by Claudia Dain
“You do know that he wants you?” Sophia said, smiling.
“Doesn’t everyone know that now?” Jane said, looking at Sophia accusingly. Sophia didn’t seem at all intimidated.
Jane hadn’t really expected her to be. “It’s precisely what I’d like to talk to you about, Sophia.”
“I’m certain you do,” Sophia said softly, and then she turned to Katherine and said, “Isn’t it as I told you?”
Katherine shook her head, a bemused look on her face.
“You will forgive us, Jane, if I may be allowed to address you so intimately, but as I have never seen my brother behave in any manner or degree to which he has behaved now upon meeting you, I did wonder how you’d accomplished it. Is it by being beautiful? Of course,” she said, answering her own question, which was a blessing for how to respond to that, “being beautiful can be a woman’s greatest—”
“Weapon,” Sophia cut in, smiling not at all amiably.
“I was going to say asset,” Katherine said. “Perhaps your word explains your success, Sophia. I fear I am too mild, you see,” she said, looking again at Jane. “Why should I confess all this to you, you must be asking yourself, this strange English woman who unburdens her secret heart upon a stranger. I think it must be because of what you have wrought upon Edenham. He trusts you somehow, and he did it instantly. And of course Sophia thinks so well of you . . .” Katherine shrugged delicately, her eyes turned down in what Jane assumed was embarrassment. Jane was certainly embarrassed. Edenham trusted her? Why? He most assuredly didn’t trust her now. She didn’t blame him in the least.
“I can’t think why she would,” Jane said, feeling very guilty and very confused and not finding this adventure enjoyable at all.
“Jane,” Sophia said, “you are utterly remarkable, which I think has just been proved to this entire company. The duke saw you, wanted you upon the instant, fell in love with you, and determined to marry you. If all that took even a minute, I should be very much surprised. I know all this, aside from the delicious fact that I could read every thought on his very pretty face as it was happening, because he pled with me to arrange it all somehow. I am to deliver you, darling, into his very eager hands.”
“Which is exactly why I’ve come to speak with you, Lady Dalby,” Jane said, a bit stunned to hear in words what she had only suspected. Oh, not the bit about the request, but the bit about the instantaneous quality of his commitment.
A lifelong commitment? In an instant? Hardly possible. It was more likely that Edenham had seen something sparkly in the window, pointed, and expected it to be delivered within the hour. And he’d assigned someone else to arrange for delivery, in the person of Sophia Dalby. Jane felt herself get angry all over again. What sort of man courted and seduced by proxy? “I will not be delivered into anyone’s hands. I am not interested in the duke’s infatuation or delirium or whatever it is he is suffering from.
I am not in love with him. I am not even mildly interested in him. I will not marry him. Now, I am come to you to ask you, can you make certain that I will get what I want?
I have been informed that you are very clever at helping people get what they want. And I am most determined that you not help Edenham get what he wants. Do we have an agreement, Sophia? My mother trusts you. My aunt trusts.
Now I am trusting you with my . . .” It sounded entirely too melodramatic, but she could think of no other word.
“Life?” Sophia asked.
“Yes. Life,” Jane said. “I mean no disrespect to your family, Katherine, but I simply don’t want him.”
“Have you considered, Jane,” Sophia said, “that he might not want you anymore? He’s kissed you, at your instigation I’d wager.” Jane bit her lower lip, but did not confess. “He has been beaten quite thoroughly by your brothers. You mocked him in some way, I should think, after the beating.”
“Why should you think that?” Jane blurted.
“Because it’s what I would have done,” Sophia said, her dark eyes shining in humor and approval. Approval? Jane suddenly felt immeasurably less guilty. “What better way to add scent to the trail? American girls know this instinctively. I can’t think what’s wrong with the air in England that English girls can’t seem to master this most simple of methods to attaining their ends.”
“What ends?” Jane said.
“Darling, do you truly think that Edenham will want you less now?” Jane hadn’t given it a bit of thought, truthfully. She’d only been acting on . . . instinct. “Why else would you have come to me, to ask for my assurances that I will divert him from your lovely trail?”
How did one create a lovely trail? And had she done so on purpose, or by instinct? Oh, no.
“You don’t think he’s lost interest?” Jane said.
Katherine laughed. Sophia merely smiled. “If you believed that, you wouldn’t be here now.”
“But why shouldn’t he? As to that, why did he, to use your metaphor, pick up my trail in the first place?” Jane asked.
“Which is precisely what Katherine and I were discussing,” Sophia said. “Because, darling Jane, aside from being an utter beauty, you are almost certainly the one woman in the room who should be the most dazzled by Edenham, yet who doesn’t want him at all. You don’t fear him. You are not in awe of him. You are not impressed by him. Naturally, he finds this illogical, unnatural, and irresistible. Men find that sort of challenge impossible to ignore. You, Jane, have captured his interest.”
“Hardly a reason to marry,” Jane mumbled. “He doesn’t know me. He can’t even pretend that he knows me. I don’t even know his name, merely his title!”
“Merely his title,” Sophia mused softly. “And you wonder at his fascination for you?”
“His name is Hugh Austen, Jane,” Katherine said.
“Lovely,” Jane said crisply. “Hugh Austen. At least now I have a name. Should he ask for mine, it’s Jane Liberty Elliot. I do so hope he asks.”
Sophia smiled. “Why hope when you can act? I think you are perfectly correct. He won’t be put off by mockery, I can assure you of that. And he won’t be put off by the minor rough-up he endured at the hands of your brothers.
The thing to do is to give him what he has not asked for.
He has not asked to know you, Jane Liberty Elliot. Go and give him a good dose. I’ll warrant that will cure him right enough.”
It sounded a bit insulting, there was no getting around that, but it did make a good bit of sense. They had nothing in common and nothing to bind them. Let him see that, if he could. It would be difficult as he was fairly blinded by her, but given the chance she was confident she could make him see how absurd his behavior toward her had been.
Sophia or no Sophia, list or no list, Jane was not going to marry Edenham. The thing to do was to give him a strong enough dose of her that he would see that for himself.
An hour ought to do it. She’d give it two, just for good measure.
“You won’t help him, will you, Sophia?” Jane asked.
“I’ve been told that, if you promise to help someone to marry, they’ll find themselves married before they know what day it is.”
Sophia smiled, a full bright smile that lit up her face.
“Darling Jane, I would never think to manage any Elliot into an alliance that would be as awkward a fit as this one would be. You are of a fine Patriot family. The Duke of Edenham is as English as it is possible to be. It’s perfectly obvious that you would never suit. Indeed, anyone not blinded by the tremors of romantic love can see it plainly, just by looking at you.”
Perfectly obvious, it certainly was. Yet it felt just the slightest bit insulting. She agreed, most definitely she agreed. But why was it so perfectly obvious?
Just by looking? What did that mean? Hadn’t everyone agreed that there was nothing at all wrong with the way she looked?
“Yet he is very determined to marry me,” Jane said.
“You can unders
tand the source of my concern.”
“Completely,” Sophia said soothingly. “But not to worry. Edenham, as Katherine will confirm, is possibly the most romantic man of anyone’s acquaintance. There is a reason why he keeps marrying, despite his heartbreak upon the untimely death of each of his lovely wives. He loves to love, you see. He relishes being in love. A more devoted father and ardent husband cannot be found. Edenham will marry. You can rest easily in knowing that he will not marry you. I shall make it my personal mission, if it comes to that, though I hardly think it will. Just let him find out who you truly are. That will settle things as quickly as even you could want.”
Yes, definitely insulted. There was no way to interpret the words otherwise. Edenham was not in love with her, he was in love with love and with the condition of being married, no matter to whom. Although once he spoke to her, truly delved into her heart and mind and thoughts and character, he would be revolted and run into anyone’s arms but hers.
Yes, that was the gist of it.
At the moment, Jane couldn’t think why her mother liked Sophia at all. Perhaps she’d changed over the years, England and its aristocrats, of which she was a member, hardening her. It made perfect sense.
“He is the most lovely of men,” Katherine said, “though I know I see him with a sister’s heart. He has been through much disappointment, and while he suffers in the midst of it, he does always find his way through. A most resilient man, my brother. You need not worry on his behalf, though it is kind of you to do so.”
Right then. So whatever Edenham suffered by way of pangs of regret that Jane had somehow eluded him would be swiftly tucked up and forgotten, his life unmarred by his brush with unrequited love.
Jane looked at each woman, first Katherine and then Sophia. They smiled politely in return. She smiled politely, if a bit frostily, in response.
“What thoughtful, kind counsel,” Jane said. “It is so generous of you to take the time to assure me that Edenham will survive so robustly from his little misadventure in romantic discernment. I can’t tell you how free I feel now.
I can do whatever I must, knowing that he shall never suffer more than a moment’s discomfort. I am so comforted, you simply can’t know. Thank you so much.”
Jane left them with barely a nod of her head. She was going to find Edenham, otherwise known as Hugh Austen to his rare and exalted intimates, and she was going to make such an impression on him that, though his love, or whatever he called it, was unrequited, he would burn candles to her name at her parting, if anyone did that sort of thing anymore. If anyone could bring back the fashion for it, a duke certainly should be able to.
Katherine and Sophia watched her go, twin smiles on their faces.
“She’s going to be lovely for him,” Katherine said. “I can’t wait for his children to meet her.”
“I do feel a bit sorry for her,” Sophia said. “I don’t think she quite understands what she’s got ahold of. Oh, well.
Edenham will demonstrate that to her soon enough. Now, Katherine, what are you going to do about the volatile Captain Jedidiah Elliot?”
Katherine smiled, a crooked half smile of embarrassment and determination. “I’m going to do my utmost to set him on fire. What are my odds of success, do you think?”
“Never play to the odds, Katherine,” Sophia said silkily. “Only you know what you can do. Everyone else is left with guessing.”
Thirteen
“I’m not leaving,” Edenham said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His hand came away bloody.
“I’m not throwing you out,” Cranleigh said, walking at Edenham’s side until they reached the stair hall. He then escorted Edenham up the stairs to the second floor where a washstand awaited in Cranleigh’s bedchamber.
Hyde House was large, quite large; some might even call it excessively large. Edenham had heard a rumor that Molly, the American-born Duchess of Hyde, had done just that upon first walking through the front door. He’d always discounted it, until now. Having met Jane Elliot, he was prepared to believe it.
Fractious, ill-tempered people, the Americans. Or it might have been simply a family trait, one which Jane shared with her maternal aunt. As Cranleigh was also somewhat fractious and ill-tempered, perhaps it was not an American trait. At the moment, his lip bleeding and his ribs aching, a blinding headache circling around the top of his head like a crown, a gift from the fractious and ill-tempered Elliots, he was undecided. It seemed important, though why it should be he had no idea.
American or not, shared bloodlines or not, Jane was who she was. He wanted her despite it.
Because of it.
One or the other. His pounding head would not allow him a moment of quiet to decide.
Cranleigh motioned him toward the washstand, a white porcelain ewer on a dark-stained walnut chest set between two long windows draped with dark blue linen damask, and sank silently into an armchair upholstered in the same blue damask.
Edenham washed his face in silence, checking for loose teeth: none.
When Edenham was finished, he turned to look at Cranleigh and they stared at each other in silence for a few long moments.
“As a guess,” Cranleigh said, “I’d say that you hoped that by ruining her, she’d be forced into marrying you. Hurrying it all along at a full run, no detours, no delays, no denials.”
“I’ve seen it work before,” Edenham said, shrugging as he walked across the pale gold carpet to slowly ease himself into a matching chair.
His spine hurt, likely from falling to the floor. Damned tricky business, this courting an American. He’d never had so much trouble arranging a marriage before. Of course, it was his first attempt at ruination as the path to marriage.
Likely there was some sort of mysterious finesse required in those situations, though he couldn’t think what. Wasn’t ruination the most blunt of marital weapons? It was simply applied clumsiness in seduction that resulted in ruin and then marriage.
A bit of trickery there, clearly. He had found nothing simple about ruining a woman into marriage.
Cranleigh snorted in what Edenham assumed was laughter. “The tongue of a diplomat, Edenham. Of course you’ve seen it work before; first Blakes, then me, then Iveston. The three of us, all in a single Season. A country gig with Sophia Dalby, ruination not twenty-four hours later, and married before the wind changed. The thing you miscalculated was the woman herself.”
“You don’t mean Sophia,” Edenham said. It wasn’t really a question.
“No, though I don’t say that’s not possible,” Cranleigh said, his light blue eyes narrowed in thought. “Jane. She’s not going to be pushed into marriage to anyone, nor will her brothers allow it. It’s the American strain. They don’t like to be forced into anything, and will fight like the devil to do what they please.”
“You like them,” Edenham said, looking over at Cranleigh without moving his head. He had his head braced against the back cushion and it soothed the pounding.
Cranleigh smiled slightly. “I do. I didn’t think to at first, but I do.”
“Tell me about them,” Edenham said, meaning Jane, naturally.
Cranleigh chuckled, eyeing Edenham with a knowing eye. Edenham shrugged, unapologetic.
“I sailed to New York during the XYZ dustup, when America hated France more than Britain. A rare moment in history, you will agree. Timothy Elliot, my uncle,”
Cranleigh said softly, pausing to pick his words with evident care, “sailed a privateer during their war for independence, and is what you’d expect of such a man. He’s no fool. He’s got courage, conviction. A cool head in the most heated of circumstances. He barely tolerated me at first, then did tolerate me. Eventually.” Cranleigh chuckled under his breath.
“He’s an American Patriot, everything that implies. It’s only because Sally, my aunt, won’t give up Molly that we all find ourselves tangled together. The war should have ripped us apart for good. It may yet.�
�� Cranleigh shrugged.
“You sailed with the elder brother, Jedidiah?” Edenham asked.
“To China,” Cranleigh said, nodding slightly. “His second voyage, my first. And only. I should like to go back.
Fascinating place. Jedidiah is much like his father, though perhaps a bit quicker to act.”
“I could have made the same observation,” Edenham said, rubbing his jaw. The man’s fists were as solid as a mule’s kick.
“They are a seafaring family,” Cranleigh said after a few moments of silence. “Salt water in their blood, is the way they tell it. Even Jane.”
Edenham said nothing at that. He let her name, the word that conjured images of her silver-eyed beauty, settle into the shadowed corners of the room as quietly and as thoroughly as gray mist. When all was still again, he spoke.
“Tell me about her life.”
Cranleigh sighed, leaning his head back against his chair. “Her middle name is Liberty,” he said softly. “Think on that, Edenham. She was born in 1781.”
“Yorktown,” Edenham said. The year of Washington’s defeat of Cornwallis.
“Yes, but it was not for that she was named,” Cranleigh said. “Salt water in their blood, remember? Do you remember the battle of the American frigate Alliance against our sixteen-gun sloop-of-war Atalanta and the fourteen-gun brig Trepassy? ’Twas off the coast of Newfoundland.”
At Edenham’s silence, Cranleigh continued, “Our ships had every advantage. We had sweeps; the Alliance did not.
She sat like a felled log in a dead calm sea. Barry, the captain of the Alliance, could make no steerage and could do nothing while our ships stationed themselves off his quarter and used their guns to good advantage.”
“Every advantage,” Edenham said, studying Cranleigh’s rugged face in the quiet light. “Yet . . .”
Cranleigh smirked ruefully and shook his head. “Four hours later, four hours of being a nearly helpless target, and then a small breeze arose. A single small breeze. The Alliance poured a broadside into the Atalanta first, and then she turned on the Trepassy. Captain Edwards, of the Atalanta, lowered his colors. The captain of Trepassy was dead.”
