In the Arms of an Earl (39 page)

“What for?” But she already knew what for. Her baby was the only reason she opened her eyes in the morning.

“You must get on with life, my girl. Read some new books—and not those stuffy biographies of the saints, but poetry and novels. Play the pianoforte again. Rosalind sent that lovely one for you last week, and you’ve not so much as looked at it.”

The sudden appearance of the shining new Broadwood had taken them all by surprise. It had arrived without a note, but it could have been lost. She hadn’t bothered with it, despite her mother’s pleas.

Her eyes stung with fresh tears at her sister’s kind act. “I don’t…” She shook her head and tears slid down her face, vanishing into her shawl. “I don’t want to play anymore. I can’t…”

“Nonsense. You will, and you must. I’ve watched you waste away these past few weeks. I won’t let you give up. Mamma, bless her, refuses to let you give up. You’ve just got to face the facts, Jane.”

“What facts?”

“He is…he is not coming back,” her father whispered, clasping her tightly while she sobbed uncontrollably on his shoulder.

She pressed her face against the rough wool coat that smelled of old pipe smoke and freshly turned earth. How many times had his calm, sensible manner and practical advice helped her and her sisters as they encountered one defeat after another, whether in love or at play? She should listen to him now, especially now, but every instinct within her rebelled. She gave in to her grief, relieved at last to share her deepest emotions with the parent who knew her best.

“I thought he loved me.”

“I know.” He cleared his throat. “We must send word to him about the baby, Jane. I’m sure if he knew…”

He shook his head again, his mouth tightening against an unspoken stream of words she thought he wanted to say but wouldn’t. Papa had never lost his temper in front of his daughters, and he meant to keep it that way.

“He can at least provide for you and the little one. He can’t be all heartless, the blackguard…”

“Oh no, Papa! The blame rests entirely on me. Frederick did nothing to destroy our marriage. Promise you won’t hate him.” She wiped away the last of her tears. “And promise you won’t write and tell him about…about the baby. I do not want his pity.”

“His pity? Dear child, you are carrying his heir. Surely, that must mean…”

“It will mean nothing to him, Papa. He doesn’t want…”

Susanna’s flirtatious smile and shining hair, like spun gold, filled her mind. But he had protested Susanna was not his mistress. He must have loved Alice all along, to marry her so suddenly. But why would he not have married Susanna? Unless Alice’s scheming went even deeper than she could have possibly imagined.

“He does not want my child, Papa. He mustn’t know. Please, promise me you will not send word to him. I will sell my ring.” The band was cool on her finger. She’d never removed it, not even when the hideous news of his marriage had arrived. She gulped hard. “I do not want us to be burdens on you.”

“It is not about the money.” He picked up her hand, and they both stared at her ring. Sunlight reflected brilliantly off the diamond’s many facets, dazzling her. “We have enough to support you, so you need never worry again. I just think if he knew…”

“He will not take me back, Papa. I did…” She had to face the shameful truth eventually. “I did a horrible thing, Papa. He will not want me back. You mustn’t tell him.” She drew a breath and composed herself. “And don’t tell my sisters. Not just yet.” Her father’s brow furrowed deeply, making him look ten years older. She forced a smile, knowing from his startled look it was too much. “Tomorrow, we can visit Lady Simpson.”

Her father pinched her cheek out of habit. It was something he’d done while she was a little girl, and, for the first time in weeks, the possibility she just might survive revealed itself.

“I’ll send word for her to expect us.” He pushed to his feet and extended his hand to her. She took it, rising on wobbly legs, her father’s hand strong around hers. “And, if you like, I will walk with you to this Joseph Wilson’s house. He sounded eager to see you.”

She took a deep breath. The scent of roses lingered in the air. A little bit of her mood began to lift. Life would go on.

And so must she.

Her father kissed her on the forehead, relieved her tears had ceased. “It will be all right, Jane,” he said. “Life always has a funny way of working out.”

Her mother waited for them at the house, her hands twisting in her apron. Her father called out a cheery greeting, and she ran unsteadily toward them on her little feet and enfolded Jane in her embrace, relieved laughter mixing with her tears.

Chapter Thirty-Eight

The house was quiet except for the old clock in the hallway, ticking the world away. Jane lay in bed, running her fingers lightly over her tight abdomen.

Can you hear my thoughts?
She closed her eyes to better concentrate.
Are you a boy or a girl? I can’t wait to see you, to hold you…

Tears slipped unchecked down her cheeks, soaking into her hair.

Will you look like…your papa? Or have light hair, like Amelia’s children? Will you be as clever as Rosalind, or love music like your papa?

A sob tore from her clamped lips.

I love you so much, so much…

“Oh, Frederick.” Her broken sob echoed in the room, but there was no one to hear.

How had a once-true love gone so wrong? She’d wrestled with the question daily and still could not find an answer. Despite Alice’s wicked lies, she knew she was partly to blame. She’d doubted Frederick’s love from the start, even though his attachment was obvious. Lucinda’s telling her he would never love again might have been the seed of her initial doubt, but she could have trusted him more. Trusted Alice less.

Although she now knew the truth, she still wondered how such a man like Frederick would ever look twice at her. She didn’t see his injury, but his warm eyes and incredible talent. He had something to offer a woman. What did she have?

Her skin tingled as if she were being poked with pins. He’d always remained faithful, yet what had she done? Thrown his love back in his face. It was easier to believe Alice’s lies and follow her ridiculous advice than consider the impossible. Even if it meant taking a lover of her own.

A lover.

As if she would hunger for another man’s kisses after knowing Frederick. She had never even looked at men before except to admire an accomplishment or intellect. And, thanks to Rosalind and Amelia’s generous financial support, she need never look for a husband, unless she wanted one.

And she’d wanted him.

She wearily closed her eyes, caught between the haze of restless sleep and flickering shadows of a dream. Grateful for sleep, she succumbed to the gentle ramblings of her mind. Never had a dream seemed so vivid, so real. It was the same dream she’d had every night for the past few weeks, where Frederick came to her, murmuring words of love as he took her in his arms. In the midst of such wonderful dreams, she was positive that this time, this night, the dream was real and he was truly there. Only when she’d awaken to find her arms empty would she realize the cruel reality and despair would return.

Her mind was lulled into a tranquil sea of forgetfulness as she sensed his closeness. He took her in his arms as always, but the dream Frederick didn’t speak. He was dressed differently, as well. Gone was the flowing white shirt opened at the neck. Instead, the cold metal buttons of his coat pressed her skin.

His wool trousers rasped across the muslin sheet as he stretched beside her.

The scent of horses and saddle leather clung to him.

His mouth seemed the most realistic of all. She tasted his familiar kiss and knew the softness of his full, lower lip. She wanted to cry out his name and clutched tighter to her phantom husband so he wouldn’t vanish the moment she opened her eyes. She stroked his hair, twining the long waves through her fingers. His scalp was cold, as if he’d just been outdoors.

Her trancelike state faded rapidly. Ghostly arms and lips that usually vanished in a blur as she awoke did not disappear. The mattress sagged from his added weight, and the body pressing against hers was solid and real.

“My Jane.” Frederick’s warm breath whispered across her lips.

Her eyes flew open. Frederick smiled back at her.

Chapter Thirty- Nine

“Frederick?” Stifling a shriek, she yanked her arms from around his neck and jumped out of bed.

“Yes.” His heart hammered against his ribs. He’d expected a joyful reunion if Susanna’s assurances of Jane’s love were to be trusted. Instead, she was pale and trembling, one hand raised as if to keep him at bay.

She seemed to have trouble regaining her composure so he hastily rose and poured her a glass of water from a pitcher on a side table.

“How did you get in?”

“One of the servants showed me in.” It was incredible this was the only question she could ask, after not having seen each other in weeks. He handed her the water. She sank into a chair, taking the cup with trembling hands. After a little sip, she regarded him with wide hazel eyes as if he were an intruder. He sank to his knees beside her, wanting to hold her hand, but she kept both of hers firmly around the cup.

“Where is Alice?”

“In London.”
Why she should mention Alice at a time like this…?

“Does she know you are here?” She’d voiced the question so softly he wasn’t sure he’d heard her.

“I haven’t spoken to her in a few days. I didn’t think she needed to know one way or the other where I am, especially after all she has done.” His brow creased while he waited for her to say something more. To start with, why she had not sent word she’d received the pianoforte. Perhaps she’d thrown it out.

The exhausting journey, which he hadn’t noticed in his haste to be at her side, now began to tell. He gripped his wrist. She noticed and quietly stood.

“Have you been travelling all night?” Her voice held the same strange, even tone as before.

“Yes.” Guiltily, he allowed her to think he was in more distress than he was, if it would make her sympathetic. “I have not stopped, except to change horses.”

“I’ll bring you some brandy.” She started for the door, but he caught her sleeve. She stared down at his hand and he dropped it.

“I had to see you, Jane. There is much unsaid between us.”
And I could not bear your absence any longer…

Even as he spoke, he sensed the futility of his long journey from London. She was not happy to see him, regardless of how ardently she’d kissed him a few moments before.

Her throat moved as she gulped, and he wondered why her color was ashen in the rising light of dawn. “If you have come to discuss alimony, I do not require anything from you.” She blinked, and he was astounded to see tears slipping down her face.

He stepped toward her. She seemed to shrink from him, and he moved away a little so the hunted look would leave her eyes.

“That was not my purpose in coming.” He broke off, his voice choking in a surge of emotion. He was not getting through to her. She seemed so wary of him, so distrustful, huddled against the door like a scared rabbit trying to return to its safe warren. He tried to maintain his composure, but the long journey and his painful arm—not to mention his anguish at his reception—made him brusque. “My dear, it is very late. Almost dawn, I think. Please, may we go to bed and discuss this in the morning?”

Her face paled even more. Her eyes flashed.

“You may rest for a moment, but then I’ll have our man take you into Weston. I regret your long journey, but you cannot sleep here.”

He did not argue or cajole. “Perhaps I was mistaken in coming. I thought you’d be happy to see me.” He gathered his coat and hat, which he’d dropped on the floor in his relief at finding her in bed some moments before.

She caught her breath in a sob but recovered quickly. “After all that has happened, I’m supposed to be happy to see you?”

“I wanted to come in person and tell you myself.”

“My father has written your solicitor. You only need contact me through him.”

He clapped his hat on his head and swirled his coat around his shoulders, not bothering to put his arms in the sleeves. A tearing pain filled his chest, but he ignored it. How could he have been so wrong? Perhaps she truly had not loved him, and Susanna’s instincts were as poor as his obviously were.

“Apparently, I misjudged your feelings. I will bother you no more, Jane.” He tipped his hat out of a long-bred politeness and exited her chamber.

Jane stared at the closed door, her heart pounding with each footfall of his on the stairs. Within minutes, the main door opened and shut with an echo of finality. She strained to hear the sound of horse hooves or the rattling of a carriage, but all was silent.

A sob died in her throat. Strangely, she could no longer cry. Shivering in the frosty dawn, she grabbed a quilt and wrapped it around her. She ought to go back to bed, but she would never sleep now. She lit a lamp and left her chamber.

It was nearly five o’clock. Just enough time to make a pot of tea and return to her room before her parents awoke. Bile rose in her throat, and she steadied herself along the banister. Mamma had warned her of the changes the baby would cause, and early morning nausea was one of them. The feeling passed a few moments later, and she continued toward the kitchen.

She paused at the drawing room. The pianoforte sat in the corner, as untouched as the day it had arrived. The finely carved wood gleamed in the faint glow of the sunrise through the window.