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Percy bowed slightly. “Of course.”
The gentleman rushed off. Percy gazed after him. The man looked agitated. His eyes were alight with a fierce emotion as he scanned the crowd. Percy had no doubt who he was looking for. It could only be Lady Jane.
And suddenly, it hit him, right in the middle of his solar plexus. He still had no idea whether Jane was telling him the truth or not about her relationship with her friend, but the man was clearly in love with her. It was all there in the man’s demeanour and his agitation as he searched for her. Almost as if he was missing a precious jewel.
Percy sighed deeply. This wasn’t the orderly way he had envisioned wooing the lady. He knew she would make a good wife and a fine countess. But that was all he had ever wanted. A compatible lady who he got along with and wouldn’t make too many demands upon him. A lady who knew the score as well as he did and was willing to settle for easy companionship over volatile love.
Percy’s heart shifted. He ran a shaking hand through his hair. This was all getting out of hand. It was getting messy and complicated and not orderly at all. And he knew—in a sudden, blinding flash—that he should stop pursuing Lady Jane Metcalfe. He should just stay away from her entirely, before he lost control of this situation, utterly and completely.
Chapter 17
Jane tiptoed down the darkened staircase in her house after the ball, holding the candle aloft, trying not to make a sound. It was very late, and the whole household was abed. Even though she was unbearably weary, she wasn’t able to sleep. The events of the evening kept playing over and over in her mind, like a mouse upon a wheel.
Eventually, she had given up. Sometimes a glass of milk helped her settle. She was heading towards the kitchen when she saw a single candle’s flickering light coming from the parlour. Curious, she pushed open the door.
Her father was seated near the dying fire, a brandy glass in hand. He was dressed for bed, with his dressing gown and sleeping cap on. He jumped, looking as startled to see her as she was to see him.
“Jane,” he said. “Can you not sleep as well?”
Jane smiled, drifting over to him. She hadn’t really spoken much with him lately, just the two of them. Usually, they talked every day, but with Marianne and Lucy staying and taking up all her time, it just wasn’t the same. She realised how much she missed his quiet wisdom and wry humour.
She sat opposite him, placing the candle on a side table. They both stared into the flickering flames of the fire without speaking. That was another thing she loved about her father—he didn’t feel the need to talk all the time. The silence they shared was companionable.
But eventually, he shifted in his chair, gazing at her steadily. “And why cannot you sleep, my Jane? Did you not enjoy the ball?”
Jane rolled her eyes. “I never enjoy balls, as you very well know, Papa.” She hesitated, biting her lip. “It is the Earl of Carlisle. It seems that no matter how much I tell him that I do not desire to marry, he still pursues me. It is inexplicable.”
Her father laughed softly. “Is it so inexplicable, my dear? What is more natural in the world than a young man pursuing a young woman?”
Jane coloured. “Yes, I understand that, but this is different,” she said. “He only wants a marriage of convenience. He just thinks I shall make a fine wife because I am not temperamental like Lucy and therefore demanding. Do not think he is in love with me, Papa.”
Her father leaned forward, staring at her intently. “Why would it be impossible for him to fall in love with you, Jane? You sell yourself short, my dear.”
Jane’s colour deepened. “He told me outright that he doesn’t want a love match for marriage,” she said, her heart twisting. “That is how I know it is the truth. He is very blunt about it. Almost to the point of offence.”
“I see,” said her father, frowning slightly. “That does make sense. He did propose in a precipitous manner. You barely knew him. I believe your assessment of his character, Jane. He strikes me as a man who is used to getting what he wants, when he wants.” He hesitated. “I cannot tell you what is in his heart. But I have seen the way he looks at you, my dear. There is definitely something there, even if he does not realise it yet.”
Jane’s heart gave an involuntary leap. But then, it sank again. Her father had probably just discerned the Earl’s admiration for her, the desire he felt. It wasn’t the beginning of love or anything like it. For the hundredth time, she tried to quell her burgeoning feelings for the man, knowing it was impossible for so many reasons.
“You like him, do you not?” Her father’s voice cut through her reverie. “You look changed, Jane. I have noticed the difference in you since you met him. It is something I have never discerned in you before.” He paused, staring at her intently. “You have my blessing to marry whomever you want, my dear. You do know that?”
“I do not wish to marry,” she said quickly, her face flushing anew. “I have told you so often, and I have not changed my mind, nor will I.”
He shook his head slowly. “But why, my dear? Why are you so set upon this course of action?”
“Because of you, of course,” she said, not meeting his eye. “I need to take care of you.”
She wasn’t entirely deceiving him—shedidworry about him and wanted to take care of him. The thought of him rattling around this big house alone and lonely was more than she could bear.
But the truth of it was much more complex than that, of course. And it was something that she could never, ever disclose to him. She couldn’t imagine how much she would hurt him if she told him that his wife had never been in love with him. That she had tried her hardest, but her heart had always belonged to another.
It would devastate him. Jane didn’t know if he would ever recover from it. His love for her mother was what sustained him now—the belief that they had shared a wonderful life together. His conversation was peppered with reminisces of her and things they had done together. Jane knew that her father fervently believed that his wife had loved him as much as he had loved her.
Not for the first time, Jane felt heavy, burdened with the knowledge that her mother had insisted she share with her. She wished that she had remained ignorant of the state of her parents’ marriage forever. Because itwasa burden, weighing her down. It was a secret that she could not share with those closest to her.
She sighed deeply. But she had carried the burden for five long years, and she knew she must not put it down now or ever. Her mother might have been agitated and not quite in her right mind when she had spoken about it, but her intention had been pure. She had wanted to save Jane the misery of love. It had been her mother’s one last, desperate attempt to ensure that her daughter had a happy life after she was gone.
Her father took her hand, gazing at her steadily. “Jane, please do not be a martyr for me,” he said in a gentle voice. “Your self-sacrifice is not needed, my dear. I have had my time. I want you to be happy. Truly happy. And the thought of you spurning love because you do not want me living alone saddens me immensely. If this Lord Carlisle is the one who makes your heart quicken, then you have my blessing.”
