His and Hers

by Dawn Calvert

  After a few minutes, he broke the silence. "Perhaps if I were to… ?" He moved toward her, taking her hand and guiding her upward to stand before him. Then he slipped a hand around her waist, holding her.

  Jane's chin lifted at that and she knew Mary had raised her pen to begin writing, without transporting them somewhere else in a flash of light. It had worked. They had done it.

  "I find you, my dear," said James, who seemed to have a struggle with getting the words out, "to be endlessly fascinating."

  Curran's words. Coming from James's mouth. She wondered what sort of threats or bribes Curran had had to make to get his know-it-all brother to cooperate. Talk about a complicated web. This villain was working at cross-purposes with himself.

  "You do, sir?" she whispered, allowing Mary to take over the reins on that one. Oh, wait. She had to work in some things of her own, also per Curran's instructions. What was she supposed to say again? A glance at James's perfect features refreshed her memory. She focused on her tongue, making it say the words. "You are most pleasing to look at."

  Somehow, it didn't sound like the compliment she'd intended.

  He still took it as one. "Why, thank you, Jane." His arm pressed closer around her.

  Okay. What else had Curran told her to say? She racked her brain trying to think. Before she could pull it up, the next words out of her mouth came from Mary. "You are an enlightened gentleman, with opinions I confess I seek to hear."

  Enlightened. Had she been thinking that or was Mary rooting around in her memory? If a reference to Byron looking phenomenal without his shirt came up, they were all in serious trouble.

  "You flatter me," James said with a winning smile. He leaned toward her to land a kiss on her forehead. He looked very pleased. Too pleased. He had words to say as well.

  She made her tongue again follow her command. "And do you find me… ?" Really. She shouldn't have to fish for compliments. The guy didn't have that big a job to do.

  For a second, he appeared startled, as though he had to jolt himself back into the moment "Endlessly fascinating," he repeated.

  "Thank you, sir. And… ?"

  "Beautiful." To his credit, he dropped his tone on the word, saying it as though he truly meant it. "Fragile."

  Mary took over again. "There are others far more worthy of such praise," Jane said with an embarrassed duck of her chin.

  No there aren't, she wanted to snap back at Mary. She wasn't any too sure she would call the pairing of "beautiful" and "fragile" praise unless it was also combined with the "strong" and "fearless" Curran had used. Jane was a lot of things, but a china doll too beautiful to handle absolutely wasn't one of them.

  Before she could figure out how best to respond, James was leaning toward her, his face to one side. Then he kissed her, in a slow, rolling way at first, before moving on to practically sucking the life force from her lips.

  Hey. Victorians weren't supposed to behave like that.

  When he pulled back, he held tightly to her as though concerned she would drop into a dead faint at his feet. As though the magnitude of his kiss would be too much for her. "Jane," he whispered, a smile on his face.

  A woman would hope that the swagger, the satisfied self-confidence would at least have something backing it up. But oh, no. James was a lousy kisser.

  What had she told Anne about that? She needed some of her own advice about now.

  A rustle came from the side, some sort of noise that caught the attention of both of them. It was a servant, the one Jane had seen Benton Dempsey throw things at after she retreated from his room. "Sir! Please forgive me," the woman pleaded. She dropped both a curtsy and her gaze in deference. "It is a matter of urgency," she said to the ground.

  He turned toward her. "Yes, uhh." He made a snapping motion with his fingers. "What is it?"

  Jane was willing to lay odds the woman had worked at Afton House for years, but James couldn't think of her name. Given the reason Anne had offered up for Jane being the one to marry James, she'd have to assume he would take that bet Only to lose.

  "It's Mr. Dempsey, sir. Your father. Miss Dempsey says you need to come at once." The woman's eyes were saucers in the moonlight.

  Benton Dempsey. He must be near death. Jane felt a stab of regret. Though grumpy and narrow-minded, he was straightforward and oddly likeable. And she knew he'd held out a hope he wouldn't voice, a hope that Mary would see fit to let him finish out the book alive.

  James straightened into a commanding stance, his hand leaving Jane's back to tuck into his jacket, as befitted the heir to a vast estate, Jane supposed. "I see," he answered. "You may go now…" Still apparently unable to pull up her name, he waved a hand in dismissal.

  "Yes, sir." Another hastily bobbed curtsy and the servant left.

  "Jane," he said to her. "My father lies upon his deathbed. I must go to him."

  "Yes, James. Please. Go." Go, James. Really. Take your time.

  He dropped a kiss on her forehead. "I shall be back, my dear one."

  God, she hoped not. "And I shall be waiting."

  With that, he left her alone in the moonlight, where she imagined that Mary made her appear quite picturesque. A solitary figure on a stone bench, in the shadows and slivers of white light, just kissed soundly by the man she loved. Who would, he had as good as promised, return to do it again.

  Jane, Anne and Mrs. Hathaway sat in a row in the drawing room, waiting for news. Anne fidgeted while Mrs. Hathaway made nervous sounds, sucking in air through her front teeth. Jane, in the middle of the two, was about to see if Mary would allow her to put a hand out to still both of them when her aunt volunteered, "We should call for the carriage. To carry us home at once. It is not seemly we be present at such a time. Whatever will the family think of us?" She pressed a handkerchief to her nose and blew loudly.

  The woman would give up her marriage commission so easily? Unlikely. She had an ill husband to support. And a blossoming business, apparently. Anne and Jane exchanged looks. "We shall see, Aunt Hathaway," said Jane. "I am certain we are not considered ordinary guests."

  The woman's gaze shot to Jane. "Has he asked you then?"

  "He had very nearly done so when the servant arrived to summon James to his father's bed."

  Disappointment creased Mrs. Hathaway's face. "I confess I cannot imagine why he simply does not do so. He has written to your father and most assuredly received a reply." The handkerchief fluttered in front of her. "Your father would not delay in this matter."

  Jane itched to come back with something that would turn the woman's world upside down. Something like, "What makes you think I'll say yes?" But she couldn't do it.

  That would only upset the frail storyline Mary had built and result in disaster for everyone. She sniffed. She could swear smoke still hung in the air.

  Instead, she spoke the words written by Mary, "Perhaps there are arrangements yet to be made, Aunt Hathaway."

  With a reluctant nod, the woman acknowledged this could be correct.

  "And I do know James to be a most devoted and conscientious son," Jane said. "He is even now praying for his father's safe journey to Heaven."

  "Yes, yes," agreed Mrs. Hathaway. "Such a son any father would be thankful for."

  The door opened and James came into the room, followed by Violet. Both appeared solemn and serious. The three women seated on the stiff furniture straightened.

  "It is done," James said. "His spirit is safely gone to Heaven, carried there by our farewells and most earnest prayers."

  "Oh, James." Jane rose and went to him, laying a hand on his arm. "We shall leave at once."

  He raked a hand through his hair. "No."

  "No?" asked a surprised Violet, from behind him.

  "Your presence comforts me, Jane. I need you here."

  "But the arrangements that must be made…" murmured Violet.

  "Jane is soon to be my wife. And I insist it be no other way than she, Anne and Mrs. Hathaway stay."

  A collective ga
sp went through the room. Jane was surprised to find herself one of the gaspers. "Your wife?" she heard herself ask.

  "Now, Jane, I suppose I have not yet asked you formally, but surely you know my intentions."

  "I had hoped, sir…" She sounded about ten years old.

  Mrs. Hathaway shoved herself up from her seat, bounding over to the three who stood. "This is wonderful!" she said, clapping her hands. Then she seemed to remember that the circumstances, overall, were not the most joyous and recovered herself, dropping her hands to her side.

  "Yes," echoed Violet, with some uncertainty. "I am pleased you have found happiness, Brother." Stepping forward, she laid a kiss on Jane's cheek. "And I shall welcome you most fondly as my sister."

  "Violet, you know that your home will always be here with us," James said. "There will simply be another mistress to relieve you of your more arduous tasks."

  "Yes," Violet answered. She didn't look at all convinced. Jane felt sorry for her.

  Mary must have been thinking the same thing. "Violet, I have always wanted another sister," she said, putting a hand out to grasp the other woman's. "And I am so pleased it is to be you."

  Gracious and kind. Points for Mary.

  Violet responded with a hesitant nod.

  So all was well in this tight, or at least not unraveling at the moment, family. Wait a minute. Had James ever actually proposed?

  The house quickly shifted into mourning, with all of the curtains drawn, the coffin given a place of honor in the dining room and a heavy sense of quiet descending over all inhabitants of the house. There were a multitude of funeral arrangements to be made, apparently, and all were determined and discussed in hushed tones, as though speaking too loud would indeed wake the dead.

  Jane's family, when word was sent by Mrs. Hathaway, was appalled that the three would remain at such a time. That may have been mitigated somewhat by the apparently welcome news that Jane was to marry James Dempsey. The Ellingson parents subsequently seemed inclined to defer to their soon-to-be son-in-law's decision in the matter.

  Curran Dempsey had, for all intents and purposes, disappeared, causing an ache in Jane's heart that would not go away. She looked for Curran around every corner, in every hallway of the house and in every row of the gardens. She even ventured to the stables to try and find him, having to back away and flee before the grooms could ask what she was doing there. She wouldn't have known what to tell them.

  James reported to Jane, with no small degree of relish, that he had not allowed Curran at the bedside of their father. "He will be seen now, "James said to Jane, "for the imposter he is. He has no claim to the name of Dempsey and I shall insist he renounce it. And this place."

  She had, as Mary penned, expressed her agreement and admiration for James, a man who could take such command at a sorrowful time. But in her heart, she longed for Curran and dreaded the day when Mary would have her marry James.

  Of course, knowing James as she was now beginning to, the ceremony might be over before Jane realized it had happened. If the same could be said for the wedding night, she'd be ecstatic. Thank God she had the stone. She could use it to carry her back before the "I now pronounce you…" was finished.

  When was Mary going to end this book? Jane had cooperated, had been a good little character. It was time now to be done. Conclude it once the church bells rang and the newlywed couple came down the steps. Jane would be released to live her life. Regretting the one person it didn't include.

  Her chin began to lift and her shoulders straighten and she knew Mary was writing again. The author had been pouring all of her energy into the book lately, writing deep into the night, mostly about funeral arrangements that included mourning clothes, selecting guests, the number of horses, the gravediggers and letters to various relatives. Personally, Jane thought she was spending way too much time on all of it, but maybe that's what they did in this time and other people would find it interesting.

  She didn't. She just found it inordinately sad that Ben ton Dempsey's oldest son hadn't been allowed to be at his deathbed for a farewell. And the constant ache in her heart at not seeing him herself would not subside.

  She stepped into the drawing room. "Have you seen James?" she heard herself ask Violet.

  "He has gone into the city," Violet replied, looking up from her embroidery. "He is expected to return tomorrow."

  "I see."

  With that, Mary switched to writing more about funeral arrangements, including the large, dark curtains hung from every window, and Jane was temporarily freed as the object of the writer's pen.

  But James did not return that day, or the next. Curran did not appear, either.

  Jane tried, on several occasions, to channel the author, to no avail. Not even the hint of a picture or thought. She'd even gone back to the painting a few times, talking directly to it in the hope that Mary would hear her.

  Nothing.

  In Mary's next scene, Jane found herself in the dining room, eating with Violet, Mrs. Hathaway and Anne, when a servant broke in, her face contorted with alarm. "It's the Misters Dempsey. You must come quick!"

  All four women scrambled out of their chairs, to the door and then to the front hallway, where they saw the reason for the servant's concern. Curran supported what looked to be a barely coherent, unshaven James, his hair at all ends and reeking of booze.

  "What has happened?" cried Violet.

  "James!" echoed Jane. She turned to Curran. "Sir! Is he injured?"

  "The injury is only to his pride," Curran replied, his gaze even and unruffled.

  "I have lost it, Violet," James said, his eyes wild and unfocused. "Lost it all. Our father would not be—" He hiccupped. "Pleased."

  She moved to him, hands on his arms. "What do you mean, James Dempsey?" she asked, shaking him. "Tell me at once."

  James stumbled and nearly fell to the floor, stopped only by Curran lifting him back up. "I've lost it," he repeated.

  Jane took a step toward him. "James, what have you lost? Do tell us. We are all quite concerned."

  "The estate. Afton House." A drunken laugh rolled out of him. "To Curran, the bastard child."

  "No!" the two women said together in horror. Behind them, Jane heard Mrs. Hathaway swoon.

  "Is this true?" Violet demanded of Curran, her face twisted with rage.

  He gave a small bow, while still managing to hang on to James. "I confess it is. Your brother professes to be adept at cards, but he is in fact no match for me." A tight smile followed his words.

  Violet's face crumpled and she reached out to lean against the wall. "We are ruined," she said, voice breaking.

  "Ruined," repeated James. Raising his fist, he tried to take a swing at Curran, who ducked easily. James spun and stumbled again. He would have fallen had Curran not caught him and set him on his feet.

  This was a hero? Mary had a lot to learn about life and love, and men, in general.

  Jane took another step forward. "Give him to me," she instructed Curran. "You, sir, are to leave this place. James will tell you so himself, as soon as he is able."

  "That shall be difficult for him as I am now the owner of this place." His eyes met hers. They were hard and cold. A villain's eyes.

  But she saw something else there, she was sure of it. Something Mary couldn't see. A look meant for Jane alone. And she understood it.

  He'd done his part to help rescue the story. Made a move only a villain would be capable of. Now it was up to Mary.

  She held his gaze, even as she heard herself say, "There is one rightful heir to this estate. James Dempsey. You will please take your leave before I call the servants to help you do so."

  "Bold words for one not yet a member of the family," Curran said, thrusting the weak-kneed James upon her.

  "I am so desperately sorry," James pleaded as she and Violet, between them, carried him up the stairs to his chambers. "The bastard tricked me."

  Violet murmured something tearful that seemed to approach sympathy, but
Jane remained mute. The words Mary wanted her to say hovered on her tongue, knocking around at the inside of her firmly closed mouth to be let out.

  Not this time.

  She couldn't go through with this, with marrying James. It would all be a lie, and a bad one at that. Jane could unwittingly be doing more damage to Mary's story by staying. She couldn't help James, not like the story had been set up to have her do.

  Straightening out someone with a gambling addiction would take an enormous amount of patience and love. She had neither for James. She had only a certain sympathy for him and that wouldn't be anywhere close to enough.

  Yes, she cared about all of the people in the story. About Anne, the sister she'd never had. Violet, who had accepted her circumstances in life with as much grace as possible and kept on plowing through, hoping for something better but knowing the chances of it happening were zero to none. Benton Dempsey, who had given his life for the sake of the plot. Mrs. Hathaway, who, despite her zeal to get Jane married off at all costs, had likely had a less-than-happy life herself. Even James, whose own self-absorption and Victorian mores prevented him from seeing that he had a pretty good family around him. He was, in away, a victim of his times.

  Most of all, Curran. The man she could be herself with. Who quickened her heartbeat as much as he did her confidence and sense of self. When she was with him, life was easier somehow. She didn't worry about what she might say, what she might do, what she might break… Oh. Right With Curran, she didn't have accidents.

  "Jane?" Violet stared at her. They were standing before James's door. A servant had been shooed away, after being told the women could take care of James by themselves.

  Jane bit her bottom lip to keep from saying any of Mary's words. Ouch. Biting harder now.

  She reached down to open the door and they went inside, where they laid James on the bed. He mumbled still, repeating Curran's name over and over.

  Violet looked at her across the bed. Jane succeeded in forcing out her own words. "I cannot," she said.

  "Jane?"

  "I cannot," she repeated.

  "Marry him?" Violet moved swiftly around the bed. "But you must Don't you see? We shall all be ruined."