His and Hers

by Dawn Calvert

  Anne sat up. "Tell me more, Sister."

  Bad direction to take the conversation, Jane thought. Confiding in Anne could make Jane feel better, but it could jeopardize the story. She'd been through too much with these people to do that.

  Escaping a burning building together apparently kicked Jane into protective mode. She mulled that over for a minute while her inner voice gave a satisfied nod and sat down to wait for the next incident, which would be along any minute now. "Never mind. I just—Nothing."

  Jane closed her eyes again and a lukewarm breeze gently ruffled her hair. Then she heard Anne ask, "Do you mean Mr. Curran Dempsey?"

  So much for peacefulness. Jane sat up, jerking her head in denial before she had even thought of a reply. "No. Of course not. What do you mean, Curran Dempsey?" Even to her own ears, her protest sounded pathetic.

  "He has a particular manner of looking at you."

  "Ha!" She tried to scoff, but was pretty sure she ended up looking even more pathetic. "Looking at me. I don't know what you're talking about. He's the villain. Sure, he's going to look at me, but only to figure out how he can use me to get what he wants." She paused. That hadn't exactly come out right. "And what he wants is that James not inherit Afton House."

  "I believe there is something more," Anne said lightly.

  "You're just infatuated with the idea of romance. "Jane flung herself back on the grass. "And looking for something to distract you so that you don't think too hard about Matthew."

  "It is not so," Anne murmured. Jane turned her head to watch as the girl began plucking at the grass. "Can you imagine what our father would say were he to discover I had even talked with a stable boy? And Mama would have one of her spells. We would not see her for months."

  Jane couldn't picture that, since she had no experience with either parent.

  "It would not be like with you, Jane. Never giving them a moment of concern, as Mama says nearly every day." A note of bitterness crept into the younger girl's tone, which then rose to mimic someone else. '"Your sister would never behave in such a way, Anne. Have you no thought to your deeds, no manners whatsoever?'"

  The words may have been stated differently, but they were all too familiar. Book Jane had been cast in the role of the practically perfect older sibling, while Anne struggled in the part of the one who never quite measured up. Jane's heart swelled in sympathy as she watched Anne's face, pinched with frustration. And once again she wondered just how close this story was to Mary Bellingham's life.

  Raising herself up to rest on her elbows, Jane hesitated before saying, "This may sound like a strange question, but you know that a lot doesn't add up here, anyway. You and I were raised together… and we weren't."

  Anne nodded. "It is unusual."

  "Here's the question. Why are the two families pushing for me and James to marry? Am I just the convenient unmarried woman in the next county over or is there something more? Do you know?"

  Anne looked uncomfortable.

  "Go ahead. Tell me." Jane crinkled her forehead. "Please?"

  The girl looked over one shoulder and then the other. "I can only know what I have heard Mama and Father tell one another, when they were not aware I was listening."

  Jane sat up. "Good. That should give me something to go on."

  "It is believed," Anne said, "that you would be able to influence Mr. James Dempsey to give up his fondness for cards and love of liquor."

  "He has a fondness for cards."

  Anne nodded.

  "And let me guess. I'm the pious one, the good girl who can make him give it all up and live life on the straight and narrow."

  "I'm not certain I understand—"

  Jane put out a hand. "Sorry. I was just repeating what you said, in a little different way. American, you know." She lifted a shoulder.

  Anne gave her a relieved smile.

  The altogether new idea of being the one to straighten someone else out was nudging against her consciousness, pulsing with a small, nagging what if. What if she could find a way to blend Do-Good Jane with Do-Wrong Jane. Would she end up with one relatively normal person? An intriguing thought.

  "So why is our Aunt Hathaway so desperately interested in me marrying James? Every time I turn around, she's shoving me together with him. Or inventing things about me as the perfect potential wife."

  Now Anne looked even more uncomfortable.

  "Does she have something to gain if I marry James?"

  A hesitant nod. Then Anne said, "Her husband, our uncle Hathaway, is ill. From what I heard our parents to say, they are in need of money."

  "I don't see what that has to do with me, unless… Oh, no."

  The younger girl made a face.

  "Is she getting a commission?" Hastily, she changed the term to something more appropriate to the time. "Will our parents be giving her money if she arranges for the marriage to James to go through?"

  "Yes. They said that perhaps she could ensure the matter."

  Ugly. Really ugly. Made Jane feel something like a prostitute. And not only that, but one who was so unattractive, the pimp had to work to put her together with someone. "This is terrible," she said.

  "Aunt Hathaway has done as much for others," Anne piped up. "For a cousin of ours in London, in fact."

  Great. A marriage broker. Well, at least she now knew the woman's interest and it wasn't simply a matter of family hoping the best for other family.

  Jane pushed herself up and shook herself off, as if she could somehow shed the auction block feeling. "Let's go find that swing again and we can talk about your love life. Which, by the way, you're too young to have. Have you ever thought that you and Matthew could just be good friends?"

  Chapter 18

  Some things were universal, no matter what period of time you lived in. And one of those things was a swing. Though the wooden seat and rope were rough and primitive, it functioned the same, sending the swingee high into the air, where a feeling close to what the Wright Brothers must have experienced came over Jane. The sense of weightlessness, that a person could fly. High. Leaving troubles behind to sit on the ground and watch. Or slink away. Mostly, hers watched. And waited.

  Jane pushed and Anne swung. While Jane tried to keep the conversation on a semiserious note, evaluating the pros and cons of rushing into courtship, it soon devolved into a discussion of the wonders of the opposite sex. "I should like to know what it is like to be kissed," confided Anne as the swing went back toward Jane for another push. Pink stained her cheeks.

  "You'll love it," sighed Jane. "As long as the guy is a reasonably good kisser, anyway."

  "What is—How does one know?" When the swing came back, Jane could see that Anne's pink had moved into a full-on red.

  "You can tell when you kiss him, of course. But how do you know beforehand? Whether or not he can kiss?" She pointed at Anne. "Which in your case is important because you can't run around kissing everyone to try them out." She dropped her hand to go back to a description, giving Anne a hard push on the swing. "Well, it can be hard to tell. But if you look at him and feel like you could melt into a puddle at his feet—"

  The swing was back. Anne gave a squeal at the melting-puddle idea.

  "No, it's true," Jane assured her. "It happens." So, how to describe a good kiss? She pushed a couple of more times, thinking it over. "If your insides turn sort of squishy and your stomach is turning over and you just can't wait to kiss him, it's a good indication you're going to enjoy it." Much like she felt with Curran. Absently, she gave another push as his face passed before her mind's eye. The guy could send shivers through her without even being there. How did she explain that one to Anne?

  The girl was silent for a few swings back and forth, apparently thinking about Jane's words. "My stomach does not feel any particular way with Matthew. Except in need of dinner."

  Jane nodded. "That should tell you something, then."

  "It is perhaps just that I favor his company. He does not look upon me as a child. Or tre
at me such."

  Growing pains. "Believe me," said Jane, who was beginning to relish the unfamiliar role of older sister, "before you know it, fewer and fewer people will be looking at you as a child. That only takes time. It won't be long, particularly if our father has something to do with it." Look at her, talking as though she actually knew the man. But in a strange way, she felt as if she might.

  Anne dragged her feet on the ground, slowing the swing until she brought it to a stop. "Now I shall push," she announced.

  "Okay." Jane grinned. Enough of the responsible older sister. She was ready for some elementary school fun. Changing places with Anne, she hopped onto the wooden seat and backed up with her feet, as far as she could go. Then she set off through the air, bringing her legs forward and back, in rhythm with the swing. Above her, the tree branch creaked.

  "Take care!" she heard Anne giggle.

  Care. Who took care on a swing? Okay, maybe she should, but it felt so good to be sailing through the air, her skirts blowing up around her. Maybe she could use them as some sort of parachute. At the idea of descending through the sky slowly on a cushion of billowing skirts, she threw her head back and laughed. Benton Dempsey might have to rethink his future daughter-in-law's ability to keep James on a straight path.

  "You are so high!" shouted Anne.

  "It's all in the legs! "Jane shouted back. "You have to pump!"

  Anne ran around to the side. "Show me. Please!" She clasped her hands together in anticipation.

  Now they were on Jane's turf. This is where things felt good. "Just watch," she called. Out with her legs. Back with her legs. She pumped hard. And then harder. At the last minute, at the very second when the swing hit its limit, she decided to go for the big finish. "Watch this!" she yelled down to Anne, pushing herself out of the swing and through the air, making her signature move of spreading her arms wide. "Parting the sea," her mother had termed it. In the echoes behind her, she heard the girl's scream and wondered if she had, yet again, acted on a really bad idea.

  Too late now. A thought reinforced by the force with which she landed on the ground. At least she remembered to absorb the shock with her legs, making an almost five-point landing. Well, four points for sure, given not only the handicap but the imminent danger a Victorian corset posed. After the landing, the stupid thing cut her nearly in half and made sure she fell right over in a tangle of skirts. Ow. Really, ow. Her boobs felt pushed up into her neck somewhere and she was afraid she might have rendered her arms completely lifeless since the corset had shoved itself up and under them. That would make for some interesting bruising.

  But for a minute there, she had stuck the landing. She was pretty sure, anyway.

  "Jane!"

  "Yes?" She'd grabbed a fistful of grass trying unsuccessfully to save herself from toppling. So she put the other hand into action batting away the fabric, as she did checking feet and legs to make sure they were in working order. When at last she looked up, it was to see a wide-eyed, giggling Anne, hands clapped to her mouth.

  "I must do it! At once!" Anne cried.

  Jane grinned gamely. "Go ahead, as long as you don't have one of these things on." She pointed to her corset. "Because that will do you in, let me tell you." With Anne's help, she made it to her feet and opened her hand, letting the grass fall. As she did, something hard and shiny caught her eye. She bent to pick it up. A round object A… stone. With one rough edge. "Omigod."

  "Jane, look!"

  Anne had already run back to the swing and was pumping her legs, as Jane had demonstrated, and sailing higher.

  Jane looked at her. Then down at the stone, her ticket back. Her way out of this whole mess. It was unbelievable. She'd thought it was lost forever and here it was. Thank God. Relief washed over her, buckling her knees. Choices. She had choices.

  A girlish shout came from the swing. "I shall jump, Sister! As you did!"

  Anne. The stone—"Anne, wait!"

  The girl looked down, a frown on her face.

  Jane walked swiftly to the side of the swing, trailing dirt, twigs and grass, the stone clutched firmly in her hand. For it to get lost again, it would have to be pried out of her fist. "Before you do that, there's something I have to show you. Something important."

  "I have no need of—"

  "Yes, you do." With the stone, she could leave this place. Forever. Go back to… Oh. Her life, which hadn't been so great in the first place.

  The swing began to slow as Anne reluctantly quit pumping her legs.

  Jane shot her a look of mock sternness, as much to focus her thoughts as anything else. "Aunt Hathaway is going to have something to say about those shoes."

  At last, Anne came to a stop. "I cannot think what should be so important for you to tell me. I shall only do what you did." Her chin was high, her tone huffy.

  "Okay. "Jane shrugged. "But if you break your neck, it won't be a good look for you, no matter how high collars get" She waited.

  It didn't take long for her to get the teenage Victorian version of fine in return. "As you wish," said Anne, making it clear she was agreeing only to pacify Jane.

  "I want to show you how to make sure you get a good landing, one where you bend your knees. Trust me, it's your friend." She proceeded to show why in small hops, complete with her arms in a swan dive.

  From behind a tree not far away, Curran Dempsey watched the demonstration, listening to the gravity of the instruction and the feminine giggles that resulted from it. Skirts flew and tumbled as the two hopped and rolled upon the ground. Jane emerged to stand, her arms triumphantly in the air and her cheeks flushed.

  "Thank you," she said, turning one way in a mock bow and then turning in the opposite direction. "Thank you. We'll be here all week, if this corset doesn't kill me first."

  A more awkward Anne sprawled on the grass, dissolving into laughter.

  "Make your knees do the work," he heard Jane say, the gravity of her pointed finger lessened by the levity in her voice. "You have to get this right."

  He'd never seen a display less proper. And he'd never been more intrigued by anyone. A lady of grace one moment and fire flashing in her eyes the next Turning cartwheels on the ground, leaping from a wooden swing. What was he to think might happen next?

  He could not imagine not knowing.

  Bobbing his chin with regret, Curran turned and walked away rather than torture himself any longer with wanting what he could not have. What he must help his brother, who could not possibly appreciate such a woman, to have.

  And what Curran would have to do to accomplish that.

  Jane dressed slowly, her body stiff from repeated leaps off the swing and corset insults the day before, despite her very best shock-absorbing jumps. She imagined Anne would not be doing much better, especially since it had taken her a few memorable crashes to get it right. But the time Jane and Anne had spent together had been worth it. The two of them, almost like real sisters, laughing and letting their hair down. Literally, as well as figuratively.

  Jane, who had never had a sister, had loved it.

  But there was another reason she moved slowly. It gave her time to savor the dream she'd had last night, the one Curran Dempsey had invaded with his rumbling voice and sensuous I-could-take-you-right-now lips. The way he looked at her, the way he talked with her… as though she were not the perpetual screwup but instead an interesting, desirable woman.

  In her dream, he had taken her. And she had taken him. Over and over again, until both were spent and wrapped in each other's arms.

  The dream had proven to be both bliss and torture. She'd tried as hard not to wake up as she'd known she had to. And at this moment, she wasn't ready to let it go. She could hold it close in her heart, a secret fantasy she didn't have to share with Mary or anyone else.

  Because that's all it could be. A fantasy.

  The servant girl crept in on silent feet to help her dress. Jane wondered what women did who didn't have anyone to assist them. God forbid they would have to p
ut their bodies through agony, and layers of clothing, all by themselves.

  Today's outfit was a fetching mint-green number made of soft, delicate fabric. It was laid out on the bed, ready for her. The servant walked over, corset in hand. "Could we skip that thing?" Jane asked.

  The girl's eyes went wide.

  "Guess not," Jane sighed. She missed her jeans. Her comfy, tight-fitting T-shirts. Her sandals with the sparkly beading. Frappuccinos. Grey's Anatomy. Her list could go on.

  She even missed her life in a way she'd never thought she would. Despite her always saying the wrong thing, at least she was the one deciding to say it.

  The stone. It was her ticket out. All she had to do was remember the words she'd said to get here in the first place and she'd be out of here just as fast. That's all she had to do. She fingered the stone. A small object, with such tremendous power.

  All she had to do was use it. So why couldn't she?

  Not yet. Not while Mary's book was still heading south. She couldn't do it. Just couldn't. All those people to be responsible for. She wasn't going back to her old life, only to have to worry about this one.

  It wasn't easy being a heroine.

  Jane opened the door and headed down the hall. When she came to the stairs, she began to descend, eyes down. Then she heard footsteps coming from the other direction and glanced up.

  Curran. The living, breathing star of her midnight dreams. Her breath caught in her throat.

  He didn't waste words on a greeting. "Jane. Please acme."

  Wordlessly, she did as he asked, following him down the stairs and through a hallway into another wing. She loved the way he walked, as though he defied any and all opinions of him, answerable only to himself.

  She wished she could do the same.

  They wound through more halls until at last he opened a door that led outside, to a small, secluded garden, bordered by high stone walls. In the center sat a curved bench made of stone. Big enough for two people to sit. Well, two people and one huge skirt.

  Flowers and plants grew wild and colorful, lending a slightly dangerous edge to the place, as though it afforded privacy to those who might seek to do things away from the prying eyes of others.