“You must go, Jane,” he said. “I am appalled at my own lack of hospitality. I have never before ordered a guest from my house. But you must go before I do you some mischief. And I do not want you back here when you are married to Sedge. I don’t want to see you again. Not for a long while, anyway. Make what excuses you must, but send him here alone when he comes. Or keep him away too. I want you to leave tomorrow. I shall make arrangements for a carriage and servants to protect you on your journey if you go alone. Tomorrow, Jane. Or today, rather. You must go.”

  “Yes,” she said. Her voice sounded surprisingly calm to her own ears. “Make the arrangements, my lord, and let me know through the servants or Joseph. I will say good-bye now.”

  He wheeled around. “Good-bye?” he said. “Yes. Good-bye, Jane.” He took a deep breath. “Thank you for caring for my daughters. Even at the risk of your life yesterday afternoon. Be happy. Please.”

  He held out his hand to her, but he withdrew it again before she could react, turned abruptly, and left the room without another word.

  Jane closed her eyes. The end. No more. Never again. She would never set eyes on him again. Never hear his voice. Never touch him.

  Never. Not ever. For all eternity.

  She could not cry.

  Chapter 16

  HONOR declined the pleasure of accompanying Jane to the nursery the next morning to bid farewell to the children. She declared her intention of taking her leave of the adults instead. Sedgeworth was in the breakfast room with his sister and brother-in-law. Honor did not stay long there before going to the library, where she had been told Fairfax was already busy. When she came from there, Sedgeworth was pacing the hallway.

  “Ah, Mr. Sedgeworth,” she said gaily for the benefit of the butler and one footman who were also there, “do escort me to the rose garden. I shall be cooped up in a carriage for two days. I simply must have some fresh air and exercise first. I have half an hour, I believe, before the carriage has been summoned.”

  He bowed and offered his arm. “I am sorry your visit has to be cut short like this,” he said as they stepped down onto the cobbled terrace.

  “I do not really understand it,” she said, taking his arm. With the other she held and twirled the inevitable parasol, a blue one this time to match her muslin dress. “Why is he letting her go?”

  “Several events have happened quite suddenly,” he said. “They probably need some time apart before coming to any decision about their future.”

  “We were not wrong, Joseph, were we?” she asked. “I am quite sure that they love each other.”

  “Yes,” he said. “I believe you are right. But we cannot interfere further. They must decide for themselves now what they will do.”

  “Well, I think it a horrid inconvenience,” Honor said, “that Jane and I have to leave like this. Until Lord Fairfax insisted on sending for his carriage this morning, we were going to travel by the mail coach. Imagine! Mama would have had a fit of the vapors when she heard.”

  He touched briefly the hand that lay on his arm as he led her through the archway into the rose garden. “I shall miss you,” he said. “Both of you.”

  “Will you, Joseph?” she asked, looking up at him and forgetting for the moment to twirl the parasol. “I thought you might be glad to be rid of me. I was dreadfully forward yesterday, was I not?”

  “I was honored, my dear,” he said. His eyes twinkled suddenly. “What a delightful pun, though quite unintentional. Did you mean what you said?”

  “Oh yes,” she said airily. “I really do love you. And I mean to have you if I can. Consider yourself fairly warned, Joseph. Of course, I suppose I will not have the chance if you do not come to see me again.”

  He took the parasol from her hand and fumbled with the handle until he had closed it. He tossed it onto the grass at their feet and took both her hands in his. “I will certainly come to see you, Honor,” he said. “I shall be in London next week when Joy and Wallace return home. I cannot say more than that now. My mind is still in a whirl from the breaking of my betrothal and my loss of Jane. I truly am fond of her, you see.”

  “Of course you are,” she said soothingly. “And she is fond of you too, Joseph. But you do not love her, do you?”

  He smiled slowly. “I do not quite know this term ‘love’ that you young ladies use so earnestly,” he said. “You are very beautiful, dear, and very full of vitality. And you have a lively and intelligent mind too when you choose to use it. I find myself attracted to you. But just yesterday, dear, I was planning marriage to your cousin. I cannot be sure of the state of my heart so soon afterward.”

  “You are very cautious,” she said, frowning suspiciously at him. “Are you telling me as gently as you can that you want none of me? If so, I wish you would come out and say so, so that I might the sooner persuade myself that I do not care a fig for you and start looking about me again.”

  He could not suppress a laugh. “You would too, would you not?” he said. “I think that after all you are in many ways more sensible and practical than Jane. No, Honor, I am not trying to tell you anything. I am telling you as truthfully as I can that I believe I might grow fond of you, that I know I may find myself unwilling to go on in life without you at my side. I just need a little time, dear. Do I ask too much?”

  She smiled brightly. “Oh no,” she said. “I know that you will miss me when I am gone. And when I see you again next week, I shall dazzle you with a new gown and tease you with the names of all the admirers who have been pursuing me since my return. And you will admit then that you love me as I love you. Kiss me now or the carriage will be ready and there will be no time for it.”

  “I should not take such liberties until I can feel ready to offer for you,” he said gently. He reached out and touched her cheek lightly with his fingers.

  To his surprise, tears sprang to Honor’s eyes. “Yesterday I was forced to kiss you,” she said. “And you were behaving with such loyalty to Jane that I might as well have kissed a marble statue. You did not move a muscle. Am I going to have to kiss you again? I need to feel wanted, Joseph. Just a little bit. I know you do not quite love me yet or wish to marry me, and I know that perhaps you will not. But I have to leave you within the next few minutes, and I feel miserable about it. I want to feel your arms around me so that I can cry a little and not have to be forever putting on this show of being lighthearted and not having a care in the world.”

  She really did not need to end this monologue. Even before she had finished speaking, his arms were tightly about her and one hand had gone to the back of her head to bring it against his neckcloth. And she could not have continued the speech. Her voice was already wobbling almost beyond her control.

  “Oh, my dear,” Sedgeworth said, “I am a selfish, unfeeling brute, am I not?”

  “Ye-e-es,” Honor wailed.

  “Of course I love you,” he said, his cheek against her hair. “Oh, of course I love you, Honor, you little imp of mischief. How could I possibly not? But I am being selfish. Quite honestly, I am terrified. I have never felt this way before, have always somehow scorned people who did. I am very fond of Jane, but I chose her with my head. I know she would be a good companion and wife. With you I am being pulled by the heart, and I am frightened of the vow it is calling me to make. But of course I love you. And when you have finished crying and soaking my neckcloth, I am going to kiss you. But you might be sorry. It will not be a gentle or passionless kiss.”

  Honor raised an eager face to his, wet cheeks and red eyes notwithstanding. “Is that a promise?” she asked.

  “Imp!” he said. “I will never again know a moment’s quiet peace if I marry you, will I?”

  “I shall try my best to see that you don’t,” she said, beaming. “I promise, Joseph.”

  He kissed her then and was every bit as ungentle and passionate as he had threatened to be.

  Honor clung to his neck when it was over. “Must I go now?” she asked wistfully.

  “I think it is time we walked back,” he said. “The carriage will be here soon, and I must say good-bye to Jane.” He stooped to pick up her parasol and gave her his arm again. “Are you very dejected, love? I am too, you know. But a week is not a very long time. I shall come to speak with your papa as soon as I return.”

  “Will you?” she asked, her eyes lighting up. “Oh, I do love you, Joseph. And that is very surprising, really. I always swore that I would marry only a very handsome man.”

  She giggled when Sedgeworth suddenly shouted with laughter.

  Lord Dart’s children were just getting ready to go walking with their governess when Jane entered the nursery. They all hugged her and bade her a noisy farewell before leaving. The nurse was bustling around tidying the room. Claire was standing in the middle of the floor, large solemn eyes watching the loud departure, thumb in mouth. Amy sat at a table, a book open before her.

  “Up,” Claire said, raising her arms when she realized that Jane was looking at her.

  Jane picked her up and hugged her. “Where is Dolly today?” she asked.

  “Dolly sleep,” said Claire.

  “Are you going to give me a hug and a kiss?” Jane asked. “I have to leave very soon.”

  Claire hugged Jane’s neck and offered puckered lips to be kissed. “Aunt Jane go away?” she asked.

  “Yes, sweetheart,” Jane said, drinking in the sight of the pretty little face and the soft blond curls.

  “Come back ’morrow?”

  “No,” Jane said. “I can’t come back, sweetheart. Aunt Jane has to go far, far away.”

  “Claire go too?” the child asked, brightening.

  “No,” Jane said, kissing her. “Claire has to stay to keep Amy and Papa company.”

  Claire stared back a her. Her thumb crept to her mouth. Jane smiled and set her gently down on the floor again. The child trailed after her when she crossed to the table where Amy sat looking at her.

  “Aunt Jane,” she said, “I don’t want you to go.”

  Jane stooped down so that she was on a level with the child. “I have to go, Amy,” she said. “But you will remember what I said last night, will you not? You are a very special little girl, and you are going to grow up to be a handsome lady.”

  “And you love me?” Amy asked, gazing anxiously up into Jane’s eyes.

  “And I love you, sweetheart.” Jane laid a gentle hand along the child’s cheek. “And remember that Papa loves you too. Even when he is sometimes cross with you. Papa will never stop loving you, no matter what happens.”

  “I don’t want you to go,” Amy said again, and her bottom lip thrust out and began to tremble.

  Jane put her arms around the child and lifted her up. She could think of nothing to say that was both true and soothing. “I love you, precious,” was all she said eventually as she put Amy down again and turned to leave.

  “Amy cry?” she heard Claire say as she closed the door behind her.

  Finally they were on their way. All their good-byes had been said, and the carriage was moving down the shady driveway. Jane closed her eyes, discouraging talk, though the move seemed unnecessary; Honor was unusually quiet.

  She did not feel any pain. Not yet. She knew she would soon. And it was going to be a dreadful pain because there was no hope in it. No hope for anything but a long and dreary future. But she could feel nothing now. There was just too much to be felt. Her mind and her heart could not cope with the load, but had mercifully decided not to function at all.

  There was the good-bye she had said to the children, the final parting from Joseph. And of course there was the fact that she had not seen Michael that morning. She had known she would not see him. It would have been too dreadful if she had. But still there had been the threatening panic when the time appointed for the arrival of the carriage approached and he had not appeared. And then the carriage had been there, and Joseph and Joy and Lord Dart had crowded around them, the men handing them inside. And then the departure. And no Lord Fairfax.

  Well, it was over now. Better to have it over, the worst known and in the past. However bad the pain would be when it finally hit her, she was at least on the road to recovery. Nothing could possibly happen to her in the future worse than what had happened in the last few weeks. That knowledge was some comfort, Jane supposed.

  She pulled off her bonnet and tossed it onto the seat opposite. At least they would travel in comfort. And in safety. Lord Fairfax was sending two servants as outriders in addition to the coachman and footman who rode with the carriage. She looked around her at the opulent luxury of the green velvet interior. His carriage. She would still have this slim contact with him for the rest of today and much of tomorrow. She leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes again. He must have sat in this very place numerous times.

  Honor sat very still, her hands clasped in her lap, her eyes watching the trees outside the window.

  Sedgeworth tapped on the library door and opened it to peer inside. “Are you busy, Fairfax?” he asked. “Oh, Amy is here, is she? Is this a private interview? Shall I take myself off?”

  “No,” Fairfax said. “Come in, Sedge.” He was sprawled in a leather chair close to the marble fireplace, Amy on his lap, her head against his chest, one hand playing with the buttons on his waistcoat. “Are you feeling better, poppet? Do you want to go back upstairs while I talk with Uncle Joe?”

  She buried her face against her father for a moment but climbed obediently from his knee and left the room.

  “I feel like a fish out of water already,” Sedgeworth said. “You did not come out to see them on their way, Fairfax?” It was a quite unnecessary question.

  “How could you let her go on her own with only her cousin for company?” Fairfax asked. “I fully expected you to go too, Sedge.”

  “With whom?” Sedgeworth asked guardedly.

  “She is your betrothed,” Fairfax said. “I would have thought your place was with her, especially on a long journey, even if you do feel some obligation to stay with your sister here.”

  Sedgeworth frowned, puzzled. “You are talking about Jane?” he asked. “She did not tell you?”

  “Tell me what?” Fairfax went very still.

  “She asked to be released from our engagement yesterday and decided that she must leave today,” Sedgeworth said.

  Fairfax was sitting forward in his chair. “Your betrothal is at an end?” he said. “Why, for God’s sake?”

  “I naturally assumed that Jane would have told you when she came to inform you that she was leaving today,” Sedgeworth said. “What reason did she give you?”

  “She didn’t,” Fairfax said. His face was tense. “Why the end to the betrothal, Sedge?”

  Sedgeworth gave his friend a measuring look. “I rather gathered that she loved another man,” he said.

  “And she is going to him?”

  “Going from him rather, Fairfax,” Sedgeworth said. “I thought perhaps he had decided he did not want her.”

  Fairfax jumped to his feet. “They have left already?” he asked. “Has she gone, Sedge?”

  “Almost half an hour ago,” his friend replied.

  “Oh God!” Fairfax said. “I shall need my horse, Sedge. And a coat from my room. And they will need to know in the kitchen that I shall not be home for luncheon. The Darts will have to know that I will not be here for a while.” He was pacing agitatedly from desk to door and back again, his hand to his brow. “Will she have me, Sedge? Do you think she will have me?”

  “I think perhaps you had better ask Jane that,” his friend said, some amusement creeping into his voice.

  “I have,” Fairfax said. “I have asked her. And she said no.”

  “What?” said Sedgeworth. “Jane said no? Are you quite sure?”

  “ ‘No,’ does not sound anything like ‘yes,’ Sedge. She said no. And then she said yes to you.”

  “You mean you made her an offer before I did?” Sedgeworth said, incredulous. “And she refused you, Fairfax?”

  “Will she have me now?” Fairfax said, his pacing increasing in speed. “Is there any chance that she has had a change of heart? Oh God, I cannot live without her, Sedge. And last night I had the audacity to stand there in her bedchamber and order her to leave my house.”

  Sedgeworth stared. “Look, old friend,” he said after a pause. “You go upstairs and fetch your coat. And mine too, if you please. I shall see to having our horses saddled and sent around.”

  “You are coming too?” Fairfax asked, frowning. “Will you not find the meeting awkward under the circumstances, Sedge?”

  “Someone will need to take Miss Jamieson out of the way while you have your talk with Jane,” Sedgeworth said.

  “You would do that for me?” Fairfax said. “Entertain the beautiful ninnyhammer? You are a true friend, Sedge. Can we overtake them within the hour, do you think?”

  “Not if you keep pacing the library floor, my friend,” said Sedgeworth.

  Fairfax sat down suddenly and stared guiltily at his friend. “I am being dreadfully selfish again,” he said. “What about you, Sedge? What does her loss mean to you? And how will you feel if I immediately go chasing after her?”

  “Strangely, I would be pleased,” Sedgeworth said. “I love you both, Fairfax, and you belong together. And I do not love her in the way you do. I can continue loving her in my way after she is married to you. Get out of here now, will you?”

  Fairfax, descending the stairs two at a time, two coats over his arm, stopped suddenly and took the stairs two at a time back up again. He made his way quickly to the nursery. He was just in time. Amy stood all ready for the outdoors. Mrs. Cartwright, also clad in bonnet and shawl, was in the process of tying the ribbons of Claire’s bonnet beneath her chin.

  He hurried across to his daughters and knelt in front of them. The nurse retreated to the other side of the room. “Listen,” he said. “I am going riding with Uncle Joe. What would you say if I brought Aunt Jane back with me?”

 

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