Shades of Milk and Honey (22 page)

Beth shook her head, so Jane relayed the tale, provoking another smile. Pleased that she had so much more success with Beth than she ever had with her mother’s melancholy, Jane helped her complete her toilet, promising, as Jane’s governess had always promised her, “You will feel better if you wash your face.”

At that, Beth rewarded her with a small laugh, clearly recognizing it as universal advice from her own governess, but she did as Jane suggested.

When Jane left Beth that afternoon, she had a faint hope that this change in mood might last. Taking the volumes of
Gothic tragedies with her, Jane promised to return the next day with books that she hoped would help fill Beth’s mind with more pleasant thoughts than of lost love.

She wished she might find a book that would soothe her own troubled mind as well, but she could think of none that dealt with the matter of secrets and lost loves save for ones which ended in tragedy.

As soon as Jane opened the door, she saw Mr. Dunkirk sitting in a chair opposite it. He started as much as she, and jumped to his feet. Her heart still pounding, Jane placed her finger on her lips and stepped into the hall, pulling the door softly closed behind her.

“How is she?” Mr. Dunkirk’s voice was so low that she needed to step close to hear him.

“She is well.” Jane’s knees trembled from the shock of seeing him.

“I have been replaying our conversation and cannot help but wonder if I heard a ‘but—’ in your denial of Beth’s affections for Mr. Vincent. I must ask: Is there someone that my sister has affection for?”

Jane stared at him, aghast that the very topic which she thought she had so neatly dodged had returned to plague her. “You must understand that my confidence belongs to her in this. Telling you will do more harm than good.”

“So there is someone.”

“Mr. Dunkirk!” Jane bit off the sentence before she could go farther. She swallowed, pushing down her angry retort until she could trust herself to speak. Mr. Vincent’s thoughts on emotion and art did not take into account those feelings that arose from a suppressed secret. Jane turned and began to walk away from Beth’s door; whatever else happened, Beth could not be allowed to think that Jane was in collusion with Mr. Dunkirk, or all the girl’s trust would be lost. “Mr. Dunkirk, I would suggest to you that Beth’s history gives her every reason to keep her interests close to her heart.”

She watched as a dawning awareness took place in Mr. Dunkirk. He squeezed his eyes shut and murmured, “May it please God that she never find out the truth.”

“Please God indeed! How could you have thought that killing the man would set things right?”

His eyes flew open as if she had slapped him. Mr. Dunkirk stopped for a moment in the hall, with his nostrils flaring like a racehorse. His jaw clenched once; then he said, “I was a younger man then, and full of righteous anger for my sister’s honour. Understand that I would not make the same choice today.”

“And yet you badger me for confirmation of your suspicions as if you
would
make the same choice.”

“What would you have me do? Ignore the change in her manner? Should I have rather let her remain wed to Mr. Gaffney?”

Jane nearly stumbled in her shock. “They were wed?”

“I—Yes. They were. He had seen that as the surest way to secure his fortune.” Mr. Dunkirk passed his hand over his face. “You understand why I am so protective of her. She is too trusting and too tender-hearted. You think me too harsh, but what would you have done?”

What indeed? Even now she held to her bosom the knowledge that Beth
did
have a secret engagement. Mr. Dunkirk would be appalled by how much Jane knew and did not tell. And yet, Beth’s engagement could do no harm, for it was to a man for whom her family could have no objection. Surely, surely it would be for the best to remove Mr. Dunkirk’s fears and tell him.

If it were not for her pledge to Beth, and the certain feeling that Beth would never forgive her for such a betrayal, Jane would relay all that had transpired. But she shook her head. “I cannot say. But you should be aware that she is unlikely to engage you in her confidence, for she is frightened of you.”

He started back. “Of me?”

It should not surprize Jane that even with his superior intellect and admiration of taste in a household, that he should not think of things as a woman would. “Of disappointing you.”

“Then the man—”

“Stop. Please, stop. I cannot ask your sister to trust me and then breach that trust by relating all of our conversations.” Jane held up her hand to stop him from questioning her further on what those conversations were. “Mr. Dunkirk, I will go so far as to promise you that if Beth hints at actions that will lead her to harm, I will let you know. I will not let her go down paths that are unsafe. You must trust me that far, at least.”

“I do.”

She saw that he understood her, and her anger softened. She looked down at the books in her hands. “If you want to do your sister some good, then offer her distractions. She is young, and her history gives her much reason for melancholy. Books such as these would make any girl sigh as if her heart were being broken, and Beth is too tender-hearted to resist them.”

She held out the books to Mr. Dunkirk. As he reached for them, their fingers brushed, sending a sudden wave of heat through Jane’s breast. She flushed, and fumbled with the books, dropping two on the floor. Mr. Dunkirk stooped to retrieve them, giving Jane a bare moment to master herself.

When he stood, she was able to apologize gracefully and say, “I will come tomorrow with some books more suited to a cheerful temperament.”

Mr. Dunkirk smiled with such warmth that Jane was forced to look away. It was too easy to imagine more than grateful relief in his expression. She had done nothing to
draw Mr. Dunkirk’s attention to herself other than visiting her friend. That look of approbation in his eyes, which she had so long sought, discomfited her more than gave her satisfaction.

Though it was not without some satisfaction, perhaps, for as she retraced her steps back to Long Parkmead, her mind returned to the conversation which had happened on this very path, and to his momentary indiscretion. Jane repeated his accidental familiarity in her mind, thinking over how she should respond next time, if he happened to slip again. If he said, “Jane,” she could laugh and suggest that since he had used her name twice, perhaps it might be easier to continue its use. No, that would be a good deal too forward. Better if she simply did not acknowledge the intimacy, as it would neither give him permission nor tell him that she resented it.

This marked a rare instance where ambiguity would be much the best thing.

At home, Mrs. Ellsworth descended the stairs as Jane entered the house. “Where have you been all morning? Your father is no help. No help. And Nancy! Oh, I am at a loss for what to do. My dresses are in a complete disarray. You must help me, Jane. No one else is as tidy as you. I must be packed tonight if we are to go with Lady FitzCameron tomorrow morning.”

Jane glanced into the parlour, where Melody sat curled with a book, undoubtedly already packed, but unwilling to assist their mother. With a sigh, Jane followed her mother upstairs. “Perhaps you should delay your trip so that you have more time to prepare.”

“Oh no. It is such an honour to travel with
Lady FitzCameron, such an honour. And to be known in Bath as the acquaintances of a Viscountess—and not merely acquaintances, but traveling companions—will be such the thing.” Mrs. Ellsworth stopped in the doorway of her room. “There. You see. I simply must take these gowns, but Nancy wrinkles them when she tries to put them in my trunk.”

The room seemed a mirror of Beth’s chamber, with dresses strewn about and disorder hanging in the air like glamour. Jane took a breath to gird herself and stepped in to tidy another room. It would do her good to keep busy, though Jane wanted nothing more than for the day to pass so that the morrow might return and she could go back to Robinsford Abbey. She was certain that she had not imagined Mr. Dunkirk’s increasing regard for her, but she could not be certain how much of that was because of her friendship with his sister.

As she assisted her mother, the time passed so slowly that Jane twice picked up the mantel clock to make certain that she could hear it ticking. During the space of the afternoon, Jane packed the trunk three times, and then had to unpack it as her mother changed her mind, yet again, about which of her dresses she must have with her in Bath. Only when Nancy called for dinner was Jane able to convince her mother that the last selection of dresses was the one she should chuse, else she would not be able to travel tomorrow. “Lady FitzCameron plans to leave at dawn, Mama. We do not want to still be packing then. Besides, if you find that you need something else, I am certain that there are modistes of quality in Bath.”

“Oh! Yes. You are quite right, Jane. And I have been needing new dresses, you know. That is why I could not settle on any of these, because none of them suit.”

“Of course, Mama.” Mr. Ellsworth would not be well pleased at the thought of his wife spending money on the high-priced fashions in Bath, but at the moment, Jane was willing to sacrifice some of her inheritance for a bit of peace. She tucked one last ribbon into its spot and followed her mother to dinner.

As Mrs. Ellsworth passed Jane’s room, Melody slipped out the door. She spied Jane and visibly flinched.

A red flush extended from her face to the neckline of her dress, but she managed to affect an easy manner “Oh, Jane. There you are.”

“I was helping Mama pack. Was there something you wanted?”

“No. I mean, yes.” Melody looked at the door. “I—I was wondering if I could borrow one of your bonnets for Bath.”

“Of course.” Jane put her hand on the door, feeling that something was not right. “Which one did you want?”

“The—the one with the cherries. If you can spare it. I do not want to trouble you if you cannot. I am sure I could do quite well without it, only that it seems as if it would . . .” Her voice trailed off as Jane opened the door to her room.

It seemed no different than she had left it, save that Nancy had made the bed. Her bonnets were untouched and her
dresses were in the wardrobe. Her paints were in their place. Mr. Vincent’s book lay on the table by her bedside. Nothing seemed out of place, yet something nagged at her. She tried to pay it no heed as she pulled the cherried bonnet down from its place.

“I am certain you will wear it more fetchingly than ever I have.” Jane handed the bonnet to Melody.

“Thank you, Jane. That is very kind of you.” Melody turned the bonnet in her hands. “We should go down for dinner, I suppose.”

“Yes. We had better.”

Jane let Melody precede her out of the room. As her hand closed on the doorknob, Jane suddenly remembered tucking Mr. Vincent’s book under her mattress with a memory so strong that she had to turn to see it lying on the bedside table to verify that it was out of place. It was possible that Nancy had found it while making the bed, but Jane’s memory offered her yet another picture, this of Melody reading as Jane entered the house. The book in Melody’s hands had been small and leather bound.

Before Jane could stop herself, she said, “And how did you enjoy Mr. Vincent’s book?”

Melody halted on the stair, the bonnet still in her hand. “What do you mean?”

“I left Mr. Vincent’s book under my mattress.”

“No, it was on the—” Melody broke off, seeming to realize what she had implied with her denial. She did not turn around, but the very line of her back and the way her shoulders
drew up around her neck gave every indication of guilt. She started down the stairs again.

Jane hurried after her. “Melody, that book was private. You had no right to read it.”

At that Melody turned, using the foyer as her stage. “Oh, to be sure. Though why you should be ashamed to have such a lover as Mr. Vincent, I can scarcely fathom. What maiden would not crave a wild artist of low birth for her groom?”

“I do not understand you. Be that as it may, it was wrong of you to read something that was in my room, something which you knew that I did not want read.”