by Georgie Lee
They stared at one another in challenge, so close together he could see each curling lash rimming her eyes. The temptation to kiss her again gripped him and he was certain she would allow it, but he held firm against the desire to lean in and claim her lips. He was here to discourage her, not trifle with her. The rattle of dice and conversation from the adjacent room drifted in despite the thick padding he’d paid builders to add to the walls. Her small breaths glided over the back of his hand where it hung between his knees, the need to resist her beginning to lose its urgency. He’d expected her to loathe him, not go along with him as if he’d invited her to a box at Drury Lane Theatre. Maybe allying himself with her wouldn’t be as dangerous as he’d first believed. She could help him and in deeper ways than mere negotiations and sales.
He sat back, putting distance between her and temptation. Revealing his involvement in a gambling hell was one thing, but he wouldn’t entice her into this life the way his uncle had enticed him. ‘I think it’s time to get you home.’
‘But we haven’t resolved anything.’
‘We’ll discuss the rest in the carriage.’ He checked the glass peephole hidden in a knot in the door to make sure the hallway was clear, then tugged it open. ‘We don’t want your brother to discover you missing and make you Sister Mary Saint Jane.’
She wagged one finger at him. ‘Don’t think you’ll put me off so easily.’
She strode past him and into the hallway, her confidence as alluring as her perfume.
* * *
Jane allowed Jasper to lead her out the way they’d come in and to hand her into the waiting carriage. The night chill made her shiver as she settled against the fine leather seats. She could pull the rug up over her knees, but the bracing air kept her on guard to continue her fight. Warmth might lull her into cosiness and make her forget what she needed to do on the ride home, her last real chance to change Jasper’s mind. She’d seen his determination waver when she’d made the suggestion about the jewellery and the solicitor, and again when they’d faced one another. He might outwardly protest, but inside he was weakening.
He settled across from her and with a knock on the roof set the conveyance in motion. They rode in silence as the carriage came around the building and passed the front entrance of the hell where a few vehicles waited for their riders while another pulled up to the front door to let off a new arrival. Then the building faded into the distance and the warehouses gave way to narrow streets and dark, ramshackle buildings. After a street or two, Jasper covered a large yawn with the back of his hand.
‘If you allowed me to handle things, you’d hardly have to do any work,’ she offered. ‘You could sleep in until noon as much as you like. Unlike some wives, I wouldn’t mind.’
‘I appreciate your offer, but I won’t have you lying to your family the way I’ve had to lie to mine.’
‘It wouldn’t be a lie, just an omission of certain details, which I have no issue with. After all, Philip and Laura don’t consult me on their affairs and decisions. There’s no reason why I should worry about their thoughts on mine.’
‘It isn’t so easy. It’s been hard misleading my mother about my exhaustion or lying to my father about why I can’t make morning appointments. If taking up residence in other lodgings while my town house is being repaired wouldn’t invite more questions from them I would. As it is, they think I’m tired all the time because I’m still recovering from Savannah and the crossing. Do you know how many times my mother has threatened to summon Dr Hale? They trust me and I’m deceiving them and it eats at me.’
‘What eats at me is continued failure and disappointment.’ She took a deep breath, working to settle herself. He was flustering her and she would lose the debate if she allowed her emotions to run roughshod over her reason. ‘I’ve managed the weight of those for the last few years, I think I can manage the bother of a few harmless fibs.’
‘I don’t doubt you can,’ he explained softly, ‘but I won’t let you.’
Her chest constricted. Those were the same words he’d used the night of his farewell party when they’d stood in his father’s study and said goodbye. She’d blurted out how she’d grown to care for him as more than a friend and would wait for him to come back. He’d been touched by her offer, but had refused to allow it, sure he wouldn’t return.
Except he had.
She stared out the window misted with dew. A few fat drops slid down the glass, catching others as they went before dripping off. This wasn’t about an old infatuation she’d put behind her ages ago, this was about establishing her future with him. Despite all his protestations against her, he was here with her alone in his carriage with enough faith in her to reveal his greatest secret. It was a more honest response than all his excuses against their marriage and it gave her hope she could still win his co-operation, if not tonight, then perhaps in the near future.
‘I’m sorry I didn’t keep in touch with you after I left,’ he offered. ‘More than once I wondered what you were up to here in London.’
‘Not very much.’ She smoothed her skirt with her hands, touched by his apology. It eased a great number of old disappointments. ‘There were dances and picnics, shopping and dinners, and the weddings of all my friends. No one took a fancy to me, at least no one who didn’t bolt.’
‘I’m sorry for what Milton did.’
‘Don’t be. I wasn’t in love with him as much as I was in love with the idea of my old friend being my husband.’ The possibility still held more appeal to her than waiting for some future romance. She didn’t need love, not if she had Jasper, her friend, for a husband.
‘I’m surprised Philip allowed the engagement. He of all people should have recognised Milton’s weakness.’
‘He did, but I didn’t listen.’ She’d ignored every warning thrown in her path until the morning Milton had left her. ‘I wish I had. It would’ve spared me a great deal of embarrassment.’
‘You’re better off without him.’
‘I am and his eloping spared me from having to wear the thin little ring he purchased. His poor wife has it now.’
‘Milton always was miserly.’ Jasper grinned and so did she, glad to find some humour in her misfortune.
‘What about you? Did you impress the ladies in Savannah?’
He reached up to grab the strap above the window. ‘I had my share of amusements.’
‘Did you now?’ She was as curious as she was jealous.
A spark of mirth lit up his eyes. ‘There was one tobacco merchant’s daughter I tried to court, but she rebuffed me the moment she discovered I wasn’t a lord but from the same solid merchant stock as her father.’
‘Did she ever get her title?’
‘No, she died in the epidemic.’ The mischievous Jasper faded into one much older than his twenty-four years. He turned to stare out the coach window at the dimly lit streets, a darkness coming into his eyes which made her shiver. ‘You have no idea the things I lived through in Savannah.’
He spoke with a weariness she understood. It was the one she’d experienced during the two weeks of her parents’ illness and which swathed her around this time every year. Jane leaned across the carriage and clasped his fingers tight. ‘It’s over now.’
The pressure of her touch seemed to startle Jasper, but he didn’t recoil from her. Instead he turned his hand over to hold hers. ‘No, it’s not. It’s still with me and sometimes as real as you sitting there.’
He let go of her and sat back, rubbing his thumb across the tops of his knuckles as he fisted his hand and brought it to his lips. A long moment passed and the clatter of the equipage settled in the quiet. Then he lowered his fist to his knee, tapping it in time to the rocking of the coach. ‘When the epidemic first began no one really thought anything of it. Every summer there were incidents of yellow fever—even I had a mild bout of it the summer
before. It’d claim a few people and then disappear when the weather turned cold. It was clear something was different that year.’
‘But you didn’t know what.’
‘Not until it was upon us.’ He continued to stare out the window, his attention fixed on something not outside, but in the past and across an ocean. ‘Those who could fled to their plantations, but death followed them. I was one of the thousands caught in the city after the quarantine.’
‘How awful it must have been.’ She longed to embrace him and drive away the sadness in his eyes, to comfort him the way he’d done for her so many times around the anniversary of her parents’ death, but she didn’t move. It was clear by the stoic set of his jaw he didn’t want her pity any more than she ever wanted anyone else’s.
‘It wasn’t so bad at first, with people flocking to our hell to enjoy themselves before death snatched them away. I enjoyed life with them; you see, once you’ve had Yellow Jack, you can’t catch it again, but it doesn’t mean you can’t suffer or be afraid. We stayed open until the authorities closed all the public places. By then everything was falling apart, and even if you weren’t sick, you were starving. No amount of money or influence could buy you food. It was the first time I’ve ever experienced what it was like to be without and unable to provide for those I care for.’
‘Your uncle?’
He nodded. ‘There was nothing I could do to save him and I could barely feed him either. It’s the reason I started the hell when I came home. Yellow Jack may not be here, but I’ve seen what happens to people who fall into poverty. I don’t ever want to be unable to provide for those I care about again.’ He offered her a sad and apologetic smile. ‘Unfortunately, gambling is the only trade I know.’
‘I understand. I’m not supposed to want a business, but without a husband, in the end, it might be the only thing to keep me should something ever happen to my inheritance. I don’t want to be spinster, but I certainly don’t wish to be a poor one.’
‘You won’t be. You’re too clever.’
She wished she shared his high opinion, but she didn’t. He had his hell and would some day have his club. She would still be alone and growing older. However, nothing she had suffered or endured compared to what Jasper had gone through. She admired his strength and vowed to be more like him. He hadn’t given up in the face of death and sickness. She couldn’t crumble beneath a few setbacks.
The carriage rocked to a halt at the entryway to the alley behind the Rathbone house, the one which led to the garden. The mist had thickened during their ride, but the faint outline of the garden gate was visible. It’d been a lifetime since Jane had last viewed it from this angle, when she and Jasper and Milton had returned from an outing, with her dressed in Philip’s old clothes and a soft hat covering her hair. Back then, she used to creep through the shadows and in the garden gate, steal past Philip’s room and slide into bed as if she’d been there the entire night. Tonight, she’d do it again once more.
Jasper stepped out of the coach and held out his hand to help her down. She gripped it as she joined him on the pavement, reluctant to let go. She didn’t want to leave him to ride home alone with the memories of all the awful things he’d seen accompanying him. To her surprise he didn’t release her hand, but covered it with the other one. ‘Thank you for not judging me too harshly for what I do.’
‘I could never judge you harshly, not even for refusing me.’
‘It’s why I trusted you.’
She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him close. ‘If you need someone to talk to, don’t be afraid to come to me. I’ll listen and keep anything else you want to tell me a secret.’
She squeezed him tight and then, before he could refuse this offer, hurried across the short distance to the garden gate, conscious of him watching her the way he used to do to make sure she was home safe. At the gate she stopped. The moisture collecting on the wrought iron wet her fingers while she slowly pulled it open to keep the old hinges from squeaking.
Jane threw Jasper one last look. He touched his hat to her, the faint grey of it just visible in the silver light of the half-obscured moon. She slipped into the garden, past the fragrant flowers and the dew-moistened stepping stones, her regret at having to leave him as strong as the scent of the roses.
* * *
The mist grew thicker and colder the moment Jane disappeared from sight. It wasn’t like the air in Savannah which could drown a man with its heat, but lighter and more mysterious, like Jane. He opened and closed his hand at his side, the warm pressure of Jane’s fingers against his still lingering, along with her concern.
He took hold of the carriage-door handle to keep from chasing after her and changing his mind. It’d been a relief to speak with her instead of trying to hold back his memories, and the truth of his income, as he did with his family. When they’d spoken of Savannah, she hadn’t hugged him in pity like his mother had when he’d first come home, the spaces under his jaws hollowed out, the depths of his suffering hidden like the banknotes tucked inside his trunks. Instead, Jane had merely listened, her presence stopping the spectre of the past from rising up from the shadows to consume him.
He stepped inside the carriage and rapped his knuckles against the top to tell the driver to move on. Each turn of the wheels carrying him away from St Bride’s Lane, and Jane, made him more agitated. So many mornings he rode home from the hell before dawn, yearning for someone to speak with about the night’s challenges or simply to view him in a better light than he viewed himself. With his family, he had to pretend his troubles were not what they really were and allow lies and falsehoods to separate and isolate him from the people who’d welcomed him home.
The carriage made the turn towards the warehouse and rolled past the cluttered windows of the shops locked tight for the evening. Soon, the shops gave way to the square, shapeless buildings lining the river. Weariness began to smother him the closer they drew to the hell. He was exhausted by the deceit and the walls it created around him, except there wasn’t one between him and Jane. Tonight, she’d listened. The concern in her blue eyes calling to him, the hints of yellow near the irises reminding him of the sky during the many sunrises he’d been glad to meet during the awful weeks of the epidemic. The flicker of her pulse against his fingertips had been a potent reminder of how alive and good the world could still be and how he might be a part of it again.
The warehouse came into view and the carriage slowed to a stop. He hopped down, his determination not to marry Jane weakening with each step as he approached the rear door. It would be risky having someone so close, but she might be the one person who could keep him from sliding further into the darkness. He’d seen what years of loneliness and dissipation had done to Uncle Patrick. Uncle Patrick had spent his life surrounded by others, fêted and admired, and in the end all his money couldn’t buy their loyalty or their help when he’d been at his weakest. Jasper didn’t want to become like him. He’d thought to pull himself out of his old life by his own bootstraps. Maybe it was a more feminine hand he needed for the final steps.
He took the key ring out of his pocket and swung it on one finger, imagining the two of them working together and rising in prominence like her brother, or wielding the kind of influence his father enjoyed. It would be like his first few years in Savannah when he used to mingle with influential men or host parties in his Franklin Square house. For a time tonight, with her, he’d been free to be his old self and not have to lie. It was the life he’d imagined when he’d gone to the auction, the one he’d thought he’d lost until Jane had appeared and made him realise it could still be his.
He clutched the keys in his palm, stilling their spinning. It was one thing for Jane to know about his hell, it was another for her to be involved in it. He couldn’t corrupt her the way his uncle had corrupted him or risk leaving her to wrestle with even a small measure of the guilt and blame
he endured because of the affair with Mr Robillard. Except it wasn’t a part of the hell she wanted, it was a part of him and his club. He could give her the club, and himself, and keep back the hell and the ugliness of Savannah. She needn’t be involved in the tempting of players, but she could share in the freedom it offered to enjoy the finer aspects of London, the ones denied to her by her current situation. She’d come to him with a proposal for a partnership, to help him build a reputable professional life with the added benefit of more enticing nocturnal pursuits. It was an opportunity he could no longer resist. His time with her had always been an adventure. It would be again.
Chapter Four
‘Miss Rathbone, good morning,’ young Chester Stilton greeted Jane as she came downstairs for breakfast. Despite having been up most of the night, she’d awakened at her usual time just after sunrise. Force of habit was stronger than fatigue.
‘Mr Stilton, it’s a pleasure to see you here so early.’ It wasn’t, but she had to be polite to Philip’s clients. After the last day and night, she’d had her fill of young men and was in no mood to entertain any more. All she wanted was to continue on to the dining room and the large pot of coffee sure to be waiting there.
‘I certainly didn’t ask to come at this ungodly hour, but my father insisted.’ Mr Stilton’s thin upper lip pulled back in displeasure, revealing teeth as yellow as a wheel of cheese. Rumour was he rarely rose before noon, long after his industrious, and poorly named, cheesemonger of a father had gone to work to support his family and pay off his wastrel son’s large tailor bill. She wondered how long it would be until Chester Stilton began to seek loans to support his spending habits, assuming he hadn’t already done so to maintain his supply of the gaudily striped waistcoats, white hats and bright blue coats. ‘My father is here to pay off the loan your brother extended him last year. He wanted me to join in the discussion and learn a little something about money, as if I should take lesson like that from a man like your brother.’
