Charlotte’s mouth curved at the corners, but without mirth. “I do not press you to tell me who he is, though I have my suspicions. But you mistake me, dear. I did not mean marrying the man responsible. There are other paths available. There are men—honorable enough in their way—who will take a woman in your condition to wife, if the inducement is sufficient. It need not be the end of you.”
Jane’s breath caught; she turned her face aside, her voice breaking. “But what sort of marriage would that be? To live with a man who had no respect for me, who saw me only as a burden in his house? I would sooner raise my child alone, if I might secure an allowance, than submit to such a union.”
Charlotte’s fingers tightened over hers, her tone firm, almost severe. “Perhaps it is my fault, filling your head with Wollstonecraft and all those pamphlets on women’s rights. I believe in them, I do—but not here. This is not about you, my dear. Think of the child. Would you have it carry the brand of bastard all its days? I will not see my niece or nephew so marked—not while I have any power to prevent it.”
Jane looked at her, stricken, the blood draining from her cheeks. Breath caught sharp in her throat; she could scarcely draw air.
Charlotte gave a short, mirthless laugh. “Do not be so shocked. My brother has never been a man of restraint, though he likes to think otherwise. He may be able to school his tongue, but not his gaze. Anyone with eyes could see how little he wished to keep his hands from you.”
Jane sank back against the pillows, her tears spilling silently. She could not answer; only Charlotte’s hand, steady and unyielding on hers, kept her from breaking apart altogether.
Chapter 29
The frost still lingered on the bare branches of Hyde Park, though the morning sun had begun to thaw the earth in patches. William rode hard, his breath misting, his horse eager beneath him. Weary of drawing rooms and simpering smiles, he hoped a gallop might clear his head. But the faces of the women paraded before him would not be shaken off.
Lady Rosalind—pretty enough, though hopelessly clumsy—had managed to spill an entire cup of steaming tea into his lap at Lady Talbot’s gathering. That, he could have forgiven. Accidents were nothing. But when her babbling apologies dissolved into vapid giggles, he knew she had little to recommend her beyond her dowry.
Lady Catherine had fared no better in his esteem. Pale, fair-haired, with a figure that would have turned heads in any ballroom—yet every word he spoke had been met with fluttering laughter, whether jest or no. Perhaps she laughed from nerves, perhaps from calculation, but it had the same effect. He found himself longing for silence.
And then Lady Georgiana—hailed by his father as a ‘budding rose,’ with a portion to tempt a prince. He had gone to Lord Langford’s dinner determined to consider her seriously. But when the company had departed and he was himself ready to go, he strayed down a dim passage in search of a privy and opened the wrong door. Inside, Lord Langford had his young ward bent over a sofa, her skirts rucked high, his hands gripped her waistas he drove into her with merciless rhythm. William bowed, wished his lordship a pleasant evening, and quit the house without another word.
Such were the candidates for duchess. No wonder his chest felt tight, his temper close to snapping. When the sound of hooves closed in behind him, he welcomed the distraction—until he turned and saw who it was. Beaufort drew alongside, his expression as open and guileless as ever.
“Blackmeer!” he called with easy warmth. “I thought it was you. By God, you ride as though the French were at your heels.”
William offered only the barest inclination of his head. “Beaufort.”
The other man seemed not to notice the chill. “What are your plans this evening? I have half a mind to call on Lady Talbot again, though her company grows tiresome. Or is there some other salon that tempts you?”
“I am bound for Lord Clifford’s house,” William said curtly. “His niece has returned to town, the Foreign Secretary’s daughter. She is three-and-twenty, with a broken engagement already behind her.” His mouth twisted. “At least she will have a few years’ sense about her. God knows I have met little enough of it elsewhere.”
Beaufort chuckled. “You judge them too harshly, I think. The ladies are all very agreeable, and if there is fault, it lies more in your expectations than in them.”
William turned a cutting glance upon him. “Why do you not marry one, then? Or do you prize your bachelor’s freedom too dearly?”
The smile faltered. Beaufort regarded him a moment, brow creasing. “What is this, Blackmeer? You have treated me as though I were your enemy ever since I visited you at Westford Castle. Tell me plainly—how have I given you offense?”
The words broke something in him. William wheeled his horse to face the other man, voice low and harsh. “By presuming liberties with women under my protection.”
Beaufort’s eyes widened. “What the devil do you mean?”
“Miss Ansley.”
A beat of stunned silence. Then Beaufort’s features hardened. “You cannot be serious.”
“You deny it, then?” William demanded. “That you enjoyed her company? That she kept you entertained even in my absence?”
“If by company you mean her conversation, yes,” Beaufort snapped. “I enjoyed it. She is intelligent, sharp, worth debating. But I do not ‘entertain’ respectable women as you do.”
William’s temper flared hotter. “And what, pray, is the sense of that?”
Beaufort’s voice rose to match his. “I mean only this: why does her name sting you so?” His gaze sharpened. “At Westford Castle, I thought it nothing more than devotion to your sister—you forever at their side, the child and her governess. But now—”
“Do not be absurd,” William retorted.
“Why, then, are you so consumed with jealousy,” Beaufort pressed, “unless—unless you are guilty of the very thing you accuse me of?”
William’s jaw locked. He gave no answer.
