***
Eaves put a light dressing on the wound, it required no more, but it was not her arm that pained her. There was a great tightness welling inside her chest, which made it difficult for her to breath, and a desire to seek solitude overwhelmed her. Harry showed a great sympathy, but the whole episode had exhausted him to the extreme and he found it necessary to retire to his bed.
The day dragged on interminably, Jane never leaving the confines of the bedchamber, refusing all offers of sustenance and only taking a little water when her thirst became unbearable. Even Hannah and Sophie had been turned from her door, the only person she had any desire to see remaining absent.
Evening came and went, but still she remained seated by the window, waiting. Eventually, not long after the hall clock had struck the hour of midnight, she heard the door to the adjoining room slam shut and waited anxiously for the connecting door to open, but it did not.
Had she but known it, her husband stood on the other side of the door with hand raised toward the handle. However, his still torturous thoughts prevented him from making that final movement and eventually he let it drop to his side. Guilt and jealousy, two overpowering emotions, raged within his breast, not altogether undiluted with pride. He had spent the day galloping the cliffs as he had done little more than a year ago. Then, it had been grief that drove him on; today it had been anger. Anger with himself, Darrows, and yes, he admitted it, Jane. Now he found it impossible to face her.
This would be the first night they had spent apart since their marriage and it tore him asunder, all the thoughts and doubts of the previous night raising their ugly heads once more to torment him. Had he been too easily hoodwinked, too easily diverted from the true state of affairs? Had Jane lied to him? The thought proved too painful for him to bear. He loved her, God how he loved her, and he had thought that she loved him. He would give all he owned to be sure of that love. Then the thought that he had come so close to ending her life drove through his being like a knife, terrified him, thrust all other thoughts from his mind and he longed to throw wide the door to assure himself that she was not fatally wounded, that she was safe.
Once more, he reached for the latch but the sound of uncontrollable sobbing halted him in his tracks, affecting him almost as a physical blow, driving him from the room and out of the house to pace the deserted grounds until dawn brought the estate to life.
***
Over the next few days the gulf between husband and wife became impassable, each at sight of the other, diverted their path and an awful atmosphere pervaded the whole house. Even Sophie seemed aware of an altered state of affairs and her usually sunny mood changed to one of irritability.
Both Jane and Robert longed for the comfort and reassurance of the other but, with no word being spoken between them since the duel, the longer the rift existed, the more difficult it became to overcome. If either had stormed the others defenses, they would have found capitulation well within their grasp, but neither would broach the subject and instead a deadly silence reigned.
***
One morning, halfway through the second week, Eaves approached Jane as she rose from the breakfast table.
“I am sorry to disturb you so early in the day ma’am,” he said, “but would you come to the major. He’s refusing his meal and appears to be in some state of agitation. I cannot get any sense from him. Indeed, when I enquired if there was anything wrong, he threw his dish at my head, which is very unlike him, he is usually so even-tempered.”
Entering Harry’s apartments, Jane found him sitting at the table with his head in his hands. “Whatever’s wrong?” she asked, laying her hand on his shoulder. “This is not at all like you.”
“Go away,” he groaned without lifting his head. “I am no babe, I can take care of myself. Now leave me be.”
“No, I will not,” she replied, sitting opposite him at the table. “Whatever brings you to this state? I am aware that you are no babe, but why should you have needs to take care of yourself?”
Eaves hovered in the background not knowing whether he should interfere in his master’s affairs. Aware that it was his place to be discreet, but seeing that Jane was making no headway, he came tentatively forward and bending, retrieved a crumpled sheet of paper from the floor.
“I believe the major’s problem has something to do with this,” he said, offering it to Jane, but Harry snatched it from his grasp before she could take it.
“Damn you,” he fumed, facing Eaves. “I will not have my sister troubled at this time. Somehow I will put matters to rights.”
“What matters are these?” asked Jane gently. “Come, tell me, and if I can help, I will.”
“I believe the letter to be from Mr. Darrows,” informed Eaves, attempting to shed some light on the subject. “One of his men brought it this morning.”
“Well you might as well know,” said Harry, feigning indifference as he sat back in his chair. “He’s dunning me. Calling in my IOU’s.”
“You owe him money?” gasped Jane in disbelief. “How?”
“Cards, my dear sister. Cards! Oh, it was fine at first; he let me win a few games. That was his plan, and then gradually over the weeks, he reeled me in and before I knew where I was I had run through my blunt and was issuing IOU’s. Never intended the play to become so deep. Of course he always assured me it was just a run of bad luck and that I would soon come about. Indeed, he did let me win occasionally but not enough to make any difference.”
“How much do you owe the villain?” she asked hardly daring to hear the answer.
“Five thousand.”
“What?” she gasped in disbelief.
“That’s not the worst of it,” he groaned, holding his head in his hands once more. “You may as well know the whole of it. He says he will forget my debt if I can persuade you to go to him. I wish to God Robert had made an end to him, when he had the chance!”
“So do I,” cried Jane. “So do I,” and she rose from the table to pace the floor. “What can we do? I cannot go to Robert with this, I dare not, and the money is beyond my means. I can’t understand what possessed you to get into this coil, to allow yourself to be so easily duped.”
“He drew me in,” cried Harry. “He knew my weakness, and drew me in. It’s as simple as that! What I can’t understand is why he wants to involve you?”
“I do,” she said coming to lay her hand on his shoulder, the desperation in his voice unbearable to hear. “He tried to force his attentions upon me and I repulsed him. This is by way of retaliation, and of course another way of repaying Robert.” A strange little smile touched her lips. “He is not aware of how complete his revenge already is, on both of us.”
“Do you think it wise to keep this aspect from Robert,” he asked raising an anguished countenance. “Should he not be made aware of Darrows’ actions toward you?”
“He already knows,” she said quietly, “but he believes that I care for Darrows. Robert is more concerned with losing one of his possessions, which is how he thinks of me.”
Momentarily distracted from his own plight Harry caught her hand. “I cannot believe that of him. He adores you; it’s plain for all to see.”
“Then perhaps you don’t know what you see,” she said, snatching her hand away and averting her face before he could see the tears start.
“Begging pardon, ma’am,” said Eaves, once more coming forward into the fray. “If I may make a suggestion. What about the manor?”
“Of course, we could sell the manor,” said Jane, with a great relief. “Why ever did I not think of that, an excellent idea, Eaves.”
“But that will not do,” said Harry. “Darrows demands his money within the week, says he will not wait. It would take too long to sell the manor.”
“Could you not borrow money against the sale?” insisted Eaves.
“I’ll go to no loan shark,” said Jane. “We would end up owing five times what we do now. We would never recoup.”
“No, but I ha
ve an excellent idea, what about Aunt Bridlington,” enthused Harry. “She is not short of the blunt and always had a fondness for you, Jane. Surely she could be persuaded to loan us the money until the sale is achieved. Could you not ask her? She will be in London for the season.”
Jane appeared doubtful. “I don’t like the idea of involving her. What excuse could I make to request such a sum? She would think it strange that I do not approach my husband.”
“I like the idea no more than you,” replied Harry. “But what choice do we have? I’m sure that with some thought on the matter, you will contrive to come up with a plausible reason.”
Jane still did not appear convinced, but could see no immediate alternative. “If I should go, Robert must hear none of this,” she said. “He would be determined to take matters further with Darrows and I dare not risk it, I cannot put his life in jeopardy yet again, whatever he may think of me.”
“Then you will go?”
“Just give me time to think, my mind is in turmoil. I need some time to myself and only then will I be able to see things clearly. I will leave you for a short while and in the meantime take heart, something will be arranged.” So saying she left Harry’s apartments and made her way to the main part of the house.
Unfortunately in her haste she was not aware of her husband as he emerged from his study and watched her approach as she came hurrying toward him her eyes downcast, deep in thought.
He stood resolutely in her path determined that she should not avoid him on this occasion. He was not sure of his motives but he had an overwhelming desire to speak to her, to hear her voice, his own torment equally as deep as hers.
She was almost abreast of him when, with a visible start, she became aware of his presence in the hallway.
In that moment, his hands, seemingly of their own volition, reached out for her, taking her shoulders in a painful grip.
“Let me go,” she cried. “I have not the time for this now,” and she tried to push past him.
Without relinquishing his hold, he stepped in front of her, preventing her escape. “You will not brush me aside quite so easily, madam wife,” he replied, his anger rising. “It is time we had this matter out.”
Remnants of her meeting with Harry added to her torment and left no room for compromise. “I repeat, now is not the time,” she argued, matching his mood. “You have left me alone long enough, I will not now be brow beaten.”
Contrite, he dropped his hold and cajoled, “Jane… I…”
But she was gone, running for the stairs and to the bedroom to fling herself sobbing onto the bed.
***
At first light the following morning, Proctor was called from the stables and his confidence secured. A portmanteau was carried out by two footmen and loaded onto the chaise and the Duchess of Lear, despite her own anguish, in an attempt to salvage her brother, quietly left Stovely for the London home of Lady Bridlington.
Chapter Thirteen
“Of course you must stay for as long as you like, my dear,” beamed Lady Bridlington. She was a small grey haired dowager with bright shining eyes, whose curls danced rakishly from beneath a lace cap as she and Jane sat in her drawing room later that day. “But what of your husband? Does he not accompany you?”
“He is away on business, and before he went, suggested that I take the opportunity to refresh my wardrobe,” lied Jane, quite surprised at her own creativity.
“Then you shall stay here with me until his return, my dear. What a time we shall have, there are so many diversions in London at this time of year that we will be quite worn out. Now tell me how fares that delightful brother of yours, does he recover? The poor boy must be quite overcome with ennui locked away in the country at this time of year…” and so her ladyship prattled on, hardly noticing that Jane answered only half the questions she posed.
Later that night Jane lay wide-awake wondering at the sense of her actions in leaving Stovely and seeking her aunt’s help. How was she to broach the subject? She could not tell her aunt the real reason behind her request for funds. Now that she had been in her company she realized that it would not be possible without disclosing all, and that she could never do. On the other hand, she could not return home without the money.
What of Harry? What of Darrows? The thought that she should go to him was insupportable. What of Robert her dearest love? What would be his thoughts of her now? She had left him no explanation of her desertion, and had sworn Proctor to secrecy. She realized it would seem to him that she had absconded, abdicated her responsibilities, deserted him, but in her anguish, she saw no other way. In his present state of mind, he would not understand her need to protect Harry at all costs.
***
Had she but known it, ignoring Eaves endeavors to halt him, her husband had just burst his way into Harry’s apartment. “The major has retired, sir,” said Eaves, attempting to divert the duke, but he pushed him aside and strode into Harry’s bedchamber.
“Where is she?” he demanded of a very startled occupant.
“Who?” asked Harry stupidly, still between waking and sleeping.
“Do not toy with me or you will regret it,” Robert said angrily, towering over Harry’s recumbent form. “I will ask you again. Where is she?”
“I do not know,” lied Harry valiantly. “I have not seen her all day.”
“If anyone must know where she has gone, it is you. Now do not defy me.” His wits momentarily forsaking him, the duke took hold of Harry’s night shirt to raise him from the bed, but immediately Eaves was at his side and grasped his wrists, forestalling the action.
“That would not be wise, sir,” he said calmly. “Now please release the major.”
Curbing his anger, the duke released Harry. “Forgive me,” he said in a much quieter tone. “I know not what I do,” and turning on his heel, he left the apartment as quickly as he had entered.
The torment that had driven him to Harry’s door raged throughout his whole being. All manner of thoughts coursed through his brain only to be rejected and replaced by even more torturous imaginings and he entered his study to pace its confines.
Had she left him to go to Darrows, or worse still, had he driven her beyond endurance that she should seek a release from life? He would go after her, but where? He knew not where to begin and cursed himself as God’s biggest fool.
Daybreak saw him entering the stables and calling for Proctor only to be informed by the stable boy that he had left the day before with her grace.
“To where?” he demanded snatching at this piece of information.
“Don’t know, your grace,” replied the lad. “Was told to say nowt, if I was asked, but I didn’t know owt anyway, just ’elped tack up the ’osses and set ’em to the chaise.”
“In which direction did they go?”
“Don’t know, sir.”
At this, he took a coin from his pocket and flipped it to the boy.
“But I don’t know owt, sir,” the startled lad reiterated.
“You may not know it, but you have given me a wealth of information,” the duke replied and turning on his heel he returned to the house. Reason now came into being as he once more returned to his study.
If she had been about to end her life she would not have taken Proctor with her! If she had gone to Darrows she would not have taken Proctor with her! Wherever she was, he knew that Proctor would protect her. Indeed, he would give his life for her. For the moment she was safe. Wherever she had gone, he would find her. For now he must try to reason where she had gone and why, but this was easier said than done. He would not approach Harry again, his actions of the previous night had been unforgivable and to subject him to further interrogation would be insupportable.
Realizing he must have some strategy, some method of search, he sat in his study for the best part of the day wracking his brains as to where to start. Eventually, a certain numbness overcame him and with it some semblance of outward calm and he rang for a footman and requested a fresh
bottle of brandy.
When a knock came on the door and he called “Enter,” he did not immediately look up, but when a familiar voice said, “Begging your grace’s pardon,” he almost leapt from behind his desk.
“Proctor!” he expostulated. “Is my wife returned?”
“I’m sorry, your grace, but no. Fact is, sir, I am sworn to secrecy and should not be talking to you, but I really think you should be made aware of the situation.”
“Take a seat man and out with it,” commanded the duke, returning to his own chair behind the desk. “But tell me first, is she safe?”
“Yes, sir,” assured Proctor as he sat uneasily on the edge of the chair opposite the desk. “She’s with her aunt in London. I assure you, I would’ve respected her wish for secrecy, but she’s given me a commission which could well mean that she’s in some kind of trouble and I don’t know what to do.”
“Then tell me, and I will see what can be done.”
“For some reason, her grace is in need of a great deal of money. She has given me a list of jewelry that I am to ask her maid to pack and then I’m to sell it.”
“Give me the list,” ordered the duke, holding out his hand, and as he read it, “This is all the jewelry she had before we were married, moreover some of it belonged to her mother and I know for a fact is of great sentimental value to her. How much is she hoping to raise?”
“Five thousand, sir.”
“Good God! For what purpose does she need such a sum?”
“She did not say.”
“This jewelry will not raise that amount. In fact, barely half of it. She must be desperate. Why in God’s name didn’t she come to me? I would have given her the money without needs for all this subterfuge.” Then pausing, “Of course, how the situation has been of late, she would feel unable to confide in me. What a fool I am. I will give you a letter to my bank to draw the required amount and you can give the money to my wife, but she is not to know from whence it came. I will give her a few days and then come to her. I must know what all this is about. Foreswear, I will know, she will not deny me.
My Dearest Friend (Books We Love Regency Romance) Page 15