“Lady Jane, have you visited the medium yet?”
She’d tried to avoid him all evening. Not because she didn’t want to see him, but because she’d wanted to see him too much. If any of the young ladies who were potentially interested in being Mrs. Thomas Sharpe were to notice her hungry expression, the want she knew lurked in her eyes, they would realize—if not consciously—that he wasn’t entirely committed to them, that he had aroused hopes in another young lady.
But here he was, looking resplendent in his evening attire. His suit seemed to be far more expensive and elegant than any other gentleman in attendance.
Though the gentlemen in attendance were Percy, who was consistent at wearing ink stains, Daffy, who was dressed modestly, matching his appearance, her father, who had already spilled wine down his front, and Mr. Grosvenor, whose suit was definitely well tailored, but who lacked Thomas’s handsomely muscular form.
His sister was standing a few feet away with Miss Grosvenor, the two of them chatting as though they had known one another for years, and not met just this evening. That must be a relief for Thomas—he’d spoken of his sister, and it was clear he was very protective of her.
“I haven’t. Miss Porter and I were watching Lady Emily get fleeced by the card sharp.” She kept her voice low, since everyone knew Lady Emily hated nothing more than being embarrassed.
“A good thing I haven’t tried my luck here then,” he replied. “Or a good thing I haven’t any money in the first place.”
There it was again. The reminder of who he was and what he needed to do.
“The medium, Madame Sophie, seems to be making quite a splash.” The two turned to look toward the booth, where Percy sat with his mouth hanging open, his eyes wide. As they watched, he leaned forward to clasp Madame Sophie’s hand as though begging her earnestly for something.
She hoped Madame Sophie—whatever she was telling Percy—was being kind. Daffy hovered nearby, hopping from one foot to another.
“I believe I know my future,” he continued, sounding weary, “but I would be very keen to hear yours.”
“Mine?” Jane said, surprised. “I haven’t given it much thought.” Which of course was a lie. She’d given it a lot of thought—she just hadn’t come to anything that remotely resembled a conclusion. Unless concluding that one could not be with the person you’d fallen in love with, but hadn’t been supposed to, was a conclusion.
In which case yes. She knew very well her future would not include him. Which would inevitably make it less happy than the alternative.
Percy rose from his seat, shaking the medium’s hand firmly, then walking swiftly away as though he had a purpose.
Meanwhile, it seemed the guests were having a good time—Jane could hear applause, gasps of surprise, and a constant hum of conversation. It was a success, and she wasn’t needed for the moment.
“Fine, then, let us go see Madame Sophie.” Jane felt suddenly reckless, as though she could and would do anything that struck her fancy.
And she had, hadn’t she? She’d just managed to do something, however, that would resonate with her the rest of her life. Perhaps not the best of choices in that case.
He took her arm and she resisted the urge to melt into him, to lean up and kiss his jaw, right where the shadowed edge of his beard showed in the golden light.
She heard him make a noise, low in his throat, and then he spoke in a low voice, one that only she could hear.
“I wish we didn’t have to—I can’t—” And then they were at Madame Sophie’s booth, that lady smiling up at them with flashing dark eyes, tapping impossibly long fingernails on an overlarge pack of cards.
Thomas seated Jane in the chair at the booth, then brought another round for him to sit on.
“It is not usual, you understand, for anyone else to be here during a reading.”
Madame Sophie’s accent was vaguely foreign, as though she had traveled many places and imprinted on each one, or just had heard someone from another land speak and was imitating them poorly.
“It is fine. We are friends.” And she attempted a brave smile toward him, a smile that said, We are just friends, nothing more, and no, of course my heart isn’t breaking because you are about to propose marriage to someone else for a most admirable reason that I cannot possibly jeopardize.
At least, she hoped it said that. Because if it didn’t say that, it said all those other things, and he could not know how she’d gone against everything she’d promised him, herself, and Percy.
Madame Sophie shrugged. “It is of no matter to me. Payment please.” She extended her palm, and Jane placed a coin in it, then settled back into her seat, wishing the exchange of money hadn’t felt so fraught with danger.
But this was just a medium with a traveling circus—it wasn’t as though the woman could actually know anything. Because Jane didn’t know anything, and it was her life, goddamn it.
“You wish to know your future?” Madame Sophie’s eyes flicked between Jane and Thomas and back again.
Jane shifted nervously. Why had she thought this was a good idea?
“Yes,” she replied in a firm tone, not looking at him.
But she felt him next to her—his legs nearly touching hers, his strong, graceful hands folded in his lap. The heat of him seeming to twine around her like an insistent cat.
Madame Sophie didn’t speak again, just began to shuffle her deck, a frown creasing her brow.
“What do you hope to learn?” he asked.
“Hush,” Madame Sophie said sharply. “You cannot speak while the cards are thinking.”
She and Thomas shared an amused glance. At least now she had a reason to look at him.
He was so beautiful it hurt. His strong, mobile mouth that she knew firsthand—or first-lip—was devastatingly delicious to kiss. His dark blue eyes, like a nighttime sky, holding all his emotions. That curl that dangled over his forehead, making her fingers itch to push it back.
“You have to concentrate on the cards, not on him,” Madame Sophie chided.
Jane felt her cheeks heat as she snapped her gaze away from him, staring down at the table where Madame Sophie was still shuffling.
“Sorry for being distracting,” he murmured, sounding not at all sorry.
“Hush!”
Madame Sophie glared at him, then returned her attention to the cards, which had apparently finally been shuffled enough.
She placed one with deliberate care on the left, then placed four more in quick succession.
The cards weren’t a usual deck; instead of numbers, they had elaborate pictures painted on them with words written above.
“Oh, the Hanged Man,” Jane said nervously. “That doesn’t seem good.”
“Hush.”
Jane met Thomas’s gaze, rolling her eyes at Madame Sophie’s determination to keep them quiet.
“The Hanged Man,” Madame Sophie said, touching the card, “does not mean death. Upside down like this it represents needless sacrifice or fear of sacrifice.” The woman’s dark eyes shot up. “Do not needlessly sacrifice yourself for anything.” She tapped another card, this one reading Strength. “This card tells me you have the necessary tools to make the right decision for yourself.” Another tap, this time on The Fool. “This indicates you will be setting out on a new adventure, one you never knew about before.”
“Why is it ‘The Fool’?” Thomas asked.
Madame Sophie glared at him, but didn’t admonish him to be quiet.
“The Fool is innocent, he does not worry about where he is going—he just knows he wants to start again.” She tapped the card once more. “When it is upside down it means the person is likely too reckless. But here in this case it is a good thing. If you are prepared for it.”
“How can I prepare for an adventure I never knew about before?” Jane asked in a wry tone.
“These two cards—The World and The Chariot—tell me you have the strength to face whatever might find you.”
“My mother already found me, so that’s sorted, at least,” Jane murmured.
Thomas smothered a snort of laughter.
“Do not make light of the cards!” Madame Sophie said, her tone fierce.
Jane straightened automatically in her chair. Then realized what she’d done and immediately relaxed her posture.
“You have an excellent future,” Madame Sophie went on, moving the cards around on the table. “You will just have to make your mind up to take what is yours.” The woman met Jane’s eyes, her gaze softening. “You can do it, my lady. It can be done.” Then her expression settled back into its stoic lines. “Now go. I have others wanting their fortunes told.”
Jane rose, glancing behind her to see Miss Grosvenor and Thomas’s sister waiting just beyond earshot. She smiled at both of them, then turned back around, dropping another coin on the table. “Thank you, madame,” she said in a soft voice.
“Pssh, it’s nothing,” the woman replied, snatching the coin off the table. “Be brave—that is all you can do.”
Jane nodded, stepping away from the table and gesturing to the two young ladies to be seated.
Thomas lingered to speak with his sister as Jane moved further away, her heart in a tumult. Be brave, that is all you can do.
Truth.
“You are all right then?” Thomas asked Alice, who was sitting in the chair he’d just vacated in front of Madame Sophie.
“I am, stop worrying,” she replied.
“Miss Sharpe has promised to visit me tomorrow, Mr. Sharpe,” Miss Grosvenor said. “I do hope you can bring her by?”
Thomas nodded, his chest tightening. If he brought her by—when he brought her by—it wasn’t as though she could go alone, and it wasn’t as though he would deny Alice anything she wanted—he would see Miss Grosvenor, and it would be an ideal time to propose.
Alice already liked her. Mr. Grosvenor had already indicated his approval, and all it would take now would be to say the words.
Will you do me the honor of being my wife?
Ten words. Just enough to fill up the fingers on both hands.
Enough to fill up the rest of his life.
“Go away now, Thomas, I don’t want you to hear what my fortune might say,” Alice said, pushing him gently away.
He smiled through a clenched jaw, glancing around to see Jane a few feet away, a contemplative expression on her face.
He knew she could be brave, as the fortune teller had admonished her to be. He hoped, if he had done nothing else, that he had helped her confidence so that she would know it, too.
“Mr. Sharpe!” Lady Emily exclaimed, she and her phalanx of young ladies surrounding him. “You must come see the lady and her clever little dog! Miss Porter is most insistent on it.” And Lady Emily gave a knowing look toward Miss Porter, whose face turned a fiery pink.
Thomas felt himself sliding into his customary role, his impeccable manners surfacing even as his heart continued to break, falling down into his belly with an inexorable unhappiness. “Miss Porter, you like dogs, do you?” he asked the young lady in a gentle voice.
Miss Porter nodded, her eyes lowered, and Thomas held his arm out to her. “Let us all go see this charming canine then, shall we?” he said, darting a quick look toward Jane, who still stood in that same spot, that thoughtful expression still on her face.
What are you thinking about? Are you thinking about me? About your future?
Two opposite things.
He spent the next hour or so with his Mr. Thomas Sharpe mask on, replying politely and occasionally wittily when asked his opinion on anything. Lady Emily continued to push him toward Miss Porter, while Miss Grosvenor kept Alice company through the evening.
At least now it appeared he actually had a lady or two who would welcome his proposal.
He could save his family by saying ten words. He could foreclose on love for himself with those same ten words.
He had no doubt but that he could forge some sort of happiness—either young lady was perfectly pleasant. It wasn’t as though he would be condemning himself to misery.
And before it would have been more than enough. He hadn’t believed he would ever fall in love, anyway, and he’d reasoned he might as well marry to bring himself the best advantage. It was his mission to do just that to save the people he did love—his family.
Perhaps there was some sort of universe comeuppance that wanted him to understand just what he was sacrificing—that it wouldn’t be a sacrifice without something equal on the other side, so the universe had figured out a way to make him suffer.
Though that would mean thinking he didn’t have free will, which he most certainly did. He’d had the will to enter into his agreement with Jane, the will to kiss her, to touch her, to show her the passion he knew she was capable of.
The will to fall in love with her.
The will not to tell her, even though it was tearing him apart.
It took an extraordinary effort to pretend everything was fine. And then, at last, the evening was winding down, and he was searching for Alice in order to take her to the ladies’ hotel he’d booked for her.
To prepare for the next day, when he’d say his ten words and seal his fate.
“Mr. Sharpe.”
He turned to face Jane.
“Yes, my lo—my lady?”
She lifted her chin, a definite challenge in her eye. And suddenly he was reminded of their first encounter at Miss Ivy’s, where she proposed she assist him in finding a bride in exchange for his assisting her . . . in other matters. When she’d snatched his whisky and drunk it, despite never having had it before. How delighted she’d looked when she tasted it, despite coughing.
It had been only a few weeks since then, and already there was a marked change in her. As though the quiet debutante had been peeled away to reveal the glorious woman underneath.
“I want you to—that is, I know you have to ensure your sister gets home safely, but I am hoping you might come find me later?”
“Later tonight?” he replied. Immediately cursing himself for questioning her, but also fine if his questioning her made her realize what she was asking.
What was she asking, anyway?
“Yes,” she replied, a wry smile twisting her mouth. “Later tonight.” She dragged her lower lip between her teeth, suddenly looking hesitant. “That is—unless you don’t . . . ?”
“I do,” he interrupted. He would do whatever she wanted. Even if it made his heart shatter. “Whatever it is, I do.”