Marissa Day (22 page)

In that moment, it occurred to Jane how truly monumental her plan was. People fought to get into the
ton
. They bribed and flattered and schemed. Once in, they beggared their families to keep their place. And when the family money dried up, they mortgaged land and houses and sold everything of worth, from their jewelry to their daughters, to keep their place.

But she had never once known anyone who left the confines of the
ton
. Not voluntarily. Ladies sometimes fell away for various reasons that could not be spoken of aloud. The occasional gentleman vanished into drink, or “lived abroad,” meaning he crossed the channel to escape his creditors. But no one ever simply opened the gate and walked out.

Jane remembered sitting in the darkness of her father’s study. She’d had to go back to him when Lord Octavius died, because she’d signed over her jointure to him upon her marriage, and he’d spent that. He had been her last relative except for the cousins who would inherit the estate, and who never wrote her a single word after the lawyers had confirmed the entail. She had been stacking the bills into different piles. The lamp made a circle of pale gold barely large enough to hold the spread of his papers. Fourteen piles altogether, arranged by category. She’d reached for another bundle of correspondence to sort through, and found it to be comprised of letters from friends, each and every one reminding her father how much he had already borrowed from them, and regretting extremely their inability to lend any more.

They had given, and given generously, these letters told her, to allow her father and her family to keep up appearances, because aside from bloodlines, appearances were most important. All those men, from the clubs and the coffee houses and the exchanges, they understood that.

Mother had understood that.

We must keep up appearances, Jane.
Her mother’s voice, flat and dull, came back to her from memory as she signed the note to the banker that would open the vault and release the jewels inside for sale.
All your futures depend on it.

But Mother was dead, and Francis and Royal, little Charlotte, and infant Arabelle beside her. Father had gone back to his stock tables before the last of the funeral guests had left the house, as if a turn in his fortune could somehow make up for the death of his wife and children. The jewels he had sold, which he had sworn he would buy back, were long gone.

Jane looked at the people around her, and a weight of hatred dropped against her so heavily she almost staggered. How much had her family sacrificed for appearances? It was to keep up appearances that her mother remained tied to her father, who could not be relied on. It was to keep up appearances that she, Jane, married the man her unreliable father picked out, and who had installed her in a house empty of real love. Her entire world, her entire life, had been lived behind a wall of appearances and expectations.

But Thomas had shown her walls had gates, and gates could be breeched. The only real thing she had ever known was this love, her love for Thomas. As he held her as close as man and woman could be, still inside her after their passion had spent itself, she had known it was real. It was flawed and strange and difficult, but it was entirely real.

In that moment, she had felt as if she’d opened her eyes for the first time and seen the sun. Her love was real because it was what she had chosen and given herself to willingly. It was her heart that guided her to him, and nothing else. If she turned her back on Thomas now to don the cloak of the
haut ton
lady, she would be turning her back on what was real. Because it was appearances that kept her locked up in here, not the salary. There were other salaries, there always had been, if she had bothered to look for them. But she’d been made to think the world within the walls of appearance was the only one.

“There is a choice,” Jane whispered. “There
is
.”

What came next would not be easy. She would have to be careful how she extricated herself. It would take a certain amount of planning, and a little time. But that was all right. She had time, and she was very good at planning. She had run a baron’s house for years. She had been able to marshal a full staff and a thousand details into perfect order before she turned twenty-one.

She needed to begin with ridding herself of the untrustworthy Tilly. And to do that, she would have to confront Captain Conroy.

Just a day ago, she had been afraid of him. Now, however, with the truth held neatly folded in her reticule and all the gates open before her, she found she was rather looking forward to seeing him again.

Jane lifted her chin and sailed into the ducal pavilion.

“Ah, Jane. There you are,” said the duchess in cheerful German as Jane made her way to the little dais that held her chair and the frowning Frau Seibold. Contrary to that woman’s insistence that she would take cold, Her Grace’s hand felt quite warm. She was, if anything, a little flushed. Jane suspected the duchess enjoyed being the center of attention.

“Here are people for you to meet.” The duchess switched to English and plowed through the formal phrases with more determination than accuracy. “Mrs. Corwin Rathe, Mr. Darius Marlowe, Lady Jane DeWitte. Lady Jane, Mrs. Rathe and Mr. Marlowe. They say they are friends of Sir Thomas.”

“Do they?” Jane fixed on her most polite smile. “I’m very glad to know you.”

Mrs. Corwin Rathe was dark-haired, with a well-rounded figure. Her face had moved from a girl’s prettiness to a woman’s beauty. The bronze dress she wore spoke of taste and restraint.

Restraint also described the gentleman at her side. Mr. Darius Marlowe was a big man, at least a match for Captain Conroy in height, and far surpassing him for the solid breadth of chest and shoulders. Dark gold hair and sideburns lent him a leonine appearance that was reinforced by the fierceness in his steel blue eyes. This man did not want to be here, did not like what he saw, and feared somehow for Mrs. Rathe. He was practically hovering over her, as if he might have to snatch her away from some grasping claws at any moment.

But then again, given the company, he just might.

Mrs. Rathe extended her immaculately gloved hand. “Very nice to meet you at last, Lady Jane.”

They touched hands politely. Jane felt something brush against her mind like moth wings; fleeting and delicate, but unmistakable. A ripple of uneasiness ran through her.

“How long have you known Sir Thomas?” inquired Jane, moving a few steps away from the duchess so as not to block Her Grace’s view or access to her by her other guests. Circulation was key to a successful gathering.

“Only since he came to town,” said Mrs. Rathe. “Has he told you if he intends to stay long this time?”

“I do not believe his plans are yet fixed. He is, as I’m sure you know, a man who travels much for his business.”

“I’d been under the impression his business was going to keep him closer to London for a while.” Mrs. Rathe turned to her escort. “Wasn’t that your understanding, Mr. Marlowe?”

“Indeed. Interesting fellow, Lynne.” Mr. Marlowe was trying to sound bored and trivial, but he failed. He was entirely on edge. His gaze roved the gathering, constantly searching for something or someone. “Likes to play the pirate a bit, and keeps his business close to his vest, of course.” He shrugged, stiff and one-shouldered, as if he’d been prompted to the gesture. “But that’s a traveling man for you.”

“A positive mystery,” said Mrs. Rathe. “You must come to visit, Lady Jane. We can have a good gossip about Sir Thomas.”

“That would of course be delightful. But you understand my obligations keep me close to home these days.” Jane cast a discreet glance toward the duchess.

“Oh, how silly of me,” Mrs. Rathe touched her fingertips to her mouth to cover her mistake. “But still, if you ever do find you want to talk to someone about Sir Thomas, you can always find me at home in Broadham Street. And promise me you’ll look for an invitation from number sixty-eight, won’t you?”

“Of course,” Jane murmured. The woman smiled merrily, almost vapidly, and Jane felt another ripple of disquiet. She had plenty of experience in reading what lay beneath the surface, and this woman was no more foolish than her companion was bored. Mrs. Rathe wanted to be very sure Jane knew where she could be found.

In the weeks since she had met him, the only other person who had even heard the name Thomas Lynne was Mrs. Beauchamp. Now here were these two, claiming to know him well enough that he had spoken of his acquaintance with Jane. That felt wrong. The one thing she knew for certain about Thomas was that he could keep a secret. And she qualified as a secret, because he knew her reputation depended on his silence. He would not name her in casual conversation with strangers.

So, who were these two? And what did they know about Thomas?

Or what do they want to know?

 

 

A
t last, the drawing room sauntered to a close. Jane looked on with undisguised relief as Simmons closed the door behind the last lingering guest. He turned toward her, saw her expression and risked an eye roll before donning his footman’s impassive mask again and pacing away.

Frau Seibold had taken the duchess away a full hour ago. Her Grace had not gone readily, but it was plain that this time her attendant was not taking no for an answer. Jane reported to her rooms at once, of course, but to her relief, Her Grace was sound asleep, leaving Jane at liberty to hunt down Captain Conroy.

It was probably ironic that Captain Conroy was the first person in the household she would inform of her intentions.

When she had last seen the captain, he had been supporting the Duke of Kent to a chair. All three of the royal brothers had managed to cap the festivities by becoming roaring drunk and joining in wobbling harmony with the Duke of Clarence as he bellowed out a sea shanty in a voice that could have been heard all the way to Westminster. The spectacle had done nothing to make Jane regret her choice to leave.

Conroy could be anywhere in the house, but Jane decided to begin with his study. When she reached the door, she heard movement inside. She paused to listen. Inside, papers rustled and drawers scraped open and shut. She thought of the papers she now carried tucked in her sash along with Thomas’s ribbon, and wondered if Tilly was making similar noises in her room upstairs.

Jane knocked at the door. The noises paused.

“Who’s there?” snapped Conroy from the other side.

“Jane DeWitte,” she answered. “I hoped to speak with you, Captain.”

Another pause. Then there came a muffled muttering that might have been a curse, and the sound of footsteps, and the snap of a latch. Jane stepped back before the door flew open. Conroy stood in the threshold, blocking her entrance. Jane could just see past him to the sea of paper covering his broad desk.

“What?” Conroy demanded.

Jane let her brows rise, just a little. “Is something the matter, Captain?”

He glanced behind him, and realized she could see in. He eased the door closed a fraction of an inch. “A misplaced paper. Nothing important.”

“I’m sorry. Perhaps I should come back later.”

“No, no,” he replied quickly, and Jane was treated to the sight of Captain Conroy attempting to pull himself together. “What is it, Lady Jane?”

She glanced up and down the corridor. “It’s not something to speak of in the hallway.”

He did not want to let her in. He heartily wished her gone and was sorry he’d agreed to continue the conversation. It was strange to be able to read this controlled and controlling man so easily. Jane had not been able to thoroughly look over his lists yet, but she was willing to wager that if she did, there were some very interesting discoveries to be made.

Reluctantly, Conroy stepped back. Jane kept her face carefully composed as she walked into the study. The desk was not the only place disaster had struck. The doors on the barrister’s bookcase hung open. The ledgers tilted crazily against each other. Some had fallen onto the floor and their pages rippled in the breeze stirred up by her movement.

Conroy shut the door. He snapped the latch back in place. The sound lifted the hairs on the back of Jane’s neck.

“Now, Lady Jane.” Conroy folded his arms. “What is it you have to say?”

“I wanted to inform you I mean to give Tilly her notice.”

It took Conroy a good long moment before he could manage to reply with sufficient insouciance. “Why would you inform me of this?”

“I was wondering about the economy of it. I would like to hire a new maid, of course, but perhaps I could take up one of the girls on staff. It would be a savings.”

“Can I ask what Tilly has done?”

Jane tilted her head toward him. “Do you need to ask, Captain?”

His jaw worked itself back and forth.
There,
thought Jane.
Now we both know.

“I think there may be some other changes to the staff as well. The footman, Addison, for instance. And the page, Lewis. They are not giving satisfaction. Her Grace is in agreement with me.” This last was not true yet, of course, but it didn’t need to be. It was enough she’d spoken those names from his missing accounts.

“I see I will have to be sure I am more careful in the future,” said Conroy with studied blandness. “Your standards are very high.”

“Oh, you do not have much to worry about, Captain. I have no intention of making any great changes. Especially as I plan to leave the duchess’s service immediately after the birth.”

“You’re leaving?” Conroy said the words like he could not understand them. Well, he might not. Conroy was a man thoroughly of this world within the walls.

“Yes,” she said. “I find court life does not agree with me after all.”

Jane watched Conroy’s brow twitch and smooth as this remarkable statement repeated itself in his mind.

“Public life can be quite fatiguing for those who do not have a robust constitution,” he said finally.