGE
A TOO CONVENIENT MARRIAGE
And don’t miss these other great reads
by the same author:
THE CINDERELLA GOVERNESS
MISS MARIANNE’S DISGRACE
THE CAPTAIN’S FROZEN DREAM
Keep reading for an excerpt from RUMORS AT COURT by Blythe Gifford.
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Rumors at Court
by Blythe Gifford
Chapter One
London—February 9th, 1372
Despite the cold, it seemed all of London had turned out to gawk at the Queen and to see the Duke of Lancaster, or ‘My Lord of Spain’’ as he now preferred, stand before them for the first time as King of Castile.
Sir Gilbert Wolford stood beside the man as he prepared to welcome his new wife, the titular Queen of Castile, to his grand palace on the Thames. A sense of unease threatened the triumph of the day. This was a celebration, yes, but of a battle far from won.
The English Parliament had accepted Lancaster, the son of England’s King, as the rightful Lord of Castile. Many Castilians, including the current King, disagreed.
But some day, Gil would return to the Iberian plains at Lancaster’s side. This time, he would not stop until they stood, triumphant, in the Palace of Alcázar. The token he had carried since their first attempt weighed heavily in his pocket—his promise to himself.
Gil spared a glance for the ladies gathered to greet the Queen. Lady Valerie, Scargill’s widow, stood among them. She had just come to court and they had not met, but she had been pointed out to him from afar, easy to find in her widow’s wimple, covered as completely as a nun.
He had a last duty to perform for her dead husband.
One he would rather avoid.
In Castile, Gil had been known by the enemy as El Lobo, The Wolf, because he would kill to protect his men. But no man could save them all. Not in war. He had not been able to save Scargill and now the man’s widow must bear the price.
The procession stopped before the palace. The event had been arranged as if the Queen were newly come, as if she and her husband had never met. In truth, they had married on the Continent months before so as to lose no time in creating an heir.
A son.
Gil resisted regret. At thirty, he had no wife, no son and no prospect of either. Nor would he until he could leave this island and his family’s past well and truly behind. El Lobo was a byname more flattering than the ones they called his family here in England.
The Queen’s litter was carried up the stairs, lurching from side to side until it reached the landing where the Duke stood. Then it was lowered and Constanza, the Queen, stepped out to approach her husband.
Accustomed to the heat of the Spanish plains, neither the Queen nor her retinue had arrived with cloaks to fight the British cold. Wearing borrowed mantles, unmatched and ill fitting, they looked every bit the court in exile.
Yet the Queen without a kingdom did not act humbled. Her husband John of Gaunt might be Duke of Lancaster and son of the English King, but he could call himself King of Castile only because she was his wife. It was her father, her blood that carried the right to rule.
Now, within sight of her husband, she nodded to an attendant who removed the cloak.
Behind him, the women of the household gasped.
The Queen’s red-velvet gown, bright as blood, drew every eye. She stepped towards her husband, slowly, with only slight deference. A mere inclination of the head. Barely a bend to the knee. Proud, young. At seventeen, little more than half her husband’s age.
Comely enough, Gil supposed. But no woman would ever replace the man’s dead Duchess. With her, he had found not only a dynastic partner, he had found love of the kind the troubadours celebrated. Could a man expect that twice?
Gil did not expect it at all.
And yet, in his dreams, he imagined standing in the peaceful gardens of Alcázar with a woman who gazed at him, eyes full of love...
Only a dream. Now was not the time for a wife, who, like the Lady Valerie, might too soon become a widow. Before he took a bride, he would be a new man in a new place, miles and years away from his tainted past.
He brought his mind back to the present day and passed to the Duke the velvet sack which held the wedding gift to Constanza. With two hands and proper ceremony, Lancaster presented his offering, but instead of taking it, she left him with arms outstretched, not reaching for it.
A slight so obvious that, instead of murmurs, the air carried only shocked silence.
Gil hoped she had hesitated for fear her fingers were too cold to hold it safely.
Finally, she nodded to the man next to her. With one hand, he grasped the bottom of the bag while, with the
other, he pushed it aside to reveal a gold cup, carved like a rose, covered with a lid featuring a dove in flight.
It was one of the most beautiful creations of a man’s hand that Gil had ever seen.
But the lady did not smile to see it. Instead, she waved it away to be cared for by one of her attendants.
Gil gritted his teeth, frowning. The woman should be more grateful. If the Duke had not come to her rescue, she and her sister would still be homeless, orphaned exiles in France. Only with her husband’s help did she have any hope of regaining the life and title she had been born to.
The Queen motioned to one of her counsellors, a heavy-set Castilian priest with a wide forehead, who stepped forward and began to speak.
‘La Reina asks me to say she is happy to greet her husband, Monseigneur d’Espagne.’
Halting English, Gil thought, but better than that of the Queen, who, he understood, spoke little but Castilian.
‘Tell Her Grace,’ John said, looking at Constanza, ‘that I welcome her to London.’
Another whispered conference. The woman’s lips thinned and she spoke sharply to the priest.
He cleared his throat and faced his ‘King’ again.
‘La Reina says that she hopes her stay here is brief. She expects you to return to her homeland and restore her throne before the year is out. Until she goes home to Castile, she asks that I give you all assistance to administer the state and plan for battle.’
Now, it was the smile of the Duke, ‘My Lord of Spain’, that turned thin and hard.
Gil’s expression mirrored his lord’s. Yes, Lancaster was King because he had married the Queen, but he was the King. And the King, not some Castilian priest, would be the one to select his military advisers. Gil expected to be among them.
‘Thank the Queen for me,’ Lancaster said. ‘I welcome your help.’
Only a courtesy, Gil thought, holding back a protest as the Queen’s younger sister and other members of her retinue hurried towards the warmth of Lancaster’s palace. The Duke could not refuse a wife’s request, no matter how rude, before a crowd. Nothing had changed. When the time came for war, he would rely on Gil and his other long-time companions.