“You’re not?”
“I’m not. I’m just . . .” Jane sighed. “I am. I’m so embarrassed.”
“Why?”
Jane invited Eugenia into her room and sat in one of the armchairs in front of her fireplace. “You heard what he said to me.”
“Why should something he said embarrass you? You can’t control what Lord Wesley says.”
“Of course not, but . . .” Jane cast her eyes to the ceiling. If she wasn’t careful, she would start crying again. “That’s how he feels about me. That I’m a helpless catastrophe.”
“Is it true?”
“Of course not!”
“Then he was wrong. He should be the one who is embarrassed.”
Jane opened her mouth to argue. She closed it again. Lord Wesley was the one who had behaved badly. “He should be embarrassed. He was the one who was rude.”
“Exactly.” Miss Davenport nodded. “Can you get dressed now?”
“I think I can.”
• • •
The flat Lord Brandon lived in was located above a tobacconist. The earthy aroma of the leaves followed Adam up the stairs, sweeping him up in a wave of homesickness. Right now, they would be preparing the seedbeds. The air would be full of smoke and the smell of turned earth. In a week or so, they would start spreading the seedlings in preparation for planting.
But not Adam. He would be here, chasing after his brother. In a city that smelled like soot and too many bodies. Even if Sebastian came to his senses tomorrow—which wasn’t bloody likely—Adam would still miss almost the entire growing season. He took a deep breath, savoring the familiar smell. It was as close as he would get to his old life anytime soon.
He knocked on the door at the top of the stairs and waited. There was shuffling sound and the murmur of voices.
Brandon opened the door himself in a pair of half-buttoned trousers. He squinted at Adam—or at the daylight, one or the other. “Wesley. What are you doing here?”
“I’m . . . calling. For a visit.”
Lord Brandon looked back at the room behind him. A sofa with one leg that wasn’t quite the right length was strewn with clothes next to a table covered in dishes and empty wine bottles. “My parlor is currently undergoing redecoration.”
There was a rustle, and a woman with her cloak hood pulled down low over her face pushed past them both and down the stairs.
“Good-bye,” Brandon called after her.
“I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“You didn’t. Come in if you like. Breakfast?”
“It’s three in the afternoon.”
Brandon shrugged. “Suit yourself.”
He grabbed a bottle, two glasses, and a loaf of bread, gesturing for Adam to follow him through the only doorway. He caught Adam’s speculative glance as he took in what appeared to be Brandon’s bedroom. “My title is bankrupt. I live on the grace and mercy of my friends.”
“Your married female friends.”
“They value what I have available to offer.” Brandon opened the French doors on the far side of his bed, revealing a balcony overlooking an interior courtyard. Two chairs—these both in good repair—sat on either side of an overturned crate. Lush plants grew in pots along the railing. “I prefer eating outside.”
Adam preferred the outdoors in general. Especially compared to the stale smell of the flat, it suited him just fine. Brandon poured wine into both glasses and handed one to Adam.
In the courtyard below, a woman splashed naked in a copper tub. She waved to them when she saw them.
“Another friend of yours?”
“Just a neighbor.”
They sat like that awhile, saying nothing. Adam watched the sky while Brandon watched the woman below.
“Is this all you do all day?” Adam asked eventually.
“For the most part.” Brandon looked at him. “What do you do?”
“I—” Nothing. The answer was nothing. “I used to farm.”
Brandon’s eyebrows raised. “Who did you make angry?”
Adam had to get back home. “Brandon, what do you know about my brother?”
“Lord Sebastian? He has interesting taste in friends.”
Abhorrent, more like. “Why? Why would he want to spend time with them?”
Brandon shrugged. “He’s young. When you don’t know any better, it’s easy to mistake cruelty for wit.”
“How do I make him see sense?” Adam asked.
Lord Brandon’s chuckle echoed off the tiles. “You don’t. Either he’ll see it himself or he won’t.”
• • •
After shaking off her despondency, Jane was in the mood to walk. She and Eugenia donned cloaks against the January chill and made their way along the Mall into St. James’s Park. They walked the tree-lined lane, solidifying their friendship.
“Siblings?” Jane asked.
Eugenia shook her head. “Just me. Father was very disappointed. He wanted a son.”
“I’m sure . . .” Jane stopped herself. Her new friend would just correct her. It hadn’t taken Jane long to get used to Eugenia’s frankness. “I have a brother. You’re better off.”
“I met your brother this afternoon. He’s very nice.”
“To you.” Not that Charlie was cruel to her. He was just . . . Charlie. “He used to torment me relentlessly.”
They reached the end of the lane and turned, heading back the other way. They weren’t the only ones in the park, but the chill had kept most people indoors. Despite that, a man on horseback was heading in their direction, his groom trailing behind.
“Do you know him?” Eugenia asked, peering.
Jane was certain she didn’t. She didn’t know many people, and those that she did . . . No. The line of his jaw. The tilt of his head. She did know him—very well. Geoffrey Pembroke.
“Jane. What a delightful surprise,” he announced, pulling his horse into their path.
“Good afternoon, Geoffrey, I—”
“I’d heard you were in town, but I almost didn’t believe it. Why didn’t you call? I’m certain my parents would love to catch up with Lord and Lady Bailey.”
Why didn’t you call? It was said in such an innocuous tone, but experience had taught Jane to look for other signs. The twitch in his cheek. The tightening of the lines around his mouth. He’d found out from someone else she was back, and it had embarrassed him. He was angry.
“I’m sorry. Mother and Father are still in the colonies. It’s just my aunt, Charlie, and I.”
“I see.” He assessed her from the top of his horse. “Mother and Lady Hawthorne have never particularly enjoyed each other’s company . . . Still, you should have called.”
“I’m sorry,” she said again.
“Why are you sorry?” Eugenia asked her. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
Geoffrey’s attention shifted to Eugenia. “Jane, I don’t know your friend. Introduce us.”
She’s nice. She doesn’t need to know you. Goodness, where had that thought come from? “Geoffrey, this is Miss Eugenia Davenport. Miss Davenport, this is Lord Geoffrey Pembroke.”
“I know who he is,” Eugenia said.
“Ahh. Lord Quincy’s Miss Davenport. I’ve heard about you, but never had the pleasure.”
She’s not Lord Quincy’s anything! Jane squashed the thought down. Geoff probably didn’t know how Lord Quincy treated Eugenia. That little voice was forever trying to get Jane into trouble, and it needed to go away. It was one thing to wrestle with ill-mannered thoughts in the privacy of her own room, but Geoff had a way of knowing what she was thinking.
“Jane. You’re drifting,” he said.
She dug her nails into her palm, bringing herself back to the present. “I’m sorry.”
Eugenia looked between them. “Why are you—”
“Miss Davenport, would you mind if Jane and I speak privately for a moment?” He flashed her his brightest smile. It didn’t meet his eyes.
Eugenia blinked at him. She turned to Jane. “If you want to.”
The leather squeaked as Geoff’s gloves tightened around the reins.
“Of course,” Jane rushed to assure him. “Should we—”
Geoff dismounted, tossing his reins to his groom. He took Jane’s hand, placing it on his arm, and started down the track.
“I know you’re probably short on friends since you came back, but I’m not certain Miss Davenport is a proper friend for you.”
I like her. “Oh?”
“Are you going to Waverly’s ball?”
“I—”
“What am I saying? Of course you are. I’ll have them send you an invitation. All of my friends will be there. I’ll introduce you to them.”
It was nice. It was a nice gesture between old friends. There was no reason she should be terrified. “Thank you, Geoff. That’s very kind of you.”
He turned his head, sweeping his gaze over her. “Exile suited you. You look very becoming.”
A shiver ran through her. It’s kindness. Stop it. “Thank you.”
They walked a bit farther. His arm went rigid under her fingers.
“Jane.”
Oh no. What had she done?
“Aren’t you going to tell me I look well?”
Panic sped her heartbeat up. “Of course. You just . . . You’ve always looked well.”
The tension under her hand released a bit, but not entirely.
“It’s remarkable actually,” she added. “The years haven’t touched you at all.”
It dissipated completely. “I suppose I can’t fault you. You’ve been out of polite society for so long. Don’t worry. We’ll get you back up to snuff.”
Jane swallowed the lump in her throat. “I’d like that. I’d hate to be an embarrassment.”
The smile on his face was genuine this time. “Don’t worry. I won’t let that happen.”
It was extremely kind of him to take on her reintroduction to society . . . So why did she feel the overpowering urge to drop his arm and run?
• • •
“I just don’t understand what she wants from me,” Adam slurred.
“Women are simple,” Brandon said, waving his arm to encompass all women. One of the empty bottles fell off the table with a crash. “Especially married women. You just have to listen to what they’re actually saying. Not what they’re telling you.”
Adam squinted at the tile to stop it from wavering. They should probably be worried about that. If the balcony was going to collapse, they might want to get off of it. “What do you mean?”
“Well, this . . . what’s her name?”
“Regina.”
“This Regina. You’re close.”
“Yes.”
“Does she touch you?”
Does she . . . “What? No, of course not. That would be inappropriate.”
Brandon raised his eyebrow and mumbled to one of the plants.
“What?”
“I said—inappropriate or not, it happens.”
“Regina isn’t that sort of woman.”
“She has a child. She’s touching somebody.”
Adam tried to lurch from his chair and challenge Brandon, but his feet didn’t get all of the message. The result was his chair scooting back two inches and wobbling precariously.
“What I’m saying is . . . she likes the attention, but she’s not on the hunt. If she were, she would be touching you.”
Oh. So Brandon wasn’t disparaging Regina. He was . . . It made sense. “I knew she wasn’t on the hunt.”
“Did you? Why is she on your mind then?”
Because my whole life would be different if I’d never loved her. “What about the other one?”
Brandon held up a bouncing finger. He disappeared into the flat, coming back with a new bottle. Once both their glasses were full again, he said, “Who?”
“Miss Bailey. Jane.”
“Does she touch you?”
Funnily enough . . . “Yes. But that was before. I think I made her cry.”
Brandon nodded. “She definitely has feelings for you.”
“But I don’t want her to.”
“Don’t you?”
Of course he didn’t. She was the absolute wrong sort of woman for him. “I’m going back to the colonies.”
“Do they not allow women there?” Brandon chuckled at his own joke.
“It’s a hard life. There are no patios with accommodating women bathing below.”
“Sounds like an awful place. Stay here.”
“You don’t have the room.”
“We’ll get the sofa fixed. It’s just one leg.”
They both devolved into laughter, losing complete track of the conversation.
“I do need to get a flat,” Adam said. “Now that I have to stay, I can’t live with my father.”
“I thought you were under the hatches.”
Adam took a drink—the sourness in his mouth having nothing to do with the wine. “Regina said she’d pay for it.”
It wasn’t charity. He was doing something for her. Besides, nothing good would come of them staying under the same roof together. Adam’s feelings for her were in the past. They needed to stay that way.
“Kept by a married woman.” Brandon flailed his glass out, clinking it against Adam’s. “Kindred spirits.”
• • •
Jane entered the foyer alone. She handed off her cape and gloves to Ambrose. “Is my aunt in?”
“In the drawing room, miss.”
She took a deep breath. When she was ready, she opened the door and went in.
Mathilda looked up from the letter she was writing on the lap desk. “How was your walk, dear?”
“Very nice. The chill was just right.”
Her aunt smiled.
“Do you know . . .” Jane sat down across from her. “Do we have anything planned for Friday evening?”
“I don’t think so, why?”
Because if we do we’ll have to cancel it. “Lady Waverly’s ball is Friday.”
“I don’t think we’re invited to that.”
Please don’t ask any questions. Please don’t ask— “We ran into Geoff at the park, and he said—”
“Geoff. As in Geoffrey Pembroke? The man you used to be engaged to?” Mathilda set the desk aside.
She knew Mathilda was going to make a fuss. “Yes. He said that he would—”
“The Geoffrey Pembroke who threw you over because you weren’t good enough for him after your father lost his money.”
Jane sighed. “I was the one who called off the engagement, Aunt Matty.”
“Because he made you.”
Geoff might have been the one to suggest it, but they both knew it had to happen. He needed to make a match that was equal to his status. It wasn’t his fault that Jane’s family got caught up in a bad investment. “It was the right thing to do.”
“No one was happier than I when you called it off,” Mathilda said. “But it doesn’t change the sort of man he is. I don’t like what being around him does to you.”
“It doesn’t do anything to me.” Geoff had certain standards. There was nothing wrong with that. It was admirable, really. And of course Jane was nervous around him—she was forever misstepping—but he helped her behave better. People just didn’t understand.
“So this is your idea? You want to go to this ball?”
She didn’t want to reject Geoff’s kind gesture. “Yes.”
“Even though you spend every waking hour telling me how much you dread these large social events.”
J
ane hesitated. “Yes.”
“You’re a terrible liar, Jane Bailey, and one of these days we’re going to cure you of whatever this is that he’s done to you. But in the meantime, yes. We can go.”
Jane let out the breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. One thing down. Now all she had to do was survive the ball without a catastrophe.
Chapter 6
“And of course, I snubbed him. Can you imagine? Coming up to me like that in public?”
“Ridiculous.” Drusilla put her hand on Geoffrey’s arm. The fabric of his jacket wrinkled under her fingers.
The little muscle in his cheek twitched. Geoff shook her touch off, turning to Jane. “Do you remember that trip we all took to Bath? When was that?”
“Summer of nineteen, I think?” She was certain of it. It was just after her fifteenth birthday. Their engagement had just been officially announced, and their families had taken a holiday together to celebrate.
“Are you sure it wasn’t the summer of twenty?”
Completely. “It could have been. I think you might be right.”
He sipped his champagne, eyes twinkling in the light of the chandeliers. “Oh no. It was nineteen, I remember. It was right after the spring our bay gelding won at Newmarket, which was nineteen. Great horse. Still looking for one that can match him.”
Drusilla spoke up. “My father has a bay that’s quite—”
“I’ve seen that horse. It might as well be lame.” Geoff shared a laugh with Lord Quincy. “I appreciate that women try to understand the sport, but honestly—I think only a man can truly understand the nuance of a properly developed hindquarter.”
Drusilla frowned. “Our stable master says she’s a sprinter for sure.”
Geoff turned back to her, all mirth leaving his expression. “Then your stable master is an imbecile.”
Jane silently willed Drusilla to stay quiet. Geoff would not thank her for contradicting him. She’d already done it once. A second time—
The tilt of Drusilla’s chin might as well have been flint striking powder. “Tom knows what he’s doing. Our stable has won more races than yours.”
Foolish. Jane’s fingernails dug into her palms.
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