To Love a Lord (13 page)

Jane tossed her palms up in protest. “My lady—”

“Chloe.”

“Please, I cannot—”

Gabriel’s sister thrust the frame into her hands. “Here.”

Jane gave the piece an awkward wave and then made to hand it back. She wanted nothing more in terms of this family’s generosity. “It is lovely.”

A beaming smile lit Chloe’s face. “It is yours then.” She waved over the shopkeeper. “We shall take the pink fan.”

The older woman took the delicate piece, far lovelier than anything Jane had ever possessed, and rushed to wrap it.

Chloe slipped her arm into Jane’s. “May I speak candidly, Jane?” She didn’t allow her a response. “I’ve known you but two days and yet there are things I know about you.” Jane bit the inside of her cheek hard. For everything Chloe believed she knew about her, she comprehended a good deal less. She guided Jane down the next aisle and then cast a glance about. Jane followed her stare to Gabriel, who strolled at a safe, deliberate distance. “Do you know what I believe?”

Jane’s mouth went dry under the sudden fear that her secret had been discovered and she’d now be publically decried by this woman who’d been only kind before now. She managed to shake her head. “What is that, my lady?”

“Chloe.” She released Jane’s arm and captured both of her hands. “You do not want to be noticed.”

At the unerring accuracy of that admission, Jane stilled as panic threatened to overtake her. Were her efforts at concealment very obvious to everyone?

“I recognize that in you, as someone who also doesn’t want to be noticed.” A somber glint lit Chloe’s expressive eyes. “Do you know what else I’ve realized?”

Jane shook her head once more.

“The best way to escape notice is to blend.” With a quick flick of her hand she motioned to Jane’s skirts and spectacles. “And you, with your dragon skirts and spectacles do not blend.”

Understanding dawned. The young woman’s almost desperate efforts to appropriately attire her. Chloe saw in Jane part of herself—a part she’d protect. Emotion swelled in her throat as the guilt grew. “Thank you,” she whispered.
Thank you, when I do not deserve your kindness. Thank you, when I’d steal my safety from your family.

As they made their way down the row and toward the front of the shop, Jane resolved to repay Gabriel and his sister. When she acquired those precious funds from the duke, she would pay for every last expense.

“Come along, Jane. Now, to the milliner.”

She suppressed a groan. With Chloe’s lavish spending, Jane doubted there would be funds enough left for her school come the end of this two months with the Edgerton family. Such a thing would not have mattered only a handful of days ago. But now she knew them as people. Guilt spiraled through her and settled like a stone in her belly. She would repay them what she could.

Then, she’d learned long ago that trust, devotion, and loyalty meant a good deal more than a fat purse. Her father had showed her that.

As Jane entered the milliner to meet the smiling Chloe, the stone became the size of a boulder.

T
hat evening, instead of seeing to his brotherly responsibilities and obligations, Gabriel gave his sister a reprieve. Nay, he’d given himself a reprieve and proven himself to be the coward he always was. However, this time it was not the towering, hulking frame of his now thankfully dead father he avoided, but a thin slip of a bespectacled woman.

Gabriel sat at his table at White’s, with his back presented to the crowded club. He stared at the bottle of brandy upon the smooth, mahogany surface and, with a quiet curse, grabbed it. The sound of crystal touching crystal was lost in the din of the dandies and lords who also avoided polite
ton
gatherings in favor of the betting books and fine brandy. He took a sip of his drink. For after accompanying Jane to milliners and mantua makers, he’d rushed out of his townhouse and sought out his clubs where he now sat nursing the same half-bottle of brandy he had for the past five hours. He shifted in his seat, his lower back numb from the position he’d set up on the mahogany seat.

“Waverly, what are you doing here, now?” He stiffened at the familiar drawl but remained seated as his only friend, the Earl of Waterson, pulled the chair out and availed himself to a seat. “I believe you have a sister still to wed o—by God what happened to your face, man?”

Yes, he’d earned quite a few curious stares for Jane’s handy work. “A go in the ring with Gentleman Jackson.” The lie came easily.

“Ah,” the earl said, disappointment laced that one word utterance, as though he’d hoped for something more interesting from his friend.

Gabriel motioned to a servant who rushed over. The liveried footman set down a snifter and Waterson took the bottle. He proceeded to pour himself a glass of brandy. “Visiting your clubs? Trips to Gentleman Jackson’s? However will you see your sister wed with such inattentiveness?” His friend chuckled.

Gabriel frowned and then opened his mouth, prepared to tell Waterson just what he thought of his jesting…but then stopped. He drummed his fingertips along the table. Chloe must marry—to a good, honorable gentleman.
Hmm.
He eyed Waterson a moment with renewed interest.

His friend choked on his drink. “Do not look at me in that manner. I’ve already said your sister and I would not suit.”

With a frustrated sigh, Gabriel sat back in his seat. “Yes, you have said as much.” Six times now. Had the rejection come from any other gentleman, he’d have been deuced insulted. Alas, Waterson and he had been friends long enough that the other man was well aware of Chloe and her madcap schemes. He rolled his shoulders. “Even if you would do me a tremendous favor in wedding her.”

Waterson chuckled. “Waverly, if you believe you are going to control the gentleman your sister weds or does not wed, then you’re corked in the head.”

A growl of frustration stuck in his chest.

“You’ve hired a companion.” Interest underscored the other man’s words.

He blinked as, with those four words, thoughts of Chloe’s unwedded state were replaced with the reminder of Jane. “I have.” Gabriel tightened his grip upon his glass. “What do you know of it?”

Waterson took a small sip. “Merely that she’s a pinch-faced, frowning young widow your sister is being forced to drag about town.”

Pinch-faced? Gabriel scowled. Is that how the cruelly condescending lords and ladies saw Jane? Then, isn’t that how he himself had? But that had been before her awe-struck appreciation of the mural, and their kiss, and… “What matter is it to the
ton
?” Nor would he bother pointing out that Chloe had been the one insistent on keeping Mrs. Jane Munroe.

The earl lifted a shoulder in a slight shrug. “You know the way of it, Waverly. Polite Society makes all matters, their matter. And your sour, ugly companion has earned some attention.”

At his friend’s casual, throwaway words, fury snapped through him. “Shut your mouth,” he bit out. “I’d hardy call her ugly.” At first he’d thought her plain but never ugly.

“Oh?” Waterson inquired, arching a single brown eyebrow. There was a layer of questions to that one word utterance.

“Do not be ridiculous. The lady is in my employ.”

Waterson gave a half-grin. “I didn’t say anything.”

Christ. He gritted his teeth at his unwitting revelation. He gave his head a shake and instead focused not on the lovely Mrs. Munroe, but rather the fact that she had somehow found herself an object of gossip. Inherently reserved and exceedingly private, Jane would detest knowing that Society discussed her. He’d have a care to keep that information from the lady.

His friend planted his elbows on the edge of the table and, with his glass in hand, leaned forward. “Is there perhaps something I should ask about the lady whom you’d hardly call ugly?”

Fortunately, Gabriel had become a master of disguise in terms of emotions. “There isn’t,” he spoke in the clipped, cool tones his father had drilled into him with the edge of a birch rod. His friend wisely said nothing, but instead took a sip of his drink. “The lady comes from Chloe’s former finishing school.”

Waterson spit out his drink, spraying the table with liquid. He yanked out a handkerchief and covered his mouth. A servant rushed over to wipe down the table. Only after the waiter had left did his friend manage to speak without laughing. “You hired one of her former instructors?”

It had been no secret that Chloe had been the bane of Mrs. Belden’s Finishing School. A brother to two sisters himself, Waterson well knew the trials and tribulations of caring for those younger ladies. That had been just one of the other ties that bound them and Gabriel had spoken freely to his friend about Chloe’s lamentable years there. “Ja—,” he flushed, “Mrs. Munroe,” he amended at his friend’s pointed look. “Was never Chloe’s instructor.” Now he wished he was a good deal less loose-lipped.

“Regardless,” Waterson gave a mock shudder. “My sisters are exasperating enough to drive me to Bedlam and still I’d never force one of those harridans upon them.”

It spoke volumes of the man’s regard for his sisters. It was also one of the main factors to recommend him as a husband for Chloe. If the two of them would just bloody relent, it would solve all manner of difficulties. Waterson and his obligations to the earldom. Chloe and her need for a good, honorable, decent chap. “No.”

“Are you—?”

“I’m certain.”

He sighed. Deuced bothersome this elder brother business. He’d always been rot at it. The dark, ugly visage of his father slipped into his mind and a chill stole over him. Even all these damned years later, just the memory of that fiend could turn him into a silent, cowering, quivering bastard. Gabriel finished his drink in a quick swallow. He welcomed the fiery trail it blazed down his throat and then reached for the bottle. With a slight shake to his fingers, he poured another snifter teeming to the rim. He took another sip. This one slower, more practiced. And then he registered his friend’s concerned stare trained on him. All earlier amusement fled.

Waterson looked from Gabriel’s face to the drink held in his hand. He repeated his study in that recriminating way. But for his siblings, only Waterson knew of the hell Gabriel had suffered through, and even then only the glimpses he’d shared with the man. Suddenly, the topic of Jane was immensely more appealing and far safer. “Mrs. Munroe is a proper and perfectly acceptable companion. Her physical appearance has no bearing on her ability in the role.” It did have bearing on this unholy claim she’d laid to his thoughts. “Now,” he set his glass down hard with a thud. “If you’ll excuse me.”

“Of course,” Waterson said with a slight incline of his head.

Gabriel shoved to his feet, and then with a short bow, took his leave. With each step, he battled the demons of his past. Only, time had proven that once his father dug in, Gabriel remained in his grip—which was as strong now from the grave as it had been when the monster lived.

*

When Jane had been a small girl, she’d always admired her mother’s satin and silk skirts. She would brush her fingers over the smooth, cool fabric and dream of the day she’d be draped in such vibrant gowns. With a child’s innocence, she’d not given thought to where the beautiful dresses came from. She only knew they came in great big boxes with velvet ribbons and when they did, her mother’s oftentimes sad smile would turn a bit happier, and she’d don those skirts and Jane would sit in wide-eyed awe at such beauty.

It wasn’t until she was seven, the first time she’d met her father that she understood just where those gowns came from and the significance of those great big boxes with their velvet ribbons. So that had shattered her innocence as the once revered dresses were beautiful no more. For at that moment, Jane learned why nursemaids had shuttled her off and why the village children had whispered and stared and why she was, in fact, different than the others…and it was also why she vowed to never wear a stunning satin gown.

Until today. When at the insistence of Chloe Edgerton, she’d allowed a modiste to layer those luxuriant fabrics to her body. Each scrap had touched her skin like a lash with ugly reminders of her past and the shameful truth of her existence.

Jane removed the useless wire-rimmed spectacles from her nose. Seated on the leather button sofa in Gabriel’s library, she sighed and set the delicate frames on the rose-inlaid table beside her. For as much as her mother had loved her father and the lavish, albeit secret, lifestyle he’d allowed her, all those material comforts, all those gowns and jewels had ultimately meant nothing. They’d not brought her happiness. They’d not brought her respect. No, they’d merely degraded her before a cruel Society. In that weakness, for the love of a man she could never have and empty, meaningless possessions that only brought a fleeting and very empty happiness, Jane resolved to never become her mother. A woman who even at her death four years ago of a wasting illness had lain abed waiting for a man—who’d never come.

That was love.

A man who would abandon the woman who’d given all for just a scrap of his heart.

A woman who would choose that selfish cad above her own daughter.