by Julia Kelly
Lady Margaret looked down, suitably chastened—not that it really mattered after everything that had happened. “I am sorry, Miss Ephram.”
“Yes, well,” Jane said, “the damage is already done. There’s no going back.”
There was truth in that. This pain and the love were both hers. If only she could dull them to a low hum in the deepest part of her heart, she might be able to move on.
Nicholas rode away from the woman he loved—loved, no matter whether it was returned or not—under the crushing weight of disappointment.
He wasn’t angry. Anger would have filled him with purpose. Instead, he felt adrift. If he couldn’t have Jane in his life . . . he didn’t know what to do. In the few short days he’d known her, she’d captured him without even trying. But he wasn’t what she wanted, and now he felt as though he’d been cut loose.
Effie and Helen. They were the reason that he’d found himself on the road in the first place. For years they’d been the motivation behind every move he made. He’d harbored every worry in silence lest they too fret over the future, unsure where the money would come from to give them the life they deserved.
Meeting Jane—falling for her—had thrown everything into question. It wasn’t as though he’d ever abandon his sisters, but Jane had muddied the waters, because now Effie and Helen weren’t his sole concern. For the first time in a decade, he’d begun to think that what he wanted might be important too. That his happiness might be worth fighting for.
He wanted to give Jane the world, and he hated that the moment he offered her everything he had she seemed to retreat back into the woman he’d met in the innyard all those days ago. Bold and brave and brazen, yes, but also all too aware of how things stood. She was a governess. He was a baron, for all the good it did him. In her world, he was an exalted figure who could never stoop so low as to marry beneath him. Except that she wasn’t beneath him. She was daring and intelligent and beautiful and caring and more. Jane Ephram was unequivocally more than any person he’d ever met.
He hadn’t been entirely convinced when she’d told him that she couldn’t love him. How could he be? She was once again holding herself back, leaning too heavily on the belief that any association with her would tarnish his sisters’ reputation. That it was a risk, he wouldn’t deny. The girls would have just one season to make their mark on the ton, and anything that jeopardized it would have to be worth it. And wasn’t Jane?
“Apparently not,” he muttered, forcing himself to go forward through the rain. He refused to look back. Searching out the lights of the village through the daytime gloom would only make the wound ache even worse.
He had no future with Jane. She’d made her choice and now he’d make his. He’d put Merlin out to stud, collect his money, and then get back to the business at hand. At home, surrounded by the sound of his sisters’ bickering, the account books piling up, and the bills that never seemed to stop, he’d lose himself. Anything would be a welcome distraction as he tried his hardest to fall out of love with the woman who insisted he leave her behind.
Chapter Eleven
Jane stared up at the large, polished, silver knocker that hung silently on the front of No. 12 Belgrave Square. It was just as it had always been.
For a city that was always changing, London seemed in many ways just as when she’d left it, except that nothing was the same because she was so very different. Nicholas had changed something fundamental in her until she could hardly recognize herself.
Who was this woman who’d marched a contrite if not entirely grateful Lady Margaret to the station and caught the first train back to London? And what of the woman who had delivered Lord and Lady Rawson their daughter, not even flinching at the look of shock on their faces when they realized that their governess and child were not in the country, as they’d thought. Nor did she back down when their anger finally broke when she refused to explain why she and their daughter had never reached Holmesfield Hall. That was Lady Margaret’s story to tell, and the young woman hadn’t chosen to divulge it. Instead, she’d taken Jane’s hand as her father yelled, and squeezed it, a simple gesture of solidarity but one that Jane didn’t miss the significance of.
In the end, the earl declared Lady Margaret would stay with her aunt and uncle in their grand house on Washington Square in New York as punishment, and ordered the maids to begin packing her trunks immediately.
Jane gave her notice, as she’d told Lady Margaret she would. Lady Rawson sent her away with no letter of reference, which stung even though she’d known it was a very real possibility. In ten years of working for the same family, she’d slipped once, but that was enough.
Under the watchful eye of the housekeeper, Mrs. Walker, Jane had packed what few things hadn’t been sent on in Lord Rawson’s carriage when she’d gone on her quest to find Lady Margaret. Mrs. Walker had promised to send on whatever she’d left behind, the sympathy clear in the woman’s tone. But still, Jane had been unceremoniously turned out onto Berkeley Square, the service door slamming behind her with all of the force of the earl’s condemnation.
That was how she’d ended up here, in front of No. 12, preparing to swallow every ounce of her sometimes considerable pride and ask for help. With a deep breath and a trembling hand, she picked up the knocker and let it fall with a hollow thud to the silver plate mounted on the door.
No. 12 had always been a well-run house, so it was hardly surprising when Warthing appeared less than a minute later. The butler’s eyebrows rose a half inch as he surveyed the bags at her feet and the grim expression on her face.
“Miss Ephram, do come in.”
“Are Lord and Lady Asten at home?” she asked as the butler stepped back. The last thing she wanted to do was intrude where she wasn’t welcome.
“Lord Asten himself gave instructions that you and Mrs. Fellows are to be shown in no matter what time of day or night it is. I believe his exact words were ‘The house is at their disposal, Warthing.’ ”
The earl had made it clear over and over again that he considered any friend of his wife’s to be an extension of his own family. For a woman who’d known no real home since she was a child, the generous gesture meant more than she could ever express.
Warthing showed her straight upstairs and into the private sitting room of the still-new Countess of Asten. When the butler pushed open the door and announced her, her friend Mary looked up from the mint-colored chaise where she was reading and exclaimed, “You’re back! But I thought you were to be exiled in Holmesfield Hall for the rest of the season.”
“I’m back,” Jane said, her voice just as deflated as she felt.
“I don’t understand,” said Mary with a frown.
Jane folded her hands in front of her and slid her eyes over to Warthing. Immediately Mary said, “Warthing, I know I said we weren’t to have callers today, but would you ask Cook to send up a tray? Plans have changed.”
The butler gave a little bow and melted out of the room with hardly a sound.
“You do that very well,” Jane said when the door closed behind Warthing.
“Take off your coat and make yourself comfortable,” said Mary, gesturing to the sofa across from her. “And what is it that I do well?”
Jane smiled. “Give orders as the mistress of the house.”
That earned her a little laugh. “It took a great deal of getting used to, especially since the servants knew me first as the governess, but they insisted on it. Warthing in particular is a tyrant for proper address. Now, since this isn’t one of your days off and you most certainly aren’t hidden away in that huge house up north, I assume there’s been some rule-breaking afoot.”
Jane’s gaze dropped to her hands, folded so tightly in her lap that the creases of her knuckles had gone ghostly white.
“Oh, Jane, what’s the matter?” Mary rose and crossed the gap between them, joining her on the sofa. “Tell me w
hat happened.”
“I fell in love.” The words sounded so simple when she said them out loud—as though there wasn’t a complicated thing about the entire matter.
Mary’s face lit up. “Well, that’s wonderful! When do we meet him? Have you told Elizabeth?”
She shook her head. “It’s not wonderful. He’s a baron and he has sisters and everything is awful.”
The tears she couldn’t shed before suddenly broke free. She dropped her head into her hands and sobbed for Nicholas, her position, and her future. But mostly she sobbed for herself and the woman she might have been—a woman who might have grasped what she wanted if only her conscience had released its grip on her.
Any governess knows that a child will eventually cry itself dry, and it turns out that grown women are just the same. After a while, her tears began to slow into hiccuping gasps. Jane became aware of Mary sitting next to her as her friend rubbed slow, soothing circles on her back. The door to the sitting room opened softly, and there was the clink and rattle of a tea tray being placed down somewhere to her left.
“Thank you, Warthing,” said Mary in a low voice. “If you would also ask Lord Asten to stay close to home today, that would be appreciated.”
“When Lord Asten inquired about who had called, I told him Miss Ephram was here. He asked me to inform you that he will remain in his study until you require him. Also, I hope you won’t think me too forward, my lady, but I sent the carriage to collect Mrs. Fellows.”
Elizabeth was coming. At least that was a little comfort to her bruised heart. The three of them would be together again, even if for the first time since they’d met not one of them was a governess any longer.
“Thank you, Warthing,” Mary said. “That was excellent thinking.”
The door shut again, and Mary’s ministrations stopped. “Jane, I’m going to pour you a cup of tea, and you’re going to have one of Cook’s excellent lemon cakes while we wait for Elizabeth. Then we’re going to figure this all out.”
She raised her head, knowing that she must look a fright, with her tear-stained face and her hair all askew, and not caring a whit about it. She had one important thing she must ask Mary before she explained anything else.
She swallowed and gripped her friend’s hand. “A few months ago you told me that if I ever needed somewhere to live—”
“You’ll stay with us for as long as you like. The rest of your life if it suits you. That’s why I wanted Eric to stay close. I know he’ll be worrying, and the first thing he’ll do is offer you a home. This is your home and will be as long as we live here. Rose Hollow too.”
She could almost laugh if she wasn’t so incredibly sad. An estate in the country and a house in the fashionable part of town. What more could a woman of no means or property wish for? It turned out a lot more.
Warthing must’ve dispatched the carriage mere minutes after Jane arrived, because in less than a half hour, Elizabeth, who was still hardly showing the signs of expecting her first child, rushed through the sitting room door to envelop her in a hug.
“Whoever he is and whatever he did, he’s awful,” Elizabeth announced.
The back of Jane’s eyes prickled. “How do you know it’s a man?”
“Because,” Elizabeth said with a sigh, “I’ve felt the way you look.”
She sniffled. “Nicholas is wonderful, and I don’t know what to do.”
“Those are the very worst kinds of cads,” said Elizabeth with a nod. “They’re the good ones who make themselves impossible to forget. Now, tell me everything.”
The story of how she’d met Nicholas rushed out all at once. She didn’t hold back any details—even when it came to the one blissful night they’d spent wrapped up in each other in the Pritchers’ hayloft. She wasn’t ashamed, not in front of these friends. They’d each made their own sacrifices for love, choosing to risk their positions for the chance at happiness. Elizabeth and Mary had each managed to turn that happiness into lifelong love. Jane didn’t believe that lightning would strike three times.
When she was finally done, Elizabeth frowned and said, “If I ever see this Lord Hollings, I’ll stomp on his toes. In boots.”
A little choked laugh bubbled up in Jane. “I tell you that entire story and you want to step on his shoes?”
“I can’t be too harsh. He wanted to marry you, and that shows a good amount of sense, if you ask me.”
“Plus, he sounds rather dashing,” said Mary with a sparkle in her eye.
“Oh, he is. Far too dashing for his own good, yet I don’t think he knows it,” Jane said with a sigh.
In a way, it had been so easy for her to fall for Nicholas. He’d been so kind, so thoughtful, while they’d ridden together. Even when he’d been annoyed at the theft of his horse—which wasn’t her fault—and the manner in which she’d essentially bribed him to take her with him—most certainly her fault—he’d still attended to her, trying to make her as comfortable as possible by ensuring that they stopped every few hours so she could stretch her legs and continue their journey with as much dignity as she could muster.
But the thing she missed most was simply talking to him. The little moments when they rode side by side, talking about everything that shouldn’t have mattered but did, hurt her most. Jane understood him more intimately than anyone else she’d ever met, yet that was the very reason she couldn’t marry him. She knew how much his family mattered to him, and how torn he’d be if he had to choose between her and the future chances of his sisters. She wouldn’t be responsible for planting a seed of resentment that would only grow between the siblings as the years went by.
As though reading her mind, Elizabeth said, “And you’re certain that it would end so very badly if you married him?”
“How could it not?” Jane asked with a shrug. “Making a governess Lady Hollings would only set the gossips going.”
“I don’t recall that the baron comes to town very often,” said Mary.
“But his sisters must if they’re going to be married.”
“Perhaps after . . .”
Jane shook her head. “What am I supposed to do in the meantime? Ask him to wait and wait myself? I need to work. Besides, there’s no promise that he’ll ever come back to me. I doubt he even wants to see me.”
“But if he loves you—” Elizabeth started.
“I can’t entertain the afters and the what-ifs. If I do, I’ll never move forward. I need to learn how to forget him.”
Her friends exchanged a look that told her exactly what they thought about the possibility that Jane would ever rid herself of his memory, but she needed to believe it might be true. It wouldn’t do to let this hole in her heart grow any larger. He hadn’t just shown her what love could be. He’d taught her what it was to live—even a little. She didn’t want to be quiet and retiring any longer. She wanted to be vital and exciting and in every way the woman she’d only dared dream she could be.
Jane reached for her now-cold tea and fiddled with the handle of the cup. “Since I was dismissed by the Rawsons, I don’t have a letter of reference.”
“Jane’s going to come live with Eric and me,” Mary told Elizabeth.
“Just until I can figure out what to do with myself. I can’t very well become a governess again. Certainly not in London. Perhaps I’ll sail for America and start again there.” It was the fate that awaited Lady Margaret. Perhaps a dramatic change was just what she needed.
“Eric does have some family in New York who might be able to help you,” said Mary, “but is that what you really want? To be a governess again?”
No. It wasn’t. She was tired of putting her life on hold. Even if love and family and happiness weren’t meant for her, she could do more than teach French conjugations.
“Take the time you need,” said Elizabeth, patting her forearm. “If your heart is meant to heal, it’ll heal.”<
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Jane looked up at her friend with full eyes. “Do you think you ever would have healed had Edward not come after you?”
The sound of her husband’s name brought a little content smile to her friend’s lips. “No. I should have known from the first moment I met him that I was incomplete without him.”
Jane slumped back against the chaise. That was the problem with Nicholas. With him gone, Jane felt as though she’d been separated from her other half.
Chapter Twelve
Thirteen days, four hours, and forty-one minutes after the woman he loved had slipped from his life, Lord Nicholas Hollings, fourth baron of his name, decided that he’d had enough.
He’d sleepwalked through his dealings with Lord Ashby, overseeing breeding Merlin. Then, with his wallet quite a bit fuller, he’d ridden straight home to Madeley House, where his sisters waited for him. They’d no doubt known that something was wrong, but they’d left him alone. However, that was a week ago. Today he wasn’t so lucky.
He’d been sitting in the drawing room that had seen better days, reading the Times, when Effie marched in, Helen in tow.
“Nicholas,” his eldest sister said in that tone that told him she was about to launch into one of her lectures. Effie, bossy as she was, was an expert on the things he should do: worry less, stop falling asleep over his account books, find a wife. He really didn’t feel like listening to one of her treatises on what was wrong with his life. He already knew that he’d ruined everything. He wasn’t sure how—Jane hadn’t let him in on that little secret when she’d torn his heart out and danced a jig on it—but there was no escaping it.
