by Nichole Van
And why Wanleigh? The man had heirs from his previous marriage. He was wealthy and didn’t need her dowry. Why was he the only suitor Montacute deemed worthy?
Montacute valued money and power above everything else. He would do anything to protect them.
Which logically meant that Jane’s dowry and marriage to someone other than Wanleigh threatened his love of power and money . . .
Her jaw nearly dropped, knees sagging in shock.
“Ah,” she almost whispered, head falling back. “Oh, Montacute, what did you do?”
Silence.
Jane shook her head, eyes wide and dazed. “You can’t give me my dowry because you don’t have it, do you, Montacute?”
Montacute flinched. It was subtle and fleeting, but Jane was looking for a reaction.
Got you.
Behind her, Peter gasped.
Rafe swore.
Andrew whistled.
“How dare you—” Montacute seethed, but Jane had seen all she needed.
Blind fury surged in behind her stunned surprise.
“How dare I?” She rushed at him, finger pointing. “How dare you, brother dearest?!” So many years of heeding his grueling wishes, of listening to his endless chastisements. “How dare you!”
She jabbed her finger at his ducal chest.
Montacute took a step back, hands raised. “Jane, you are hysterical—”
“Hysterical?!”
“—and it is most unbecoming.”
“Hah! I’m only just beginning, Duke. Allow me to guess how this came to pass.” Jane continued to point a finger at him, pressing her advantage. “You were invested in that Nassau bank, too. The former Earl of Hadley was. Rafe’s father was.” She waved a hand toward Rafe. “Of course, the Duke of Montacute joined his friends in the endeavor. That’s what aristocratic friends are for, aren’t they?”
Her tone took on a heavy mocking edge. She couldn’t help it.
Montacute flared his nostrils. Jane could practically see the steam rising off him. But beyond his smoke and mirrors, though, there was true panic.
“But you lost your investment in the Caribbean Affair. You lost too much,” she continued. “So, you had to dip into my dowry in order to meet your financial obligations. And skimming your sister’s dowry, well, that’s not legal. I know our father took great care to ensure that my money was legally protected from every kind of fortune hunter, even filial ones.”
Gasps of astonishment and several murmured curses echoed through the entrance hall.
“Jane—” Montacute tried to catch her arm. Jane dodged, taking a step sideways. “—you are clearly overset. This hysteria troubles me.”
He reached for her again. Andrew shifted placing himself partway between Jane and her brother, offering silent protection.
“I am nothing of the sort, brother,” she retorted. If anything, she was seeing and thinking as clearly as she had in years. Like waking from a feverish dream to a brilliantly crystal reality. “Even dukes can be held accountable for their crimes, if my future husband decided to take you to court over the issue. They can’t imprison you, naturally, or force you to repay what you took. Being a duke affords you protections no one else enjoys. But you can be tried and hung in the court of public opinion. You and your duchess can become persona non grata in the eyes of the ton and lose the confidence of the Crown. Hurt your ability to command credit, to direct and govern. After all, only a lowlife cad would steal his own sister’s dowry.”
“Hear, hear,” Andrew murmured.
“I am done with this ridiculous conversation.” Montacute turned, intent on the door.
How dare he!
“I have not finished speaking!” She darted forward and grabbed Montacute’s elbow, digging in with her heels, using the weight of her entire body to stop him. “You will listen to me.”
“Jane!” Montacute roared, wresting his elbow from her grasp.
The sound of knuckles cracking shot through the entrance hall, loud and sharp. Rafe? Master MacTavish?
“You will let my sister speak, Duke,” Peter said sternly.
“I suggest ye listen to yer womenfolk, Duke,” Andrew said behind her.
“Aye,” Master MacTavish agreed.
Montacute’s gaze flicked over Jane’s shoulder. Whatever he saw there stopped him.
“As I was saying, Duke, you took my dowry but how to cover your crimes?” She tapped her chin and then snapped her fingers. “I know. First, repeatedly scare off eligible suitors who need my dowry, like Lord Eastman. Next, find a trusted friend to marry your sister. Someone like Wanleigh who is willing to forgo your sister’s dowry. Someone who won’t raise a fuss over the missing funds. Silly little Jane will never have to know. It’s something her brother and future husband will settle between men. No women allowed.”
Andrew huffed behind her. “And then blackmail a foolish sap—that would be myself—tae sell you a profitable business investment for a pittance, thus starting you on the road tae recouping your losses. No one the wiser.”
Montacute’s expression had grown stonier and stonier as Jane and Andrew spoke.
“What do you think we’ll find once we go digging, Montacute?” Rafe asked mildly.
“Indeed,” Peter murmured. “No one in the ton looks kindly on a gentleman who robs his own womenfolk, duke or no.”
“I don’t even know if such a man could be called a gentleman.” Andrew said.
“These are all lies.” Montacute stared at Jane. “My sister is clearly under some hysterical delusion, as I know afflicts some women—”
“Lady Jane is as fine and sound a woman as I’ve ever known. Ye should take care how ye refer tae her.” Andrew said, tone menacing. “I think I formally withdraw my offer tae be a business partner after all. I don’t do business with known liars and cheats. It’s the secret tae my success.”
Montacute’s nostrils flared. “This entire conversation is absurd. You cannot threaten me—”
“Oh,” Andrew’s voice rumbled with suppressed promise, “I think by the time we’re done here, ye will be begging for us tae leave ye be.”
31
Montacute continued to berate them all, throwing around epithets and threats. Jane recognized it as her brother’s typical ducal bluster.
But his panic was evident the more he raged.
Andrew bore it all with almost frightening calm.
Finally, Montacute agreed to discuss Jane’s dowry with Peter, Rafe, and Andrew—man-to-man, as he put it.
Andrew would have none of it. “This is Jane’s future life and Jane’s dowry. She, more than anyone, should be allowed tae participate in conversations that pertain so personally tae herself.”
And so Jane argued with the men as they hammered out an agreement. Montacute’s affairs were, indeed, in shambles. Jane was relentless in forcing her brother to acknowledge his wrongs against her. Andrew said little, but his resolute strength gave Jane the courage to counter Montacute’s threats and silence him.
Eventually, Montacute realized he had been bested. He agreed to settle twenty percent of the dowry on Jane—six thousand pounds—for use as she saw fit, the rest having been lost due to his mismanagement. He also agreed to rescind any claims to selecting a husband for her and to support whomever she eventually did decide to marry.
In return, Jane sweetly agreed not to bring a suit before the House of Lords for embezzlement of her personal funds.
Andrew saw the entire thing informally drawn up and signed. Fully legal documents from solicitors would follow.
Her ducal brother wasted no time in packing his bags and departing.
“Do ye think he’ll seek revenge?” Andrew asked as they stood on the front stoop, watching Montacute’s carriage pull down the drive.
“He may,” Jane murmured at his side, “but I do not think so. The threat of his misdeeds will always lurk in the background, waiting to come to light. He will wash his hands of me.” She sniffed. “Thank goodness.”
Jane turned back to the house just in time to see her mother leading Lord Wanleigh through the entrance hall.
Oh, heavens! She had utterly forgotten about her former suitor.
But given how her mother giggled and batted her eyelashes, placing a hand on Wanleigh’s arm, it was obvious that neither Wanleigh nor Lady Hadley had remembered Jane, either. Wanleigh leaned down, whispering something in her mother’s ear that set her to blushing.
Jane struggled to decide if she should laugh or feel mildly nauseous. Could she do both simultaneously?
Lady Hadley smiled at them all as Wanleigh took his leave, promising to return to pay his respects to the ‘lovely Lady Hadley.’
Clearly, Lady Hadley was on her way to marrying yet another elderly peer, a marquess this time. Which after being the wife of a duke and an earl, seemed only logical. Would her mother eventually round out her husband collection by adding a viscount and a baron?
Jane laughed once the man had driven off.
“Hallelujah,” she said.
Andrew grinned at her side.
But her smiles quickly disappeared as she turned to survey Peter.
He met her expression with a grim one of his own.
Andrew rocked back on his heels.
“Come, Peter.” He motioned toward his study. “We’ve already sorted your sister’s future today. Now let’s contemplate yours.”
Jane took a step forward. “I want to be part of the discussion.”
The men all looked at each other.
It was Peter who spoke. “I’m sorry, Jane, but this is my affair to sort. You have always been good to defend me, but it’s time that I stepped up and took care of matters on my own.”
Andrew thumped him on the back, clearly agreeing with Peter’s sentiment.
Andrew and Peter disappeared into his study with Rafe and Master MacTavish.
It was late into the night before they emerged. Only then did Jane learn of Peter’s fate. After much discussion and letters from their friends—Alex and Ewan—the men had agreed on penance for Peter.
He would return to the New Hebrides and devote five years to caring for the villagers, assisting however he could to rebuild the island and help it prosper.
“Peter will face, first-hand, the consequences of his actions and learn to be responsible for others,” Andrew had explained. “It is a fair compromise.”
Though Jane choked up at the thought of going years without seeing Peter, she had to agree. Anything was preferable to the gallows.
Peter was given two days to say his goodbyes. Kieran was headed for Dover and his ship. He would take Peter with him.
When she was informed of all that had transpired—Peter’s crimes and chosen punishment—Lady Hadley took to her rooms, prostrate with grief, telling one and all to leave her be. But naturally, Lord Wanleigh called upon her the next morning and Lady Hadley rallied enough to receive him. Jane did not doubt that wedding banns were in her mother’s near future.
Jane hardly saw Andrew. He was busy with his solicitors and secretaries, likely hammering out official documents for everything.
Nothing had been said between them regarding her cruel words the day Peter left. Andrew’s every action showed that he cared deeply for her, but he had not attempted to speak with her.
Did he still love her, as he had said? Or had her words killed his love, turning it into a more friendly affection?
And given the roil of her own emotions, Jane could not think clearly enough to articulate her thoughts. Not when she faced Peter’s imminent departure.
She hadn’t set out to avoid Andrew, but that was how events happened regardless. Peter consumed her focus. Every moment of the two days before his departure she spent with him, altering between laughing at his quips and sobbing at losing him so soon.
The morning of his departure was particularly brutal.
“I am so sorry to put you through such grief,” Peter murmured, pulling her into a tight hug. “But it’s only for five years.”
Jane clung to him. “It is still a long time to be apart.”
“Ah, Jane. This moment would have come eventually anyway. We have to grow up entirely and move on to our separate lives—”
“But I dislike being parted so soon. And you are going so far—”
“My punishment is less than I deserve, Jane. I feel I have been touched by grace itself. Not everyone receives such a reprieve. And Hadley has arranged for me to write to you as often as I can. I am not lost to you.”
“I know.” Her brain knew all this, but her heart struggled to accept it.
Of course, Peter’s parting words did not help her find clarity. “Don’t let Hadley slip through your fingers, Jane.” Peter kissed her forehead. “He is a good man. Better than either of your brothers.”
He kissed her cheek and left to say goodbye to their mother.
An hour later, Peter rode out with Lord Rafe and Master MacTavish, intent on Dover.
Jane stood at the window, tears falling, watching until her brother faded into the distance. It was only as she crumpled into a nearby chair, convulsed with hiccupping sobs, that she realized Andrew had been behind her the entire time, silently standing witness to her grief.
He retreated without a word, locking himself in his study with his steward and solicitor.
Jane took to her room, eventually crying herself to sleep. But chaotic dreams plagued her—Peter calling her name from across the sea; Andrew walking away from her, disappearing into a dense fog. She woke well after noon with puffy eyes and a heavy heart.
But one thing she had resolved.
Peter was right.
Andrew was a good man, better than she deserved. She would find him immediately and beg forgiveness for her words—a groveling apology.
Even as bitterly as she grieved Peter, she had to let Andrew know that she appreciated what he had done. He had to know the depth of her love for him.
The house was chillingly silent as she descended the main staircase. She strained to hear the booming sound of Andrew’s voice, but only the ticking of the drawing room clock and chirping birds outside the windows greeted her.
Barnsley emerged from the dining room.
“Ah, Lady Jane, I am glad to see you have risen.” He walked over and retrieved a thick letter from a small side table. “Lord Hadley bade me give you this when you arose.”
He handed the letter to her. Jane took it with numb fingers, a terrible suspicion looming in her mind.
“He has gone?” she asked, though it was hardly a question.
“Yes, my lady. First thing this morning.”
Oh!
Jane nodded a dismissal to Barnsley before walking into the drawing room, her feet sending her to the window overlooking the long drive. Wind rustled the trees and ravens called.
Andrew had left.
Without saying goodbye. Without uttering a word.
Without hearing her apology or her heartfelt gratitude for saving Peter.
Instead, he departed with her cruel words still ringing in his ears.
The trees went blurry beyond the glass.
She swallowed, turning the letter over in her hands.
She was nearly afraid to open it, as it was heavy and clearly contained several sheets of paper.
What had he written?
But Jane was no coward. If the letter contained recriminations, she would face them head on.
Sitting down, she cracked the seal. A sheet of foolscap, lined with strong, bold handwriting, sat atop other documents:
Dearest Jane,
I apologize for not speaking to you in person, but perhaps our goodbyes are better this way. I received my Writ of Summons via special courier last night. I am to make my knee before the Prince Regent in just two days’ time. I must away to London at first light. I do not know when I shall return to Hadley Park, as I have business to attend to in Scotland afterwards . . .
Oh.
He was well and truly gone.
; He hadn’t abandoned her, per se, just moved on to the business of being a peer. Her logical mind knew this.
But her heart saw it as abandonment. It felt like being cut adrift.
She bit her lip, licking back her tears, before continuing reading:
I ken that I’m not your favorite person right now. Ye have lost two brothers in the space of as many days because of me, though I suspect ye are content to have lost Montacute. However, it was never my aim to take Peter from ye. I ken ye miss him sorely, and for that, I am most sorry, my Jane. Unfortunately, mercy and forgiveness do not negate all consequences in Peter’s case. I did what I could to ease them. I pray you find some peace.
These last few days have been a whirlwind of emotions for both of us. As for me, I meant what I said that day at the quarry. My feelings toward ye have not altered. But, as I also said then, I do not want us to come together—if that is what ye wish—out of anything other than the deepest love and affection. We both deserve to know that we chose the other, free from any other pressures.
I will always want you, Jane. But the more important question remains—do ye want me? Will your heart ever heal enough to accept mine?
I ken ye need a wee while to sort out what ye would like. So I’m going to give ye that wee bit of time. Let your grieving heart heal. Think about what ye want, Jane. If it’s a future with myself, I’ll be right happy to oblige ye. If not, then know I wish ye every happiness.
Love,
Andrew
Jane stared at the letter, wiping her damp cheeks.
Of all the infuriating, maddening, stupid—!!!
She was torn between laughing and crying.
The eejit, as he would say.
Why couldn’t he have simply told her all this? Then she could have apologized and kissed his handsome face.
Instead, she confronted the daunting task of waiting for him to return.
How could she do that? How could she wait and wait for him?