by Sophia Nash
“No. I see a lady who while, yes, was desperately unhappy, did not have control over her own death in childbed. And,” she continued, “I see two gentlemen who have blamed themselves for far too long. The burden of presumed guilt has been destroying any possibility of happiness for either one of you.”
Jane realized the truth of her words as she spoke. The shock of it made her feel as if she had been punched in the stomach. He had not killed his wife. She felt sick trying to recall her actions and words to him yesterday. Had she really accused him of murder? She felt a wave of nausea at the remembrance of her horrible words. She should have known he was incapable of harming his wife. She knew she had just used her fears as an excuse to distance herself from him. But why? Why did she keep pushing him away?
The awful truth came on black tiptoe to the edges of her mind. She distrusted love and anger. Her parents’ two dominant personalities had clashed, and one had broken down altogether. She didn’t want to lose herself as her mother had in the face of her father’s unrelenting ironfisted dominance and need for control. But then, Rolfe’s departure and refusal to provoke her further proved he was not at all like her father. The rush of realization made her feel faint.
“Jane, my dear, you must sit down. Your face is drained of all color.” Frederick rushed around the polished desk to help her into a padded leather armchair.
Jane peered up at him and saw the restrained, pale look mirrored on his face. “We are quite a pair,” she added with a small smile.
“Shall I call for a maid? Some smelling salts? Maybe some spirits will help you?” He moved behind his desk once again.
“No, no. I beg you, no. Although you, sir, might care for a brandy, perhaps, after all this,” she ventured.
“No.” At his desk, Frederick rested his face on his hand. “At least for today I shall not consume any spirits.” Jane knew not what to say. “I have lost my wife, my son, and almost my very life because of the craving.”
“What do you mean?” she asked with concern.
“They left a fortnight ago. Marianne will not come back, and she threatened to keep my son away from me unless I stopped.” Jane looked at him, hoping he would continue. “But perhaps now, God willing, I will be able to stop. Rolfe’s words and trust meant everything to me. I will try to live up to his hopes for me.”
Jane reached across the wide desk, offering comfort. He grasped her hand and stared at her. She felt he looked at her from the depths of his soul. “And perhaps you will live up to my hopes for you.”
Jane fingered the heavy ring in her pocket as she watched the maid place the last of her personal effects into her trunk. It was warm in her hands and helped steady her nerves for the trip ahead. Her mind wandered as she moved to the window and stared sightlessly out to the manicured lawns before her.
All the inhabitants of Frederick’s manor house had spent the last fifteen days cheerfully and peacefully. It seemed to be the first time in weeks she had been able to quiet her mind. She spent long hours lost in her room with her writings. She was almost happy, moving in the dream of a world far, far away from the eerie finality of her new life.
Harry seemed content. He had written to Mr. Melure, his mentor at university, of his change of plans and had received at his earliest expectation the happy news that he would most likely be asked to join an expedition the following late spring. What joy sparkled in his mischievous eyes! He was asked to teach until then to finance his trip. And the long rest finally allowed the fractured ankle to begin the healing process. Of course, the doctor had said it would be at least another month or two before it would be fully mended. But he was restless and eager to escort Jane home before leaving for university.
And Frederick. Jane had urged him to write to his wife. He had and was now quite anxiously awaiting an answer. Jane had taken great comfort in her long walks with Frederick. In so many ways, she knew they stood at similar precipices. He was changing his way of life, his drinking, and was praying that his wife and child would return. He was also clinging to his departed brother’s newfound trust.
And Jane had buried her youthful dreams of a life with Harry without regret. Still, she faced the daunting task of rearranging the pieces of her life, with the likely scorn of outsiders. Worst of all, she must face it alone, without hope of a partner. Any shred of hope that Rolfe might return was erased little by little each day. She sighed and shrugged as she contemplated the future. She would fill it with writing and charitable activities between her working hours. She knew from her past life of training horses that she was truly happy when she was busy. And it would keep her mind off of… off of the past.
Jane turned to take a last look at the room she had occupied. She smoothed her hand over the worn wood of the escritoire, which had proved to be her good-luck charm. She frowned as she thought of the sheaves of foolscap that had been packed for Clarissa’s future inspection before Sir Thomas would send inquiries to a publisher. She was only sad that the ending of her manuscript had proved to be unsatisfactory. The virginal heroine was too virtuous, and the hero was arrogant and unhappy.
Jane thanked each of the servants that she encountered on her way to the jiggling coach with four impatient matched bays fronting it.
“I cannot thank you enough, Frederick, for lending us your coach. It is truly beyond our expectations,” Jane said as she and a maid reached the two gentlemen standing nearby.
“Yes, well, Harry’s old thing is ready for its final resting place, don’t you think?” Frederick answered with a smile.
Harry laughed. “Yes, but it is my family’s only ‘old thing,’ as you put it.”
“Don’t worry. I shall see that it is returned to Cornwall as soon as it is repaired,” Frederick replied.
Jane had the odd feeling that Harry’s old conveyance was already fixed but Frederick had wanted them to travel in comfort. He was also sending a maid to lend an air of propriety to the couple.
Jane offered her hand to him shyly. “I don’t know what to say to you, sir. Or how we can ever repay you. You have been so very kind and have helped us immeasurably in our distress.”
“My dear, it is you who have helped me.” Jane felt almost moved to tears as Frederick brushed aside her hand and made the unusual move of embracing her, almost crushing her to his chest. He whispered to her, “Don’t give up hope. Surely he will come back for you.”
Jane stiffly moved away from him, avoiding his eyes. “I am sure I do not know what you mean, sir. But please do not worry about me. I am quite looking forward to living with my aunt.”
Frederick handed her into the carriage and clapped a hand on Harry’s back as he lowered his voice. “Don’t forget your promise. You will write to me if things do not turn out properly for her. I could not bear to think of her unsettled.”
“You have my word. And keep away from the Kill Devil. Nasty business that was,” Harry replied.
Jane watched through the coach door as Frederick roared with laughter and made some unknown promise to Harry, one of his two newest friends. Really, probably the only friends he had, thought Jane. She knew the feeling only too well.
Chapter Fourteen
FROM the carriage window Jane could see Clarissa flying out the front doors of Pembroke, brushing past the openmouthed footman. Jane smiled, her heart soaring at the sight of her aunt—gone was Clarissa’s old maid lace cap. She pushed open the carriage door and jumped into her aunt’s waiting arms.
“Oh, I am so glad to see you again!” exclaimed Clarissa. “You know not the anxiety I suffered for you… both,” she continued, extending her hand to Harry.
“I am sure you worried about me just as much as ever you did for your dear Jane,” concluded Harry with a grin.
“To be sure,” Clarissa said, with a rare smile for Harry.
“Is Father here?” asked Jane, moving from Clarissa’s arms.
“No. Didn’t you receive my letter?” She continued after Jane shook her head. “He is in London with your brothe
r. They followed you but lost all traces after the second day. He wrote to inform me he was on to London in hopes of finding you in town before you went on to Gretna.”
“Does he know I am here now?” Clarissa shook her head. Harry breathed a long sigh of relief. “Thank you for not telling him. I realize it goes against your grain to hide this from him,” Jane said, holding Clarissa’s arm. The demure maid who had traveled with the couple descended from the carriage and was whisked away by a footman soon after being introduced.
The threesome walked up the dusty stone steps of Pembroke and continued into the salon, Clarissa stopping to arrange for tea and scones to be brought to the weary couple. Jane sat on the familiar blue brocade chaise her mother had always favored, a place of old comfort and now of some sadness. She proceeded to relate the events that had passed since she had last written to her aunt. She stopped speaking as George entered the room, following a maid who placed the large silver tea tray in front of Clarissa. Jane placed both her hands in George’s outstretched ones as he welcomed her home.
“Miss Jane, I am so very glad to see you again.”
“As I am you, George,” she said, smiling.
He patted her hand. “Miss Jane, I will leave you to your tea with Mr. Thompson and Miss Fairchild. But I would ask for a word with you in the stables when you are well settled.” Harry winked at him and rose to shake his hand as he departed.
When the door closed, Harry added, “It sure is great guns to see the old boy again. Don’t know how he stands being in London and all, being the joskin he is!”
“Yes, well, my father usually requires George to reside here year-round, as you know. This past season was an aberration, as my father released several servants from our employ. My father might be a difficult sort, but he does know the value of George’s abilities concerning the workings of the stables when I am not here. It is, I believe, the only reason he has kept him on, given how much he detests my dear George,” replied Jane.
“Dearest, I don’t want to alarm you after all the trials you have faced, but I think we must plan to leave for Littlefield within a fortnight. I think it will be for the best. Certainly you do not want to face my brother’s rage if he comes galloping back here to confront you, and I must return to prepare for my marriage and close up the cottage. You must know…” She hesitated. “Sir Thomas is delighted you will reside with us in Chichester after the wedding. He was quite insistent, in fact, after I wrote to him.”
“I am most grateful and relieved to hear this news.” Jane paused and gazed wistfully out the front windows. “I have learned to curb my independent, prideful nature, you will be glad to hear. I know that invading the privacy of your new home is an unfortunate necessity, at least for a short while. I must also beg your aid in establishing a post, perhaps as a lady’s companion, as soon as possible. I could not tolerate the idea of forcing myself on you and Sir Thomas without the understanding that it will be of a duration temporary in nature.”
“Jane, I know your sensibilities very well, dearest. Fear not, we will face all of this when we are settled.” She paused to refill her niece’s cup. Avoiding Jane’s eyes, she continued, “And how did you leave Lord Graystock? Is he faring well?”
Jane felt ill at ease upon the mention of his name. “He was tolerably well. He has gone up to town, as was always his intention.”
Harry grinned. “His lordship was madder than a hornet when he took himself off. Jane made a bumble-broth of it, don’t you know.”
“Harry!” Jane said in shocked tones.
“Well, ain’t it the truth? You would never tell old crotchety, er, I mean, your dear Aunt Clarissa if I don’t. It is the least I can do after you led me on this merry farce!”
“Harry!”
“What? And you probably won’t tell her you refused his offer and then compounded your muttonheaded behavior by calling off our own superior plan. As I told you before, you are addlepated, stubborn as a mule, and determined to ruin every chance that is handed to you on a silver platter!” Harry said. Then he turned to Clarissa. “I hope you are more successful in talking some sense into her.”
“Please, Harry, let’s not start this again. You will benefit the most from our change of plans, as long as my father doesn’t find you!” Jane insisted. She was tired of being forced to endure Harry’s lighthearted arguments. “Enough of this. I must go and find out what George needs,” she said, rising to her feet.
Clarissa rose as well. “We can discuss all of this later, dear. I’m sure Harry is eager to be on his way to the manse.” She turned to him. “I do hope you will not be facing the inquisition there. I must warn you that my brother was most unhappy with your father after you departed. He did not spare him his tongue. He even threatened to remove him from the living, but I don’t think he will go through with it now.”
“It is quite all right if he does. The earl’s brother, a very nice old chap, invited me to ask my father if he would consider accepting the living in Seaton, as the rector there died just one month ago. He rightly guessed what Jane’s father would do. Well, I’m on my way now, to face the tears and sermons.”
Jane hugged Harry, thanking him for everything he had done for her. Harry brushed off her gratitude and grasped Clarissa’s hand in parting. Jane could not meet her aunt’s eyes as she too left, mounting the stairs to change into her riding habit.
“I shall see you at dinner, shan’t I, Jane, dear? We have much to discuss,” Clarissa called after her.
Jane found, after she had been at Pembroke for one day short of a fortnight, that she had little desire to leave again. Oh, it was not that she was avoiding the future. It was just that she loved the clean, crisp sea air, and the sparkling whitewashed walls in the village, and of course her animals—from the horses to the sleek, yowling barn cats guarding the grain in the stables from the scanty mouse population. As she stood at the first of the long rows of stalls in the main barn, she knew it was life surrounded by her animals that she would miss most.
Her mother and her mother’s mother before her had been the momentum behind everything that happened here. Her grandfather had built the stables for his wife to indulge her passion for all things equine. And Jane’s mother had only furthered the enterprise by encouraging her parents to begin a breeding farm. Her mother had dreamt of emulating her parents’ blissful marriage but had been doomed to failure. Losing her head to Edward Fairchild, a man who had ridden brilliantly, neck or nothing, to hounds, had been her first mistake. A dangerous fall, which broke his collarbone, and his courage, along with his love of horses, had been the next step on their road to ruin. Yes, marrying him had been her mother’s fatal mistake. But she had not departed this earth without instilling in her daughter the same passion she had shared with her own mother. And Jane felt the better for it.
Looking at the small gray pony munching sweet hay in the first stall, Jane sighed. Sadness engulfed her heart and forced another chilling thought. She would never have a daughter to inspire, as her mother and grandmother had had. The end of the females in her grandmother’s line would be Jane. She could almost see an image of her beautiful grandmother, who shared her unusual eyes, shaking her head.
Jane let herself into Snowy’s stall and ran her hand over the neck and back of her old first pony. She slid practiced fingers down one of her hind legs and felt the bowed tendon.
“She hasn’t suffered much since she bowed it. It only looks bad,” George said as he leaned over the lower half of the wooden stall door. “The new head groom should never have put her in with the two-year-olds—all kicks and bites, they are. As I told you, I don’t think he will work out, this new man. A bit of a jackass, if you’ll pardon me saying so.” Jane, intent on her examination, didn’t bother to look up.
“It is the cut on her flanks that makes me uneasy. Her days of being ridden are long gone, so the bow won’t matter,” Jane said as she stood up from her bent position and looked at the person, more friend than servant, whom she had depended on
for so many years. “It will be hard to overlook this new offense, George. Let us give the man his papers and have done with it.” Jane patted the pony’s neck and moved her long forelock to the center of her head. “Sweet Snowy. You mustn’t desert me now. I’ve too few old friends left.”
“Well, you still have me, little miss,” George said in the darkness of the stall. The sound of munching filled the silence.
“Not for long. We leave in three days. George, I am mortally tired of saying good-bye. I would give my soul to be able to stay and fill up the rest of my life with days spent right here,” she replied sadly.
“If there was a way to reconcile with your father, I would suggest it. But you need not waste your breath. I am well aware of the incontractibility of your good father.”
Jane unlatched the stall door and let herself out. They agreed to take a look at the group of new foals out with their dams in the far pasture. After they walked side by side in long strides for a good distance, Jane grasped the elder’s hand.