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Jane felt a thrill at this piece of shared interest. In her nervousness, she had not expected to discover this mutual love of literature, but now she couldn’t help but warm up to the topic. “Is she really?” she asked. “Mine, too. Austen has a certain ability to dissect the hypocrisies and pretenses of high society with her wit and satire. But she also captures the essence of human relationships in a way few others do.”

A spark of curiosity lit Richard’s eyes. “Which of Austen’s characters do you find most intriguing?” he asked.

Jane didn’t hesitate. “Elizabeth Bennet from Pride and Prejudice,” she said. “She’s strong, independent, and has a good sense of judgment. She refuses to be swayed by societal pressures and doesn’t settle for anything less than a marriage based on mutual respect and love.”

“What a delightful thing to say, Miss Grant! And you, Richard?” asked Lady Calliope. “Who is your favorite character?”

“Mr. Darcy, of course,” Richard said, a twinkle in his eye. “A man initially misunderstood because of his aloof manner but eventually seen as a devoted and considerate gentleman.”

For the first time since her arrival, Jane felt herself relax a little. Maybe, just maybe, this would all work out. There was so much Jane didn’t know about Richard, and the more she got to know, the more she liked him.

“Richard, why haven’t you told us about her before?” asked Lady Calliope. “I wish you had.”

“Because I knew you would all be like this. All inquisitive and, pardon me, suffocating. If Spencer were here, he’d be telling you all to give Miss Grant a chance.”

A hush fell over the room, and Lady Calliope, Richard, the dowager, and Preston all looked at a single chair standing by the table at the window. Jane didn’t know Spencer, but she imagined someone who looked like a mixture of Preston, Richard, and Calliope, sitting there, studying her with a somewhat softer gaze than Preston.

“He would,” Preston added. “But perhaps Spencer’s trusting nature had something to do with his disappearance. As the head of the family now, I will make sure we’re all safe. And given that you already had your share of pain with a lady of ill intentions, I must look out for you, Richard.”

“Please leave it, Preston,” Richard said. “This is not the place for a conversation like that.”

“Richard is right,” said the dowager, “but so is Preston. You should know, Miss Grant.”

Richard sighed deeply. “I do not see why she should.”

“She should if you love her like you insist that you do,” said Calliope.

The light in Richard’s eyes dimmed as he swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. He nodded. “I suppose Miss Grant should know about my past…”

Jane held her breath. Something almost crackled in the air as the whole room was silent. Even Reuben’s crunching quieted.

“I was engaged to Lady Charity Davies, the daughter of the Marquess of Wycliffe. It was five years ago.” Every word seemed to come out with an effort. “The match was very favorable for both of our families. Lady Charity was very agreeable to everyone. Most importantly, however, I thought we were both happy. I was, in any case. Quite”—he chuckled bitterly—“in love with her. She was my first and only love. But one night, I came to find her kissing another man in a dark garden during a ball. And that”—he put his cup back on the table—“was the end of it.”

Jane’s heart broke for Richard. Unfortunately, theirs would be another engagement that wouldn’t last. Jane had thought Richard a disruptive scoundrel only a few days ago, but she had revised her opinion. However agreeable Lady Charity must have been, Jane couldn’t understand how any woman could be interested in another man when she had this charming, intelligent, handsome man’s love and affection.

Caught in these thoughts, she couldn’t help but conclude that they should end the engagement as soon as possible for both their sakes. If they passed this test with his family, they needed to move quickly and find Atticus. Tomorrow night, she decided. She’d find a way to sneak out and go look for Atticus with Richard.

The thought of meeting him again had warmth cascade through her body. Not good. These were his rakish charms at work. She needed to keep her cool demeanor with him at all costs.

11

Eleven days until the wedding…

The glowing remnants of day seeped through the indigo clouds, creating a breathtaking play of colors—golden-orange, navy, and black—above the dark, broken houses, crooked streets, and hunched figures. Richard waited for Jane in the carriage unsettled by the thought of her navigating Whitechapel’s streets alone after sunset.

Eventually, a hooded figure materialized from the shadows cast by Elysium, and he caught a glimpse of Jane’s face as she hurried towards the carriage. Richard held the door open, extending his hand to help her climb up. Her touch was delicate, and even through her gloved hand, it sent a warm shiver through him.

“Miss Grant,” he said as he eyed her in the semidarkness of the carriage. The hanging oil lamp swung as the carriage departed, the horses’ hooves squelching in the muddy street.

Heavens, she was lovely, he thought as she lowered her hood, and he could see her steely gaze behind her round spectacles. Those big eyes, long, curling eyelashes, and lips that he imagined tasted like heaven.

“Lord Richard,” she said.

“Where are we going?” he asked, tearing his gaze away from her lips.

“To a tavern where Thorne’s men like to drink and do business at night.”

He frowned. “Should you be there?”