* *
‘What the devil were you doing?’ Philip’s voice was so even it made Jane cringe. He hadn’t said a word to her during the entire carriage ride home. Not even Justin, who leaned against the French doors of Philip’s office watching them as if they were a theatrical performance, had dared to break the icy chill. Philip hadn’t spoken until they were settled in his office with Laura and all their past quarrels and disagreements beside him. Jane preferred the silence. It was less lethal.
‘I was trying to reach an agreement with Jasper about the building.’ She straightened the tortoiseshell comb in her hair, attempting to remain calm and level-headed, but with Jasper’s sandalwood scent still clinging to her spencer it was difficult. ‘He didn’t agree to my terms.’
‘It didn’t look like it when we stumbled in on you,’ Justin observed through a restrained laugh.
‘Don’t you have a wine shop to see to?’
‘This is much more fascinating.’
‘Justin, please.’ Philip rubbed his temples with his fingers, addressing Jane once again. ‘You decided to discuss the matter with Mr Charton alone, in his room, while he was undressed?’
‘It wasn’t my intention when I first went upstairs, at least not the portion where he was undressed.’
‘You shouldn’t have been up there at all.’ Philip dug his fingers harder into his temples while Laura and Justin exchanged amused looks. Not so Philip. He dropped his hands to the blotter and pinned her with a seriousness to still her heart. ‘You risked ruining your reputation and our relationship with the Chartons, and for what?’
My freedom, she wanted to cry, but she bit it back. He was right, again. With her ridiculous plan, she’d risked more than minor humiliation or the disapproving tsking of merchants and their wives. The Chartons were good enough friends to be discreet about the matter, but they weren’t a family renowned for keeping secrets. There were too many of them. It would only be a matter of time before someone heard of this and it would end whatever slim chance remained of her some day finding a husband.
‘Ever since Mrs Townsend married Dr Hale, you’ve been stubborn and wilful,’ Philip stated.
‘She hasn’t been so bad since my mother left,’ Laura said, trying to soothe him. Given Laura and Philip’s past, and the way she’d snared Philip by surprising him in his bath with a pistol when she and her mother had been on the verge of ruin nine years ago, she was the last to pass judgement on Jane’s behaviour.
‘No, she’s been worse than usual.’ Justin chortled.
Philip glanced at Justin who took the none-too-subtle hint for him to leave.
He winked encouragingly at Jane as he passed, but she couldn’t muster so much as a tight smile to reward his optimism. He would go home to his wife and children. When this was over, Jane would still be alone.
Laura remained behind, the pity in her eyes adding to Jane’s disquiet. She didn’t want to be pitied by anyone, for any reason. There’d been enough of that in the weeks after Milton’s betrayal and years ago after she’d lost her parents.
Philip rose and came around the desk to face her, his anger fading to brotherly concern. ‘What’s wrong, Jane? Tell me the truth and we’ll find a way to deal with it.’
She stared at the portrait of their parents hanging behind Philip’s desk, too ashamed to look at him. He’d guessed her plan today had involved more than a desire to be wilful, but she couldn’t explain to him the guilt and aching loneliness carving out her insides, and how it always grew stronger around the anniversary of their parents’ deaths. He would try to banish it with logic and reason. Jane had learned long ago certain notions couldn’t be dislodged with either. ‘I told you, I want industry of my own.’
‘But that’s not all of it, is it?’
In his tender voice there lingered the memory of him holding her the morning their mother had died only a week after their father had passed. She’d cried against his chest and followed him around for the next month, clinging to him because she’d been afraid he’d die, too. He’d never pushed her away, but had kept her by his side until the day she’d finally been brave enough to let him out of her sight and go play with Jasper. Even when she’d been thirteen and doing all she could to disobey him, he’d never failed to love her. He was the only one, and she was at last succeeding in driving him away, too.
She screwed her eyes shut and forced back the tears. Everyone she’d ever cared for—her father, her mother, Jasper, Milton, even Mrs Townsend—had all abandoned her and it was her fault. She hadn’t done enough to keep their affection, like she hadn’t behaved well enough to keep her mother from going away.
‘Perhaps we can discuss it,’ Laura offered.
Jane opened her eyes and took in the two of them standing side by side. It was meant to be a show of compassion, an attempt to reach out to her, but it only pushed Jane further inside herself. Their happy union drove home her growing isolation and how far down in importance she was to everyone.
‘There’s nothing to discuss.’ It would sound childish spoken aloud. There were many people who loved her, but each of them had their own lives while she hovered on the periphery, watching theirs unfold while hers was stuck like a coach in the mud. ‘I’d like to be alone now.’
If they didn’t leave, then all sorts of immature things might tumble out of her, along with tears.
Philip nodded, took Laura’s arm and escorted her from the room.
Jane stared out the French doors to the blooming roses in the garden, her mother’s roses. She struggled hard to remember her mother tending them, her old dress dusted with dark soil, oversized gloves covering her hands. If Jane closed her eyes she could just catch the faint scent of her mother’s lilac perfume above the wet earth, hear her melodious voice calling for Jane to bring her the spade. It was the only clear memory she had of her mother and she wasn’t sure if it was real or something she’d created, like the image of a happy life with Milton.
How much enjoyment will he derive from this little incident? It’d taken her ages to face everyone again after he’d eloped with Camille Moseley two weeks before their wedding. She didn’t relish having to endure more ridicule or proving to everyone he’d been smart to do it because she was nothing more than an obstinate hoyden. Philip was right—instead of making things better for herself, she’d once again made them worse.
Jane marched to the doors, threw them open and stepped outside. She stopped on the shaded portico to take in the sun-drenched garden. At the back was a high wall broken by a metal gate, separating the Rathbone garden from the alley and mews behind it. There’d been many family gatherings here, parties and celebrations, quiet moments, and one or two daring ones. It wasn’t a comforting sight, but a confining one.
No, this won’t be the extent of my life.
She stepped into the sunlight and allowed its warmth to spread across her face. Today might have been a disaster, but it was one of the first times in nine years that she’d been adventurous, and alive, and it was all due to Jasper. She craved more of what she’d experienced today, not the guilt and humiliation in Philip’s office, but the heady delight in Jasper’s embrace and the pleasure it’d ignited inside her. She stared at the pink rose bobbing on a bush in front of her. This was dangerous. Emotions weren’t supposed to play any part in this plan, yet they’d slipped in between them the way his tongue had between her lips.
She touched her mouth, remembering his wide-eyed amazement when they’d parted from the kiss, and his more pressing reaction lower down. Perhaps it was good he’d tried to dissuade her from the union by acting the rake. It’d stopped her from making more of a fool of herself with him, as she had at thirteen.
She flung her hands down to her side. No, this wasn’t about some silly girlish infatuation; it was about seizing a future and she must make him see it. Hurrying in to her brother’s desk,