by Julia Kelly
“I’m reading,” he said, flicking the newspaper a little to drive the point home.
Effie’s hand came up over the top of the broadsheet and crushed it. “Now you’re not.”
“Effie,” he growled.
“You sound like Mother when you use that tone.” She snorted.
“What do you want?”
Helen assessed him. “You know, you’re right. I see it now.”
His sisters stared at him like he was a specimen under glass. “See what?” he asked more than a little defensively.
“I think it’s the lines around his eyes,” said Effie.
Helen nodded. “And across his forehead. Those weren’t there before.”
He resisted the urge to touch his forehead. “What?”
“We’re wondering what’s gotten into you,” said Effie in her matter-of-fact manner. “We’d also like to know when we can expect our brother back.”
“Leave me alone.”
He flicked his newspaper out again. This time it was Helen who crushed it.
“What are you doing?” he nearly shouted.
“You’re being an ass,” said his youngest sister.
“Young ladies don’t use that language,” he said automatically, and cringed. He really was beginning to sound like his late mother.
“They do when it’s the only thing that’s guaranteed to get their brother’s attention,” said Helen. “Now tell us what’s wrong.”
“You might as well,” said Effie. “You know you won’t get a moment’s peace until you do.”
“Damned houseful of women,” he muttered.
“Two is hardly a ‘houseful,’ and stop changing the subject,” said Effie.
“Start speaking, Nicholas,” said Helen, her arms crossed over her chest in a vaguely menacing manner. “You know we’ll get it out of you anyway. It’ll be a lot easier to just talk to us.”
He looked from sister to sister. Despite his annoyance, he saw the real concern there. And the truth was, they were right. He’d returned home a different man—this one scorned and heartbroken—but he didn’t know how to tell them that. He’d always been their older brother, solid and steady. How could he admit that he’d lost his head and his heart over a woman who had turned away from him so easily? Who couldn’t even admit that she loved him?
It had never bothered him before, the idea of marriage. He’d need an heir, of course, but he wasn’t quite thirty—a man just entering the prime of his life. He’d always assumed he would acquire a wife—a woman from the county who would be content with a modest life as he tried to rebuild after the damage his father had done. It would happen, just later.
Except there was no later when it came to Jane. He wanted her now. He could see it all playing out in his head. In his fantasy, they’d meet again and she’d turn those beautiful blue eyes on him, losing her resolve against her own reservations the longer they stood together. He’d coax her, gently pushing to show her that everything she believed about her position and the gossip that their marriage would create was wrong.
Except it wasn’t. He knew she was right, because even with him barely holding the bank at bay, he was still a baron and she was still a governess. His sisters’ reputations would suffer if he were to marry her. There were more than two people at the center of this love story. He understood that Jane was making the reasonable decision for both of them, but that didn’t mean he had to agree with it.
He cleared his throat and folded his newspaper carefully before setting it on the side table next to him. “I met a young woman on my way to Lord Ashby’s estate.”
Both of his sisters lit up like fireworks on the queen’s birthday. “Thank goodness,” Effie said.
He frowned. “What does that mean?”
“Only that you’ll start to put down roots if you remain unmoving any longer,” said Helen.
“My roots are here. This is my home. Our home.”
“That doesn’t mean you need to rot away alone, Nicholas,” Effie scolded. “You could start living like a man with all of his youth and health intact and actually enjoy yourself a little.”
He recoiled at that. His sisters seemed to think he was just waiting for life to pass him by. “You make it sound as though I’m locked away in the country,” he said, his fists gripping the arms of his chair.
Helen stared him down. “Aren’t you though?”
He shot up out of his chair and shoved both of his hands through his hair. “And what am I supposed to do? I’ve been working my hardest to make sure that you both have a season and at least something of a dowry.”
“Because no one would want to marry us without one?” Effie asked, her hands on her hips.
“Because you don’t know what it’s like out there!” he shouted. He rarely lost his temper—and he’d certainly never done it in front of his sisters since his father and mother had died—but he was a fox cornered in its den. If only they knew what he’d done for them. If only they understood how painful it had been to let the woman he loved walk away without chasing after her and kissing her until she at least agreed to reconsider him. All of his pride and gentlemanly decorum could go to hell if it meant that he got a chance with Jane, and he’d given all of that up for his sisters, who didn’t even understand what he’d sacrificed.
He shoved his thumbs into his waistcoat pockets and turned sharply on his heel, sucking air through his nose to try his best to calm down. “I want you both to have a chance to choose your own husband. With so little money in the bank and our father’s spendthrift reputation, that becomes a slimmer and slimmer possibility. Even more so if you stay here in Kent. I need to be able to take you to London and find you a chaperone for a proper season.”
Effie stepped forward and placed a gentle hand on his arm. “We know that, Nicholas, but that burden shouldn’t be yours to bear entirely. We’re a family.”
“And what do our marriage prospects have to do with a woman you met?” asked Helen.
“Everything,” he said before he could stop himself.
Effie’s eyes narrowed. “What have you done?”
He sank down on the sofa and scrubbed his hand across his face, trying to figure out the best way to tell his sisters that he’d been an ass who fell in love with the wrong woman. Or, rather, the right woman who didn’t agree with him that she was perfect just the way she was.
“I met a woman named Jane Ephram on my trip, and through a series of events we spent some days in each other’s company. I asked her to marry me,” he said wearily. “She said no.”
Helen sat down heavily next to him, all of her bluster gone. “She said no?”
“She did.”
“Oh, Nicholas, I’m sorry.”
She covered his hand with hers and gave his fingers a squeeze, but Effie didn’t move. She was still scrutinizing him with a keen eye.
“Why?” Effie finally asked.
“What do you mean why?”
“I mean why. Does she not love you?”
“I wouldn’t presume to know a lady’s heart,” he hedged. The last thing he wanted to do was tell his sisters Jane’s reasoning. He didn’t want them to feel somehow responsible for his own failings or Jane’s hesitations. They weren’t to blame in this.
“What did she say when you told her you loved her?” asked Effie.
I can’t love you as you want me to. She didn’t deny that she loved him, but she didn’t come out and say it. And he knew why. She was putting his sisters and their happiness ahead of her own, just as he’d done for years.
“It doesn’t matter,” he said.
“It does,” his sister pushed.
He drew in a breath and braced himself for the tears that would surely follow. No doubt his sisters would be beside themselves when they realized they were the reason Jane couldn’t see herself as the fourth Baroness
Hollings.
“We are not discussing this.”
“Nicholas,” said Effie in a low voice, “is this Jane Ephram a woman of loose morals?”
“What? No!”
“It’s perfectly all right to speak frankly in front of us,” said Helen. “We read novels.”
“You’re learning about loose women from novels?” he nearly roared.
“They’re quite informative. We can give you a list of recommendations if you’re unfamiliar with them,” said Helen.
“We will revisit your reading habits at a later time,” he said, glowering.
Effie smiled brilliantly. “Good luck trying.”
“So this Miss Ephram isn’t a fallen dove,” said Helen. “Perhaps she’s a widow, then? Or maybe she’s not widowed yet! Have you taken up with a married woman whose husband is cruel? Have you promised to help her leave him?”
“Stop sounding so delighted, Helen,” Effie said before glancing at Nicholas. “Unless of course it’s true.”
“It’s not true,” he said.
“Then what’s the problem?” Helen pouted.
“She won’t marry me because she’s a governess, and she thinks that any connection with me will damage you,” he nearly shouted. “She doesn’t want to hurt you. Two women she hasn’t even met before.”
There. It was out in the open. The thing that had turned him into a raging, awful boor for nearly two weeks. When he looked up, both of his sisters appeared horrified and not a little hurt.
“That’s ridiculous,” said Effie in a soft voice.
“Don’t you think I know that?” he asked with a sigh.
“Of course, she’s right in one regard,” said Helen, cocking her head to one side. “Some people might look askance at us for having a governess as a sister-in-law.”
“But why would we want to marry anyone as cruel as that?” Effie asked.
“Precisely,” his youngest sister said with a nod.
All at once, the weight that had been pressing down on him since Jane had turned him down lifted from the center of his chest. He looked from sister to sister. “You’re certain you’re willing to take that risk?”
“I think I can say for my sister that we’re as certain as we’ve ever been about anything,” said Effie.
“We’ve all dreamed about what happiness might look like, Nicholas, and we don’t want you to miss your chance. Don’t martyr yourself for us,” said Helen.
“I love her.” His voice cracked, and he could hardly hold back the swelling of his heart and the aching pitch of his stomach. He felt like he might both soar to the ceiling and be swallowed whole into the earth. “I love her. I love her. I love her.”
Effie gripped his upper arms and forced him to look up at her. “Then what are you going to do about it?”
“I don’t know. I don’t even know where she is right now.”
“Think and find her,” said Helen, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Ask her to marry you again and this time don’t walk away until you’re certain that she doesn’t want you.”
“This time tell her you love her until she understands what that means, and don’t let her use us as an excuse,” said Effie.
He leaned back against the threadbare sofa and concentrated. He knew Jane was supposed to go to Yorkshire with Lady Margaret, but how likely did that seem? With Mr. Lawrence lurking, he doubted that she’d have done anything short of delivering the young lady to her parents, if only to ensure that the fortune hunter didn’t manage to get his claws in the earl’s daughter again. Jane would’ve given up the security of her profession if she thought it meant securing Lady Margaret’s future happiness and preventing a bad marriage from happening.
London. She would have to return to London to do that, and she no doubt would be cut loose from her position by now. That meant . . .
“The Earl of Asten,” he declared, pushing up from the sofa.
“What has an earl to do with all of this?” asked Effie with a frown.
“I heard that he just married his governess last year as well,” said Helen. “The Lady wrote about their wedding at St. Paul’s Knightsbridge.”
“You think Miss Ephram might know the new countess from her previous life?” asked Effie.
“I know she does,” he said. “Jane told me Lady Asten is one of her closest friends. Lord Asten offered to take her in if she ever needed a place to live. That’s where she’ll be.”
“I’ll tell Beth to pack and we’ll leave as soon as we can,” Effie announced. “Helen, don’t we have a train schedule around here somewhere?”
“We?” Nicholas asked.
Helen nudged him with her elbow. “You don’t think we’re going to let you do this on your own, do you?”
“You might make a hash of it all over again,” said Effie.
“Besides, Miss Ephram will want our reassurances that we don’t care a whit about her past,” Helen added.
He sighed. There actually was some logic in that—something his sisters would never let him live down if he admitted it.
“Fine,” he said. “You can come, but I’m the one who’s going to propose.”
“Of course!” said Helen with an all-too-innocent grin. “We wouldn’t have it any other way.”
Chapter Thirteen
“I don’t like seeing her like this.” Mary’s hushed voice drifted on the wind to Jane, who walked ahead of her two friends on the arm of the Earl of Asten. They were strolling along the well-kept gravel path inside Belgrave Square, taking advantage of an unusually rainless first of April. Jane had thought that getting out of Asten House and out from under the watchful eye of her caring if not a little overbearing friends would be good for her, but even from a distance she couldn’t fully escape their scrutiny.
“It’s only been two weeks. Give her some time,” said Elizabeth from behind her.
Eric—as Lord Asten had insisted she call him, since she called Elizabeth’s husband by his Christian name—squeezed her hand. “They mean well.”
She sighed. “I know. It’s just that I wish I didn’t feel quite so much like a butterfly trapped under a bell jar.”
“Mary enjoys having a project. If she still had my daughter’s wedding to plan, you might have had some respite.”
“She’ll have Elizabeth’s baby to fuss over in about six months,” she said, “but since the baby isn’t here yet, I suppose I’ll have to do.”
He chuckled and flicked his walking stick in sharp time with their synchronized steps. “Mary loves you. Elizabeth too.”
She knew that, just as she knew that her friends would never intentionally make her uncomfortable. However, it was hard to avoid when Jane was so unused to being the center of attention.
The roles the three friends had played for all the years they’d known each other had changed little when Elizabeth and Mary married, but Jane felt as though she was in the middle of a transformation. She just didn’t know what she was turning into.
She’d always felt like the sheltered one, protected against the difficulties of the world as much as her profession would allow. She’d had one position with one family for her entire time as a governess. Until Lady Margaret’s failed elopement, she’d never had any real reason to believe that her livelihood was in jeopardy. She’d been as caged in as her charge, only her jail had none of the advantages that came along with being the daughter of a peer.
“You know,” Eric said, breaking in to her thoughts, “I could find this Hollings and force him to marry you.”
In her mind’s eye, she could see the scene unfold. Eric and Edward, jackets off and sleeves pushed up in manly determination as they threatened to thrash Nicholas. They were as fiercely protective as the brothers she’d never had, and they would no doubt enjoy the task if only she’d give them leave to it. Except that she couldn’t.
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Eric shook his head before she could reply. “No, that’ll never do. I can see already that you wouldn’t want him hurt.”
“No, I wouldn’t want that,” she said quietly.
“But if this Hollings took”—Eric looked uncomfortable as he searched for the right word—“liberties with you, he should at least stand up like a gentleman and do the right thing.”
She lifted her face to the rare spring warmth, using it as an excuse to try to hide the emotion in her eyes. No matter how much she schooled her features, she hadn’t been able to keep the twist of pain from reaching her eyes when she heard his name. “He already asked me to marry him. I told him that I wouldn’t.”
Eric looked at her with surprise. “Why? It seems clear to me that you love him.”
“I do love him,” she said, “but he has sisters. Sisters who aren’t married.”
The significance she put behind her words had Eric lifting his brows in comprehension. “I see.”
“Then you’ll understand that it’s impossible.”
“It’s hogwash, that’s what it is.”
“Eric!” she protested, more than a little shocked that he would call her out in such a manner.
“I had an unwed daughter when I asked Mary to marry me.”
“Eleanora’s the daughter of an earl. This is different.”
“No, it’s not,” he said. “Imagine what would’ve happened if Mary had said no.”
“She did say no,” she pointed out.
“And it still worked itself out.” He stopped and turned to her right as they reached the locked gate of the square. “Circumstances are never going to be perfect, Jane. If you spend your entire life waiting around for the stars or planets to align, you’ll never get around to doing anything.”
“I’m a governess, or at least I was until two weeks ago,” she said with a shrug. “There was never anything else for me to do.”
“If you think that, you’re a foolish woman, and I’ve never thought for a second that my wife’s two closest friends were anything but clever.” He squeezed her hand once again as the sound of Elizabeth and Mary’s boots scraping against the gravel grew nearer. “What would you do right now if you weren’t so dead set against ruffling a few feathers?”
