To Love a Lord (36 page)

Alone, with a crowd of nobles likely too fearful to approach the austere lord, he sipped from a crystal champagne flute and eyed those in attendance with a kind of boredom from above the rim. Jane came to a stop before him. He flicked a cool gaze up and down her person.

She smoothed her palms along the front of her skirts. Of course, there was all manner of dictates on the rules of etiquette in terms of introductions. Yet this man was her father. Surely because of that, a different set of rules applied?

He broke the impasse. “May I help you?” Icy derision coated his question.

A shiver snaked down her spine and her impetuousness in coming here set off the first stirrings of uncertainty. Only, he was the one who’d wronged her through the years. She was, as Gabriel and Primly and Chloe had reminded her, worthy of being here. “I—” Jane angled her chin up. “My name is Jane Mun—Edgerton,” she amended. “I am the Marchioness of Waverly.”

He flicked an imaginary piece of lint from his sapphire coat sleeve. “I know who you are,” he drawled in thick, bored tones.

She wrinkled her nose. The duke likely heard the scandalous tale of her hasty wedding. “No,” she tried again. “I am…” She dropped her voice and spoke in hushed tones for his ears alone. “I am your daughter.” The duke gave no outward reaction that he’d heard or cared about her admission. Coldness spread throughout her frame and she resisted the urge to fold her arms and rub warmth back into them.

“As I said, I know who you are.”

Jane rocked back on her heels. This was the man her mother had loved? This unfeeling, remote being is who her mother had died of a broken heart for? She eyed him a moment and expected more of the burning vitriol she’d carried all these years. Where was the consuming hatred? The scathing words she’d wanted to level upon his head? It was gone. Instead, in its place was a freedom—a freedom from her past. She didn’t need his recognition or his love. And there was something freeing in that revelation. A tremulous smile turned her lips. “I have hated you for so long.” He stiffened at her words. “You are no father. Not in the ways that matter,” she said more to herself. Jane squared her shoulders. “But you settled funds upon me that sustained me and gave me purpose. For that, I thank you.”

He peered down the length of his hawkish nose at her. “Funds?”

The first stirrings of alarm set bells rang within her ears. “The three thousand pounds upon my birthday. This year.”

His brow furrowed in deeper confusion and the bells chimed all the louder. “I didn’t settle funds upon you. I told Waverly I’d not see a pound go to any bastard claiming to be my child.”

The floor fell out from under Jane’s feet and her world tilted.

With his words blaring in her ears, Jane spun on her heel and rushed from the hall.

She skirted the edge of the floor and weaved between couples and when she’d put the ballroom behind her, and with only her father’s words for miserable company, she raced down the corridors. Her heart thundered in her breast and threatened to beat outside her chest. Lies. All of it. Lies. There had been no funds. She ran all the faster. Her breath came in harsh spurts that filled her ears.

Why would Gabriel do this? Why…? On a sob, she shoved open a door, stumbled into a dimly lit room, and then quickly closed the door behind her. Jane leaned against the wood panel and closed her eyes. A tear slid down her cheek, followed by another and another. There had never been any funds. No three thousand pounds with which to shape a life for herself. He had known as much and yet he’d come to her, with the promise of those funds, given up his freedom and the vow he’d taken to never wed—all for her.

“Wh-why would you d-do that, you silly man?” she rasped. Not of love. But of some misbegotten sense of guilt; a need to take care of others while never caring for himself—even her, a stranger who’d lied to him. And she’d taken the greatest something of all—his name. Then, it appeared they both had based their entire relationship on deception. Jane covered her face with her hands and tried to suck in breaths, but they caught as broken sobs until she had nothing left to cry.

She scrubbed her hands over her cheeks to drive back the remnants of useless tears and absently wandered about the empty library, replaying every moment since she’d tumbled from the alcove at the London Opera House. Gabriel’s offer, their wedding, the terms of their marriage. All of it. Jane stared down into the cold, empty grate of the fireplace. She preferred a world in which she’d perceived him as the pompous and arrogant nobleman. Those sentiments fit neatly into the views and beliefs she’d developed all these years about noblemen. Those powerful nobles weren’t supposed to care about anyone except themselves. But Gabriel did and that truth now shook the foundation she’d constructed all her beliefs, goals, and hopes upon.

With his sacrifice, he’d done something not her mother, nor her father, nor anyone else had ever done—he’d put her security and happiness first. She lowered her head to the cool mantel and pressed her eyes closed. All he would get from her was two months service as a companion until Chloe made a match.

How could she face him, a man she loved so deeply now knowing this? No wonder he wanted her gone. She stared absently down at her satin slippered feet.

A shimmery glint captured her notice and she welcomed the momentary diversion from her father, nay the duke’s revelation. Jane dropped to her knees and hesitated. Then, casting a glance about, she picked up the necklace. There was nothing remarkable about the bauble. It did not gleam or shine like the diamonds and rubies donned by the ladies whose employ she’d once been in, and yet… She trailed her fingertips over the intricate heart pendant. There was something majestic in its simplicity. She made to set it on the mantel when a click sounded in the night. Jane started and spun about, her heart thundering hard.

A young woman stepped into the room. Her heart sank to her toes at the familiar plump form of the young lady who’d stood at that receiving line earlier that night.
The Duchess of Crawford.

The woman froze at catching sight of her. With the thick veil of darkness, Jane could not make out a hint of the woman’s thoughts. Whatever they were, they surely would not be kind ones for this interloper, her scandalous guest who’d snuck off and stolen a moment of privacy in her library.

Jane swallowed and was the first to break the silence. She cleared her throat. “Your Grace.” She executed a curtsy Mrs. Belden would have had a difficult time finding fault with. “Forgive me. I—” She closed her mouth. What could she say? That the truth of her father’s disdain coupled with her husband’s great sacrifice had driven her here?

The duchess angled her head and moved deeper into the room. As she came closer, her brown eyes glinted with curiosity and an unexpected warmth from one of her esteemed status. “You?” she prodded. Her Grace’s gaze lingered a moment upon Jane’s cheeks and she gave thanks for the cover of darkness that, at the very least, hopefully obscured a hint of her tears.

Jane swallowed a sigh. Of course it would be too much to expect the woman would not want to know what had brought her to the duke’s private libraries. With all the lies she’d already crafted, she at last offered this woman truth. “I desired a moment away from,”
the misery of my circumstances,
“the festivities.”

The twinkle in the duchess’ eyes sparkled all the more. “You do not enjoy
ton
events?”

Perhaps the woman didn’t remember who she was. After all, there was a sea of guests in the crowded ballroom. What was one more lady, even if Jane was one of the most gossiped about figures present? Folding her hands together, the cool metal of the pendant pressed hard into the palm of her hand. “It is a lovely ball.” She prayed the other woman didn’t hear that for the weak lie it was.

A sharp bark of laughter escaped the duchess. “Your tone and eyes are unconvincing, Lady Wa?” So, she did remember her.

“Jane,” she hurriedly insisted as heat slapped her cheeks. Then didn’t everyone now know of the scandalous by-blow wed to the marquess. “Forgive me.” Mortification curled her toes in the soles of her slippers. “It was not my intention to offend.”

The duchess gave a wave of a hand. “I assure you, Jane, I would be least offended by your opinion of Society events.”

Those words suggested this woman, just a step below royalty, too, held an aversion to the frivolous pursuits of the
ton
, and gave Jane pause. A gentle smile lined the woman’s lips. “They are rather lonely affairs at times, aren’t they?” She turned her palms up. “I know that better than you might believe.”

Life was a rather lonely affair at all times. With a slight nod, Jane looked down at the tips of her slippers. “Still, I should not be here. It was unpardonable of me to have taken leave to wander your home, Your Grace.”

“Daisy,” she insisted. “Please, Daisy. The whole duchess, Her Grace, business gets very tiring.” The duchess took a step closer and then dropped her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “And I assure you, I’ve wandered a good number of homes in search of my own moment of solitude during tedious Society affairs.”

Jane shook her head frantically. “Oh, no. Your event is not tedious.” Terrifying, yes. Tedious, no.

“And yet, you are here,” the woman admonished contemplatively.

And yet, she was here. Her Grace’s words provided Jane the necessary window with which to make her escape.

Except, the duchess glanced about the room, and her earlier amusement and gentle warmth slipped. Concern flooded her eyes as she skimmed her gaze about the room. What brought the hostess away from her own ball?

As though sensing her question, the Duchess of Crawford looked to Jane. “I lost something.” She captured her lower lip between her teeth and worried the flesh. “It was a gift given me by my husband. It was…” The muscles of her throat worked. “
is
very precious, a treasure worn by others and I’ve gone and lost it.” Ah, so this is what would take the woman away.

The thin chain in Jane’s palms throbbed with warmth and she looked down at her tightly clasped fingers. She unfurled her hand and held the pendant up. “Is this perhaps it, Your Grace?”

The room rang with the woman’s startled gasp. Relief washed over her face as she accepted the delicate necklace. “Thank you so very much,” she said on a reverent whisper. Her gaze caressed the inanimate object with lovingness. “How very odd.” she murmured more to herself. “I’ve heard told the clasp was broken and yet, this evening was the first time I’ve ever been parted with the piece.”

Jane shifted. She’d not known people to look upon even other people with that gentle connectedness. In a rush to fill the awkward silence, she said, “I discovered it by the hearth, Your Grace.” Clearing her throat, she dipped one more curtsy. “If you’ll excuse me. I should return to the ballroom.”

“Wait!” the woman’s soft cry stayed her movements and she turned back, fisting her hands at her side. Of course it was too much to hope the powerful peer would forgive her presence in her library. “You are just married?”

Grief knifed through her. Yes. That was what she was. Married. An obligation. “I was, Your Grace.”

The ghost of a smile danced on the woman’s lips. “Daisy,” the duchess absently corrected her again. She wandered closer to Jane and walked about her in a slow circle, as though taking her in.

Jane stiffened under the unrepentant scrutiny.

Then the woman froze and shifted her attention to the necklace in her hands. She turned it over in her palms, passing it back and forth, repeatedly. “Someone once told me the necklace finds its way to the person who is supposed to possess it.”

Perhaps it was the tumult of her emotions, but she now struggled to follow the woman’s words. She tipped her head. “Your Grace?”

The duchess blinked slowly. “It is meant to go to you.”

Jane searched about in consternation. She wanted to understand the lovely woman. She did. The Duchess of Crawford could have, by all rights, been put out with Jane for her bold commandeering of her room. Yet, she’d not. She spoke with kindness and warmth. “I’m afraid I don’t understand, Your Grace—Daisy,” she corrected at the woman’s pointed glance.

Daisy thrust the metal into her palms and the charge of the hot chain penetrated Jane’s gloves. She gasped at the inexplicable warmth generated by the piece.

The duchess watched her closely. “There is a legend surrounding that necklace. It was given to several friends by an old gypsy woman. She promised the wearer of the pendant would earn the heart of a duke.” There was a wistful quality to her words.

Jane bit the inside of her cheek to keep from saying that she’d long given up on dreams and fairytales. “I do not need the heart of a duke,” she all but spat. “As you see, I am already wedded.”
To a man who does not love me.
“There will be no l—” She let the words go unfinished. The woman gave her a probing stare. Jane held the long, gold chain out. “I thank you for your offer, but you’ve likely heard the details around my marriage to the marquess.” She wagered she’d be hard-pressed to find a single servant, soldier, or member of polite Society who did not know of those circumstances.

Daisy held her palms up and shook her head. “You must.” She pushed her hands forward, forcing the necklace closer to Jane.

Jane gently pushed back. “No, I cannot.” Would not. “That is a…” She paused. “…kind,” Peculiarly odd. “Gesture.”

Then the woman’s chocolate brown eyes went wide, giving her the look of a night owl startled from his perch. “You love your husband.” She spoke with the same shock and awe of a person who’d just been told the world was, indeed, round.

Desperate to be free of this painfully awkward and too intimate discussion with this stranger, Jane cast a glance about. When she looked once more at the duchess, she found her patiently waiting, with a soft, almost sorrowful smile on her lips. Jane curled her fingers tightly about the necklace and welcomed the bite of the pendant into the fabric of her gloves. “I…do.” Those words dragged from her, were a hopeful bid to quell the woman’s probing questions.

She gave her a gentle smile. “I once believed my husband did not love me.”