The Persuasion of Miss Jane Brody (4 page)

“What are those charities?” He looked attentively at her with his warm brown eyes.

Such an attractive man, despite his politics.
Jane continued her explanation. “An orphanage, a home which takes in unmarried expectant and fallen women, and a mission for young women who come to London from the country alone and are therefore vulnerable to being taken advantage of.”

“How do you fund these charities? Just from donations?”
Still he looked interested!
Jane was used to seeing a glaze of boredom invade potential donors’ faces as she endeavoured to convince them to contribute.

“Oh no. We do rely on donations of course, but we also try to be self-sufficient through taking in work with which to train the young women while they wait for their baby’s births, so they can support themselves afterwards. Then we try to establish them in the community, often together so they can share accommodation costs and work from home doing needlework, laundry and so forth. Any that have an education we try to assist into governess or teaching positions, although that means they need to leave their offspring at the orphanage, which is heart-rendering for them. Several have recently established a day school for infant children in their neighbourhood. They have done quite well. We are very proud of their success and so glad that we were able to help them become self-sufficient.” Jane watched him closely for signs of waning interest but detected none.

“How did you contribute to that?”

Jane was surprised by his question that showed that he was considering what she was saying.

“By arranging and signing the lease on the house they use as the school and their home. A small capital injection is all that is usually needed.”

“Indeed Miss Brody you are doing very good works.” He smiled.

“Well, yes, but there is so much more to be done, so much poverty and distress in the world! If only women had the ability to earn a living in the same way that men do, but instead most employment opportunities are cut off from them. For a middle-class woman to take on work, unless it is as a companion or governess or school-mistress, is to lose her right to be called or treated as a lady. Is that fair or correct?”

“Perhaps not, but that is the way of the world.”

“That is exactly what needs to be changed.” Jane insisted. “And you can help us to do that Lord Dalton.
You
have the influence and power to do something about the inequalities that women face in this world.” “Women are the responsibility of their fathers and brothers.”

“They don’t all have fathers and brothers, and some have fathers and brothers who don’t care for them. Others have fathers and brothers you wouldn’t wish on your worst enemy, they are so violent and abusive. That is why they need equal rights to employment and education.”

“Of course you are right. But we can’t overturn the order of society for this minority of bad cases.”

“But is it a minority or is it the silent majority who clamour for opportunities?”

He dismissed her view. “Either way, it is the responsibility of each woman’s male family members to protect and support them.”

Again Jane was reminded that Lord Dalton was an honourable but somewhat naïve man, believing that his sense of duty to women was replicated in all men. “Surely you can see that it just doesn’t happen that way for very many women. Can’t you use your position in society to support our cause to improve the quality of women’s lives through asserting their equality to men?”

“At present, I can’t see how I can assist you Miss Brody. Much as I might wish to help you and your causes, I cannot fly in the face of the order of society. That is not my role in this country. It is to maintain stability, prosperity and opportunities for men to support their families.”

Jane searched his face for a flicker of wavering from his implacable stance. Seeing none, she swallowed her disappointment and glanced away, looking for her sister.

“Come,” he said.

She glanced back at him and saw that his expression was one of warm sympathy for disappointing her. “Come,” he said again, taking her hand in his, “let us not be at odds about this when we get on so well otherwise”. He kissed her hand and drew it through his arm, smiling warmly into her eyes, before turning them both towards their sisters’ table. “The dancing is commencing again. I cannot partner you again this evening but I suspect that Dr Logan will be more than happy to do so, if you have no objection?”

She fought a strong desire to sob with frustration and regret because they could not agree, and momentarily clutched his arm as they approached the other table.

Dance partners changed and the group broke up, with Lord Dalton leading a startled Anna onto the floor for a country dance while Dr Logan escorted Jane. Mrs Courtice and Lady Elizabeth strolled off together in conversation.

After another hour or more of dancing, Lord Dalton gathered his party together for their departure. Seeing Dr Logan talking with his sister, he offered him a ride home, which the doctor accepted with thanks.

They hurried into the chilly night to the carriage when it arrived and Lord Dalton assisted the women to enter, giving instructions to the driver before following Dr Logan into the warmer interior.

With an extra person in the confined space, Jane felt the proximity of Lord Dalton even more than on the earlier journey. Seated between her friend and sister, the legs of both men crowded the three women. However, Elizabeth seemed unconcerned by Dr Logan and talked animatedly with him about the ball and their mission work. In contrast, Jane could feel herself blush warmer every time a bump on the cobbled stone road rocked Lord Dalton’s legs and feet against hers. She had difficulty following the conversation going on beside her, to which Dalton occasionally contributed; and peered through the gloom of the interior trying to read her companion’s thoughts and feelings.

A streetlight flared into the carriage as it stopped to let off Dr Logan, who bid them all a cheery good evening and thanks. By its beam Jane saw that Lord Dalton’s eyes were fixed upon her, keenly watching her face. Her hands clenched in her lap.

Unaware of the tension in the carriage, Elizabeth laughingly started to tell them of Dr Logan’s family which, he had informed her at supper, numbered ten children. He was the eldest, followed by four brothers and five sisters all given Latin names because their father was a Latin scholar and particularly interested in Roman history. The doctor’s name was Marcus Aurelius, while his siblings included Tertius, Septimus, Octimus, Noni and Decimus.

Jane was thankful of the distraction of Elizabeth’s re-telling of Dr Logan’s amusing tale, which relieved the tension between Lord Dalton and herself. The more relaxed feeling lasted until the well-sprung carriage swayed to a gentle full stop outside her home.

Lord Dalton sprang into action, opening the door, leaping out and letting down the steps for Anna and Jane. After assisting Anna, he leant wordlessly into the carriage, offering his hand to Jane. With only a slight hesitation she placed her own in his and balanced herself as she stepped down onto the pavement. Instead of releasing her, Jonathan drew her arm through his as he escorted her to front door, where he rapped loudly on the lion’s head door knocker. He took her hand from his arm and raised it to his lips, pressing a kiss onto her finger tips. Jane gasped in surprise as she felt his soft lips against her skin and tried to pull her hand away. She felt a slight resistance before it was released. Startled by his behaviour, Jane peered up at his face, searching for a clue as to whether he was amusing himself at her expense. Before she could determine his meaning the door opened, breaking their steady gaze at each other. Anna slipped into the house murmuring her thanks to Lord Dalton.

“May I call on you in the morning Miss Brody?” he asked.

“You may, but why?”

“Does a gentleman need a reason to call on you?” She could see his smile spread to his eyes.

“Why no, of course not, but I thought you may have wanted to discuss our women’s rights cause.”

“Ah yes, of course. We may continue that discussion.”

“Is there anything else you would wish to discuss with me, my lord?”

“Perhaps.” He took her hand again and bowed over it. “Sweet dreams Miss Brody.”

Jane watched him stride to his carriage and swiftly step up into it, to his patiently waiting sister. She turned and entered the house through the door still held open by the housekeeper. Jane halted in amazement as she climbed the long staircase to her second floor room – she was looking forward to Lord Dalton’s promised morning visit.

 
Four

Jane woke with a start. Bright light was shafting through the curtains she had carelessly left slightly apart after watching Lord Dalton’s carriage sweep around the corner of Harley Street.

This morning her small writing desk with its neat piles of fresh paper, quills, ink and her cherished nib pen didn’t draw her hasty steps. Instead she lay staring at the muslin bed canopy above, reliving the wonders of the ball. She always enjoyed dancing but it had never filled her with the wonderment of new emotions.
Last night…
As she danced again with Lord Dalton she could feel the fine texture of his coat beneath her fingers, smell his crisp scent, hear his deep mellow voice and see his teasing smile with its accompanying crinkle at the corner of his eyes.

Jane revelled in her nostalgia for a few minutes more before she remembered the looming deadline for her latest pamphlet. She threw back the covers and scrambled out of bed and into her old morning dress.

As Jane wrote about education suitable for girls who were to take up their rightful places as men’s equals, she realised that all this attraction to Lord Dalton was pointless. It couldn’t possibly come to anything. He needed a conventional wife, urgently, to provide him with a hostess and an heir or two and she remembered why she was never going to marry.

Jane relived the last hours of her mother’s life as if it was yesterday rather than eight years ago. She stood in the darkened room that was her mother’s bedchamber. The brocade curtains were pulled closed across the windows in the middle of the day because the sunlight hurt her mother’s eyes. A fresh breeze still forced its way into the room, partially relieving its stuffiness. Jane felt aged with the tiredness of unrelieved care.

She saw herself lift her mother gently to place another pillow beneath her head and shoulders. Jane didn’t trouble her with words requiring an answer, just told her what she was doing. The exertion caused her mother to gasp for breath. Jane waited patiently for her mama to return from her black world of suffering. It took a few moments for the pain to subside and for her eyes to open again.

The doctor had said it was her mother’s heart – made weak by repeated pregnancies and confinements over the last twenty years. There had been a dozen births, but only nine offspring had survived.

Jane’s golden hair was braided but not dressed – evidence of her ceaseless vigilance for an extended time.

“Promise me that you will take care of the children Jane. And your father,” her mother rasped.

“I will Mama,” Jane promised again.

The doctor had been and gone, telling her and her father that this was the end. Three of Jane’s brothers were in the army and navy overseas fighting the French. There was no way to call them home. Her other brother, Francis, was on his way from Oxford where he was studying. Jane hoped he would arrive in time.

Jane heard a knock and moved quickly and quietly to answer the door. She hastily beckoned her three younger sisters and her youngest brother into the room and pulled forward chairs for them to group themselves close around their mother’s bed. The foursome aged from thirteen to four years old, were used to their mother being unwell, but it was obvious that they found it hard to believe that she was nearing her final moments.

Jane urged them to speak to their mama for the last time. “Tell her you love her and will do all you can to make her proud of you as you grow up.”

One by one they knelt at her beside and took her cold hand in theirs and whispered their farewells with love. The youngest, Christopher, threw himself onto his mother’s bed to hug her. Their tears were hard for Jane to bear. Exhaustion made the moment more raw and emotional than she could have predicted.

As each sister dissolved into tears, Jane hugged her hard and kissed her, telling her, “Mama will remember you in heaven. She will be at peace soon.”

As Christopher resumed his seat, another visitor entered the room - their father, Rev. Brody. He was about sixty, gone grey but with kindly eyes and a smile which Jane remembered could light his face. He was not smiling now. He looked gaunt with grief as he hurried to the bedside and grasped his pale wife’s hand, kneeling on the floor as he did so to be as near to her as possible. Immediately overcome by emotion, tears slid down his face.

Jane saw his distress and quickly gathered her siblings and led them from the room to leave their parents in peace for a final farewell. “We will give father time to say goodbye alone.” Jane told them. “We can go back in shortly if you would like.”

She reconsidered when she saw how stunned her sisters looked as she led them outside the room - finally understanding that their beloved mother who had been unwell for so long was actually leaving them for good.

Feeling that it was too upsetting for her siblings to see their mother like this again, Jane shepherded them upstairs to their rooms above, calling for their governess to take them out to the park for a walk in the fresh air. Once Jane had waved them away she returned to her mother’s room. She let herself in quickly. Her father was exactly where she had left him. As she approached, she heard him whisper, “How will I cope without you my love?”

He turned to her and she felt and saw that her mother had passed away. The enormity of her loss had hit her like a weight colliding with her chest. Powerless to stop them, tears began trailing down her cheeks. Her gentle father was prostrate with grief.

She recalled her mother’s frequent smile and cheerful nature. Jane could still see her reading to her brothers and herself when they were children; and chasing them in the garden on a sunny day. It all seemed such a long time ago but the years had not obliterated those happy memories.

She remembered how she had taken control of herself and her wandering thoughts and firmly requested, “Help me with her Papa. There are thing we need to do now.” Slowly, she had roused him from his daze and together they cared for her in death. She remembered thinking,
so much to do from now on
.
From now on I must replace my mother.
She had felt she might suffocate under the burden.

By the time Jane had completed her essay an hour later she had talked to herself sternly and returned to reality as she dusted the document with sand, rolled it up and slid it into her reticule for delivery.
Now to the household tasks of the day.

♥ ♥ ♥

Jonathan knew he was distracted when his valet quickly removed the cut throat blade from his cheek for at least the third time this morning. His frequent movements endangered, if not his life, then at least his looks!

He tried to dispassionately review the previous evening and failed - repeatedly.
Why
, he wondered, was a logical man of education and reason behaving like a school boy with a crush on one of his sister’s spotty friends? What was there about Miss Jane Brody that captured his imagination and his admiration? She was opinionated, argumentative and infuriating. She was beautiful, intelligent, articulate and captivating.
He was in big trouble!
He
needed
a wife who could fulfil a multitude of household tasks and social duties. He
wanted
a wife who supported his political activities and views, as well as one willing to provide him with the necessary heir and preferably other sons. He would
like
a wife who loved him. He suspected Miss Brody would not willingly do any of these things.

Finally, as his valet finished his task, Jonathan impatiently tugged the towel from his shoulders and surged to his feet. He must do something to distract himself. Ordering Jenkins to be quick, Jonathan stood impatiently as his cravat was tied, then struggled into his well-cut coat.

Within minutes he was exiting his house for an early session at the only boxing gymnasium open at this time of year. Arriving when he did, Jonathan had the full attention of the instructor. A half hour of sparring occupied his mind with pugilistic moves, but the problem of Jane Brody still arose from the depths of his subconscious as he dressed.

He strode off down the road in the direction of his club. How to resolve his conundrum – his attraction to a woman who was unsuitable in so many ways, even if he could convince her to marry him? And why was he so instantly attracted to her? Such a thing had never happened to him before.

He barely registered the passing scene, his pace matching the speed of his thoughts. As he reached the entrance to White’s a hand clamped him on the shoulder.

“Good Lord, Dalton, I’ve been hailing you for the last few minutes. Had the devil of a time catching you.” The stocky gentleman looked all John Bull, but quite annoyed.

“So very sorry, Marchmere, I was lost in my own world. No offence intended.” Dalton responded briskly.

“Must have been, to have ignored me so well! Lucky I don’t take offence. What were you thinking of so hard? A bird of paradise, I’ll be bound!” He laughed in too hearty a way.

“Not at all Marchmere,” Dalton replied. His mouth thinned at the assumption and the way it was delivered. “Let’s get in off the street, the doorman is getting tired of standing with the door open for us.”

They entered the club and their arrival was greeted by several other acquaintances, some of them members of the House of Lords. Viscount Travener, blond and dapper, who had briefly joined the ball last night because Mrs Courtice was his aunt by marriage, laughingly announced to the group that Dalton had been paying particular attention to Mary Wollstonecraft’s disciple.

“You mean Miss Brody, I presume?” asked Marchmere.

“Indeed I do. Was only at the charity ball for a short while but long enough to see Dalton waltz the bluestocking out onto the balcony.” Travener smirked knowingly.

“What’s your game Dalton?” asked Marchmere “If its marriage, she won’t have you. Must be seduction on your mind then?”

“I hardly think a dance with Miss Brody constitutes either a marriage proposal or a seduction,” said Dalton. He brought out his gold pocket watch in a show of nonchalance and through gritted teeth said, “and I merely escorted her to some fresh air.”

“Not how it looked,” responded the Viscount blithely.

“Have it how you wish,” was Dalton’s bland answer hoping the topic would die from lack of fuel. He pocketed his watch.

Marchmere however looked keenly interested and his next comment showed Jonathan that his political savvy was engaged. “Would be a good thing if a man like you could derail her you know. Nothing better to sink her cause than her getting engaged in a scandalous affair.”

“I doubt she would be interested in that,” said Jonathan still hopeful that he could end the subject.

“Give it a try anyway,” said Marchmere. “Never know how lucky you might be. If you don’t want to be saddled with her as a mistress – attractive little thing that she is – just seduce her or compromise her publicly. All the same result. She and her bluestocking friends will be discredited by the scandal. No-one would take any notice of her pamphlets then! She would be seen as another immoral woman, just like Wollstonecraft.” Marchmere glared at Jonathan, daring him to challenge his idea.

The thought of such calculated seduction and entrapment made Jonathan’s fist itch to black Marchmere’s eye and wipe the smirk off his face. Viscount Travener looked uncomfortable and turning from them hailed a passing acquaintance and stepped away to speak with him.

Jonathan drew a calming breath. “I won’t be seducing Miss Brody, Marchmere. I’m not a seducer of innocent young ladies.”

“How do you know that you’re the first, hmm? Well, keep it in mind Dalton. You would be doing us all a favour in the House if you could keep her distracted and not publishing inflammatory leaflets, firing up women when we have so much trouble with the lower classes. You have a political career to pursue. High office requires some sacrifices to the cause.” Marchmere laughed.

Jonathan still seethed with anger but knew not to respond and create a scene, nor a dangerous enemy. He nodded instead. “Good day to you Marchmere. I see a friend beckoning me.” He walked quickly away to the farthest end of the reading room where he saw a stranger reading
The Times
in solitude.

Nodding to the man, he seated himself nearby and took up a newspaper left on a table. Without a word he opened the broadsheet and closed himself off from his surroundings. He tried scanning the page in front of him but failed to understand a word.

What would happen if he did seduce Miss Brody?
She would undoubtedly lose all credibility if it was discovered or even suspected. If he convinced her to marry him then she wouldn’t be ruined by salacious gossip - but she might lose some of her followers who felt she had abandoned their belief in independent lives for women. Either way, she would lose, but maybe she would be willing to accept his proposal at some future date – if he could successfully court her.

He turned a page of the newspaper, but continued to stare blindly at the broadsheet. The thought of following Marchmere’s advice and intentionally ruining Jane Brody appalled him. No woman deserved that, merely because of their political beliefs. Granted, it would do his political career no harm to dally with her or undermine her appearance of virtue and reason. What would he gain really except her contempt, if he didn’t already have that? It still bemused him that he was so attracted to someone so obviously unsuitable to his role as a peer of the realm and politician.