Grace shook her head. “No, I will never shame them in that way. That is one thing I can do right. No, I’m going to Devon and only hope you can see your way to letting me have some money from your own funds, Miss Jane. And to promise me not to tell your parents or sisters what has occurred.”
Jane hesitated: she knew she should not promise anything of the sort, but Grace looked so unhappy. As an unmarried mother she would now be cast out of decent society. “Do you intend to keep the child or give it up?’’
Grace tossed her head and for a second, the old, arrogant expression she used to wear crossed her face. “I am keeping it, Miss, I’m not putting it in some workhouse orphanage. We’ll manage somehow. My aunt will care for it whilst I work, but only if I can give her the twenty guineas now.”
Jane nodded reluctantly, torn as to what was the right course of action. “I’ll keep your secret, but I do not think that is the right thing to do. I wish you would let me tell my mother—no, do not get distressed, I can see you would rather I didn’t. But I do not have that amount of money with me. Where are you living, Grace? I will send it round to you within the next few days.”
Grace’s hand shot out and clutched Jane’s arm. “No, tonight, I must have it tonight. There is a fruit wagon heading down to Devon from Covent Garden tomorrow and I can travel free if I’m there early enough. Here!” She pushed a grubby piece of paper into Jane’s hand. “I share a room in this boarding house. ‘Tis the other side of Westminster Bridge. Not far. Please, Miss, please try and bring me as much as you can spare. For the baby’s sake.”
And with a swirl of scarlet cloak, she turned and vanished into the crowds of passers-by.
13
Archer Maitland was cursing himself for a fool, a mutton-headed idiot of a fool! He tossed a coin to the small boy holding the horses, told him to wait with Andrew’smount and swung himself up into the saddle. He had stormed away from Jane Darcy, in great danger of losing his temper and saying words he would later regret.
But her reluctance to see Celeste as a suitable wife for Andrew had upset him. His friend was a good man, clever, kindhearted, generous. So he was not from some titled or rich family, but would one day no doubt be honoured in his profession with a knighthood. But obviously that was not enough for Miss Jane Darcy to welcome him into her family circle!
As he trotted through the crowded streets, back to his offices, he realised he would not have been surprised if Anne had similar views—that was part of her damnable Darcy pride and vanity—but he would never have believed Jane could feel the same way.
Well, it was a hard lesson for him, well learned. Women were impossible to understand and in future he would keep hisemotions under control. Because he knew he had been in danger of losing his head, forgetting that it was Anne his grandmother wanted, indeed insisted he marry, and picturing himself in the future with Jane at his side as his wife.
Which was ridiculous! How could he have fallen in love with a quiet, unassuming girl, a delicate creature, who expected to be cared for? Anne in comparison was all elegance, energy, wit and beauty—Jane was…
Jane had stolen into his heart and mind! And he refused to accept it! He would not give in to soft emotions such as love. His dear mother had married for love: a lowly lawyer who hardly made enough money to keep them in food and shoes. She had been cast aside by her very own family and even though she had seemed extremely happy with his father, as a young boy Archer had seen how she struggled to manage without all the comforts and servants that had surrounded her since she was born. And he had also seen how distressed his father had been as the years passed and his situation and salary did not alter.
It wasn’t just the material things in life that had sometimes lowered her spirits. Mr Maitland had been a well-read, sensitive man, with a great love of poetry and music. But there was no meeting of minds between herself and the rest of his friends and colleagues. By self education he had elevated himself above the social position he had been born to but, on his death, there was no one in their circle to whom she could turn for emotional and spiritual support.
Violet, his dear mother had been born a Goddard, with two very determined and opinionated parents. When his father had died, she could have returned to their home, if she had apologised for her marriage, but Archer knew she had stubbornly refused, although she had never prevented his contact with his grandparents. He had watched her wilt and fadeaway, missing his father more and more with every passing week until she joined him in the graveyard.
Archer was left knowing that marrying for love was a very dangerous thing to do. He would not make the same mistake: no, he would marry for convenience, marry the right woman, the type of woman everyone expected him to take as a wife.
He urged his horse forward, ignoring the shouts of pedestrians who were spattered with mud as he passed. Enough of this nonsense! He would propose to Anne Darcy just as soon as was possible and end this nightmare of roaring emotion.
***
Jane was sorely tempted to break her promise to Grace and confess everything to her mother when she returned to Matlock House with Celeste. She could hardly listen to her cousin’s chatter about her many purchases, of how lucky they had been to meet with Andrew and Mr Maitland, of how exciting the good Doctor’s expedition to Greece sounded, what a kind, clever gentleman he was. At last she vanished upstairs, vowing to try on all her purchases before dinner.
All Jane could think of was the terrible position in which Grace found herself. Whether the girl had brought this on herself was, at the moment, of no importance. Grace had been a servant at Pemberley for many years: in Jane’s eyes that meant the Darcys were responsible for her. She would never have met Edmund Avery if she had not been a maid in their household whilst he was a guest.
If Mr and Mrs Darcy had been at home, Jane would have found it difficult to have kept silent, but they had gone with Anne to call on Mrs Caroline Tremaine, whom having lately been staying with Jane and Charles Bingley, had letters from them to distribute.
Bennetta was practicing her piano playing in the drawing room and smiled mischievously at Jane when she asked why she had not gone with the rest of the family.
“La, you would never believe the headache I had after luncheon. I fear I was quite laid flat on my bed with a lavender compress on my temples and could not possibly have entertained the thought of visiting Mrs Tremaine!”
“You look quite well now!”
“Yes, it is amazing how quickly the pain went after the carriage left. I do believe that Mama would have joined me in my prostrate state, but she has too keen a sense of duty. I am quite sure she doesn’t care greatly for Mrs Tremaine, but feels she must not offend dear Uncle Charles’ sister and the thought of receiving a letter from Aunt Jane settled the matter.”
“What time will they return?”
Bennetta idly picked out a little tune with one finger. “I believe they are asked for early supper, so not before eight, I imagine. Do go and take off your hat and cloak. I want you to help me with the guest list for the ball. Mama says we cannot have twice the number of men than women, but I think that is very unfair. You are certain of dancing every dance if there are more men than women.
“Anyway, I need your help to think of more girls to invite. I do wish Cassandra and Richard would come down from Derbyshire, but I cannot persuade them. Richard is always so busy with his patients and Cassie will not be parted from Victoria even for a few days.”
“Anne will surely know a great many suitable young ladies. She is so often in town.”
Bennetta banged several keys together in discord. “All Anne wants is Archer Maitland’s acceptance of the invitation we sent him. Our sister is, I believe, more than interested in that gentleman. She told me this morning that his grandmother letslip a secret—she believes it probable that he intends to propose to Anne at our ball! So that will make a suitable climax to the proceedings.”
