Читать книгу Historical Romance May 2017 Books 1 - 4 - Bronwyn Scott - Страница 13
ОглавлениеJane trudged upstairs after a tense and uncomfortable dinner. Philip’s anger had vanished, but there’d been no mistaking his weariness over her behaviour and his constant need to correct it. If her niece and nephews hadn’t chattered throughout the entire meal, masking the adults’ silence, she would have been able to hear herself chew.
The lively conversation she used to enjoy at meals before Mrs Townsend had left to marry Dr Hale no longer existed. Instead, all discussion seemed to focus on Thomas, Natalie and William’s lessons or antics. Jane loved her niece and nephews, but she missed Laura’s mother and the long hours they used to spend discussing the latest gossip or news. Mrs Townsend, or Mrs Hale as she was now, might not be far away, but Dr Hale’s busy medical practice commanded her time, leaving her little freedom to linger over tea with Jane.
She stopped at the top of the stairs, wishing she could speak with Mrs Townsend the way she used to, especially to discuss Jasper’s unexpected kiss. She had no idea what to make of it, or how to stop thinking about it. With one finger she traced the curve of the polished wood banister. The potent memory of his tongue caressing hers made her heart skip a beat and his silence all the more irritating. He hadn’t rushed to answer her note.
I should’ve listened to Philip and simply sold Jasper the building. Her plan had only succeeded in making her appear like a desperate fool. How many times did Jasper have to tell her he wanted nothing more from her than friendship before she’d listen?
Friendship was the only thing I was offering. He was the one who wanted more. And she should have pushed him away and upbraided him for his forwardness and salvaged something of her pride. If she hadn’t enjoyed the kiss so much she would have.
I can’t believe I was so weak. She slapped the top of the rail and strode down the hall to her room. Inside, with the door closed, she undid the front flap of her dress and shrugged out of the garment. Laying it aside, she breathed deeply against the soft boning of her stays and made her way to the washstand. She poured some water into the bowl, dipped her hands in and was about to splash her face when her eyes met Jasper’s.
‘Good evening, Jane.’
She jumped back with a stifled yelp, sending the water in her hands spilling down over her neck and chest, and rolling under her stays. The cold liquid made the fabric of her garments stick to her skin. ‘How did you get in here?’
Jasper stepped out of the shadow between the washstand and the armoire, took the towel from the rail and handed it to her. ‘The way you taught me to when we were children.’
Except Jasper was no longer a boy; he was a man, as his semi-nakedness had proven today. She snatched the linen out of his outstretched hand, careful not to brush against him. He dropped down on the bench at the foot of her bed and watched her dry her face. Together with Milton, they had spent many nights huddled there, whispering their plots for surprising the housekeeper with frogs and getting a peek at the shops, at least until the day the adults had made it clear there were to be no more night-time games between them.
‘Is there some reason you decided to sneak past Philip’s men to come see me?’ She should speak to Philip about his men failing to guard the house, but she was more flattered than perturbed. Milton had never been so bold.
‘Yes, I received your note.’
Jane twisted the towel between her hands. ‘And?’
He shook his head. ‘You have to give up on the idea of us, Jane.’
She tossed the damp towel on the washstand. ‘As you did when I was thirteen and I told you I’d wait for you?’
‘This isn’t a child’s game.’
‘Then why bother with all these theatrics? Send a note and be done with the matter.’
‘I can’t.’ Jasper came to stand over her. He smelled of night-air-dampened wool with a hint of spicy snuff. It was a heady mixture which enticed her to draw up on her toes and inhale, but she kept her feet firmly on the floor. If she was going to be rejected, again, it wouldn’t be while sniffing him. ‘I know you, Jane. Once you decide on something it’s difficult to talk you out of it, but I must.’
She took a step back, ready to tease him with some of the same heat he’d tried to singe her with today. He wasn’t the only one who could play the game of wiles. ‘Are you sure that’s the only reason you’re here?’
He slid his gaze down to her chemise and the tight breasts beneath it. She wasn’t sure what he could see through the wet cotton, but she hoped it was a great deal and made him at least regret his rejecting her. He took his time admiring her and she shifted on her feet, trying to ease the tension creeping through her. She was seized by the desire to fall on him and do all the things she’d imagined while she’d stared at his half-naked body in his room. There was no Philip to stop her. If Jasper took her in his arms and fulfilled the offer in the press of his lips against hers this afternoon, she wouldn’t put up much of a resistance.
The low rumble of a suppressed laugh rippled out of his throat. ‘You think you know something of the world and men, but you don’t.’
She raised her chin in defiance. ‘I know enough.’
He leaned back against the bedpost and pinned her with the same wicked smile as he had right before he’d kissed her, his confidence as annoying as it was seductive. ‘You don’t know anything. Not about me or about life.’
He was right and it chafed as much as the wet chemise sticking to her stomach. She’d seen nothing of the world and, except for this afternoon and a rather dull few minutes in the dark part of the garden with Milton, she had very little experience with men. ‘You think you’re the one to teach me?’
‘Yes, and I’ll prove it.’ He slid her dress off the chair where she’d tossed it and held it out to her. ‘I’m going to show you something no one else in London knows about me.’
She tilted her head at him, puzzled by his sudden seriousness. Whatever he had planned clearly didn’t involve more of his naked body against hers. Too bad. ‘You have the French pox?’
He jerked back. ‘No!’
Well, at least this finally struck a blow. ‘Then simply have out with it and save us both the bother.’
He shook the dress at her. ‘It’s better if you see it.’
‘I can’t. If I sneak out with you and Philip discovers me gone, he’ll commit me to a convent.’ She’d wounded her brother enough today with her silly scheme. She didn’t want to worry him if he came in and found her gone.
‘You have to be Catholic to become a nun.’
‘Not with Philip’s contacts.’ Her brother knew someone everywhere and could always get exactly what he wanted when he wanted it. She wished she were so abundantly influential.
‘Well, before you’re cloistered, come with me. You’ll understand why we can’t marry after you see it and how the fault is with me, not you.’
The pain edging his entreaty made her heart ache. She wanted to pull him out of his darkness, not because she was plotting to ensnare his hand, but because she didn’t want her old friend to suffer alone the way she did. ‘I don’t care about your faults.’
He lowered the dress, his expression filled with the same anguish as the night he’d told her about his parents’ plans to send him to apprentice with his uncle. She held her breath, silently urging him to confide in her once more, but as fast as the old Jasper appeared he was gone, covered by the smooth gallant who’d embraced her this afternoon. ‘Come on, the Jane I used to know wouldn’t have shied away from an adventure.’
He was right. She’d always been the one to drag the Charton brothers into mischief. How things had changed. Milton had turned out to be a bigger rat than the ones shuffling along the garden wall, Jasper had gone off to find his life and Jane was still waiting for hers. Tonight she would have it. ‘All right, I’ll go with you.’
She took the garment, her fingers brushing his before she pulled back. It was as fleeting a touch as a raindrop, but it doused any remaining reservations she might have about going with him. This was dangerous, not in a get-with-child way, but in a lose-your-head-and-be-hurt-again sort of way. However, while they were together tonight there was still a chance to change his mind.
She snapped out the dress then lowered it to step inside, very aware of how bending over revealed the tops of her full breasts above the stays and how keenly he watched her. She hid her sly smile by focusing on doing up the tapes. Let him be tempted and then try to tell her he wanted none of it. She didn’t believe him or the salaciousness of his secret. They were rarely as interesting or as awful as people painted them.
When she was done dressing and had donned a sturdy pelisse, he held out his hand to her, his fingers long and his palm wide. ‘Are you ready?’
Her heart raced as the old memories collided with the coming thrill of a new adventure. She hadn’t felt this excited or daring in ages. She slipped her hand in his, drawing in a sharp breath as his fingers closed around hers. ‘Yes.’
* * *
‘You can’t marry me because of a warehouse?’ Jane stared up at the squat building, the mouldy stench of the nearby Thames River making her wrinkle her nose. ‘These don’t frighten me. Philip owns a few.’
‘It’s not the warehouse, it’s what’s inside.’ He fiddled with a small iron ring, making the keys hanging off it clatter together.
‘Unless you have bodies for the anatomists stacked in there, I very much doubt it. Even then, I could probably do something with them.’
‘I don’t doubt you could.’ He shot her an appreciative smile as he unlocked the door and pushed it open. ‘But I’m not a resurrectionist.’
‘Good, it’s a rather smelly business.’ She strode through the small door set beside the larger one used to load and unload freight.
He joined her in the darkness of the warehouse, drawing the door closed behind them. Slivers of moonlight fell in through the high windows at the top and the few cracks in the wooden walls, illuminating the dust kicked up by their entrance. The warehouse was nearly empty except for a few paintings in large, gilded frames leaning against a far wall. They were kept company by an overly ornate set of bergère chairs, a few crates and a wide but dismantled four-poster bed. ‘Shouldn’t there be more here? It seems a waste to pay rent to store so little.’
‘They’re the last of what I brought back from America. I sold the rest. Besides, storage isn’t the only thing I use this building for, as you’re about to see. Come along.’ He led her through a narrow door at the far end, past empty crates without their lids and bits of straw littering the floor around them.
Beneath the steady cadence of his boots, Jane caught the dim sound of laughter and footsteps from somewhere overhead. She thought she was imagining it until Jasper opened another door to reveal a narrow staircase. More laughter and voices drifted down from upstairs. ‘Are you having a gathering in a warehouse?’
‘You could say that.’ He avoided her eyes as he slid the keys back in his pocket.
‘Jasper Charton, are you running a house of ill repute?’
His head jerked up. ‘No, at least not the kind you’re imagining. Even if I was, don’t appear so excited. It isn’t right for you to be so thrilled at the idea.’
‘It isn’t right for me to be in a warehouse with a single man in the middle of the night either...’ she threw open her arms ‘...and yet here I am.’
‘Yes, here you are.’ He pulled his lips to one side in displeasure, as if his plan wasn’t unfolding quite as he’d imagined. Good. It’d be a welcome change to have someone else’s plans go awry instead of hers.
‘Well, are you going to show me?’
‘I’m debating it.’
‘The time for that has passed.’
‘I suppose it has. Come on then.’ Jasper took her hand, his fingers tight around hers as he started up the stairs. She held on to him, the pressure of his skin against hers making her a touch dizzy as they climbed to the first floor. Her curiosity increased with each step as she tried to guess what he’d brought her here to see. She hoped it wasn’t just warehousemen relaxing over cards after a long day. She was tired of disappointments. There’d been too many of them lately.
They stepped into the hall and stopped before a closed door. Light slipped out from under it along with muffled conversation and the faint aroma of pipe smoke. She studied the light beneath the wood, noting how it dimmed and brightened as someone on the other side passed between the source and the door. She waited anxiously for him to open it and reveal what was on the other side, but instead he led her past it to the far end of the hall. She could see the dark recess of an opening and the top of another, much wider, staircase leading back down to the ground floor and the front of the building. It was quiet here, the sounds drifting out of the other room muffled more than they should be in an old place like this. There was also nothing here except a lantern on a metal hook breaking up the endless line of knotted planked wall. She wondered if he meant to lead her back into the warehouse when he reached up and pushed aside the wide plate connecting the metal base to the lamp. It exposed a brass ring hidden behind it.
Now he really had her attention.
He pulled the ring and a portion of the planked wall popped open, revealing a door concealed by the wood and the darkness.
‘Impressive,’ Jane conceded, jealous. As children, they’d dreamed of having a secret room of their own. The empty space beneath the stairs in the Charton house was the closest they’d come, but every adult had known about it, along with every servant who used to check there first whenever they couldn’t find them.
‘Don’t compliment me yet.’ He unlocked the door and led her into an office far more opulent than Philip’s. Gilt-framed paintings adorned the far wall and an elaborate peacock inkwell punctuated the lustrous blotter. Sumptuous leather furniture complemented the narrow-legged burled-wood desk and added to the gaudy wealth of the decor.
‘Are you sure you’re not running a house of ill repute because your office is decorated like one.’
‘This came from my uncle’s house in Savannah. He had a penchant for gaudy furniture. I sold the worst of it a while back.’
She hated to think what the rest of it looked like if this was the most conservative. She was about to say so when he faced her, as serious as a bailiff. ‘Promise me, no matter what happens between us, you won’t reveal to anyone what I’m about to show you.’
She didn’t share his sense of gravitas. ‘Your accounting books?’
He ignored her humour and took her hands. His eyes bored into hers with a severity she’d only seen the morning they’d laid her parents to rest. It turned her as serious as him. ‘I brought you here because I can trust you, I always could, and I need someone to confide in. I thought I could do it with Milton, but he’s proven himself unworthy.’ A stricken look crossed his face, reminiscent of the one Philip had worn the morning Arabella, his first wife, had died after giving birth to their son Thomas. ‘Promise me.’
She imagined the loss of his closeness with Milton might be to blame for the darkness colouring his eyes, yet deep down she suspected it wasn’t. ‘I promise.’
He let go of her and went to a painting of a large house with tall columns hanging on the wall. He swung it aside to reveal a peephole. ‘Come look.’
* * *
Jasper held his breath as Jane rose on her tiptoes and pressed her face to the hole. The light spilling out of the room beyond spread over her fine nose and high cheeks, and he caught something of the mischievous imp he’d begun to love before his parents had sent him to America. Except it wasn’t their past captivating him tonight, it was the present. She was so stunning and innocent and he longed to draw her close instead of pushing her away. He couldn’t because she deserved better than a damaged and deceitful man, and it was already too late. There was no stopping Jane from being disgusted by what he was showing her and no way of preventing her from telling everyone if she decided to betray him.
She won’t. It was the old bond they’d shared in childhood when they used to sneak away from lessons with the bird-like tutor to go and play. It continued to connect them, despite the years they’d spent apart. ‘This is how I make my living.’
‘You’re running a gambling hell.’ She pressed her hands against the wall and leaned in closer to the hole.
He rested her painting on a small hook, then slid aside the portrait of a dog beside hers to view the tables full of men playing cards across the green baize. The cut-crystal lamps hanging over each table cast circles of light to surround them. Men recruited from the nearby slums who’d demonstrated even a modicum of manners moved between the guests to refill brandy glasses and light cigars, and, most importantly, extend credit. ‘Not only do I own the Company Gaming Room, I’m the house bank. The players bet against me and most of the time they lose.’
A loud cheer went up from across the room as Mr Portland, a rotund man with a long face, threw up his hands in victory. ‘Sometimes, they win.’
Mr Bronson, a lanky gentleman in a fine suit and a bright red waistcoat, Jasper’s partner in this affair, approached the winner to offer congratulations and payment.
Jane studied him, but he continued to observe the room, bracing himself for the sneer of disgust he was sure was coming. They’d both been raised to detest gambling as man after man had approached their fathers and brothers for money to cover their debts and save the businesses they were throwing away with the dice. Jasper was contributing to the very thing which had ruined so many, including him.
‘Why, Jasper Charton, I never thought you had it in you to be a rogue.’ He turned to face her, stunned to discover her blue eyes, illuminated by the candlelight concentrated through the hole, open wide in amazement.
‘You’re not supposed to be impressed.’ He set the dog painting over the hole and then reached past her face to return the house painting back to its original position.
‘I admit it’s a bit shady, but it doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate what you’ve done and how much you’ve accomplished in a matter of months.’
‘It’s a gambling hell, not a cotton-import business.’ He pressed his knuckles into his hips. This wasn’t the reaction he’d expected and yet he couldn’t help but smile. This was exactly like something she would do. ‘I thought your brother raised you to detest gambling?’
‘I thought your father did the same. It seems it didn’t stick for either of us.’ She cocked her thumb at the wall. ‘I assume he doesn’t know about this.’
‘No one in the family does. Can I trust you not to tell them or use this against me in your matrimonial pursuit?’
‘Of course. I’m not low enough to blackmail a person.’ Jane crossed her arms beneath her round breasts. ‘But I don’t see how you’ll keep it from them for ever. Isn’t this illegal?’
‘No, but it’s not entirely legal either, rather a grey area, which is why I don’t draw much attention to it.’
‘And no one around here has noticed so much coming and going at night?’
‘Drunks are the only people in this area after dark and a dram here and there keeps them quiet. It, and the front and back entrances, are why I chose this building.’
‘Impressive.’ Despite himself, he basked in her compliment before her next questions dissolved it. ‘Did you do this in Savannah?’
Guilt struck him as hard as shame. ‘I did.’
‘What did your uncle think of it?’
He strode to the fireplace, debating whether or not to take her deeper into his confidence, but the freedom to finally speak about this part of his life muted his usual caution. He’d brought Jane this far, there was little harm in taking her a touch further. ‘He’s the one who taught me to do it.’
‘He was a gambler, too?’ She rushed to join him at the ornately carved marble mantel.
‘He never gambled and neither do I. It isn’t wise.’
‘Well, he certainly wasn’t a cotton merchant, was he?’
‘Maybe when he first went to America, but he couldn’t tell the difference between Egyptian cotton and South Carolina cotton by the time I joined him. I was as stunned as you are when I learned of his true trade.’ Stunned and in awe. To a young man of fifteen who’d thought he’d been banished from his family and consigned to a colonial backwater, the vice-filled rooms and the income they gave him had been a scintillating temptation. He’d embraced the life, even when its darkness had shown itself in the haggard faces of losers at the Hazard table. ‘Pretending to my mother to be a cotton merchant was Uncle Patrick’s way of explaining the source of his wealth without offending anyone’s sensibilities.’
‘And your mother never suspected the truth?’
‘She’s quick, but Savannah is a long way from London.’ The distance was the most enticing aspect of coming home, but not even an entire ocean could separate him from his past failures. ‘She loved her brother, but my father wasn’t as enamoured of him. Father would’ve despised him if he’d known the real source of his income.’
‘And he wouldn’t have sent you to him.’
A sense of lost days flitted between them. He wished he’d never left, then all the horror he’d witnessed, and all the sins he’d committed, might not have happened and he’d be worthy of accepting Jane’s hand. ‘Uncle Patrick built a fortune on merchants, sea captains with prize money, cotton traders and tobacco planters looking for more respectable entertainment than the seedy dives by the docks, a way to fill the time between when they saw their wares off and when they returned to their rural homes or ruined themselves at our tables.’
‘If they were stupid enough to gamble, then they got what they deserved,’ Jane pronounced.
‘I used to think so, too.’ Until Mr Robillard. He stared into the fire, watching the flames dance the way they had in the biers scattered throughout Savannah to try to drive off the miasma sickening the city. It hadn’t worked. ‘I’ve learned a little more compassion since then and I have rules about limits. The men who play here know I won’t allow them to end up drunk and broke in the gutter.’
It was a lesson he’d learned the hard way, one his uncle certainly hadn’t taught him. If he’d learned it sooner, many men and their families might have been saved from destitution. Try as Jasper might to atone for his sins in London, he couldn’t make up for the many he’d committed in Georgia.
‘How do you keep this a secret? I recognise most of the men in there from their dealings with Philip. They must recognise you.’
‘They’ve never seen me in there. The man in the red waistcoat who spoke to the winner is Mr Bronson. He was Uncle Patrick’s long-time employee in Savannah. After my uncle died...’ Jasper took a deep breath, forcing back the memories ‘...I offered him the chance to be more than a servant and to share in a good amount of the profits. He’s the face of the Company Gaming Room, the one clients approach with troubles and concerns, then he comes to me. It hides my involvement in the club.’ It was one of the many façades he’d adopted since coming home. ‘My clients are merchants, businessmen, or foreigners with a taste for English gambling who’d never be admitted to one of the more fashionable clubs.’
‘You don’t cater to toffs? They’d be more lucrative.’
‘And troublesome. Their titled fathers would wreak havoc if their progeny lost the family estate to a mere merchant. The toffs also find my wager limits repugnant. They can afford to throw away their fortunes. Most merchants can’t.’
‘Then why is Captain Christiansen in there?’ She pointed to the wall, beyond which sat a lanky gentleman with his long fingers tight on a fan of cards, who Jasper knew sat at his usual table with more empty drink glasses than chips in front of him.
‘He’s a second son and he’s losing the money he earns from captured ships, not his father’s wealth, otherwise Lord Fenton would be in here putting a stop to it at once.’ Jasper motioned for her to sit on the leather sofa behind her. He took a box of fine sweets off the corner of his desk and held them out to her. ‘I also allow him to play here because he offers the other patrons information about oversees interests and ports they can’t obtain elsewhere.’
‘A wise decision.’ She selected one round confection dusted with sugar, pausing to look up at him through her thick lashes. ‘If this is the source of your income, then why did you want a building in the heart of the Fleet? It’d be hard for you to hide your activities there.’
She bit into the treat, as perceptive and tempting as ever. He tossed the box on his desk, then sat on the leather chair across from hers. ‘Many men come here for more than cards; they want to discuss contracts, stocks and markets in a space more conducive to sensitive deals than a coffee house. It’s the edge my establishment offers, the one I wish to cultivate and turn into a respectable business. The building would’ve been the perfect place for it.’
‘You could have the Fleet Street building if you agree to my terms.’ Her tongue slid over her bottom lip to lick off a bit of confectioner’s sugar clinging there. The gesture almost made Jasper slide across the gap and take care of the sweetness for her. Instead, he threw his hands up over the back of the leather’s curving edge. Not only should she not be here, but he shouldn’t be reacting to her like this. It wasn’t right and still he couldn’t dampen the heat rising inside him.
‘You know I can’t.’ It was time to think with his mind and not parts lower down. ‘I’m not an honest merchant like Milton or my sisters’ husbands.’
‘Good, I’m glad.’
‘Don’t be.’ He’d been naive about the dangers and temptations which could rob a man of his worth. He was too familiar with them now and didn’t want to visit them on her. ‘It isn’t easy being up all night, sleeping in the day, and lying to everyone about everything.’
She leaned forward with the same determination she’d used to approach him this afternoon. ‘Then let me help you become respectable again. We can establish the club together, secure more patrons and devise many means of making money off them, either through wine and cigars or expensive baubles for their wives sold at inflated prices.’
Jasper rubbed his eyes with his fingers. ‘Jane, be sensible.’
‘I am being sensible. A busy man must placate his wife and jewellery is an excellent way to do it. By selling ready-made pieces at the club we can save merchants a trip to the jewellers.’
Jasper peered at her through his fingers. ‘I hadn’t thought of that.’
‘Fine stationary for their contracts would also be good and the services of a private solicitor to keep things confidential.’
Jasper rubbed his chin. ‘Property agents might not be a bad idea, either, and we could take a cut of their sales.’
She laid her hands smugly on her knees. ‘See, I can help you.’
He snapped out of his interest. He was supposed to be putting her off him, not being drawn into a potential partnership. ‘No, you can’t.’
‘I can and you’ll see it and change your mind.’
He leaned forward, one elbow on his knee. ‘I promise you, I won’t.’
She matched his position, bringing her face close to his. ‘I promise you, you will.’
They stared at one another in challenge, so close together he could see each curling lash rimming her eyes. The temptation to kiss her again gripped him and he was certain she would allow it, but he held firm against the desire to lean in and claim her lips. He was here to discourage her, not trifle with her. The rattle of dice and conversation from the adjacent room drifted in despite the thick padding he’d paid builders to add to the walls. Her small breaths glided over the back of his hand where it hung between his knees, the need to resist her beginning to lose its urgency. He’d expected her to loathe him, not go along with him as if he’d invited her to a box at Drury Lane Theatre. Maybe allying himself with her wouldn’t be as dangerous as he’d first believed. She could help him and in deeper ways than mere negotiations and sales.
He sat back, putting distance between her and temptation. Revealing his involvement in a gambling hell was one thing, but he wouldn’t entice her into this life the way his uncle had enticed him. ‘I think it’s time to get you home.’
‘But we haven’t resolved anything.’
‘We’ll discuss the rest in the carriage.’ He checked the glass peephole hidden in a knot in the door to make sure the hallway was clear, then tugged it open. ‘We don’t want your brother to discover you missing and make you Sister Mary Saint Jane.’
She wagged one finger at him. ‘Don’t think you’ll put me off so easily.’
She strode past him and into the hallway, her confidence as alluring as her perfume.
* * *
Jane allowed Jasper to lead her out the way they’d come in and to hand her into the waiting carriage. The night chill made her shiver as she settled against the fine leather seats. She could pull the rug up over her knees, but the bracing air kept her on guard to continue her fight. Warmth might lull her into cosiness and make her forget what she needed to do on the ride home, her last real chance to change Jasper’s mind. She’d seen his determination waver when she’d made the suggestion about the jewellery and the solicitor, and again when they’d faced one another. He might outwardly protest, but inside he was weakening.
He settled across from her and with a knock on the roof set the conveyance in motion. They rode in silence as the carriage came around the building and passed the front entrance of the hell where a few vehicles waited for their riders while another pulled up to the front door to let off a new arrival. Then the building faded into the distance and the warehouses gave way to narrow streets and dark, ramshackle buildings. After a street or two, Jasper covered a large yawn with the back of his hand.
‘If you allowed me to handle things, you’d hardly have to do any work,’ she offered. ‘You could sleep in until noon as much as you like. Unlike some wives, I wouldn’t mind.’
‘I appreciate your offer, but I won’t have you lying to your family the way I’ve had to lie to mine.’
‘It wouldn’t be a lie, just an omission of certain details, which I have no issue with. After all, Philip and Laura don’t consult me on their affairs and decisions. There’s no reason why I should worry about their thoughts on mine.’
‘It isn’t so easy. It’s been hard misleading my mother about my exhaustion or lying to my father about why I can’t make morning appointments. If taking up residence in other lodgings while my town house is being repaired wouldn’t invite more questions from them I would. As it is, they think I’m tired all the time because I’m still recovering from Savannah and the crossing. Do you know how many times my mother has threatened to summon Dr Hale? They trust me and I’m deceiving them and it eats at me.’
‘What eats at me is continued failure and disappointment.’ She took a deep breath, working to settle herself. He was flustering her and she would lose the debate if she allowed her emotions to run roughshod over her reason. ‘I’ve managed the weight of those for the last few years, I think I can manage the bother of a few harmless fibs.’
‘I don’t doubt you can,’ he explained softly, ‘but I won’t let you.’
Her chest constricted. Those were the same words he’d used the night of his farewell party when they’d stood in his father’s study and said goodbye. She’d blurted out how she’d grown to care for him as more than a friend and would wait for him to come back. He’d been touched by her offer, but had refused to allow it, sure he wouldn’t return.
Except he had.
She stared out the window misted with dew. A few fat drops slid down the glass, catching others as they went before dripping off. This wasn’t about an old infatuation she’d put behind her ages ago, this was about establishing her future with him. Despite all his protestations against her, he was here with her alone in his carriage with enough faith in her to reveal his greatest secret. It was a more honest response than all his excuses against their marriage and it gave her hope she could still win his co-operation, if not tonight, then perhaps in the near future.
‘I’m sorry I didn’t keep in touch with you after I left,’ he offered. ‘More than once I wondered what you were up to here in London.’
‘Not very much.’ She smoothed her skirt with her hands, touched by his apology. It eased a great number of old disappointments. ‘There were dances and picnics, shopping and dinners, and the weddings of all my friends. No one took a fancy to me, at least no one who didn’t bolt.’
‘I’m sorry for what Milton did.’
‘Don’t be. I wasn’t in love with him as much as I was in love with the idea of my old friend being my husband.’ The possibility still held more appeal to her than waiting for some future romance. She didn’t need love, not if she had Jasper, her friend, for a husband.
‘I’m surprised Philip allowed the engagement. He of all people should have recognised Milton’s weakness.’
‘He did, but I didn’t listen.’ She’d ignored every warning thrown in her path until the morning Milton had left her. ‘I wish I had. It would’ve spared me a great deal of embarrassment.’
‘You’re better off without him.’
‘I am and his eloping spared me from having to wear the thin little ring he purchased. His poor wife has it now.’
‘Milton always was miserly.’ Jasper grinned and so did she, glad to find some humour in her misfortune.
‘What about you? Did you impress the ladies in Savannah?’
He reached up to grab the strap above the window. ‘I had my share of amusements.’
‘Did you now?’ She was as curious as she was jealous.
A spark of mirth lit up his eyes. ‘There was one tobacco merchant’s daughter I tried to court, but she rebuffed me the moment she discovered I wasn’t a lord but from the same solid merchant stock as her father.’
‘Did she ever get her title?’
‘No, she died in the epidemic.’ The mischievous Jasper faded into one much older than his twenty-four years. He turned to stare out the coach window at the dimly lit streets, a darkness coming into his eyes which made her shiver. ‘You have no idea the things I lived through in Savannah.’
He spoke with a weariness she understood. It was the one she’d experienced during the two weeks of her parents’ illness and which swathed her around this time every year. Jane leaned across the carriage and clasped his fingers tight. ‘It’s over now.’
The pressure of her touch seemed to startle Jasper, but he didn’t recoil from her. Instead he turned his hand over to hold hers. ‘No, it’s not. It’s still with me and sometimes as real as you sitting there.’
He let go of her and sat back, rubbing his thumb across the tops of his knuckles as he fisted his hand and brought it to his lips. A long moment passed and the clatter of the equipage settled in the quiet. Then he lowered his fist to his knee, tapping it in time to the rocking of the coach. ‘When the epidemic first began no one really thought anything of it. Every summer there were incidents of yellow fever—even I had a mild bout of it the summer before. It’d claim a few people and then disappear when the weather turned cold. It was clear something was different that year.’
‘But you didn’t know what.’
‘Not until it was upon us.’ He continued to stare out the window, his attention fixed on something not outside, but in the past and across an ocean. ‘Those who could fled to their plantations, but death followed them. I was one of the thousands caught in the city after the quarantine.’
‘How awful it must have been.’ She longed to embrace him and drive away the sadness in his eyes, to comfort him the way he’d done for her so many times around the anniversary of her parents’ death, but she didn’t move. It was clear by the stoic set of his jaw he didn’t want her pity any more than she ever wanted anyone else’s.
‘It wasn’t so bad at first, with people flocking to our hell to enjoy themselves before death snatched them away. I enjoyed life with them; you see, once you’ve had Yellow Jack, you can’t catch it again, but it doesn’t mean you can’t suffer or be afraid. We stayed open until the authorities closed all the public places. By then everything was falling apart, and even if you weren’t sick, you were starving. No amount of money or influence could buy you food. It was the first time I’ve ever experienced what it was like to be without and unable to provide for those I care for.’
‘Your uncle?’
He nodded. ‘There was nothing I could do to save him and I could barely feed him either. It’s the reason I started the hell when I came home. Yellow Jack may not be here, but I’ve seen what happens to people who fall into poverty. I don’t ever want to be unable to provide for those I care about again.’ He offered her a sad and apologetic smile. ‘Unfortunately, gambling is the only trade I know.’
‘I understand. I’m not supposed to want a business, but without a husband, in the end, it might be the only thing to keep me should something ever happen to my inheritance. I don’t want to be spinster, but I certainly don’t wish to be a poor one.’
‘You won’t be. You’re too clever.’
She wished she shared his high opinion, but she didn’t. He had his hell and would some day have his club. She would still be alone and growing older. However, nothing she had suffered or endured compared to what Jasper had gone through. She admired his strength and vowed to be more like him. He hadn’t given up in the face of death and sickness. She couldn’t crumble beneath a few setbacks.
The carriage rocked to a halt at the entryway to the alley behind the Rathbone house, the one which led to the garden. The mist had thickened during their ride, but the faint outline of the garden gate was visible. It’d been a lifetime since Jane had last viewed it from this angle, when she and Jasper and Milton had returned from an outing, with her dressed in Philip’s old clothes and a soft hat covering her hair. Back then, she used to creep through the shadows and in the garden gate, steal past Philip’s room and slide into bed as if she’d been there the entire night. Tonight, she’d do it again once more.
Jasper stepped out of the coach and held out his hand to help her down. She gripped it as she joined him on the pavement, reluctant to let go. She didn’t want to leave him to ride home alone with the memories of all the awful things he’d seen accompanying him. To her surprise he didn’t release her hand, but covered it with the other one. ‘Thank you for not judging me too harshly for what I do.’
‘I could never judge you harshly, not even for refusing me.’
‘It’s why I trusted you.’
She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him close. ‘If you need someone to talk to, don’t be afraid to come to me. I’ll listen and keep anything else you want to tell me a secret.’
She squeezed him tight and then, before he could refuse this offer, hurried across the short distance to the garden gate, conscious of him watching her the way he used to do to make sure she was home safe. At the gate she stopped. The moisture collecting on the wrought iron wet her fingers while she slowly pulled it open to keep the old hinges from squeaking.
Jane threw Jasper one last look. He touched his hat to her, the faint grey of it just visible in the silver light of the half-obscured moon. She slipped into the garden, past the fragrant flowers and the dew-moistened stepping stones, her regret at having to leave him as strong as the scent of the roses.
* * *
The mist grew thicker and colder the moment Jane disappeared from sight. It wasn’t like the air in Savannah which could drown a man with its heat, but lighter and more mysterious, like Jane. He opened and closed his hand at his side, the warm pressure of Jane’s fingers against his still lingering, along with her concern.
He took hold of the carriage-door handle to keep from chasing after her and changing his mind. It’d been a relief to speak with her instead of trying to hold back his memories, and the truth of his income, as he did with his family. When they’d spoken of Savannah, she hadn’t hugged him in pity like his mother had when he’d first come home, the spaces under his jaws hollowed out, the depths of his suffering hidden like the banknotes tucked inside his trunks. Instead, Jane had merely listened, her presence stopping the spectre of the past from rising up from the shadows to consume him.
He stepped inside the carriage and rapped his knuckles against the top to tell the driver to move on. Each turn of the wheels carrying him away from St Bride’s Lane, and Jane, made him more agitated. So many mornings he rode home from the hell before dawn, yearning for someone to speak with about the night’s challenges or simply to view him in a better light than he viewed himself. With his family, he had to pretend his troubles were not what they really were and allow lies and falsehoods to separate and isolate him from the people who’d welcomed him home.
The carriage made the turn towards the warehouse and rolled past the cluttered windows of the shops locked tight for the evening. Soon, the shops gave way to the square, shapeless buildings lining the river. Weariness began to smother him the closer they drew to the hell. He was exhausted by the deceit and the walls it created around him, except there wasn’t one between him and Jane. Tonight, she’d listened. The concern in her blue eyes calling to him, the hints of yellow near the irises reminding him of the sky during the many sunrises he’d been glad to meet during the awful weeks of the epidemic. The flicker of her pulse against his fingertips had been a potent reminder of how alive and good the world could still be and how he might be a part of it again.
The warehouse came into view and the carriage slowed to a stop. He hopped down, his determination not to marry Jane weakening with each step as he approached the rear door. It would be risky having someone so close, but she might be the one person who could keep him from sliding further into the darkness. He’d seen what years of loneliness and dissipation had done to Uncle Patrick. Uncle Patrick had spent his life surrounded by others, fêted and admired, and in the end all his money couldn’t buy their loyalty or their help when he’d been at his weakest. Jasper didn’t want to become like him. He’d thought to pull himself out of his old life by his own bootstraps. Maybe it was a more feminine hand he needed for the final steps.
He took the key ring out of his pocket and swung it on one finger, imagining the two of them working together and rising in prominence like her brother, or wielding the kind of influence his father enjoyed. It would be like his first few years in Savannah when he used to mingle with influential men or host parties in his Franklin Square house. For a time tonight, with her, he’d been free to be his old self and not have to lie. It was the life he’d imagined when he’d gone to the auction, the one he’d thought he’d lost until Jane had appeared and made him realise it could still be his.
He clutched the keys in his palm, stilling their spinning. It was one thing for Jane to know about his hell, it was another for her to be involved in it. He couldn’t corrupt her the way his uncle had corrupted him or risk leaving her to wrestle with even a small measure of the guilt and blame he endured because of the affair with Mr Robillard. Except it wasn’t a part of the hell she wanted, it was a part of him and his club. He could give her the club, and himself, and keep back the hell and the ugliness of Savannah. She needn’t be involved in the tempting of players, but she could share in the freedom it offered to enjoy the finer aspects of London, the ones denied to her by her current situation. She’d come to him with a proposal for a partnership, to help him build a reputable professional life with the added benefit of more enticing nocturnal pursuits. It was an opportunity he could no longer resist. His time with her had always been an adventure. It would be again.
