A Secret Passion

by Sophia Nash

  “A thought you have made abundantly clear, my dear, on many occasions. However, you are wrong, you know, about my affections. But then, I think you realize that and have decided to ignore the truth. I had hoped you would accept it, rejoice in it, and also, of course, reciprocate in kind. I see now it is a hopeless case. You are resolved to go against your heart. You were right in one aspect. I have refused to accept your decision in the past. I do so now. I wish you happy, Madam.” He bowed curtly, turned, and walked off.

  An angry good-bye was stuck in her throat. Jane looked down at the forgotten container she held. She opened the top, releasing the delicate purplish butterfly she had caught to please Harry.

  Chapter Thirteen

  JANE let herself back into the house at the same double doors she had used that morning and the evening before. Once inside, she found a second set of doors in the room leading to the rear of the house. A rare chance of escaping notice from the hawk-eyed servants presented itself as she ascended the rear staircase and almost ran to her chamber.

  She should never have thought it might work. The first threads of a new plan had weaved through her mind last night. It was all forgotten now. Yet she knew she must act upon part of last night’s resolve. If not for her, then for Harry, the only man who had truly helped her. Well, the one who had gone along with her plans. A puppet, really, she thought with guilt.

  With a long glance toward the armoire, Jane moved toward the heavy, dark-paneled furniture. She hadn’t had the heart to put aside her mourning when she had risen. Now she did. She opened the doors and looked at her other dress, a delicate old muslin gown of palest blue. Fine lace edged the collar and low neckline. Her father had relented, upon the false news of her engagement to the earl, and had sent her clothes to Pembroke.

  She stared at her old day gown. It had been a shade darker and had featured a higher neckline when first created two years before Cutty died. Her father had had the neckline lowered after refusing her plea to wear mourning longer than three months.

  When she had last worn it, Billingsley had made ridiculous comments about the color of her eyes and the state of his heart.

  With heavy heart, she knew it was time to make the change. If she didn’t remove her mourning today, she might put it off forever. She struggled with the buttons on the back of her gown. Before hanging her blacks in the armoire, she reached for the object in the pocket, the ring she kept close to her always, even in her bedclothes. She looked at it and hesitated before placing it on the tray near the basin. She again struggled with the hooks on the blue dress and succeeded before overexertion flooded her cheeks with color. With her hand on the intricate brass doorknob, Jane paused before quitting the room. She looked back and hurried to the washstand to retrieve the ring. She placed it in her pocket, for safekeeping, she reasoned.

  Her footsteps lagged as she pondered the enormity of the discussion and task ahead. Like a child avoiding the proverbial woodshed, Jane’s breath seemed stuck in her throat as she approached Harry’s chamber and knocked on the door.

  Harry’s voice beckoned her inside, and she found him lying down with his leg elevated in a window seat in the sitting room adjacent to the small bedchamber. The remains of his breakfast and a pile of books lay on a side table. His face lit up with a warm smile as he saw her. Jane’s courage nearly failed her.

  “Hey ho, now there’s a pretty frock. Leaving off mourning, are you? That’s a good idea, given we will be married soon enough. Sorry for the mess, but the good doctor said I was not to move from this ridiculous position for a least a day or so.”

  Jane moved closer and sat on a chaise opposite Harry and reached for his hand. She rested her cheek in the palm of his hand and then moved to kiss it.

  “Harry, I am so very sorry.”

  “It’s all right, I guess. I mean, it’ll heal soon enough. It’s so silly, really. Stupid me for riding that horse. You warned me against it.”

  “Does it hurt?”

  “It’s not pounding like the devil as it was yesterday.”

  Harry looked out the window and touched the draperies. Jane rushed forward into the silence. “Oh, I’m so sorry I’ve made you go through all of this. It’s been a madcap scheme in every sense.”

  Harry turned to look at her. “It’s all right, Duck. You know I would do anything for you. Just give me a day or two and I’m sure the doctor will say we can continue on our way.”

  Jane paused and released Harry’s hand, rising to pace the floorboards. Silence permeated the room save for her footsteps.

  “What is it? What is worrying you? Your father finding us? The earl assured me a mere five minutes ago, when he came to bid me farewell, that he had not told anyone he would stop here. You’ve naught to fear; your father and brother will not find us. In fact, the longer we trespass on Frederick’s kindness, the better chance we have of our plans coming to fruition.”

  “So, he has left for London, then?”

  “Yes. He said he had already bid you good day. Looked fairly put out, too.”

  Jane continued to pace and did not respond.

  “If you are not worried about your father, then what is wrong?”

  Jane stopped and looked at Harry, meaning to speak, then abruptly resumed her pacing.

  Exasperated, Harry continued, “I’m not a carnival mind reader, Jane. Now have out with it. You were never any good at secrets, you know.”

  Jane tried to modulate the pitch of her trembling voice as she approached the window seat again. “Harry, I’m afraid I’m going to have to beg your forgiveness, and also beg you to release me from our betrothal.”

  Harry broke out into a grin and guffawed. “Jane, that’s a good one! Now, be serious! What are you about? You’re not saying this because you’re concerned about my ankle, are you? I’ll heal fast enough, and we’ll see this thing through.”

  “Harry, I am serious, and it is not as you say. I am troubled by your injury, but that is not the reason I would like to end our engagement.” Jane took a deep breath before continuing. “I do not think we would suit one another after all.”

  “What?” asked Harry. “We drag ourselves halfway through England, ruin your reputation, and now you decide we won’t suit? Certainly you can do better than that, Jane. What is this really about?”

  “You are not to worry about my reputation. In the last several months I have learned not to hold it too dearly.” Jane found she did not have the courage to look into Harry’s brown eyes when she told him the truth. She turned and moved toward the other window. “I have found that I do not have the strength of character I thought I had to become your wife.”

  “What on earth does that mean?”

  “It means that my actions as of late have been unpardonable.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I am trying but failing miserably to tell you that despite my deep affection for you, I have broken your trust and committed a deplorable sin.”

  A heavy silence clung to the air of the room. Jane felt it difficult to breathe.

  “I suppose I should be furious with you, Jane. But I cannot. Instead I find myself just rather curious and surprised. I suppose you must be talking about something that has happened between you and Lord Graystock.”

  Jane nodded, still staring at the floorboards. She felt rather like when she had had to go to her mother to confess her many pranks, yet this was worse. Oh, much worse.

  “I shall not ask you what, do not worry. Only a fool would not have noticed the tension between you two.”

  “It is not tension. It is a deep and abiding dislike of one another that you noticed. I do not like him. I do not like myself for what happened between us. In fact, we shall never see one another again.”

  “Careful, Jane. It is well known that hate and love are first cousins.”

  “That may be so, but in this case they are distant relatives many times removed.” “So you will not have him? He is too much the gentleman not to have asked for your hand.�
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  Jane turned away, unable to answer.

  Harry continued, “Are you with child? Is that it?”

  Jane shook her head, unable to speak.

  “You have probably let your pride get in the way, if I have any guess, and refused him.”

  Jane walked toward him. “You are not to be discussing the earl’s, um, my behavior. You… you are supposed to be furiously angry with me, and calling me names of every color and profanity, and insisting on the instant removal of my person from your sight. And perhaps ordering pistols to deal with him.”

  “Yes, well, that is difficult to accomplish, given my precarious perch. However, if you wish, ‘Get out, and don’t come back any more!” “

  “Be serious, Harry.”

  “You know I can’t, Duck. But we are in a bit of a coil. Are you sure we shouldn’t just stick to the original plan? That is, if you can’t see your way to becoming a countess? What were you planning to do if we didn’t marry?”

  “Oh, Harry, now I know for a fact that you don’t truly love me. Don’t you see? If you did, you would be threatening to fight a duel with Graystock, or at least thrashing me.”

  “Well, of course I love you. Would I have agreed to this escapade to Gretna Green if I didn’t? And would I be willing to still marry you if I didn’t?”

  “Well, you may love me. But I love you more, for I won’t let you succumb to a marriage based on friendship. That is what I had with Mr. Lovering. And while it was comfortable, it was a bit lopsided. There is a saying in French, ‘Il y en a un qui donne la bise et un qui tourne la joue,’ which means, ‘There is one who does the kissing and one who offers the cheek to be kissed.’ I don’t ever want to be the one who only offers the cheek again. Harry, I want to find someone I can love as he will love me in return.”

  “Yes, well, all that passion nonsense. It seems very difficult to find unless you look for it in novels. Are you sure we shouldn’t continue with our plan?”

  “Very sure. The new plan will find you ultimately on your way to London, where I daresay you might find and join an expedition to some far-flung country if you aren’t too late. I shall find my way with Clarissa’s help, I am sure. You are not to worry about me ever again.”

  “Yes, and I shall have to hope your father never sees me again, for I am likely to face a pistol if he does. And I can only imagine what he will do with you,” Harry said and shuddered.

  Jane left Harry a quarter of an hour later, feeling as alone and insecure as it was possible to feel. Harry had brought up every possible awful situation that could befall her in the aftermath of the broken betrothal. He had reminded her that no man would ever offer again for a widow with a history of not one but two failed engagements, including a few days’ dash toward Scotland alone with her fiancé. If ever a reputation was in tatters, hers was a model. She could imagine the laughingstock she would be once her latest escapade reached the beau monde in London. The heat of the summer might force most of the peerage back to their country seats or to Bath, but the power of ink on a page would move the new gossip only farther, faster. She knew without a single doubt that she had sunk below the fringes of society and that a working-class life was her future. It was even doubtful that a member of the haute ton would employ her to be a governess. They would fear she might pass her poor morals on to her charges. She would have to hope to find a position as a companion to a lady who was not afraid of wagging tongues. She prayed she would find such a lady of strong backbone in her aunt’s new circle of acquaintances. The prospects were daunting.

  Jane’s abilities to play the gracious guest failed her completely that evening. She knew Harry would be confined to his rooms, which would leave her to dine alone with the earl’s brother. It was too much for one horrible day. So with only a modicum of guilt, she retired to her appointed apartments, requested a bath, and pleaded a sick headache, then wrote a letter to Clarissa. Jane recapped the ink bottle after cleaning her quill and prayed that sleep would not evade her and that the earl would not invade her dreams. But that would prove impossible on all counts.

  Melancholy. This was what it felt like. As she forced herself toward the washbasin and fresh towels, remembrance of yesterday’s events overtook her. For the hundredth time, Jane’s thoughts centered on the earl. What was he doing? What was he thinking? Gazing into the small mirror, she saw faint circles under her eyes that looked huge in her pale face. In anger, she tugged a brush through her blond locks and arranged a prim chignon. As she walked toward the armoire, she knew it was time to face the world again as Mrs. Lovering, widow, twice betrothed and twice unengaged. That was what everyone would know and gossip about behind cupped hands and smirking glances.

  She walked down to breakfast and prepared for the company of the Honorable Frederick St. James. Maybe a black sheep could teach another black sheep a thing or two, she reasoned. She was not going to let his drunken familiarity disconcert her again.

  With a small sigh of relief, she found herself alone with coddled eggs and sausages. She admired the beautiful blue and yellow wall hangings and indulged in a second cup of tea before motioning to Wiggins that she had ended her meal.

  “Madam, your presence has been requested in the library,” the butler said.

  A few steps brought her before a liveried footman who opened the heavy oak doors to the library. Jane studied Frederick as he rose to greet her. His clean-shaven face was pale compared to the disheveled, flushed face she knew. His blond hair was neat, the comb’s ridges clearly visible and leading to the old-fashioned queue tied with a black ribbon.

  With some awkwardness, he sat back down after offering her a chair near his desk. “It is my hope you have been resting comfortably these past two days. I was much distressed to learn you were suffering a sick headache last evening.”

  Jane looked up in surprise. His dulcet voice was lacking the usual, overfamiliar, slurred tones. “Thank you. I am much better this morning, sir. And I hope not to trespass too much longer on your kindness.”

  “That is unnecessary, my dear. You are welcome here for as long as you desire.” He paused before continuing, “It is I who am indebted to you, I believe, madam.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Ah, I was unsure. As you are a confidante of my brother, I assumed you were somehow involved in his decision before he left here so precipitously yesterday morning.”

  Jane was silent, unsure of how to respond.

  Frederick picked up a document and handed it to her. “It is the deed to Seaton, which he signed over to me before dashing away,” he said in bewildered tones. “He said nothing, except that he now knew it was wrong for anyone to have to live under the thumb of someone else and that he trusted me to care for the property properly. He also said something about never returning—yes, he said he would ‘never return to the devilish southern country again.’ “ He looked into her eyes. “Now, ma’am, why on earth would my brother behave in such a fashion?”

  “I’m sure I have no notion, sir. But I congratulate you on your good fortune.”

  “As I am certain you did have something to do with it, I must be allowed to return the favor. My dear, it is quite obvious my brother is in love with you. Never has he behaved in the manner I recently witnessed. While I might be a drunk, I am not a fool. And the deference and glances my brother showered on you might not have been obvious to the casual observer. However, I am not a casual observer, and my brother has never shown interest in any female before save one.”

  “I am sure you are mistaken,” she said while looking at her hands.

  “I understand your reluctance to confide in me, given you have known me but a short time. However, please do not deny my joy in learning that my brother has regained his heart. You see, I took it from him quite brutally many years ago.”

  Jane’s gaze flew to his face.

  “I tell you this so you may understand him better, as he deserves to be understood. And I know you can be trusted with our secrets.” Frederick c
oncentrated on his steepled fingers. “He was all but forced to marry Constance because of the circumstances… which were my own doing. She loved me, and I was quite besotted with her—but it was a young, foolish sort of love, and I had been promised—nay, formally betrothed—to another for several years.” Jane noticed as he paused that he appeared lost in thoughts of the past.

  “Late the evening of the harvest festival, we found ourselves alone and quite inebriated with the champagne and cider, and, well, I’m sure you can imagine the rest. Someone had to save her reputation when her condition became known. My father refused to allow me to break off the engagement with the only daughter of his dearest friends and our neighbors, the Baron and Baroness Selsey. Constance was our distant cousin and all, and so Rolfe stepped forward. My father had had plans for a brilliant match for my brother, and he became bitter when Connie’s predicament thwarted his desire. Rolfe did everything to shield her from familial insults, without success. He tried to get her to forget and make a life for themselves, but she could not and did not have the strength of character to change her young heart and her vulnerability,” he continued while rubbing his hands over his face. “Rolfe always blamed himself for her death, despite all of my family’s assurances. He felt he had failed to protect her. And of course I was the last person he would talk to. I was too embarrassed to address him, as her deterioration and death were my real fault in the first place.”

  Frederick buried his face in his hands and wept. Jane hurried from her seat to his side and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Please, sir, I beseech you. Please, don’t torment yourself. You know your brother does not blame you.”

  Frederick brushed his wet cheeks with his palms and looked up at Jane. “Yes, but she died, and my child along with her.” He paused. “And Rolfe was the only one with her when she died, except for a maid. The doctor had not arrived, and no one with any experience in birthing was there to attend her. I forced the maid to tell me everything. Connie was delivered too early of an infant boy so small that there was no chance of his survival. And my brother watched him die for all of an hour, as the baby struggled to breathe. Connie followed soon after. She… she bled to death. The maid said she had never seen so much blood in her life and that my brother had worked feverishly to save them.” Frederick shuddered and forced himself to continue. “She died a young girl, her heart and spirit lost. Don’t you see? I should never have married Marianne. I should have ended the betrothal, despite the consequences of that act, and taken Connie to live in another country. And Rolfe—well, Rolfe refused the pleas of my parents to wed again and produce an heir. But that was before he had to face the bitter rejection of most of the ton, whose gossip would have ended any secret hopes he might have harbored. Now do you see the horrendous nature of my guilt?”