Shades of Milk and Honey (25 page)

Though the light shewed that it was somewhat past dawn, she saw no sign of her family’s carriage on the front sweep. Jane made her way up the Long Walk. She tried to believe that the lack of a carriage was because her mother had delayed travel due to health, yet dread slowly filled her with conviction that her mother and sister had already departed.

Her stride quickened as she neared the house and saw no signs of the bustle that must precede a departure. Bursting into the house, Jane hurried for the stairs and nearly collided with Nancy as she came down.

“Lord, miss. You gave me a start. Your ma was looking for you, and here I thought you were still in bed.”

Thank heavens; they had not gone. Jane slowed her headlong rush. “Thank you, Nancy. I will attend her at once.”

Confusion creased the maid’s face. “But she’s been gone this hour or more, miss. She was right put out that you weren’t there to see her off, she was. They tried to wake you before they set out, but Miss Melody told me to let you
sleep. She said you were feeling poorly when you went to bed.”

Jane gripped the banister to keep from falling. Gone, with Melody in the company of Captain Livingston. Oh! What mischief would occur while they were in Bath.

“Are you well, miss?” Nancy seemed only now to see Jane’s disheveled appearance. What a state she must look, from having slept the night in the shrubbery.

“Yes, thank you, Nancy.” Jane must apply at once to her father to bring Melody and their mother back to Long Parkmead. She took her leave of Nancy and descended to the ground floor to seek her father out in his study.

“Papa, may I have a word with you?”

“Eh? Of course, come in, come in. Good heavens! Jane, are you quite well?” Mr. Ellsworth pulled a chair out for her with a haste that alarmed Jane.

“I am troubled, Papa.”

“That I can well see.” He pulled a twig of yew from her hair before settling behind his desk. “What is troubling you, my dear? Your mother was half beside herself with worry when you did not descend to see them off. I assured her that you were in good health, but now I wonder if I was quite right to do so. Am I mistaken that this is the gown you wore yesterday?”

Jane glanced down at the damp and dirty fabric. “It is, sir.”

“And did you spend the night out-of-doors, as it appears?”

“I—I did.” Jane twisted her hands in her lap. “It is because of this that I need to speak with you on a subject of some delicacy.”

“Hm.” A vein pulsed in her father’s forehead, and he rose to his feet, turning around the room. “I must say that I thought better of him than this. And of you, for that matter.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Well, what is a father to think? You were absent for nearly all of dinner, though you sat with us. There was a look in your eye which I have not seen before. I wondered—and you might think that I am too old to notice such things—but I wondered if a certain gentleman would be calling on me soon. I thought I should be delighted if he did, but then to have you appear before me as if you had spent the night out-of-doors, and with a delicate subject to discuss? What would you have me think?”

Jane blushed and stammered. “No, sir. You are mistaken, though I apologize for concerning you thus. I assure you it is not on my account that I come to you.”

“Well then, what troubles you?” He hooked his fingers in his waistcoat and peered down his nose at her.

Now, faced with the prospect of explaining her fears about Melody, Jane felt all the apprehension that came with imparting unhappy news to one’s parent. Her throat tightened against the words that she must say. She wished that she had ordered her thoughts before seeking her father in the study.

“I am worried about Melody,” she said, starting with the
simplest of the facts, knowing that she would have to proceed to overheard conversations and speculation before long.

“Melody?” That checked his pacing. He sat. “She has been somewhat downcast in the past weeks, as have we all, but I had reason to hope that the removal to Bath would do much to restore her spirits. Indeed, I think I have seen a brightening over the past days.”

“It is precisely the removal to Bath which concerns me.” Avoiding her father’s gaze, Jane continued. “Some weeks ago Melody intimated that she had an attachment to a gentleman, which I now know to be Captain Livingston.”

“He has paid her attentions while at the house, but I was not certain. Well, their time in Bath will do nothing but cement the bond.”

Of course, without the conversation that Jane had overheard, Captain Livingston’s behaviour would seem the model of propriety. She sighed and forced herself to continue, hoping that it would not damage her father’s good opinion of her. “I would that I could share your happiness even in that measure. There are two things you must know, and it grieves me to relate them. The first is that Captain Livingston has said that his aunt would not approve of their attachment. The second is that I know him to be engaged to another woman.”

Mr. Ellsworth’s breath came very quick. He looked over her disheveled state once more. “How do you come to have this knowledge?”

“I—I followed Melody last night. I know I ought not
have eavesdropped, but I saw her slip out of the house and realized that she must have scheduled a rendezvous with her beau. I had thought to follow in case anything untoward occurred.”

“Did it not occur to you to awaken me? That I might have been more aptly suited to this task?”

Jane faltered, faced with an inner understanding that her actions had been based on spite and not sisterly regard. She hung her head. “I was angry at her, Papa. I should have woken you, but she had pried into my own affairs—”

“Ah ha! So I was right that there is a gentleman in your heart.” He waved his hand to brush that issue away. “We will not distract ourselves with that. Tell me about your statement that Captain Livingston is already engaged? This brooks a certain amount of disbelief, I must admit, as his behaviour has always been the model of propriety.”

“I cannot tell you any details, as the knowledge was given to me in confidence.” Jane would not betray Beth’s faith in her, at least not to her father, though the very real possibility existed that she would have to tell Mr. Dunkirk, based on her promise to him. “I ask that you accept my word that it is true.”

Rubbing his mouth, Mr. Ellsworth leaned back in his chair and stared at the ceiling. After a moment, he glanced sharply at her. “This, then, is what I propose. I will follow your mother and sister and engage them to return home.”

“They will not want to return.”

“True.” He grunted and resumed his study of the ceiling.
“The most expedient course is to tell your mother that you are ill; she will fret and return home at once. I will not offer Melody the choice of continuing on with the FitzCameron party, though you and I both know she will request it.”

The relief that Jane had hoped would come of telling her father had not arrived. Instead, a sickness turned in her stomach, knowing that Melody’s faith in her would be forever broken. It made her feel an even more conscious betrayer of her sister’s trust than when she had followed her into the night, but despite her anger at Melody, she could not tolerate the thought of letting her sister ruin herself.

Her father saw some of this conflict in her face and said, “You have done right to tell me.”

Jane nodded. Though she knew he was correct, her heart remained unconvinced.

Her father pushed back his chair. “I must be on my way if I am to catch them before Shaftesbury. You would do well to be on your way as well, if you want to be back from Robinsford Abbey before we return.” At the surprize evident in Jane’s features, he said, “I will not press you for confirmation, but I may have my guesses as to the young lady who has taken you into her confidence.” Mr. Ellsworth pressed his hand against Jane’s cheek. “My dear, I do not envy you. This cannot please her family.”

“No, sir. It cannot.”

“Still. Take a moment to mend your toilet.” He shook his head and smiled fondly at her. “You look half a madwoman.”

Mr. Ellsworth went his way, leaving Jane to climb the
stairs to her room. She opened the door and stopped, struck dumb by the glamural covering one corner of the room.

She had forgotten her efforts to exhaust herself the night prior. The wood she had made waved in the breeze, with more vitality than she could have imagined emerging from her hands. The level of detail she had employed was not what made the difference; it was the tension underlying the straight graceful boughs, as if they yearned to uproot themselves and move, giving the whole scene life. Jane laughed.

She had created a glamural of which Mr. Vincent might approve, but in the one place in the house that he could not go. The mirth nearly overwhelmed her, then mixed with sobs and panic and turned into a panting fit that caused Jane to press her hand over her mouth. She shut the door and leaned against it, with her eyes screwed tight.
Oh, Mr. Vincent, how should I transform this terror into art?
Perhaps it could become its opposite in a row of perfectly ordered tulips. Another bubble of laughter almost overwhelmed her, but Jane caught her breath. Whatever Mr. Vincent might think, there was a time to govern one’s emotions, and this was that time. Jane needed all of her rational thought about her.

By the time Jane had made herself presentable enough to call on the Dunkirks, she was somewhat steadier in her sensibilities. She would need some excuse to visit, so she thanked providence that she had promised to bring happier books for Beth. Jane took a quick detour to the family’s small library and picked a handful of books which might suit.

Her hands shook, realizing the greater need that Beth would have for these when Captain Livingston’s treachery was exposed. Jane swallowed the bile rising in her throat, tucked the books under her arm, and set out for Robinsford Abbey.

Had it been only the day before that she had
walked this path with Mr. Dunkirk? She passed the spot where he had begun to relate Beth’s history, and then the place where she had learned of his duel with Mr. Gaffney, and then the oak tree by which he had said her name. There was the path which led to the apple tree where she had discussed the nature of perfection with Mr. Vincent. Had it been there that he had begun to think of her?

Jane shook such fancies from her head. It did not signify that Mr. Dunkirk had called her by name or that Mr. Vincent thought her his muse; what mattered in this moment was that Beth stood to be injured by Captain Livingston.

In short order, Jane was admitted to Robinsford Abbey’s drawing room, there to await the pleasure of the mistress of the house. Unable to sit and pretend that there was no urgency to her call, she paced instead. The glamour that she had shewn Beth how to work on the bookshelf clawed at her senses; stiff and unyielding and yet perfectly executed. Jane wanted to rip the offending work from the ether and redo the whole of it.

Mr. Dunkirk entered in a riding habit. “Miss Ellsworth, what a pleasure. We had not looked for you until later this afternoon.”

“Please forgive the earliness of my call.”

“Not at all.” He looked at the volumes in her hands. “I appreciate your devotion to my sister more than I can tell. Beth will join us shortly; we were set to go for a ride, but she is delighted that you have come.”

Jane glanced at the books which she had forgotten she
was carrying. None of these would provide comfort to Beth once Jane had related the particulars of Captain Livingston’s betrayal. For that Beth would need the support of her brother, and yet, could Jane rely on him to react with a steady mind? But she could not see her way clear to another course. He must be told. “I am afraid, Mr. Dunkirk, that I have brought these books merely as an excuse to call.”

His manner changed at once. “What is the matter?”

“You recall that I promised that I would let you know if Beth was in any way endangered?”

He became quite still.

“I must ask for a similar promise from you; I must ask that you not settle on a course of action without consulting me, for it turns out that the matter affects my family as well.”

“I see.” He gestured to a chair. “Please.”

Though her joints ached with an urge to flee, Jane sat, still clutching the books as if they could shield her with their happy endings. “Will you promise me to consult me?”

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “I do not know if I can, in good conscience. I must guard my sister’s safety to the best of my abilities.”

Jane nodded, biting her lip. She took a breath and continued. “As I must guard my sister’s.”

“Pardon?”

“I have only just learned that the same man courts them both.”

Mr. Dunkirk pushed himself out of his chair and strode
to the window. Even the morning light did nothing to soften the tension in his form as he stood with his back to her. “Will you tell me who this man is?” His voice was so even and so level that Jane felt a chill.

“I ask you to promise me that you will do nothing rash.”

He took in a breath, still staring out the window. “
That
I can promise you. Who is he?”