Her One True Love (23 page)

He blinked and cleared his throat. “Maybe I don't, but I have proposed a handsome settlement between us. One I hope you will not contest. I wish you and Charles well, but know this, there will be no more money, Elizabeth. This will be my final payment to you.”

Her color darkened and her eyes became steely. “Don't insult me.”

“You need to understand this agreement will affect my finances in the opposite way it will yours. The Manor belongs in my family, and I would hate to think you would even attempt to make any claims on it in the future.”

“Why on earth would I?”

“I'm not a fool. I have learned Jefferson is of dwindling means. The man's reputation as a gambler precedes him.”

She stood, her cheeks red and her gaze angry. “You know nothing of Charles, or his person. Things do not have to turn nasty between you and me by your casting aspersions.”

“Yet you have been here a week and appear to be making no effort to leave. It is Christmas in a few days. Why would you not want to be with Jefferson?”

“Because I assumed it would help halt the gossiping tongues in the village if we were seen together through the festive period and the New Year. If you do not want that . . .”

“I don't.”

“Then I shall leave, if that's what you want.”

“I think it for the best.”

“Fine.” Elizabeth swept across the room toward the door and put her hand to the handle. Her shoulders trembled.

Damnation
. Matthew exhaled as he fought the first inklings of empathy. Were they both not separated from their new and desired lovers? “What's wrong now?”

She turned and slowly approached his desk. Tears glistened in her eyes. “He's married.”

Matthew stiffened. “Jefferson is with his wife? At this moment?”

She nodded.

Matthew glared, his empathy evaporating on a puff of air. “And over Christmas and into the New Year, I suppose.”

She dropped into a chair and pushed her fingers into her temples. “Yes. When I left you, he was to leave his wife too, but she collapsed with the distress of the supposed scandal.” Her gaze flitted over his face, her eyes pleading. “We are to wait until the New Year and then we will be together.”

“You
hope
you will be together. Who is to say the man will actually leave his wife? Are you really that naïve?”

“He will.” Her eyes widened. “I know he will.”

Matthew stood and came around the desk. He stalked to his sideboard and poured a measure of brandy, his hand trembling. His plans, the things he had to tell Jane and hoped she believed him to achieve, suddenly teetered on the precipice of disaster. He was not the kind of man to abandon people in their hour of need, regardless of what they might or might not have done to him. What did Jefferson's sudden care and interest in his wife mean for Matthew and Jane this Christmas?

He took a mouthful from his glass and turned. Elizabeth sat forward on the edge of her seat, her hand curled so tightly around the chair's arm, her knuckles showed white.

Matthew narrowed his eyes. “You wish to remain here until the New Year?”

“Yes. Please, Matthew, my parents . . .”

“Are ashamed, yes? They have banished you from their home, their society?”

She nodded, her eyes downcast.

Matthew shook his head. “Surely you have somewhere else to go? What of your aunt? Your friends?”

“I have tried. They all have one excuse or another. Please. You know me. I am not a harlot, a turncoat, or a deceiver. I—”

“You are all of those things!” He glared, his hand tight on his glass as he paced the room. “I have plans of my own. Plans that do not include you staying under this roof.”

“I'm sorry.”

His mind raced. David and his wife would be arriving in the morning too.

The proposal he had planned to offer his brother loomed large. How was he to secure David as the next squire of Biddestone and show him he would surely do a better job than Matthew while his cheating wife remained by his side? David would think him a bigger fool than Matthew currently thought himself.

He tossed the remainder of his brandy to the back of his throat and returned the tumbler to its silver tray. He faced Elizabeth and his disgust faltered. Tears marred her cheeks and her shoulders shook. He closed his eyes and drew forth every ounce of his patience. “For goodness' sake, stop crying.”

“I'm sorry.”

He snapped his eyes open. “And stop apologizing.” He stormed around his desk and dropped into his chair, pulling a sheet of writing paper from his top drawer. He laid it on the desk and pulled a pen from an onyx holder. “You can stay until the New Year. Now leave me. I have letters to write and explanations to send. I pray to God they are fully understood.”

With his gaze steadfastly on the paper and his hand trembling, Matthew did not breathe again until Elizabeth closed the door behind her.

Releasing his held breath, he dipped the pen in ink and put it to the paper.

J
ane wrapped her cape tighter around her shoulders as she strolled deeper into Marksville's snow-covered gardens toward the pergola. The stark whiteness stretched as far as she could see, covering every tree, shrub, bird table, and bench in a surreal and empty canvas. Her eyes watered from her sadness rather than the cold.

She stared toward the Manor House in the distance, its dark roof laced with snow and smoke drifting from the chimney making her think of Matthew. Was he there alone? Or with Elizabeth?

Swiping her fingers under her eyes, Jane fought the yearning to leave Biddestone and hurry back to Bath, Mrs. Cage, and the children. Yet how could she deny the joy on Monica's face when Jane had arrived at Marksville two days before? The memory obliterated any possibility of her rejecting her sister's plea that Jane stay at the house until the New Year.

Jane sighed. “And so I am trapped.”

“Jane? Surely things aren't so bad you have to talk to yourself?”

She spun around. “Monica. What are you doing out here? Where are the boys?”

“Jeannie is playing with them. They are perfectly fine.” Monica slid her arm into the crook of Jane's elbow and pulled her close. “Why are you out here all alone and muttering such words of desolation?”

“You heard me?” Jane closed her eyes. “I'm completely embarrassed.”

“Don't be. Open your eyes.”

Jane did as she was bidden. “What am I to do?”

Monica frowned. “I hazard a guess this indecision is about Matthew?”

“Who else?” Jane took her sister's gloved hand and guided them back toward the house. “I've made such dire mistakes and have no idea how to rid myself of them.”

“Am I to assume your dire mistake was to lay with him?”

Jane halted. “How did you—”

“I guessed.”

Heat pinched Jane's cheeks, despite the cold blowing softly around them. She continued to walk. “Well, it isn't just that. I have loved Matthew for many years. Too many. I waited. I watched him marry Elizabeth.” She glanced at Monica. “Part of me died that day, but the change in him when Elizabeth left, his moroseness and misery, convinced me he must love her and it was then I couldn't bear to be around him any longer.”

“And you went to Bath.”

Jane stopped again. “But he tells me, what I saw was not lovesickness, but anger, frustration, and a horrible sense of failure. If that is true and he loves me, where he is now? Why is he with her and not here, with me?”

Monica gripped Jane's hands, her gaze dark with resolve. “If there is one thing I have learned through my career in Bath and through my marriage thus far, it is that the path to true love and happiness never runs smoothly. You have to fight for it, live through the cracks in your heart, and be determined to find your happily-ever-after. You can assume nothing, Jane. You must speak to Matthew. You do not know what is said in that house now, nor in the past.”

Trepidation whispered through her, and Jane shook her head. “I don't know if I can. I'm too fearful of judging wrongly, of making further mistakes. I love my work with Mrs. Cage. The last thing I want is to give it all up, return home, and slip back into who I was before.”

Monica smiled. “Who said anything about such a silly course of action?”

“But you said—”

“Talk to him. Tell him what you've just told me. Tell him you are not prepared to forgo your work. Yet, if you truly want him, there has to be something you are willing to sacrifice. Something that means a lot to you, but being with Matthew means more. Do not fall into the same trap as I did.”

“You?” Jane huffed a laugh and started them along the path once more. “You did and have everything you ever wanted. You climbed bigger mountains than I ever will and survived.”

Monica's eyes sparkled with humor. “Ah, but did I learn the biggest lesson of all in my endeavors to prove my independence?” Her gaze bore into Jane's and she squeezed her fingers. “The prospect of true love is the only thing that prevents independence from being loneliness. Do you see?”

Jane nodded. “Yes. At least, I think so.”

Monica tugged on her hand as they neared the house. “Then you will be in complete agreement that I send a message to Matthew, inviting him to spend Christmas luncheon with us.”

“But what of Elizabeth? What if she comes too?”

They stepped inside the house and Monica faced her. “I am certain the squiress would have left again by now. Thomas said Matthew was in the tavern last night and in fine spirits.”

Jane stared, her mind racing with what ifs and maybes and her heart beating fast. “He was?”

“Yes. ‘Fine spirits' were Thomas's exact words. That does not sound like a man reunited with a woman who betrayed him and left him for another. He thinks you are in Bath. Maybe his heart is full of looking forward to seeing you again after Christmas.”

Jane shook her head. “Or he could have forgiven her. What if that is the case and he assumes your invitation extends to Elizabeth too?”

“Then you will face her. This is your life to shape. No one else's. You speak to Matthew, obtain all the facts, and then . . .”

Jane's hope wavered. “Then?”

“Then you listen to your heart.”

Monica swept toward Jeannie, who had come into the hallway to help with their coats, and Jane stared after them. Everything Monica and Mrs. Cage said weaved inside Jane's mind. What was she willing to sacrifice for Matthew? What would she yield in her need to be with him and to continue her work in Bath?

Slowly, effortlessly, the sacrifice she was willing to make became so clear she couldn't believe she hadn't known it all along.

“Jeannie?” Jane rushed toward her, untying her cape as she did so. “Are you still going into the village in a while?”

Jeannie nodded. “Yes, I was going to take little Thomas to see the pond. Why?”

Jane looked at Monica. “Then Monica will quickly write an invitation for the squire to join us for Christmas luncheon. Would you deliver it to the Manor?”

Jeannie beamed, her eyes dancing with romance and excitement. “Of course.”

Jane's stomach knotted with anticipation and she gripped Monica's hand. “Come, you have correspondence to address.”

 

Matthew stared at his brother. “You are refusing the squirage? But you will be happy here, as will Millicent and the children. I know it.”

“Will we?” David leaned back in his chair and shook his head. “You clearly are no longer happy here, so why assume we will be? I don't want to be squire, brother. Dealing with finances, people's livelihoods, and businessmen is no more me than preaching to the people is you. I can see no way forward other than selling the Manor and the squirage along with it.”

“I can't do that.” Matthew stood and walked to the drawing room window. He looked out across his land. “This place is our heritage. It means too much to me and the villagers to sell out to goodness knows who.”

“Then I have no suggestions for you. Does Elizabeth know you planned to hand the reins to me?”

Matthew turned. “No. She knows nothing, and I have every intention of it staying that way. She has gotten herself into a fine mess as far as this Jefferson is concerned, but that is not my problem. She left our marriage for him. She now has to find her own way.”

“So if your motivations for leaving Biddestone are not to start afresh with Elizabeth, why are you taking such drastic action?”

“It is for another.”

David's brows lifted. “Another?”

“Yes.”

David smiled. “Am I to assume you have finally noticed Miss Danes?”

Matthew smiled and dropped onto the settee. “I have. I have been blind for many, many years, have I not?”

“Many, but who was I or anyone else to tell you so when you were so adamant to carry out Father's wishes? But all is well that ends well. I assume she returns your affections? You and Elizabeth will divorce?”

“We will.” Strain inched across Matthew's heart, and he frowned. “But I see no way for Jane and I to be together with me here and her in Bath. I fear, once upon a time, she would've dedicated her whole life to helping me make Biddestone prosper, but not anymore. Her life . . .” He shook his head. “She is wholly different now. Stronger, happier, and with a new sense of purpose.”

“And the change in her is most likely what made you see her. Not Elizabeth's betrayal or your commitment to the village. It is usually the metamorphosis of souls that allows them to find one another.”

Matthew stared as possibility churned inside him. “Maybe there is no need for either of us to sacrifice our work . . .”

“Go on.”

“If we truly love one another, if we would do whatever we have to do to be together, we can surely come to an agreement that suits us both. We could live, compromise, and move forward as a respecting, loving family, could we not?”

“Of course. That is what real, lasting matrimony is made of.”

There was a discreet knock at the door, and Flanders entered carrying a silver tray. “A message from Marksville House for you, sir.”

Matthew pushed to his feet and approached his butler. “Thank you, Flanders.” He slid the letter from the tray, his heart picking up speed.

Flanders bowed and left the room.

Matthew stared at the folded letter. Why would Monica or Thomas write to him just days before Christmas? It could only mean one thing . . .

David cleared his throat. “Aren't you going to read it?”

“Of course.” Matthew inhaled and opened the letter. As he scanned the lines of neat script, his smile stretched. “She's here. Jane is here.” He met David's amused gaze. “They have invited me to Christmas luncheon.”

“Excellent. You will accept, of course.”

Matthew laughed. “Of course. I haven't seen Jane in over three weeks. I can hardly bear to wait another two days.”

“And Elizabeth? What of her? Surely you won't leave her here to share Christmas lunch with Flanders? You might be separated in heart, Matthew, but your wife is still here whether you like it or not.”

Matthew looked toward the closed drawing room door.

David rose from his armchair and came to stand beside Matthew, placing a hand on his shoulder. “You are a squire and a gentleman. You cannot leave Elizabeth behind this Christmas Day, brother. Neither of us is anything like our father. It is not in you or me to discard anyone's situation so cruelly.”

David walked from the room, softly closing the door behind him. Clenching his jaw, Matthew returned to the window. Far in the distance, Marksville stood like a beacon housing his one true love—just out of reach.

For better or worse, he would spend Christmas Day with Jane . . . even if Elizabeth had to be there too.