Jane shut the door softly, leaning against it as she bit her lip in thought.
It had been an incredible evening—her first real kiss, one with tongues and everything. Dancing the polka. Watching the traveling circus.
Incredible for seeing his mood shift as well. Getting a glimpse behind the charming mask he wore.
“Jane? Are you back?” Percy called.
She smiled as she called back, “I am.”
“Come in here,” he urged.
She made her way quickly to their sitting room, a small room that was overrun by books, from the economics and mathematical texts Percy liked to read to her own collection of her sister Lavinia’s books—Lavinia wrote increasingly scandalous novels under the name Percy Wittlesford, trotting Percy out whenever the author was asked to speak in person.
Percy was on the sofa, both arms flung over his head, his feet dangling off the edge. She picked his legs up and swung them so his feet were on the floor, and then she sat in the now unoccupied space.
He promptly swung his legs back to rest on her lap.
“How was your evening?” she asked. She hoped he wouldn’t pry too much into hers, since she didn’t want to lie to her brother—but she also did not wish to tell him the truth.
“Fine,” Percy said, waving his hand dismissively. “After the party I went to the club with a few friends and we discussed Carlyle’s clothing metaphor.”
At Jane’s blank look, he continued. “Thomas Carlyle? He writes essays and pontificates on philosophy. Anyway, he says ‘Language is the garment of thought.’”
Jane considered his words, nodding in surprise. “Hmm. Usually when you tell me something I have no idea what it means, but that one makes sense. For once,” she added, with a smirk toward her brother, who was already rolling his eyes.
“Which friends were you out with?” she asked.
Percy’s expression tightened. “Just Morton, Feltstone, and Smith. And Daffy,” he added, as though an afterthought.
“Daffy?” Jane asked, her eyebrows raised.
Now his expression was even tighter. Interesting.
“The heir to Lady Stockham. She is the one with the field full of daffodils.”
“Ah, hence Daffy,” Jane said in understanding.
“Sharpe didn’t come with us because he was with you,” Percy said pointedly. He sat up, pinning Jane with an accusatory glance.
“He was.”
This would be an excellent exercise for her—trying not to apologize or shrink into the background when a conversation became difficult or awkward. For most of her life, she’d had Lavinia to buffer her against any unpleasantness.
Which had caused the ultimately happy situation of Lavinia marrying the Duke of Hasford, but it was touch and go there for a bit.
Jane never wanted to put anyone in that situation again—having to rescue her because she was too timid to protect herself.
There was a heavy pause, and Jane resisted the urge to squirm, or blurt anything out, or otherwise react to what she presumed Percy was thinking.
He would have to say the words to her. She couldn’t just run around thinking everyone was annoyed with her unless they were pondering her appearance any longer. It was time to stand up for herself, both with people and in her own mind.
“Where did he take you?” Percy asked, this time in a less combative tone.
Excellent. She wasn’t going to have to have the “he’s dangerous to you because you’re so naive and he’s so charming” conversation again.
“A dance hall that also seems to be where a traveling circus performs? It was wonderful.” She sighed at the memory.
Percy’s eyes lit up. “I’ve been there! Mr. Archer’s hall, correct? Sharpe and I went a few months ago. There was this trapeze artist who—” And then he froze, apparently realizing he was about to say something shocking.
In which case, Jane wished the trapeze artist had performed this evening.
“You should take your friend Daffy there,” she said in a deliberately casual tone of voice.
Percy’s cheeks flushed red. A ha! She bit back a smile.
She, Percy, and her sister, Lavinia, had had a conversation that skirted around who Percy might . . . appreciate, and then she had suspected what she now knew almost certainly. That Thomas had implied as well.
She hoped Percy would be able to live an uncompromised life. Like she was planning to, actually. What those respective lives would look like, she had no idea—just that they would be what they truly wanted. And that what Percy likely wanted was far more dangerous than what she wanted.
She leaned forward and patted Percy’s knee. “I am so glad we live together,” she said. “Perhaps we should throw a dinner party,” she said, the words bursting out of her mouth barely after the idea had come to her. “I could invite a few of the ladies Mr. Sharpe is interested in”—which meant the ones with the most money—“and you could invite some of your friends.”
Percy frowned in confusion. “Those ladies, they can’t attend without a chaperone, can they?”
Jane made a disgruntled noise. “No, they can’t. I’d forgotten entirely. Blast the rules.” Because a young lady could be married off to a man she’d barely spoken to, but she could not attend a dinner party at an acquaintance’s house.
It really was unfair.
“We could do a public event,” Percy offered. “Perhaps host it at one of those places Sharpe is taking you to, provided it is closed to the general public. Maybe ask the circus if they could do a private showing in an afternoon or something?” He nodded, pleased at his own idea. “And then you could further your campaign to make Sharpe seem palatable to those ladies, and we could all gather together. And you could meet Daffy,” he said, as though it were an afterthought.
Jane hopped in her seat. “I love that idea!” Though she did not love the idea of Mr. Sharpe marrying. Not just because that would mean their interlude with one another was over, but also because it would mean he’d be sacrificing himself when he so clearly did not want to. But felt it was his duty.
Just like a debutante.
But unlike a debutante, Mr. Sharpe had the illusion of choice, which likely made it even more painful for him. Because he could change his mind anytime, not to proceed along the path he’d chosen. But that would condemn his family to a life of penury, and she knew he was far too honorable and responsible to take that course.
Meanwhile, she would try to ensure the woman he eventually was able to persuade to marry him was relatively kind. Though would that be even crueler to both sides? He’d be making a purely mercenary decision and entrapping a woman who might have hopes of something more than just an agreement. Might even have hopes of love.
Which wasn’t at all what he was considering.
And now she felt sorry for the unknown woman.
She was as melodramatic as one of Lavinia’s heroines. Perhaps, if she was fortunate, she’d have one of Lavinia’s heroines’ happy endings.
And even if she didn’t, the ending would be happy because it would be under her control.
Thomas held the letter in his hand, desperation seeping through his whole body.
He’d spent most of the night trying to think through his situation, even though he had done the same thing continuously since his father had walked into the dining room two years ago.
There was no other solution to it.
And things were getting worse.
Dear Thomas,
I hope this letter finds you well. We are all in tolerable health, though Father is relying on his cane more than he used to. But he and I take daily walks, and I believe he is getting stronger.
Mother and Father have let more of the servants go. Thankfully, Squire Hastings has hired most of them—the lady to whom he is betrothed is quite full of herself, and she insists on a certain standard of living. The squire is so besotted with her he’ll do whatever she asks. The wedding is in a month, and Mother is already in a panic about what to wear—all of her clothing is at least two years out-of-date, and she has been losing weight, so most of it hangs off her.
I don’t care what I wear since I don’t want to attend in the first place. All those people together, most of them conscious of my speech, and trying to be kind by not speaking to me at all.
It is possible to be lonely in a crowd, I will tell you that much.
But I know I am already being gloomy, and my intent was to entertain you. I will say that I have had a column accepted for publication. It’s a small newspaper that took it, and it details how young people might acquire knowledge when they don’t have access to tutors or governesses. Not that I mentioned not having a governess—the newspaper believes I am a man studying at college, not a young lady who lives with her parents and learns at home.
I am hoping to write more—I find I lose myself when I do it. It’s far easier to get immersed in the words than to live in my reality.
Wait. I’m doing it again. Being gloomy.
I am so sorry.
I hope your quest is going well, and that you will be able to rescue us before Mother is forced to take on all the cooking herself—do you remember the one time she tried to make a pie? And it managed to be both burnt and underdone?
Perhaps I will start observing Cook so that I can be the one to undertake the cooking if you are not successful soon. And then I could write another column about learning that, as well.
At least I have a plan!
I love you, thank you for what you are doing.
Love,
Alice
Thomas read the letter again, allowing himself to smile at Alice’s description of their mother’s pie. It was indeed inedible, and it had proven that his parents would be unable to take care of themselves if things got worse.
And it sounded as though things were getting worse.
Goddamn it.
He slammed his fist on the table, the clatter of it echoing around his room. He lived in his club, the cost of paying for lodgings here cheaper than the cost of keeping up his own household.
But he was still just barely making ends meet.
During the night, he’d allowed himself the luxury of dreaming about a future unhampered by the need to marry a wealthy woman. Perhaps explore what it might mean to have a relationship with a person whom he actually liked and found enticing.
Someone who looked a lot like Lady Jane.
But those fleeting thoughts had to be squashed by the truth of his and his family’s situation.
Unless some heretofore unknown relative were to die and leave their fortune to him or his parents, he would have no choice.
And it wouldn’t matter how much he longed to be able to make his own choice. He couldn’t. Not without jeopardizing everyone he loved.
He exhaled, drawing a sheet of paper toward him and picking up a pen, preparing to write the list he’d been compiling in his head: the women who were possible candidates to marry him and solve his most pressing problem.
And if Lady Jane was not successful in her campaign to persuade at least one of these women that he would make a good husband, he would have to watch his family unravel even more.
He glanced at the clock, noting it was just barely eleven o’clock in the morning. Too early to drown his sorrows, too late to go back to bed and pretend none of this was happening.
He would have to make his list.
And work on being the charming, but not too charming, Thomas Sharpe.
He’d had a respite the past few days of that, even going so far as to not be charming all the time. And Lady Jane hadn’t turned her nose up at him or decided he wasn’t worth the effort.
Instead, she’d seen through to his emotions and asked him about them. Not only had she not run away, she had come closer to find out what was wrong.
Percy had never even done that.
Not that he had ever let Percy see all of his inner workings. Likely because Percy kept his own secrets close.
But he had shown Jane more than he’d ever shown anyone who wasn’t Alice.
And she’d tried to understand him. She was truly a rare creature, a thoughtful person whose quiet demeanor didn’t mean she wouldn’t speak up when she felt she had to.
Her strength in choosing her own course made him want to be a better person.
If only there was a way he could do that and save his family.
Unfortunately, the two were at odds with one another, and he knew what he had to do.
He gave a weary sigh as he began to write.
“Jane!”
Jane glanced up toward the door, through which she could hear her sister’s voice. She was in the sitting room with a cup of tea, Percy still abed. They’d stayed up half the night formulating plans for their event, but she had been too excited to sleep. The kiss, seeing the traveling circus, deciding to actively do something to help Thomas, all kept chasing themselves around in her head like crazed squirrels.
“In here,” Jane called.
She smiled as she heard the yip of Lavinia’s dog, Precious, and rose to open the door as they approached.
Lavinia was pregnant—again—and her enviable bosom was even more enviable, while her clear gaze and bright smile made it impossible to be unhappy when seeing her.
“Good morning,” Jane said, stepping forward to embrace Lavinia.
“Good morning,” Lavinia replied, her voice muffled by Jane’s shoulder. Lavinia had the advantage, bosom-wise, but Jane was taller.
“Come in and sit down,” Jane said. She rang the bell and waited as Mrs. Charing arrived with an expectant look on her face. “Could we have some tea, please?” she asked.
The housekeeper nodded. It was unusual for a housekeeper to be on call for something so menial as tea fetching, but Percy and Jane couldn’t afford many servants, and Mrs. Charing preferred to be busy. Like Percy and Jane, Mrs. Charing was a Societal outcast—a baron’s daughter who ran off to London with her low-born lover who died only a few months after their arrival. Instead of slinking back to her family, however, she’d sought out Percy and Jane’s house, having heard about their unusual household and knowing they would have some sympathy for her situation.
Lavinia sat down with a relieved exhale as Precious went to lie at her feet. “I’d forgotten how exhausting this is,” she said, gesturing to her belly. “And Thaddeus grumbles every time I want to move, and sometimes it is just easier to sit. But today I had to come out, it has been so long since I’ve seen you! How are you doing?” Lavinia placed her hand on Jane’s knee as she spoke, squeezing it gently.
Jane put her hand on top of her sister’s, but didn’t speak. At least not right away.
“What is it?” Lavinia said, sounding even more enthusiastic than usual. “Jane! You have to tell me!”
So she did. She told Lavinia all about going to Miss Ivy’s, and running into Mr. Sharpe, and their subsequent agreement. She told her about the party where they’d met Miss Grosvenor, and then the dance hall and the circus. By then, Mrs. Charing had returned with the tea, so they took a few moments to pour in the proper amount of milk and add some sugar, while Lavinia snuck a tea scone to Precious, who seemed appreciative.
And then—“And I had my first kiss. My first real kiss.”
Lavinia’s eyes widened, and her mouth opened as she gasped. “Why didn’t you start with that?” She rolled her eyes. “Remind me never to let you write any of my books. You are totally burying the most fun part in the depths of the story.”
Jane put her hand to her mouth to smother a giggle. “It feels as though I am in one of your books, honestly,” she said. “What with asking for a kissing education, and helping a gentleman land an heiress, and the gentleman being my brother’s best friend.” She shook her head. “It would be altogether too much if you were to put all those things into a book.”
Lavinia’s expression turned mischievous. “Perhaps I should try. But only if you can guarantee a happy ending,” she said, wagging her finger.
Jane gave a rueful smile. “I don’t think there is any possibility of that. At least not in the usual way. He has to marry someone who is wealthy, and I am not. And,” she continued, her voice getting stronger, “I have promised Percy I will not succumb to the inevitable and fall in love with him so it won’t matter, anyway.”
Even though she already knew she had fallen in serious like with him. Which was but a short step to the other thing.
She could not allow herself to do the other thing, because that way would inevitably lead to heartbreak, and she’d already dealt with that, thanks to Mr. RatTavish.
“What does Percy have to say about all of this?” Lavinia asked in an arch tone as she picked up her teacup. “Because I can imagine he would either be vastly pleased his sister and his best friend are spending time with one another, or he is fiercely worried that his dashing friend will break your heart.” She took a sip. “I am betting on the latter,” she said with a decided nod.
“And if you were to place that bet at Miss Ivy’s, you would be the winner,” Jane replied wryly. “He has been somewhat mollified because of our plans for an event where we’ll invite all the young ladies Mr. Sharpe might possibly be interested in, but he remains suspicious.”
“Did you tell him—?” Lavinia began.
Jane’s cheeks flushed. “About the kiss? Heavens, no. He would have exploded. I have told him, repeatedly, that he should not worry about me, but he seems to think I am far too naive to—well, too naive in general.”
Lavinia tilted her head as she gave Jane a searching look. “I would have said he was right before. But you seem different. And I don’t think it was just one kiss—your first real kiss.” She shook her head in disgust. “I always knew Mr. McTavish was a disappointment.”
“I wish I’d known earlier,” Jane replied ruefully.
“But without him, you wouldn’t be here living with Percy. Perhaps you should thank him. If you see him. You don’t see him, do you?” Lavinia asked in a concerned tone of voice.
“No. Now that he is married, it seems he spends most of his time at his wife’s father’s place of business.” Jane snorted. “I wonder how his mother and her snobbery is faring with his having married a woman who comes from a working family.” She paused as she thought. “Working family,” she repeated. “We come from a working family, with Father advising the queen on finances and all. And Percy works, though he has to, given his birth. I wonder if I could work?”
Lavinia looked taken aback. A marvel, truly, to have startled her fearless sister. “You work? What would you do? And why? If you need more money, just tell me. Thaddeus has far too much for us.” Lavinia’s husband, the Duke of Hasford, was one of the wealthiest aristocrats in London, and his fortune was growing, thanks to his savvy investing.
“I don’t need any more money, thank you,” Jane replied, reaching over to pat her sister’s hand. Lavinia provided Jane with the funds she needed to survive, though she resisted taking more, even though Lavinia was always offering. “I just want to feel useful. And I’d like to have a different future than just one where I find someone—anyone—to marry, merely because that is what women in our situation do.”
“Well, we’ve already established you cannot be a writer,” Lavinia replied in a sly tone. Jane poked her in the shoulder in response. “But you might have something there. After all, wouldn’t it be better for everyone if we all worked? What if your Mr. Sharpe found himself a position rather than having to—to sell himself to the highest bidder?”
“I wonder if he’s even thought of that,” Jane replied. “We’re all so accustomed to what we’re expected to do we don’t question it. But what if we did? Question it, I mean?”
Lavinia beamed. “And you have become a radical! Jane, I am so proud.” Her eyebrow rose. “And all it took was your first real kiss and a traveling circus. If only other ladies had access to such delights.”
“Hush,” Jane said in a mockingly reproving tone. “I am not a radical—I am merely expressing my opinion.”
“That is how it begins,” Lavinia replied knowingly. “Expressing your opinion one day, solving the world’s problems the next.”
Jane shook her head at her sister’s hyperbole. As befit a writer, of course. “The event Percy and I are planning, will you and the duke attend? It would give a certain amount of prestige to have you there.”
Lavinia’s expression turned mischievous. “Of course. Thaddeus and I wouldn’t miss it for the world. Though Thaddeus will no doubt grumble about going. But he’ll go,” she said. “I’ll make it worth his while,” she added, waggling her eyebrows.
“Stop!” Jane said, holding her hand up. “I do not wish to hear those things about my brother-in-law.”
“No, because your Mr. Sharpe is going to show you himself,” Lavinia replied. “I will just warn you to be cautious.”
Jane blushed at the implication. “Of course, I am not planning on doing that,” she said hastily.
Lavinia gave her a pointed glance. “Nobody plans on doing that, but it does seem to happen. Just be cautious.”
“I promise,” Jane said, her cheeks now bright red. “Not only will I not fall in love with Mr. Sharpe—as Percy asked that I promise—I will not allow myself to be compromised by him. At least not so anybody can tell.”
“You are not the naive Jane you were two years ago,” Lavinia said approvingly. “I look forward to getting to know your Mr. Sharpe.”
He’s not my—Oh, never mind, Jane thought. “Excellent,” was her only reply.