Mozart, he reminded himself. Mozart wrote it.
Ah, but it was my Jane who rendered it real in that room last night.
Jane. The woman he loved.
Of course he loved her. It was blindingly obvious.
Now what?
I love her, yes. But should I speak to her of my feelings?
As Blacklock made his way up towards the house Robert imagined himself making a declaration to Jane. What might her response be? There had been times when he had believed her to hold warm feelings towards him, but he honestly could not say how strong those feelings were. She had responded delightfully to their kiss in the carriage, despite her past, and she looked to him for comfort and for friendship. He knew she enjoyed his companionship...
Yet none of this could be seen as certain indication that she was on the way to being in love with him. Why should she not turn to him for friendship? She was a stranger among relatives she had never met before. Of course she would rely on him as a friend whom she trusted. It did not mean for certain that she felt anything stronger for him.
A warm glow developed in his chest as he considered the remarkable trust that had grown between them. That trust had been shaken these past days. Yet last night’s events had gone some way to healing the breach between them.
What if I break that amity with an ill-judged declaration?
His heart sank as another problem occurred to him. It was a declaration she would be bound to accept. A former serving maid receiving a proposal of marriage from a wealthy young gentleman? She would have to be deranged to turn him down.
The thought gave him no comfort.
Was it prideful of him to wish she would accept him for who he was, and not because their stations were unequal and she would be ‘marrying well’?
On the other hand, he mused, if his uncle planned to make her his heiress it would seem to everyone—including Jane—that Robert was nothing more than a fortune-hunter! How could she trust his proposal when it would appear to everyone—including his own mother—that inheriting Beechmount Hall was a prime consideration in his declaration? They had only met eighteen days ago.
He shook his head. It seemed longer.
It feels as though I have known her a lifetime, and yet there is so much more to learn about her.
At least he now knew his own heart. Fool that he was, it had taken a blinding flash of realisation during her song to bring him to wakefulness on that score. That had been less than a day ago. There was time yet to consider his best course of action.
I must not misstep on this—it is too important.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Her grandfather was busy with matters of business all day on Saturday, so Jane missed her usual cose with him. On Sunday, however, she ended up spending many hours in his company, for while they were out at church he had caused the footmen to bring downstairs the trunks containing his first wife’s possessions, and small items relating to both Eleanor and her child.
He and Jane sat in Eleanor’s sitting room, surrounded by the debris from the things they had gradually unpacked—things consisting of memories, dreams, and important moments in their lives.
After a late nuncheon, Mr Kendal joined them. He had come looking for Jane, for it was time for their usual afternoon walk, but Jane did not want to stop exploring the trunks with her grandfather. At the same time, she did not wish to forego the pleasure of her time with Mr Kendal—one of her favourite times of day.
She hesitated, torn.
‘You may stay, Robert, if you wish,’ her grandfather said diffidently.
Mr Kendal eyed him questioningly, then agreed. And so it was that Jane spent almost the entire afternoon in their company.
Mr Kendal seemed genuinely interested in discovering more about Eleanor and Edward, and handled Eleanor’s letters and Edward’s christening gown with great care.
‘She seems so close to me now,’ her grandfather murmured as they examined the last of the treasures. ‘I am glad you came here, Jane.’
‘As am I.’ She reached out a hand to him and he took it.
‘I should add that I, too, am glad you are here, Miss Bailey,’ Mr Kendal added in a low voice.
He was looking at her intently, in a way that made her heart flutter madly.
I have never seen such a look in his eyes before. What does it mean?
‘Miss Bailey? Why do you insist on such formality?’
Jane regarded her grandfather blankly, for she had been momentarily lost in Mr Kendal’s gaze.
‘It must be Jane and Robert,’ her grandfather continued, ‘and I will not be disobeyed on this!’
‘Yes, Uncle.’
‘Yes, Grandfather.’
They spoke in unison, then looked at each other and laughed.
The clock on the mantel struck the hour. ‘That is it now. All is accomplished,’ declared her grandfather obscurely. ‘Jane, ring for my valet. I shall rest these old bones before dinner.’ He eyed them both. ‘Can I trust you two to look after all this?’ He made a vague gesture.
‘Of course, Grandfather.’
‘Good.’
‘We shall pack it away carefully,’ added Robert.
Robert! I can address him by his true name now. Robert...
She tried it out in her mind, enjoying the delicious thrill of the imagined syllables on her lips and tongue.
‘You shall look after it now and always. Both of you.’ With this obscure comment, Grandfather shuffled forward in his chair. ‘Well, help me up, then,’ he muttered testily, and they both rushed to comply.
After the valet had accompanied him out of the room Jane and Robert set to work, sitting on the carpet to carefully rewrap the precious papers, personal possessions and other treasured items her grandfather had hoarded.
‘For all his crusty exterior,’ Robert commented, stowing away a carved wooden horse that had belonged to Jane’s father, ‘my uncle is remarkably sentimental.’
‘He feels things profoundly, I believe,’ Jane said soberly. ‘I think he loved Eleanor deeply. And he loved my father.’ Tears sprang to her eyes. ‘That they remained estranged for so many years is a tragedy.’
‘It is.’ Robert paused for a moment, then looked directly at Jane. ‘I wonder if his undoubted love for Eleanor accounts for my aunt’s unhappiness? Everyone talks of the fact that she bore no children. But perhaps it is not only that.’
‘I believe you may be right.’
They looked at one another for a long moment, and then once more they both spoke at the same time.
‘I’m sorry!’
‘No, you first.’
‘Thank you.’ She took a breath. ‘I was just going to say it makes me miss my mama and my home. I thought I should be bereft, away from my mother and Lady Kingswood, but I have been surprisingly content these past weeks. Yet just now, seeing my grandfather’s sorrow...’
He swallowed. ‘I see. Yes, of course you must be missing them.’
He dropped his gaze, seemingly busy in carefully wrapping a small wooden box.
Suddenly, he lifted his head to look at her directly. ‘You would not think of living in a different part of the country, then?’
Shock rumbled through Jane. ‘Of course not! My place is with Mama. And Lady Kingswood is important to me.’
She had been picturing a cottage near Ledbury House, where her and her mother would live in comfort and ease. Yet even as she spoke she was conscious that she was not completely comfortable with her own assertion.
What is happening? she wondered.
Was she actually daring to imagine a life here, near Beechmount Hall. Or even in Beechmount Hall? Away from her real life?
She shook her head. Her grandfather had invited her for a short visit. That had been clear to her from the beginning. She now had an understanding that he probably meant to bestow a legac
y upon her, in honour of Papa. But Beechmount Hall must be given to Robert. Only Robert had the skill and the knowledge to manage it.
‘I have only two nights left here,’ she said aloud. ‘I will set out for home on Tuesday, as planned.’
The words sounded strange to her own ears.
‘Of course!’ Robert replied briskly. ‘Now, pass me that pile of letters, for there is space for them in the corner of this trunk.’
Afterwards, while dressing for dinner, it occurred to her to wonder what he had been about to say.
It must not have been important, she told herself, for he did not pursue it.
* * *
At dinner, there was a peculiar feeling in the air. Jane sensed it as soon as she entered the salon. Mr Kendal—Robert—seemed distracted, and she did not get the usual welcoming smile from him. What was worrying him? She hoped he had not reverted to his coldness of a few days ago.
Mrs Millthorpe was complaining vaguely, and Mrs Kendal was offering sympathy. Her grandfather was late, which was most unlike him.
The dinner gong sounded and they all looked at one another.
‘But where is my uncle?’ asked Mrs Kendal.
Thankfully, a footman appeared, to explain that the master had gone directly to the dining room as he had only just descended. When they entered he was taking his seat at the head of the table. He looked resplendent in full evening dress.
‘Well?’ he snapped. ‘Why are you all gaping at me?’
Mrs Millthorpe looked taken aback. ‘My dear! I have not seen you wear that evening coat in an age. It becomes you.’ She walked towards him and saluted him with a kiss on the cheek.
He patted her hand. ‘Ah, you are a good woman, Eugenia.’
They took their seats, Jane and Robert exchanging glances that indicated a shared confusion about this break from the usual pattern.
The first course was served, and after filling his plate Jane’s grandfather addressed her directly.
‘Jane, when you were singing the other night...’
‘Yes?’
‘Your German pronunciation was impeccable. Do you have an ear for such things?’
Jane sent him a mischievous smile. It is time to reveal my learning.
‘Actually, I can speak German,’ she said. In perfect German.
There were gasps all around the table before a clamour of questions erupted.
‘But how...?’
‘Truly...?’
‘You speak German?’ Robert was all amazement. ‘I am impressed. Each time I think I know you, you surprise me with something more.’
She dimpled at him. ‘I also speak Italian.’ She revealed this in its own language, enjoying the amazed reactions of everyone around the table.
Once they had got over their initial astonishment she explained how it had come about—a combination of Miss Marianne’s love of teaching and her own love of learning.
‘I have easily learned spoken languages while I was busy dressing her hair or helping her dress. We have been doing it for many years. And, yes—’ she glanced at her grandfather ‘—I do have an ear for languages. I believe it is connected to my musicality.’
He tapped a thoughtful finger on his chin. ‘Your Lady Kingswood will also, I presume, understand and speak French. Did she not teach you that language?’
Here it is. Shall I admit it?
‘Yes. Yes, she did,’ Jane replied in French.
All eyes turned to Mrs Millthorpe.
‘Well! I was never so astonished!’ she declared, without a hint of embarrassment. ‘And yet you never said a word when I was speaking French on your first evening.’
Belatedly, she seemed to realise everyone was staring at her.
‘Well, how was I to know that Jane had been raised with such an education? It is most unusual.’
‘It is highly unusual, I know,’ Jane replied in a conciliatory tone, keen to show Mrs Millthorpe that she did not bear a grudge. ‘And my mama will be astounded when I return to her, for my hands are now fully healed—as you see.’ Jane held them up for everyone’s inspection.
‘I am glad of it, Jane.’ Grandfather’s tone was positively affectionate.
Jane beamed at him.
Will my hands ever be chapped and sore like that again?
The notion filled her with confusion. The change in her circumstances—the possible change—was too enormous to take in quickly. If it did happen, she hoped she could become accustomed to luxury instead of hard work.
There was silence.
Beside her, Robert’s shoulders seemed suddenly tense.
Then a clatter of metal on china sounded to Jane’s left. Her grandfather had dropped his knife.
He is unwell!
Instantly Jane divined the problem. He was choking on a morsel of food and struggling to breathe. He was eerily silent and trying to stand. As one, they all rose and went to him. Robert slapped a hand on his back, and after a few attempts a piece of food flew out. Grandfather sank into his chair, desperately breathing in air. His wife patted his shoulder as he gasped and strained.
‘Uncle!’ Mrs Kendal’s face was creased with concern. ‘You are not well!’
Jane saw it too. One side of his face had dropped—the contrast between each half of his visage was striking. His eye and the corner of his mouth both sagged. One arm also seemed to have gone limp. As they watched, his eyes closed.
Jane realised what was happening.
Apoplexy.
‘Umpelby!’ Robert’s voice rang out.
‘Yes, sir?’ The butler was there in an instant.
‘Send for the doctor!’
Umpelby, clearly distressed, undertook to do so, and Robert carried his uncle upstairs to his chamber, accompanied by a procession of women—first his wife, then Mrs Kendal, and finally Jane herself.
With the assistance of her grandfather’s valet, they got him partly undressed and into the bed, where he lay looking frail, old, and strangely small. It was as though the stroke had taken some of his spirit. He had not woken up since it had happened.
‘I shall stay here with him until the doctor comes,’ announced Mrs Millthorpe. ‘No!’ she held up a hand against offers of assistance. ‘This is my place. Please go and finish your meal. He needs quiet.’ She looked at her husband and her face softened. ‘You old fool...’
Her voice cracked with emotion, bringing a sting of sympathy to Jane’s eyes.
Reluctantly, they left. Not a word was spoken as they descended, Jane flanked by Robert and his mother. They returned to the dining room, where they each picked at their food, straining their ears for any sound that might indicate the arrival of the doctor.
Robert was pale, stiff and grim. Despite his caring respect for his uncle, Jane could tell their relationship had not always been easy. She wasn’t sure she would have liked to grow up under her grandfather’s eye... She glanced again at Robert, seeing the pain behind the shock in his eyes. There was real affection there.
The doctor arrived within the hour, and after he had examined the patient told them to prepare for the worst.
Mrs Millthorpe was stoical in her response, though Jane could see she was hiding real distress.
Leaving Mrs Kendal to comfort her aunt, Jane followed Robert and the doctor downstairs and into the small front parlour.
‘The next two days will be telling,’ the doctor said sadly. ‘He may start to recover, or another seizure may follow.’
‘What is your prediction?’ asked Robert.
‘The fact he has been insensible all this time is not a good sign.’
‘I see.’
There was a muscle working in Robert’s cheek. Jane had to suppress an impulse to touch him.
‘Thank you, Doctor.’
Once the doctor had taken his leave, after prescribing not
hing more than watching and waiting, Jane and Robert were left alone.
‘How do you, Jane?’
That is the first time he has said my name.
‘Are you truly asking about me? When it is you who have been close to him for most of your life?’
‘I...’
His voice tailed away, and Jane could clearly read the agony in his eyes.
‘He has been a father to me. Not a warm, sentimental father, like my own papa, but a father nevertheless.’
His voice faltered, and before she knew what she was doing she found that she had put her arms about him.
He responded instantly, wrapping his own strong arms around her and pressing her to his chest. She could feel the deep thudding of his heartbeat reverberating through her. She turned her head sideways and rested her cheek against the hollow of his shoulder. It fitted as though she belonged there. His hands were now stroking her back with light caresses that left a trail of fire across her skin through the amber silk.
What had begun as a spontaneous offer of comfort had become something entirely different.
Robert’s breathing sounded ragged, and the noise triggered a further increase in Jane’s already tumultuous pulse.
‘Jane...’
It was almost a groan, and she knew exactly what he wanted. She wanted it too.
She lifted her head to receive his kiss.
This time, unlike in the rumbling carriage, there were no errors. Her lips found his unerringly, and almost instantly she opened her mouth to allow their tongues to meet in a hot, fiery dance. Passion rose within her—burning, fierce and undeniable—and she was lost in it.
They kissed and kissed and kissed once more. Sometimes the kisses were soft and gentle, but mostly they were intensely passionate.
Eventually they stopped, foreheads touching, both breathing loudly.
‘Oh, Jane... Jane...’ he groaned.
The sound sent another wave of desire through her and she gloried in it. He took a deep breath, slid his hands to her upper arms, then stood back from her. Her body ached at the loss of contact—they had been pressed together from chest to hip.
‘Tell me—do my kisses offend you?’ he asked.
Rags-to-Riches Wife Page 21