“Hush, darling. Do not heed her. You are worth more than titles or purses. You shall be everything you choose, and more besides.” The little girl clung to her, her shoulders shaking.
Across the room, Henrietta looked on, mildly bewildered, as though she couldn’t fathom why she’d caused such distress.Charlotte leaned back in her chair, her expression sharp enough to cut.
The door opened, and William entered, still in his riding coat, a trace of cold clinging to him. He stopped short at the sight: Margaret sobbing in Jane’s arms, Jane bent over her, her touch tender and sure.
“What has happened?” His voice was tight and strained. He crossed the room at once, dropping to one knee beside them. He laid a careful hand on Margaret’s trembling shoulder. “Dearest one, what troubles you?”
Margaret lifted her tear-streaked face. “She said I cannot be a general. She said I will only marry. That is all I am good for.”
William’s jaw hardened, but he smoothed her curls gently. “You may be whatever you wish, my Margaret. Do you hear me? You are clever and brave, and I would sooner trust you at my side than half the men who wore uniform under me.”
Margaret sniffled, leaning against him, soothed by his presence. Jane, still bent, felt the overwhelming nearness of him—the faint scent of leather and winter air mingling with the steadiness of his touch.
Lady Henrietta spoke again from the sofa, flushed. “But what did I say wrong? It is only the truth. Women do not fight wars. They marry. That is what everyone knows.”
William looked up sharply, his eyes hard. “It was not the truth for her.”
But before he could say more, Charlotte leaned forward, her tone deceptively mild. “And you, Lady Henrietta, must learn when to stop talking.”
The room stilled. Henrietta’s mouth opened and shut, her skin blotching pink. Margaret whimpered as the last of her tears dried on her cheeks. She pressed close to Jane again, who kissed her hair, while William remained beside them, his hand movinggently over Margaret’s back with a softness that made Jane’s chest tighten.
For a moment they seemed bound together in a circle of tenderness—the child between them, their words hushed, their arms protective.
The sight pierced Jane with a pang so sharp she could scarcely breathe. It was too domestic, too intimate, the very picture of what could never be.If he even met our child, she thought bitterly,no such comfort would be allowed. William would never kneel at their side. Never soothe their little one with such gentle hands.
Yet in that moment, he was so near she could feel the warmth of him, could almost believe he might draw her into his arms next. His shoulder brushed hers as he bent over Margaret, his voice low, his breath stirring the loose tendrils at her temple. She had only to lean a fraction closer and—
She caught herself, tightening her hold on Margaret instead.
* * *
Jane could no longer say how many days the Strattons had stayed beneath the roof of Westford Castle; it felt already like an age. The house was wound tight as wire. Footmen flew down corridors, faces taut, trays rattling in their haste. Maids hurried double-quick at every bell, their whispers edged with nerves. The kitchens roared from dawn till near midnight, ovens never cooling, spits never stilled, as if the estate itself might be judged on the abundance of its dishes. Even the butler, usually unshakable, had acquired a pinched look—his stride clipped short with strain.
Each member of the family bore the hosting duty in their own fashion. Charlotte bent over her writing late into the night, as though ink might drown out the inanity of the Stratton ladies. William kept to the stables, longer each day, his silence settling thicker than the frost on the paddocks. The Duke moved like ageneral on campaign, orchestrating every display with relentless calculation, determined to wring the utmost advantage from this visit. And the Duchess glittered brighter than ever—elegant, polished, a jewel set to impress.
Yet Jane flushed to recall what lay beneath that gleam: Her Grace slipping from a darkened passage, lips swollen, a pearly smear at the corner of her mouth—and moments later Lord Stratton stumbling out, still tugging his breeches into place.
Jane’s own strength was fraying. The sickness that ought to have eased did not; instead, every scent in the house seemed bent against her. The schoolroom was stifling, chalk dust catching in her throat. The corridors reeked of lye and soap. Worst of all were the kitchens: rich gravies, roasted meats, pigeon pies—steaming offerings prepared for Lord Stratton, whose appetite knew no hour. One breath was enough to make her throat tighten, her vision swim.
* * *
That morning was brittle with cold. The gardens lay still beneath a crust of snow that glittered under the pale December sun. Jane had thought the fresh air might steady her—indoors was suffocating, thick with the smell of food and polish—but out here, the frost bit clean at her lungs. Margaret skipped beside her, cheeks bright above her muff, leaving a trail of small bootprints in the white.
They had gone but a few paces when Margaret, quite suddenly, said, “I do not wish to be a flower girl.”
Jane smiled faintly, thinking it one of the child’s fanciful whims. “Not wish to? Why ever not?”
“At the wedding.”
The words slammed into her. Jane’s steps faltered. Her breath caught sharp in her throat. “What wedding?”
Margaret blinked, surprised. “William’s wedding. To Horse-face, of course.” She gave a giggle, bright and untroubled. “Thatis what Charlotte calls Lady Henrietta, and I think it suits her very well.”
But Jane could not laugh. She stood rooted in place, her heart hammering. “His… wedding?”
“Yes,” Margaret chirped, dancing around her, guileless. “That is why they are here. But I asked Charlotte why William could not marry you instead, and she laughed and said William would never marry the governess.” Margaret frowned, tugging at Jane’s hand. “But why not? You are clever and kind. Why must it be Horse-face?”
Jane’s knees weakened. The whiteness of the lawns seared her eyes. Her vision blurred. She had never let herself hope. From the first, she had known what they were—what he was. Their nights together had been moments stolen in the dark, nothing more. A keepsake to treasure before resigning herself to a life of service—before the world claimed him back.
