Dangerous to Know

by Christina Boyd (ed)

  I stopped and turned to her, incredulous. “Jane. You would give me up? You expect that I can give you up?”

  “I think Fate is telling us that you are not for me. You will live your life as a gentleman. I will become a governess. That is the way of things.”

  “Let me try to convince the Churchills. I have never been denied my wish when I pursued it in earnest. I can find a way, but you must give me time.”

  She took several steps in silence, and I did not interrupt. I had learned that her quiet nature required reflection, and that silence often meant she was about to agree. Finally, she nodded. “As you wish, then.”

  I left for Enscombe the next day. Left my love with a smile and a promise. The visit to Yorkshire, however, did not have the desired effect. My aunt’s poor health consumed every conversation and thought, and I returned to Weymouth a fortnight later to deliver the news to Jane that we would have to wait a bit longer. What she informed me of, however, set me in a panic like I had never known.

  “I dared not put this in a note. It would be the ruin of me if it were to get out.” She struggled for composure. “I have not had my courses since we returned from Aydersham. I fear I may be with child.”

  It was as if the ground dropped away from beneath my feet. I was now bound to her, not only by a gentleman’s code of honor, but by the bond between us as potential parents of a child. And I was running out of time—it was now nearing the end of September, and even with a special license to marry immediately, tongues would wag if Jane were to deliver in May. I needed a plan to fall back on, some way of providing for her in the event that my aunt turned me out of Enscombe. Never before had I wished for a profession or a trade, but I wished for one now. How much easier this all would be if I could be an independent man, with honest work to provide for a family instead of a man beholden to the whims of genteel society! If I had been a sailor, or a merchant like my father’s people…

  Wait…my father. A man who had married across the lines of class when he took my mother for his wife. A man who had an estate that I, as his firstborn son, could still possibly inherit if he saw fit to leave it to me. A man who had just married a governess, and so might be sympathetic to my plight.

  “What are you thinking?” Jane asked, her eyes full of tears. “Your expression is full of such contradictions.”

  I looked over at her, observing her pallor, the fragility of her slight frame. I tried to call up the glorious look of her in the throes of ecstasy, see her passion in my mind’s eye, but all I could see was this wan and sickly-looking creature before me. Yes, it appeared her condition was making her ill, stealing her bloom. Surely her friends would begin to notice this change in her. When that day came, when she was forced to admit the truth, would she name me as her seducer?

  Indeed, I most certainly was running out of time. I pulled at my cravat as if it were a noose tightening around my neck.

  “I am trying to form a plan to see us through this, Jane. But you must keep our secret for now. You must trust me.”

  “I…I will.”

  “All will be well. You will see. And you mustn’t worry. It is not good for your health.”

  She looked at me with a brave, childlike devotion that did tug at the last vestiges of my honest man’s soul. “Of course.”

  “I will escort you home now.”

  “Why?”

  “I have a letter to write. To Highbury.”

  “To my grandmamma?”

  “No. To my father—and his new wife.”

  I spent the next few weeks in a fog of visits: to London, to Yorkshire, and back to Weymouth. My stepmother wrote to me, a surprisingly elegant letter, suggesting that perhaps my father had not been as much of a fool as my aunt surmised. I made a promise to visit at my earliest convenience. I needed to plead my case to the sympathetic ears at Randalls.

  The Campbells and Jane returned to London for the wedding of Miss Campbell and Mr. Dixon, and I journeyed there as well so I could attend.

  Jane had been patient as she promised, and I, to defer any speculation about the two of us, kept my distance from her. One can only imagine my surprise when she approached me at the wedding breakfast that morning in October and said quietly, as she lifted a cup of punch to her lips, “I must speak with you. Alone.”

  “Where?”

  “There is a maze in the gardens. Meet me there at half past the hour.”

  The tall walls of the maze dampened the sounds of wedding revelry outside as I wandered in search of the elusive Miss Fairfax. I turned a corner and there we were, face to face, with the distance of the maze corridor between us. I quickened my pace, but she stood there without moving, even more ashen than when I had seen her last. There was a strange countenance about her, a stark and brittle aura that slowed my pace.

  “Miss Fairfax?” I asked uncertainly. “Jane?”

  “Mr. Churchill. Thank you for coming. I have news.”

  I reached out for her hand but she kept hers firmly behind her.

  My hand returned slowly to my side. “I am planning a trip into Surrey to see my father and his new wife. My hope is that a reconnection there will help secure a future for us, and for the child. I have not been able to broach the subject of our betrothal with my aunt and uncle.”

  Her laugh was a cold, sharp sound. “You needn’t worry on that account. That is what I have to tell you. I have miscarried the child.” She turned away and crossed her arms over her bosom, as if embracing or soothing herself.

  “I am sorry to hear it.” And to my surprise, I was sorry.

  “It is my punishment for my sins. I, who have always lost what I treasured, have lost again, in another visitation of tragedy.”

  “Jane, I—”

  “You are released from your obligation, of course. There is not any urgency for us to marry now. I only ask that you never speak of our affair to anyone. Because I am to become a governess, I cannot endure a whiff of scandal.” She turned to face me, a pleading look reaching into my heart. “And in truth, I am not a scandalous woman. I am not. I am simply a woman who let her feelings lead her astray. Not the first woman to impale her own dignity for the love of a man, nor the last, I am sure.”

  “No,” I found myself saying. “No. You might release me from our betrothal, but I do not release you.”

  “As a betrothal, it is such a botched piece of work by this point, there is no way to make it right, no way to make us respectable. You had best move on—to the life you are meant to have.”

  “I am meant to have you for my wife. I can make our engagement right.”

  “How?”

  “Somehow. I don’t know yet, but there is time to work it out now.”

  “You mean now that there is no child, do you not?”

  “Yes. No.” I stopped. “In truth, I do not know what I mean. Perhaps it is Fate’s way of seeing to the best outcome.”

  She sighed. “I do love you, Frank. I just do not think that love will be enough—to sway your family, to cross this chasm between us, to keep you even if I should become your wife. Perhaps I am better off as a governess.”

  I shook my head. “I know what happens to governesses. I hear the tales from my friends. I will not leave you to that life. It is a position that is beneath you. I can work this to our advantage. You must—”

  “Trust you? Be patient? How long do you expect me to wait? What if a suitable service position becomes available to me before you have worked your gentleman’s magic on the situation? Do I turn a good situation away, based on my faith in your power to persuade your aunt to accept our betrothal?”

  “Do nothing rash, my love. I beg of you. Give me more time.”

  “I have nothing but time at this point, at least until the spring. I will stay with the Campbells until the new year. While they are in Ireland with Mr. and Mrs. Dixon, I will stay with my grandmamma and aunt in Surrey. Then, I can put it off no longer. I must make my way in the world the best I can. My relatives do not have the means to support a
young person with no prospects.”

  I stepped closer and encircled her in my arms. “Dealing with the Churchills is like a game of chess, but it is a game I know well. It requires strategy and ruthlessness, and yes, patience. But it will be worth it in the end. I have not given up hope, and neither should you.”

  She turned and clung to me, and we held each other until voices from outside the maze intruded.

  “We must part now, but I will stay in London while you are here. When you go into Surrey, I will follow you. We will hedge our bets by extending an olive branch to my father and his new wife, and I will continue to work behind the scenes at Enscombe.”

  “I do not like being nefarious and cunning, Frank. The strain of this makes me almost ill.”

  “Then let me be the nefarious one. It bothers me not at all.”

  She looked at me, perhaps stunned at my assertion.

  “I will write to you under the name of Miss Parker, a friend you met in Weymouth, and you will return my letter with a pen name of your own.” I kissed her hand and then her mouth. I left her standing there in the morning shade, hollow-eyed and sad, promising myself I would make her life whole again.

  * * *

  The holidays came and went, and Jane made her way to the diminutive village of Highbury. I followed, surprising my father and his new wife one day ahead of my scheduled arrival, but they did not appear to mind. In fact, they seemed thrilled, because they had chosen for me, in the horrid way that well-meaning relatives often do, a potential wife from the Highbury crop of young ladies.

  Miss Emma Woodhouse was handsome, clever, and rich, and she was blessed with a merry disposition. She had been my stepmother’s charge since the tender age of three, when Mrs. Woodhouse died, until Mrs. Weston’s recent marriage to my father. Miss Woodhouse was a lovely girl, and the only fault I could find in her was her unfortunate tendency to see right through me.

  I could not reject her as a potential wife, not out of hand, because I needed to stay in my father’s good graces, but I could not bamboozle her either. Every time I spoke with her, she would knowingly nod her head and make some comment such as, “I am persuaded that you can be as insincere as your neighbors, when it is necessary.”

  Touché, Mademoiselle Woodhouse!

  And while her skills of observation had a certain appeal, I certainly did not think I would find them quite so appealing in a wife. Thank goodness, she applied them in such a haphazard fashion or my secret betrothal might have come to light regardless of my attempts to conceal it.

  Still I played the game set before me, trying to avoid stumbling into check. Miss Woodhouse seemed to enjoy the flirtation, and my father and Mrs. Weston seemed to enjoy seeing us with our heads together in discussion.

  What I did not anticipate was the effect this ruse would have on Jane, already settled in the humble abode of her Bates relatives. She became colorless and sickly-looking. I joked with Miss Woodhouse about it, and then fretted over it in private. I tried to cheer Jane with a gift, a piano-forte delivered to the Bates’ home. Perhaps that was too risky an impulse. The poor delivery men had a devil of a time getting it in Mrs. Bates’ parlor! After I had arranged for its delivery, I did begin to think better of it, and not only because of the size of the thing. How was Jane to explain the gift without giving us away? But Miss Woodhouse provided the perfect alibi in her suppositions about Jane and Mr. Dixon, and the supposed tendre they held for each other. Besides, Jane would need a fine instrument when she became mistress of Enscombe. Better sooner than later, as far as I was concerned. There was no way for anyone in Highbury to trace the gift to me at any rate. Another fortunate turn of events! I was beginning to believe in my role as Fate’s Child of Fortune once again.

  And yet, Jane’s health did not improve. I finagled for us to be alone by sending Miss Bates off to fetch my stepmother and Miss Woodhouse from Ford’s, under the pretense of fixing Mrs. Bates’ spectacles. While the older lady slept by the fire, I laid the spectacles aside and approached Jane, standing just to the side of the window, peering through the curtain.

  “Dearest.”

  “Do not address me so! Grandmamma—”

  “Is fast asleep—and hard of hearing to boot. In effect, we are all alone.”

  She peered around me, and her shoulders visibly relaxed.

  “What news from Enscombe?” she whispered.

  “My aunt’s health remains poor. This is not a good time to approach the Churchills about our betrothal.”

  “And obviously you are not about to disillusion your father and Mrs. Weston about their hopes for you and Miss Woodhouse.”

  I grinned. “Why, Jane, dearest, me thinks you might be jealous!”

  “I most certainly am not!” Her cheeks flushed and the stormy gray in her eyes returned—a welcome reminder of her former self. If jealousy would turn her into the Jane of Weymouth, perhaps I should indulge my father and stepmother a little longer.

  I glanced around to check that Mrs. Bates was still sleeping. Then I raised my hand to cup Jane’s cheek and brought her mouth to mine. Soft lips, delicate skin. I almost forgot where I was.

  “It has been so long, Jane. So long since I could touch you.” I ran a finger across her breast where fabric met the delicate flesh.

  She shivered. “Frank.”

  Her aunt’s voice sounded from the stairway.

  “Bloody hell!” I growled.

  Jane leapt back and turned toward the piano-forte. I claimed my seat and bent studiously over the spectacles once more.

  They entered the room, Miss Bates, Mrs. Weston, and Miss Woodhouse, and the young mistress of Hartfield made her way over to my chair.

  “This is a pleasure,” said I, in rather a low voice, “coming at least ten minutes earlier than I had calculated. You find me trying to be useful. Tell me if you think I shall succeed.

  “What!” exclaimed Mrs. Weston. “Have not you finished it yet? You would not earn a very good livelihood as a working-silversmith at this rate.”

  “I have not been working uninterruptedly. I have been assisting Miss Fairfax”—and here I stopped and grinned at her, with a glance at her bosom, unnoticed by the others, for I rose to stand between her and them—“in trying to make her…instrument stand steadily. It was not quite firm.”

  She turned from me in order to hide her smile.

  * * *

  As the spring came, my aunt’s health worsened. The Churchills took a house in Richmond in May, and I was obliged to leave Jane in the clutches of that intolerable shrew, Mrs. Elton—her self-appointed “protector.” That harridan! Why did she always involve herself in the business of every last person with whom she was acquainted? Vulgar upstart!

  As I shuttled back and forth between Richmond and Surrey, I again felt fenced in, caught between my secret betrothed and the two branches of my family, both Churchill and Weston. Everyone wanted something different from me, and I recalled the cautionary saying that Nanny Roberts used to tell me: “Oh what a tangled web we weave, when first we practice to deceive.”

  I was required to be at my aunt’s disposal, now more than ever, so I was unable to write to Jane.

  By the day of the strawberry party at Donwell—tiresome place I tell you! And unbearably hot!—I was peevish. We quarreled, Jane and I.

  As she walked home from the Abbey, I came upon her.

  “Hullo, fair Jane!” I called out as I dismounted my horse. I halted abruptly when I saw that she had been weeping.

  “Dearest, why do you cry? Let me walk with you and comfort you.”

  “Get back!” she hissed. “If someone were to see us, this awful, unbearable ruse would be for nothing.”

  “What has happened? Is it that officious Mrs. Elton again?”

  “Yes. No. Or not just that. Although she is officious in the extreme.” She pushed past me and kept walking while she talked. “I do not know how much longer I can keep living this lie in which we have found ourselves. It is making me ill, and I begin to doubt y
our sincerity in keeping your word, given your behavior toward Miss Woodhouse.”

  “Jane—” I began, all condescension.

  “Go away!”

  The tiny twig of my tolerance snapped in two. “As you wish, milady!” I swung up onto my horse and rode like a mad man to Donwell, where I took my temper out on the serene and sensible Miss Woodhouse for the rest of the day.

  Over the next weeks, Jane became more withdrawn, stopped answering my letters, and I grew desperate.

  Then, a miracle happened. Or rather, it was a sad miracle, but a miracle for me, none the less.

  My aunt died.

  Suddenly, I was Fate’s favored child again. I helped my uncle adjourn to Windsor, and there I sat, smugly considering when I should tell him of my plans. Imagine my horror, when a letter arrived from Jane, along with every letter I had written her, asking me to return her letters within the week to her aunt’s, and after that to Mrs. Smallridge’s home. I was in a state of total shock! She had accepted the governess position forced upon her by that shrew, Mrs. Elton!

  Now my time had run out in truth. Jane was going away! But I also reasoned that my impediments to marrying Jane had also dissipated. Without my aunt’s influence, it was easy to exert my influence over my uncle to accept my secret betrothal to Jane Fairfax—all it took was begging his forgiveness. His thoughts and remembrances of my aunt were so tender given his recent loss, that he sent me to Surrey with not only his blessing but his congratulations.

  I surmised that Jane might be alone in the morning after breakfast and waited casually at the shop across the street until I saw Mrs. and Miss Bates depart. Glancing up and down the street, I knocked.

  When she opened the door, I had to put my foot across the threshold and use my strength to keep her from shutting the door in my face.

  “I am finished,” said she, “with living a lie for you. I am proceeding with my life, and I suggest you do the same.”

  “I plan to do just that.” As she had requested, I had brought the letters she had written me, but as she reached for them, I held them aloft. “I would speak with you, if you please, Miss Fairfax.”