Rescuing Lady Jane

by Lydia Pembroke

  Whether it was the simple act of his kindness, or his sweet words that held her so enraptured, she did not know. He appeared to have wandered out of a dream she had long cast aside, offering her a ray of light to brighten the endlessly dark days that her life had become. It was foolish to believe that anything could ever come of her newfound affections for him, but she knew that the fantasy would be enough to chase away some of the demons that plagued her.

  There was a curious irony to the fact that she had happened upon him at the site of an old church, for he was fast becoming the saviour she had prayed for all these months. Even if he turned out to be a trickster full of empty poetry, as James had done, at least she would have the fiction of him to keep her mind from tumbling over the brink of insanity. Although they had only just met, she realised that she had discovered her anchor to a belief in the good in the world, at long last. Just the vision of those hazelnut eyes was enough to keep her afloat.

  That night, when James returned to the house and sought her out, his looming shadow darkening her bedchamber door, she sank into the memory of her afternoon.

  She drifted away from her body, detaching herself from it entirely. Instead, in her mind’s eye, she walked along the forest path and came to a halt at the gate of the old church. Elliott Bevan stood there, waiting for her, a welcome smile on his face.

  He reached out his hands towards her and held them tight as he led her into the half-ruined building. Candles had been lit throughout, casting a soft glow on the interior, mingling with the moonlight that glanced in through the cracked roof.

  A pile of furs lay beside a crackling fire that he had built. Taking her in his arms, he embraced her tightly, his hands cupping her face as he gazed down into her eyes. She closed her eyes as he leaned in, his lips grazing hers with the tenderest of kisses. Her own arms looped about his neck as he traced kisses all the way across her jaw, and down the slender curve of her throat.

  A smile turned up the corners of her freshly-kissed lips as he sank down to the ground and brought her with him, drawing her in close to him as he kissed her again, with more passion than she had ever known.

  His fingertips undid the jewelled pins that held her hair up, letting the glossy, fair tendrils come tumbling down around her shoulders. Propping himself up on his elbow, he looked down at her, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.

  “I am here for you, Jane. Always. Whenever you need me, I will be waiting,” he whispered, before he pressed his lips sensually against hers.

  It was a fantasy that she never wanted to awaken from, for it made the reality all the more unbearable.

  Chapter Seven

  James remained at Clackford House for the rest of the week, preventing Jane from slipping out to visit the old church. It was all she could think about. Indeed, she found herself quite content to read in the library, or speak with Mrs. Carson in the kitchens, for she knew that James would leave again, and she would soon be free to go on her walks. This time, it was only a temporary incarceration.

  Even the evenings were not as torturous as they had once been, for she allowed her mind to drift away to the church, where candles flickered, and Elliott was always waiting, as promised.

  “I am leaving for Reading at the noon hour, and will be gone until Wednesday,” James announced over breakfast on Saturday morning. “Is there anything that I might acquire for you, whilst I am in Reading? I had thought a new evening gown might be pleasant. Something in deep scarlet, perhaps?”

  She smiled at him sweetly.

  “A gown would be very pleasant, my dear.”

  He cast a suspicious glance at her.

  “Are you feeling quite well? You seem dazed.”

  “I am a little weary, but otherwise in good health.”

  “Might I suggest you take to your bedchamber for some rest? These dark circles beneath your eyes are most unbecoming of a young lady.”

  She nodded.

  “Of course, my dear. I had thought the very same thing.”

  She would never permit his words to harm her again. Elliott might have been a fantasy, but the illusion that she had fabricated of him had given her renewed strength in herself.

  “Very well, then I shall leave you to your slumber whilst I prepare for my departure.”

  “I wish you a safe journey, husband. Might I retire now? I really do feel rather faint.”

  He grumbled to himself.

  “If you must.”

  With a gracious curtsey, she left the dining room and retreated upstairs to her bedchamber. There, she remained until noon, listening for the sound of James departing. Like clockwork, he left as soon as the church bells rang out to signal twelve o’clock, the slamming door of his exit sending a tremor through the entirety of the crumbling house. She waited another half an hour before slipping out of the bedchamber door and down the stairs. Ensuring that nobody saw her, she went out into the bitter wind that whipped through the village of Lower Nettlefold.

  Drawing her coat tighter around herself, she walked around the back of the house and set off down the right-hand path instead of the left. She strolled at a brisk pace along the banks of the Nettlerush river, noting the small bridges that traversed the babbling water. The ice had thawed away, leaving the current free to sweep towards the sea.

  Some twenty minutes later, her lungs burning with the sting of the cold air that crept down her throat, she saw the dilapidated mill that Elliott had spoken of. She paid it little heed, moving quickly past it to find the bridge that he had mentioned. It stood to the back of the mill, crossing the water where the remains of a mill-wheel still clung to the sturdy outer wall. Here, all the surrounding sounds seemed to disappear, leaving only the rustle of the fields in the distance, the steady whisper of the flowing river, and the occasional tweet of a bird that flew low beside her.

  What are you doing here, Jane? she asked herself. It may be Saturday, and perhaps he will walk here, but he did not mean for you to come here yourself. You are confusing fantasy and reality. Yes, he gave you fond looks and his smiles were warm and genuine, but that does not mean anything. You are setting yourself up for further disappointment. Keep to the visions you have created — do not expect such wonderment in real life. It cannot be anything more than a fanciful daydream.

  Her head whipped around at the sound of someone approaching. They were whistling a merry tune, though the rising melody faded abruptly as the figure paused just shy of the bridge. Mr Bevan stood there for a moment longer, his gaze never leaving Jane’s. A moment later, the tension evaporated as he moved towards her.

  A nervous smile tugged at the corners of his lips.

  “You came,” was all he said.

  “Was I not supposed to?”

  “I had hoped you would, Lady Waterford… but I thought my hopes to be nothing but foolish notions.”

  “If we are discovered, we—”

  “We will not be, Lady Waterford.” He offered out his hand, which she took tentatively. “Come this way.”

  He led her around the back of the old mill, to an overgrown garden that sat at the rear. A horse-chestnut tree stood at the end of the plot, with a bench beneath. He took her towards it and waited for her to sit before he sank down onto the wooden slats. Although he did not remove his gaze from her, he kept a suitable distance between them, as a nervous energy bristled in the gap.

  “When you did not return to the old church, I realised that your husband must have come home,” he began shyly. “I watched the path for your arrival, but you did not appear. For a moment, I wondered if I had imagined you. On that first day, you came out of those woods like an ethereal being who did not quite belong to this world. I reasoned that I must have seen a nymph, or a ghost, or a spirit who had become lost. I did not think you could be real, for nobody has ever bewitched me in such a manner. We have spoken but a handful of words to one another, yet you have enchanted me entirely. Truly, I feel as though I have known you for a lifetime. It is uncouth of me to speak so bluntly, I know it
is, but I fear I must, for I do not know when we might have such an opportunity again.”

  She stared at him in utter disbelief.

  “You must not say such things.”

  “I know I must not, but I find I cannot help myself. You have been my only constant thought for this past week, and each day I have longed to see you appear on the woodland path. I almost did not take this walk today, for I did not think I could bear the disappointment of arriving to find you absent.”

  “I felt the same way,” she confessed, her voice catching in her throat. “I thought I must have imagined the invitation, because I wanted to believe in something that did not exist. Yet here you are.”

  “Yet here I am.” His gaze flickered towards a band of bruises upon Jane’s neck, a hardness glinting within his beautiful eyes. “Did he do that to you?”

  She drew her coat tighter about her neck.

  “It is nothing.”

  “Did he do that to you?” Elliott repeated.

  “I dare not tell you the truth.”

  The sleeve of her coat slipped down to reveal four distinct lines around her wrist, just above the line of her kid-gloves, mottled in troubling shades of grey-blue, swollen purple, and faint yellow. The marks of James’ violent passion.

  Mr Bevan took her hand and pressed his lips to the bruises.

  “I am sorry, Lady Waterford. I am sorry that he has done these terrible things to you. How could he treat you this way?”

  “I am not the woman he loves,” she explained. “I remind him of what he has lost, and he punishes me for it.”

  “I cannot understand such a man. Does he not see what he has before him?”

  “I do not believe he thinks he has much. I am a poor substitute for the wife that died.” She held back angry tears. “When we met, he made me believe he loved me. He wooed me with such charm and adoration that I felt my heart had swollen to twice its size. I thought myself to be the luckiest young lady in all of England. As soon as we were wed, everything changed. He became a man I did not recognise and have yet to rediscover. Now, I am trapped in this marriage, to a man who fooled me.”

  He relinquished her hand.

  “I am so sorry, Lady Waterford. No lady should have to endure such torment. To feed a beautiful creature such as yourself terrible lies, and then to entrap you within them… I wish there was something I could do to ease your pain.”

  “There is nothing that anyone can do.”

  “I have invited the wives of the labourers to come for luncheon at the church each day,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “You would be welcome to attend, if that would bring you comfort? Then, it might not seem so improper for the two of us to spend time in each other’s company. Truthfully, since the moment I met you, I have desired to learn more of you. I have garnered what I can from the townsfolk, but your husband seems to keep you prisoner up at that house. They know very little of you. It is what caused me to believe that I had imagined you.”

  Jane laughed tightly.

  “Sometimes, I feel like a ghost, wandering aimlessly.”

  “Then allow me to release you from your life of solitude,” he urged. “Come to dine with us each day, and let our company cheer you. The wives of my men are humorous, loud sorts — it is impossible to feel gloomy when they are around, for they do not allow it.”

  “That does sound rather wonderful.”

  “Please, say that you will come.”

  She smiled at his earnest face.

  “I will do what I can, when my husband is absent from home.”

  “That is promise enough for me.”

  He reached for her hand again and lifted it to his lips. He paused a moment too long as he pressed a kiss to her glove, his eyes closed in quiet contentment. Jane’s heart raced in her chest, her mind overwhelmed with longing for him. And yet, he was practically a stranger to her… and she was a married woman. She would not degrade herself by getting involved in an affair, but she would keep the image of his tender kiss in her mind, to add to the fantasies that kept her from losing her wits.

  Feelings existed between the two of them, that much was clear, but it could never go any further than that. She would not allow it, no matter how he charmed her with his raw, innocent honesty.

  “I must go now,” she said softly.

  “If he hurts you again,” Elliott replied, “just know that I will be waiting for your signal, whenever you need me. If ever you feel in danger, send someone to fetch me. I do not know how I will do it, but I will protect you however I can. This cannot continue.”

  His fingertips grazed her bruises once more, sending a shiver through her body.

  Her chest gripped tight with a mixture of gratitude and grief.

  “Thank you, Mr. Bevan.”

  With that, she rose from the bench and walked away from him, determined not to let him see the tears as they coursed down her cheeks.

  James had brought her so low that she had forgotten her loveliness. Elliott had restored her faith in herself, in such a brief amount of time. Truly, she did not know why or how, but he had done it with no thought of reward.

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  Elliott watched her leave, his insides simmering with rage at Lord Waterford and his acts of brutality towards Jane. How anyone could treat such a beautiful creature with such hatred was beyond him, for he thought her the most enchanting woman he had ever encountered.

  From their first meeting, he had been enraptured by her. The softness of her voice, the sadness in her blue eyes, the hint of faded roses in her cheeks, the mystery in her behaviour, the elegance of her pretty features, the bitten-red of her lips.

  He had hardly dared to hope that she would come to meet him on the bridge. Indeed, he had feared that his words had been much too vague, or perhaps they had not been enticing enough for a woman of her station. She was noble and loyal, he could tell that. No lady would endure what she had endured if they were not.

  Still, he found himself at a loss for what to do. He could provide distraction in the form of the labourers and their wives, but he did not know how to help her beyond that.

  He was not a particularly worldly man, nor had he engaged in any romance prior to this point in his life – he had been far too focussed on architecture. However, he felt a sudden thought edge its way into his mind — what might it be like to kiss her?

  He had not been able to take his eyes off her lips as she had spoken, and he had longed to press his own to the plump pink rise of her cheeks. You must not entertain such thoughts, he told himself sternly. She is a righteous woman. She will not be led astray by the likes of you, nor should you attempt it.

  And yet, when he thought of her, all he could do was imagine them walking together, her hand in his.

  He wanted to bring a smile to her face that would never leave. He wanted to offer her happiness, but it was much too late for that, through no fault of either of them. Had he met her before she was married, perhaps things would now be different.

  But now, her fate was sealed and there was nothing he could do to break the bonds that bound her to James Felling.

  Still, that did not mean that he would not protect her if her husband ever sought to harm her again. Of that, he was certain.

  Chapter Eight

  The cold bite of winter’s last ravenous scourge retreated into the bright warmth of Spring, as the months passed by. Whenever James was away from home, attending to some business relating to the Dunsmore inheritance, Jane would slip out of the house and go to meet with Elliott and the other labourers, their wives always in bawdy attendance.

  They were the happiest days she had known since marrying James, the laughter and jests of the labourers’ wives bringing a genuine smile to her face and a contentment to her formerly fevered mind.

  Elliott was the main source of her newfound joy, for though they were surrounded by people, they always found time to spend a private moment together. Even if it was just as he walked her to the edge of the woods, they savoured thei
r brief instant of privacy.

  Sometimes, he would take her hand and kiss it, as he had done by the old mill. Other times, he would simply leave her with a fond gaze that made her heart beat harder.

  Once, in the shadows of the forest, he had leaned so close she thought he might kiss her, but he had thought better of it and pulled away at the last moment. She had been glad of that, though in her mind she had already kissed him a thousand times.

  Each day that she visited them, she took cakes and treats from the kitchens, always pausing to have a lengthy talk with Mrs. Carson who had become like a second mother to her. With the turn of the seasons, things had started to look up. There was only one problem. As June dawned and brought with it the first scent of Summer, she began to feel strangely poorly most days, her pallor tinged with green and her stomach unable to settle.

  “I know the cause, my Lady,” Mrs. Carson said, as Jane gripped the edge of the workbench.

  A wave of nausea passed through her as she waited for the cakes to be ready.

  “You do?”

  Mrs. Carson nodded.

  “You are with-child. I would stake my life upon it.”

  Jane blanched.

  “You believe so?”

  “The symptoms are all there, my Lady, and I have seen enough pregnancies in my time to know when a lady is expecting. There’s a change about her, and you certainly look like a changed woman.”

  Her cheeks grew hot. There was a different reason for her alteration in demeanour. Elliott.

  “Tell me, my Lady, have you been experiencing your courses of late?”

  “I have not had one these past two months.”

  Realisation dawned with sudden certainty.

  “Then I would suggestion you send one of the footmen to fetch the physician, my Lady.”

  She nodded slowly.

  “I will, once I have been to visit with my friends from the village.”

  “Very well, my Lady.”

  “Might you keep the happy news to yourself, until I have found an opportunity to tell my husband?”