The Summer of You (30 page)

“Not much difference today,” Jason surmised.

“Not from their perspective—except we are all better dressed. But I find it very different.” Jane smiled at her brother.

Jason regarded his sister and then said, “Yes, I suppose I see your point. Ah, Sir Wilton! Lady Wilton, lovely to see you!”

“And Mr. and Mrs. Brandon,” Jane smiled at the newly arrived party.

“Lovely to see you again,” Penelope said to Jane, and then turned to Jason. “My lord, my dear Brandon and I did not know if we would be able to come but were so happy to receive your note.”

“Note?” Jane asked. Sir and Lady Wilton were turned to speak with Mr. and Mrs. Cutler behind them, allowing Jane to insert herself into the conversation.

“Yes,” Mr. Brandon spoke up, “he said how pleasant it was to see that his old friend had grown up into such a wonderful wife and mother and specifically asked us to join you for the ball.”

“Brandon had returned to fetch me and the girls back to Manchester a few days ago but decided to stay,” Penelope finished, as she and Mr. Brandon executed formal bows and moved into the ballroom arm in arm. Jane shot her brother a look of utter surprise, but Jason simply kept his gaze firmly ahead and shook hands with Sir Wilton.

“Marvelous party, my lord, marvelous day!” Sir Wilton pumped Jason’s hand vigorously.

“Wonderful to see you, too, sir,” Jason responded.

“You seem to be in excellent spirits,” Jane commented, smiling at Sir Wilton.

“And he has cause!” Mr. Cutler spoke up.

“Now, now, Cutler, we shouldn’t spread any stories just yet,” Sir Wilton said with a modesty no one believed.

“You cannot keep secrets,” Jane admonished, drawing him out. “Not in Reston.”

“Oh, go on, dear,” Lady Wilton said, “after all, you knew all along.”

“Well, my lord, Lady Jane”—Sir Wilton beamed—“you no longer have to be afraid of any assault on our roads; the highwayman has been captured!”

Jane’s eyes widened. Could it be true?

“Hearty congratulations are in order then!” Jason replied. “How did you manage it?”

“No manage about it—the man finally slipped up,” Mr. Cutler provided.

“Yes, attacked a carriage on the road into Windermere in the wee hours of last night. Just a messenger coach, but the lad recognized his cloak and cane and identified him this afternoon! We took him to the town jail then and there!” Sir Wilton finished with no small amount of puffed-up pride.

Jane’s smile froze on her face. “I’m sorry, Sir Wilton, did you say cane?”

“Yes, of course.” Sir Wilton’s own smile faltered a bit. “For all his protestations of innocence, and the good turn he did my little Joshua, I’m afraid the slippery Mr. Worth’s greed got to him in the end.”

Oh God. Oh no, it was impossible.

“Sir Wilton, I’m afraid you must be mistaken,” Jane protested, as Jason, no longer smiling as well, put a hand on her arm. But she would not be deterred and attempted to pull Sir Wilton to the side.

“No mistake about it,” Mr. Cutler interjected. “We took the messenger over to the widow Lowe’s house this afternoon; he identified Mr. Worth as the culprit, as was proper.”

“But surely, Mr. Worth did not stand for it . . . after all, he had dinner here with us last night!”

“Jane, come back,” Jason whispered in her ear, “we’ll talk about this in the library.”

But Jane was beyond thought at that point, and Sir Wilton was ignorant of her frenzy.

“Attack occurred at one in the morning. Lad had no alibi, said he was asleep in bed by midnight,” Sir Wilton replied.

“He was!” Jane replied.

Lady Wilton had moved aside with Mrs. Cutler, but they, and the Duke and Nurse Nancy, and everyone else within the vicinity was listening intently.

“Forgive me, my lady, but you cannot possibly know that for certain.”

Jane didn’t stop, didn’t think, just said what she knew to be the truth.

“Yes I can . . . because I was with him.”

NEEDLESS to say, the ball ended rather abruptly at that point. Rumors spread like wildfire that the Duke’s daughter had consorted with and provided the alibi for the notorious highwayman, and while people danced and drank and ate the food provided, Jane was immediately taken into the library and shut in there, with strict orders to not emerge until Jason came for her. Her father joined her shortly thereafter, Nancy keen to keep him out of the fracas that was about to inevitably ensue.

Jason gave orders to the whole of the household staff to cease serving food and wine, and instead to usher the guests out to their vehicles. Charles and Nevill, once apprised of the situation by a grim-faced Jason, fell in line and made it their work to root out the more-curious-than-intelligent hangers-on and escort them out. The music was brought to a stop, the silver and summer night taken away. And in the space of a half hour, the work of ten days, four fervent minds, and innumerable staff was trampled under a ruthless heel.

Victoria rode home with Lady Wilton, Penelope, and Brandon in complete silence—Sir Wilton had to stay to question Lady Jane more thoroughly. Well, Victoria, Penelope, and Brandon were silent; her mother kept muttering to herself in the most dramatic and appalled fashion she could muster.

“Scandalous!” she would say, as the carriage rocked along. Victoria kept her eyes firmly out the window.

“Utterly wild, that girl!” She then sighed. “And with him!”

And then . . . “We should have known she would turn out bad—running around the square naked as a child!”

“Mama,” Penelope once breathed, but a squeeze of the hand from her husband told her not to engage. He was right, Victoria knew. They would be home soon enough.

And they were. But Lady Wilton’s conversation did not die with the opening of the carriage door. No, it simply found room to breathe.

“And it cannot be hidden,” she said as she stepped into the darkened house, the boys and little girls long since put to bed. “Absolutely everyone knows. She’ll never be able to show her face anywhere again.”

“She could marry him, Mama,” Victoria said, finally unable to keep her countenance.

“Marry him? The Duke’s daughter? No, I think not,” Lady Wilton cried. “And he’ll be run out of town, highwayman or no, I promise you that.”

“But why?” Victoria asked, aghast. She could feel the hot pink of anger flush across her cheeks and saw out of the corner of her eye Penelope and Brandon discreetly step upstairs.

“Victoria, how can you ask me that?” Lady Wilton replied. She shook her head and tutted. “This is all my fault for allowing you to ingratiate yourself with that . . . wanton child. You feel far too much sympathy for her situation. Even though it was one of her own making.”

“Mother, not six hours ago, you told me you were proud of our friendship!” she argued.

“And that was before we knew the extent of her true character! These London people—the Duke’s family always thought themselves higher than everyone else, but why should they be allowed to operate without scrutiny? And while I had thought that Jane in particular had outgrown her debauched wildness, but when fostered, it’s fostered deep. Why else would she consort with such a man with impunity?”

Lady Wilton was yelling by the end of the speech, causing lights to be struck in the upper levels of the house, but she did not seem to care. In fact, if no one on the entire street slept tonight, it would be considered due course.

Victoria thought back over the course of the evening, how she had been so blindly trying to look for any sign of affection from Jason, living and dying with every spoken word, and without success. But then she happened upon the end of Jane’s conversation. The most important conversation of Jane’s life, most likely, and how she had hung her heart in the balance without fear.

Then, she remembered with a moment of unblinking clarity, the occasion two days ago when Victoria had run to the widow Lowe’s house to fetch Jane. She had been frightened, and so blind to it then, but now she could recall the scene perfectly: Jane and Mr. Worth, at opposite ends of the room, but their eyes locked, everything in the whole world laid out between them.

“You consider Mr. Worth low?” Victoria replied slowly. “A man who saved your son from drowning?”

Lady Wilton sighed. “It doesn’t make him the same as . . .”

“As what?” Victoria asked. “As Lady Jane? As us?”

Lady Wilton approached her daughter with fury, grabbed her by the chin, pinching hard.

“You stop your snippiness now, young lady. This is how the world works. Something you are now old enough to understand.”

Victoria pulled away from her mother, out of her reach. Then, straightening her shoulders, she took determined steps to the stairs. But not before turning and saying, “You ask how she could consort with him. The answer is simple, Mama.” She paused, her hand on the banister. “It’s because of how he looks at her.”

And with that, Victoria flounced up to her room, locked the door . . . and began to pack a bag.

It would be an hour before Lady Wilton felt well enough to send for the doctor, to get something to calm her nerves. Sir Wilton had arrived home by then, in need of some nervous reduction himself. When Lady Wilton tearfully imparted to Dr. Berridge the verbal fight she’d had with her youngest daughter, it was the chagrined physician (conscious of his own bad behavior toward Victoria that evening) who thought it might be best to check on her.

And it was he who discovered she was gone.

The muffled sounds of guests being escorted out of the house fell on deaf ears, as Jane was very much wrapped in her own mind. The shock of her announcement was followed by a surprising calm, as if all shame and fear and repercussion were softened by the fact that the truth was known, and now they could move on from it.

Of course, the longer she waited in here for Jason’s return, the more the calm dissipated. She paced by the desk, saw the numerous account books there, the dust cleaned off them for once, the work being done. Then she settled into one of the velvet chairs by the library fire, next to her father. Nancy had bustled out to find tea, something soothing, she murmured, patting Jane’s hand as she left.

Jane could not help but fear what her father thought of her. He must be disappointed. Somewhere, inside his lost mind, he was disappointed in her. She could see it in the set of his jaw, in the way his eyes refused to stray from the fire.

“Your brother is very angry with you,” the Duke finally said.

“Yes,” Jane replied softly.

“He has reason, I assume. He’s never that angry without cause. A little angry yes, but . . .” He paused and came to look Jane dead in the eye. “You should listen to him. He only wants the best for you,” her father added. Then his eyes returned slowly to the fire.

“I cannot . . .” he said, then cleared his throat and started again. “I’m sorry,” he finally said.

“Whatever for?” Jane asked.

“I never thought this would happen to me,” he said sadly.

Jane looked up and saw before her the father that she loved, but not the one that she had known her whole life. He hadn’t the strength of mind anymore to be the authority. He was passing it on to the next, while he still could.

She never thought this would happen, either.

“Listen to your brother,” he repeated, this time reaching out and patting her hand comfortingly. Then his mind shifted. “Do you know,” he said, smiling, “I played an excellent game of chess yesterday. Against a very fine opponent.”

But before Jane could respond, the door opened, admitting Jason, with Nancy at his heels. A nod from Jason had Nancy turning to her patient and kindly escorting him from the library. But not before the old man placed a peck on his daughter’s cheek.

Then Jason and Jane were alone.

Jane remained in her seat, her hands folded in her lap, while Jason remained still at the door, in silence for some few moments.

“Do you know what Father said to me when I came to him at nineteen and told him I wanted to marry Penelope Wilton?” he began softly.

Jane looked up, shook her head.

“He said that I was bigger than this place. And he would not let me tie myself to it until I had seen the world.” He paused, lost in the memory. “We left for London the next day.”

They held silent again for some time.

“Take it back,” Jason said finally.

“No.”

“Sir Wilton is still here; you can tell him that you were simply too overwrought, wanting to provide an alibi for . . . a friend from London.”

“No, Jason.”

“How could you, Jane?” Jason finally yelled, coming away from the door. “How could you do something so foolish?”

“What was foolish—the act or the telling of it?” Jane asked pertly.

“Do not start with me on this,” Jason said warningly. Then, hand to his head, he began to pace. “I should have sent you away. When I knew you were . . . too friendly with him. But I thought it would be too difficult for Father, too many people would question it. And I thought you could be controlled.”

“Controlled?” Jane replied, offended.

“Kept occupied,” Jason equivocated.

“Oh, thank you, that’s so much more flattering.” Jane cocked her head to one side. “You mean with the ball? You thought to keep me occupied and off-kilter planning the ball?”

“Yes, and I’ll blame Charles and Nevill for their interference later. But Jane, you have to recant. You have to!”

“The damage is done, Jase.” She shook her head. “Even if I did recant, no one in the village would believe me. And besides, Byrne is not the highwayman! He deserves to be set free!”

“He deserves to have his balls cut off.”

“Jason!” she cried, admonishing.

“He’ll be set free; I’ll see to it,” he promised. “But you’re never going to see him again.”

“That’s not up to you,” she said softly.

“Yes it is. Don’t you realize that I understand?” he came and sat before her, “Jane, I’ve been you. It’s this place. It’s the summer heat. It’s this strange insular little world that makes you forget that life exists elsewhere.”

“It’s not the same,” she replied, shaking her head. “Byrne and I are not you and Penelope. I won’t forget him like she forgot you.”

Jason stood again, paced.

“It’s more than a summer romance. He’s more. He’s been my strength ever since we arrived. Do you know what I thought the first time I saw Byrne?” she could not help but grow a bit wistful, a bit misty-eyed at the now-important memory. “I was at the Hampshire Racing Party, and I was sent to fetch Byrne by his brother, and when I found him—he was so sad, and trying so hard to hide it. It was like looking in a mirror for me. I don’t think you ever understood how hard this past year has been.”

“It’s been hard for me, too,” Jason defended. “You think I don’t miss Mother?”

“You do?” Jane asked.

“Every day.” Jason paused, cleared his throat conspicuously. “And what do you think she would say about your behavior?”

And now the tears did begin to fall. Because Jane knew what their mother would think. She would be scared and ashamed and angry. And Jane felt every one of those emotions course through her at once.

“Your trunks are being packed as we speak,” Jason said, as she cried quietly into her handkerchief. “Your maid will await you in the carriage. It will take you to London, and then from there . . . Italy? I think you would like Italy.”

“Jason, please don’t send me away.” She breathed gulps of air.

“You’ll have to say good-bye to Father—try not to upset him too much,” Jason continued, distracted. “You cannot stay, Jane. You yourself said, no one in Reston will believe you.”

“But, don’t you remember?” she asked, her voice barely audible above the tears. “It’s you and me. We’re in this together.”

He looked as if he would say something then, something of importance, and maybe reach out and embrace her. But he held himself back and simply said, “I’m sorry,” before he walked out the door.

It was another hour before Jane was ready to leave. Her maid had packed her trunks, she had said good-bye to her father, which she feared he interpreted as little more than a good night, and in the morning would wake with renewed confusion. She refused to leave, however, until she knew that Jason had gone and had Byrne released from the little cellar behind Mr. Davies’s shop that served as the village’s jail. When Jason returned, she climbed into her carriage dry-eyed. She did not embrace her brother. The last hour had wiped her of sympathy. She was cold and bereft. The world outside of Reston seemed bleak, but it was where she was being sent, alone.

But not as alone as she might think.

After little more than a mile rumbling down the road, Jane turned to her maid, who had kept her hood up against the chill.

“I can never sleep in a carriage, Mary, but I might try for a while. It’s been a harrowing day,” Jane said, settling into the cushions.

“Mary has a sweetheart in Reston.” The light, sweet voice of Victoria had Jane’s eyes opening wide. “She was rather reluctant to leave him.”

Jason did his duty by Jane and fetched Byrne back from behind Mr. Davies’s shop, much to the grumblings of Sir Wilton. He dutifully bore him home and dutifully deposited him back at the widow Lowe’s house.