Lady Jayne Disappears

by Joanna Davidson Politano

  No, wait. I listened again. The laughter was real. Bushes rustled nearby and rose-colored fabric flashed between the hedges. Juliette eased herself through the branches, lightly scratching her arm, a blush tinging her cheeks and exposed neck.

  Jasper Grupp stumbled out after her, laughing and brushing leaves from his coat. The same coat he always wore. They looked up together, a perfect pair moving in unison like two startled deer, and met my gaze. Guilt washed over both their faces, hers a blushing glow and his a mottled red clear down his neck.

  “This is an unfortunate meeting.” Jasper’s sleek voice poured out softly between us as he brushed the debris of nature from his arms. “Perhaps we should have parted ways before coming up the drive. But a gentleman never leaves a beautiful woman to find her way alone.” He bowed, eyes sparkling, and kissed Juliette’s gloved fingertips.

  Cords tightened along Juliette’s neck as she accepted the affection with a smile lighting her face. Jasper released her fingers but held her gaze.

  “You needn’t worry about Aurelie. She won’t say a word.” Juliette stepped forward and grabbed my hands, swinging them too hard. “We’re chums, aren’t we?” She dropped them and turned to smile at Jasper.

  Two instincts battled within me—and in the end, the overwhelming desire to agree, to cling to the tenuous friendship, won out. “Of course.”

  Footsteps approached on the gravel path behind me, cutting off the need for further awkward conversation.

  “Who might the outsider be in this gathering?” Clem approached, riding whip in hand.

  “It’s about to become a twosome.” Jasper stepped back with a bow. “I must take my leave if I’m to reach Bristol in time for the meeting.”

  Anxiousness tightened Juliette’s features, but her hands remained at her sides. Clem silently observed his sister, the leaf bits and twigs on her that matched those on Jasper Grupp not seeming to escape his gaze. Juliette also excused herself to delve into party preparations, leaving Clem and me alone among the shrubs and roses.

  I studied the boy’s lightly freckled profile. Would I find an ally in this youth? God might do such a thing, to arrange this walk so we could discuss Juliette and Jasper and reach some solution together. With a breath in and out, and a casual gait, I began. “What do you think of your sister with that man?”

  Ah, but he was young. What youth of his age would care a whit about his sister’s love affairs?

  But his intelligent eyes sparkled. “It’s a fine pairing of two like hearts.”

  “You think highly of your sister, I see.” I flashed him a grin of camaraderie.

  “I think little of my sister and who she marries, unless it happens to be Silas Rotherham. The very fact that Mr. Grupp is not Silas Rotherham earns him many points of favor with me.”

  “You dislike Mr. Rotherham?”

  “On the contrary, I find him absolutely wonderful. But not for my sister. She’s not deserving of such a man.”

  “And you know of another girl more worthy of marrying him?” The thought sent spirals of thrill through me, drawing my mind firmly on another track.

  “It’s not so much the one who’ll marry him as the one who will call him father.”

  Dahlia. My chest constricted.

  “He would be more than her father, though. He would be her ticket into the world.”

  The words scrunched my heart in a bittersweet ache—both the pairing of Silas with Nelle and the tender way Clem dreamed for the fatherless girl.

  “It cannot really be that pivotal.” I fought to keep my voice normalized. “Don’t you think Miss Wicke just a tad overprotective? Who in Lynhurst would end her position if they knew?”

  “Every one of them would. Not because her sin is so great—that’s the irony of it—but because they fear what it will bring to light about themselves. The date of Kendrick’s birth is inconveniently early. Well before our parents’ marriage. And Grandmama . . . well, her husband had more children than she did.”

  Why did it seem that every person in the world loved or disliked a person based mostly upon the effect they had on his or her self-esteem?

  “So you want Miss Wicke to attach herself to any man, just to make herself acceptable to these people?”

  “Dahlia’s never been to school, never learned numbers or reading. She’s never had friends outside of me and her mother. All of that because of her wretched father abandoning her. But think of how she’d glow like sunshine, being let out of that cottage to make her way. She could do anything.” He shoved his hands deeper into his trouser pockets. “Juliette would never suspect a mere maid to be her competition, but that’s only because she doesn’t understand Mr. Rotherham in the least.”

  Images of Silas overwhelmed my mind. The tender look on his face as he watched the people of the Mallet. The dust on his perfect black suit. The gentle way he hunched over to feed cake to Rosa. Those images would be tucked away in a sweet, cozy part of my memory that would hold them forever, no matter who he married.

  But Clem had forgotten one very important element—the very reason he wanted Nelle and Silas married in the first place.

  “Miss Wicke has a great many positive attributes, and I’m sure Mr. Rotherham would eagerly appreciate them all. But she’ll eventually have to tell him her secret. And convince him to accept it.” Silas Rotherham, raising someone else’s child? He’d be awkward and closed off. But then again, the way he’d been with Micah . . .

  No. That had been a momentary experience. It was a different matter entirely, accepting someone else’s child into your intimate life and home. “She was ashamed to tell me about Dahlia. Think how long it would take Mr. Rotherham to uncover the secret.”

  His bony elbow nudged my bare arm. “I do believe he already knows.” Clem’s head jerked toward a lone figure in a dark suit striding with purpose down the path toward the cottage we both loved so much, with tall, slender children’s books tucked under his arm. He nodded briefly as he passed, but did not slow his steps. He hardly glanced at me.

  Was it possible?

  “Perhaps Miss Wicke is the reason he’s here this season.” Clem’s words revealed layers of thought already invested in this situation.

  A gut punch. Maybe my prayers for Nelle had been answered. Head spinning, I willed a recovery to happen. “But they were strangers until recently. They couldn’t have known each other before Mr. Rotherham’s arrival.” Unless he was Dahlia’s . . .

  But no, that was impossible.

  “Nothing says he knew he came here for her. But he did, all the same.” He hooked his fingers through his belt loops. “God cuts out the puzzle pieces, and then fits them together when it’s time.”

  A deep breath bolstered my strength. “If God is orchestrating, Juliette cannot stand in the way.”

  “It is Grandmama who has the only real power to divide them. She’s done it before.”

  My neck tightened, and I looked to my shoes. Yes, she had. Would Papa still be alive if he’d been allowed to remain with my mother? Life would have been so different for all of us.

  “But you love Nelle and you know Silas better than most of us, I can tell.” Clem looked back at the cottage. “You see how perfectly he’d fit into that family.”

  Silas’s tender face sprang to mind, and the image of him cradling the dusty child against his perfect suit. I inhaled the powdery aroma and breathed, fighting the weight of a responsibility I did not want.

  And just like that, Lady Jayne realized her prayers for Abigail’s future husband were already answered.

  “Who on earth has lit the wick in our dear, sullen Mr. Rotherham?” Juliette breathed the words into my ear as I joined her in the drawing room after the dinner bell sounded.

  “I wouldn’t know.” I tried to avoid looking at Silas, but I could not ignore the remarkable glow of his face. It was something new, as if he’d found a source of both epic delight and peace all from the same fountain, and he’d drunk his fill of it that day. It brimmed out of him as
we walked into the dining room amid the lovely scent of herb-roasted chicken. Standing across from him, I focused on my silver-rimmed plate and linen napkin.

  Aunt Eudora entered, worn face seeming heavier than normal, and the powerful surges of anger toward this destroyer of love stories evaporated to light tingles. Bitterness curled into a sickening pity for the woman so trapped by the opinions of her peers. It was sad, really. One day she’d realize how little their opinions really mattered, and what a waste she’d made of her life—and the lives of my parents and me. She lowered into her throne-chair at the head of the table, cutting the polite restraint that kept us all silent.

  “Grandmama, I have two spots left on the guest list if you’d care to invite your own acquaintances. This is to be a family event, not just my own.”

  Aunt Eudora squinted her buggy eyes at Glenna, then at Juliette.

  “Oh, don’t look so cross, Grandmama. I’ve asked Miss Wicke to create you an entirely new gown, and you will be there too, reigning over the door and passing judgment on everyone.”

  “I’ve no desire for such drama. That’s why I sold the London house. I do not like people.” The pop of her cane punctuated the last words.

  “That isn’t why the London house was sold, and you know it.” Glenna patted her red lips with a linen napkin. “That sale was to pay off your scoundrel brother’s debts years ago. And look at the gratitude we get for ending our social lives—I’ve not seen a trace of Uncle for years.”

  Aunt Eudora’s jaw worked slowly on the dry chicken, her lips curling in disgust.

  My heart beat in my throat. Tell them, Aunt. Tell them he’s gone and that he died in debtor’s prison. Tell them about the daughter he left behind. Admit to them what you did to us. Was she so vastly ashamed of her brother that she hadn’t even told her family I was his child? At least she’d claimed me as a cousin, even if she had not made the exact relation clear. Pity mingled with disgust as I watched the old woman chew, loose neck skin jiggling like that of a rooster.

  But as Glenna’s words registered, they pricked a hole in my disgust. She’d sold the London house to pay off his debts. She’d tried to help once, even though he’d only repaid her by returning to reckless spending and gambling, and finally to debtor’s prison.

  “We all of us have our weak spots now, don’t we?” Garamond patted his wife’s fleshy arm, head tipped toward her affectionately.

  She rewarded him with a glare. “Not an ounce of your abundant weakness comes from me, my darling.”

  Silas buried himself in conversation with Kendrick to his left, and it was the first dinner where he and I did not exchange a single word. It left me parched.

  After dinner, the men departed to the billiards room and the women moved into the drawing room and perched on the couches and chairs. Juliette slipped an arm around me, leading me to sit beside her.

  “It’s Silas Rotherham, isn’t it? He’s upset you. I could nearly see the tension between you.”

  “He’s done nothing distasteful toward me.”

  “And here I’ve been pushing him on you. I will not let him hurt my little protégé that way. He disregards you as if you are not good enough. Just you wait. I have the perfect antidote to a broken heart. I call it my replacement remedy.”

  She’d gotten all that from the little bit of interaction at dinner? Oddly, the girl had nearly pinpointed the truth. But the last thing I wanted was whatever Juliette deemed the perfect antidote to heartbreak.

  “In just a few days’ time, we’ll have our little party. I’ll make sure men are virtually throwing themselves at you. And of course, one man in particular I’m quite positive will capture your heart. This time, I make you a solemn vow. I will introduce you to Alexander.”

  “How on earth will that help?”

  Her red lips curled into a coy smile. “You’ll see.”

  21

  She knew a great deal about real love, mostly because she had encountered the counterfeit too many times to count.

  ~Nathaniel Droll, Lady Jayne Disappears

  I daydreamed myself to sleep, wondering about the mysterious man Juliette would introduce to me. I had a week to wait, but Juliette had handed me a spark, and the strong winds of my imagination had fanned it into a healthy fire. Thoughts of him crowded out the constant worries over everything else. What made this man so perfect for me? Somehow I couldn’t unhinge myself from the desire to meet and instantly connect with another human being, the way she insinuated I would with Alexander.

  The clouds rolled over Lynhurst Sunday morning, making me wish I could hibernate beneath the covers and dream about the party, but I rose and prepared for the day. Already the thrill of anticipation had loosened the twist in my gut.

  “Pardon me words, miss, but you look like a sunbeam this morning, you do.” The scrawny chambermaid yanked and tied my stays.

  I laughed. “Why ever would you feel the need to excuse a compliment?” Perhaps Juliette’s remedy had worked after all, if even the maids took notice of my positive countenance.

  “The lady don’t appreciate any words from me, good or bad. But your face is so open and sweet, I couldn’t help speaking up.”

  I twisted around to smile at her. “Will you be joining us for services today, Minnie?”

  “Oh no, ma’am. The bedchambers need tidying. Besides, I take me worship out to the hills so I get me fill of God’s work rather than man’s.” Her head nod indicated the elaborate chapel barely visible outside my window.

  On the heels of those words, I made a hasty decision I hoped I would not regret. “Minnie, I believe your wisdom has inspired me. Will you tell the family I won’t be joining them for worship?”

  “Of course, miss.”

  I snuck downstairs and out into the garden after Minnie left. It was a daring move, skipping the weekly tradition, but I felt a tug toward genuine worship that morning. The only way I’d experience that at Lynhurst was alone.

  Swinging two muffins in my hands, I covered the yard in long strides. The heavy green dress weighed me down, but the escape buoyed my mood. Wandering to the east, where I hadn’t yet been, I passed a vine-covered wall and turned right. The remains of a tiny roofless stone shack huddled in the outskirts of the woods just past the wall, its mystery and charm beckoning me. Chilly air wrapped itself around me as I stepped into the abandoned space, crunching on the broken and half-buried litter of dishes in the former kitchen area. Lying flat on the soft grass that had once been a bedroom floor, I spread my arms and closed my eyes, basking in the solitude of the outdoors and the freshness of it. Sunshine heated my skin.

  He maketh me to lie down in green pastures.

  I dipped into prayer, beginning with silent worship, then exposing my heart to the One who already understood my plight.

  He leadeth me beside the still waters.

  Life had become so complicated, and before taking another step, I needed God to help untangle it. For countless minutes I lay there, conversation flowing freely.

  “May I join you?” The deep voice burst my tryst in one heart-pounding second. “This looks like an inspired worship service.”

  “Mr. Rotherham.” I scrambled to sit up, grass blades falling from my moist skin.

  “Please, don’t stop on my account. I simply wanted to find where my little friend had gone. I knew wherever it was, it would be far more spiritual than the services held in that room.” A jerk of his head indicated the grand chapel striped with stained glass. “Tell me, though. What propelled you to choose such a place for your Sunday morning?” Coat flapping in the breeze, he settled into one corner of the half-missing wall and rested his elbows on his knees.

  As usual, his casual body language relaxed me, and I smiled. “It seemed highly appropriate to speak with God in the place where his own creation has defeated man’s.” I ran my hand along the broken wall covered in moss at my back and the grass that had pushed victoriously through the remains of the floor. “Sometimes God wipes away man’s pride in a burst o
f stormy power, but usually it’s done quietly and gradually.” Like my weeks spent at Lynhurst, slowly evolving and changing me, one challenge and heartache at a time.

  “He seems to answer prayers the same way, doesn’t he? At least, he has with mine. Not in one big powerful move, but gradually so I don’t notice until I’ve turned around and see that I have exactly what I need.”

  I wiggled against the crumbling stone wall. Exactly what I needed. Yes, that summarized what I felt about Silas in moments like this. All the prayers I’d sent toward heaven since reaching Lynhurst, prayers for acceptance, for help in my most difficult moments, for easing of loneliness, were answered in Silas Rotherham.

  Perhaps I should have also asked the Lord to fill the hole in my heart that ached for permanent companionship, for marriage. For romance. Instead, I’d prayed for Nelle’s.

  He’d notice soon if I didn’t fill the silence. Back straight against the wall, I fell into the easy rut of story. The first that came to mind.

  “That reminds me of something.” My chin tipped up, smile spreading. “Have you heard the story about the drowning man?”

  “No, but I believe I am about to.”

  I launched into the story of Pete, the sailor who fell overboard one gloomy night when the sea was green with storms. “‘Don’t fret over me,’ he called to his mates. ‘God will save me. I’m sure of it.’ So they let him be. He paddled until his arms grew weak, and his friends began to worry. So sure was Pete of God’s rescue that he would not hear of the men risking their own skin to jump in after him. Well, eventually poor Pete drowned under the foamy waves.”

  “God did not save him?” His skeptical frown made me laugh.

  “Why, of course he did! He sent a whole host of men aboard his own ship. ’Twasn’t God’s fault the man rejected the help.”

  Silas laughed, his smile revealing the two tiny dimples above his mouth. “I see I’ve made the right decision. I have found more depth here in a matter of minutes than I was sure to find in that entire service.”