Her One True Love (22 page)

But deep in his heart, didn't he want Jane more than anything, or anyone?

Didn't he want to love her, touch her, laugh with her, and have her?

He had to find a solution.

Matthew pushed to his feet as determination raged like a fire behind his rib cage. He stormed toward the door and yanked it open, the floor beneath his feet tipping this way and that.

A loud rapping on the front door halted him. Matthew stared toward it, unsure if he was hearing things through his drunken stupor.

Flanders's abrupt appearance from below and striding toward the door told Matthew otherwise. He walked slowly forward, gripping the newel post of the staircase to steady himself as Flanders opened the door. Wind swept inside, along with flakes of snow and fallen leaves. Matthew sneered with amusement as his butler straightened his shoulders and shooed whoever was at the door inside.

Matthew recognized the young boy as the messenger employed by the village postmaster. Matthew stood farther back into the shadows, not wanting the boy to see him in his current state of inebriation. Shame rippled through him. Since when had he taken to drinking in order to numb the pain of his problems?

Since his heart was involved, that was when.

Since the decisions he had to make weren't of the intellectual or profitable sense, or about the welfare of his tenants and villagers . . . but about a woman who was hell-bent on change, of making her own life far away from all she'd ever known.

“I have a message for the squire, Mr. Flanders. Mr. Weston said I was to bring it to the squire through the snow and then make my way home.”

Flanders cleared his throat. “Well, that's very good of you, Jones.” He took the envelope and waved it toward the door. “On your way now.”

Matthew peered around the stairs as Flanders closed the door and studied the envelope. His butler glanced toward the study, his brow furrowed. Unease rippled through Matthew before he inhaled, pulled back his shoulders, and stepped into the light.

“Was that someone at the door, Flanders?”

His butler started before his frown was replaced with his usual impassive expression. “Indeed it was, sir. Young Master Jones with a letter for you. I . . .” He coughed. “I believe it to be addressed in Mrs. Cleaves's handwriting, sir.”

Matthew swallowed and walked closer to Flanders, his hand outstretched. “Very good. I think I will take it to my bedroom and retire for the night.”

“Do you need my assistance, sir?”

Matthew stared at the envelope and shook his head. “No. I think tonight I will manage well enough alone. Good night, Flanders.”

“Good night, sir.”

Matthew turned and made his way upstairs, Elizabeth's letter in one hand and the other on the banister to aid his clumsy ascent.

J
ane tucked a blanket around Ruth as she fell into a peaceful slumber, before clasping little Billy's outstretched hand. In the two weeks she had been working with Mrs. Cage, Jane's heart had become entirely the children's, and her resolve to do all she could for them stronger than ever. She smiled. The Board was pleased with her visits, and she, Jeannie, and Mrs. Cage had been back and forth to the market buying new plates, bedding, and food.

The children were coming to trust her and Jeannie as they did their protective matron . . . or “Mama,” as the younger ones often called Mrs. Cage.

Jane's contentment wound around her. The house became more buoyant with each passing day. The only clouds that tainted an otherwise happy horizon were Matthew's absence and her inevitable return to Marksville for Christmas.

Lifting Billy into her arms, Jane carried him into a back bedroom, where he slept top to toe with three other children in an iron bed, softened by an old, but downy mattress.

She laid him down and ran her hand over his cheek. “Sleep tight, darling. I'll be back the day after tomorrow.”

He pouted. “Can you not come tomorrow
and
the next day?”

Jane smiled. “You have to be patient. In the New Year, I hope to come every day, but for now, Miss Jeannie and I must abide by the rules and only visit twice a week.”

“That's not fair.”

“I agree, but very often life isn't fair.” She kissed his brow. “And you, my little one, know that more than most.” She tucked his arms beneath the blanket and brushed the fallen hair from his eyes. “Good night, sweetheart.”

“Good night, Miss Jane.”

Jane's eyes burned with tears as she checked the other children before picking up a brass candleholder with a low stub of flickering wax. She left the room and softly closed the door behind her.

As she walked downstairs, Jeannie and Mrs. Cage's voices drifted through the open kitchen door. Taking a deep breath, Jane touched her hand to the concealed pocket inside her dress and Monica's letter crackled.

Would Jeannie and Mrs. Cage think less of her if she shared its contents with them? Jane swallowed as insecurity squeezed at her aching heart. Surely the worldly wise Mrs. Cage would offer advice rather than judgment? And Jeannie, lovely, blessed Jeannie, only wanted Jane to be happy, didn't she?

Jane lifted her chin and walked into the kitchen.

Her friends were seated at the table, a pot of tea between them and a third cup on a tray next to a jug of milk and a bowl of sugar.

“Ah, there you are.” Mrs. Cage beamed. “I thought the kiddies had banded together and tied you to the bedpost. Do you want a cup of tea before your ride arrives?”

Jane forced a smile. “That would be lovely, thank you.”

She sank heavily onto a chair beside Jeannie and sighed.

“Jane?” Jeannie frowned. “Is everything all right? You don't look very well.”

“I'm fine.”

Mrs. Cage handed Jane a filled cup, her gaze intense and a crease furrowing her brow. “Come on now, let's be having you. What's wrong?”

Jane looked from one woman to the other before slumping in defeat. “You'll think my concerns silly compared to the work we are doing here. It's nothing, really.”

Mrs. Cage shook her head. “That means it must be concerns of a romantic nature, I'll bet. Out with it. What's the squire done now?”

Jeannie giggled.

“The squire?” Jane huffed a laugh. “Since when—”

“Since the first time I clapped eyes on the pair of you together, that's when.” Mrs. Cage's eyes teased, but her concern was clear. “Come on, tell us what's worrying that big ol' heart of yours.”

Jane looked from Mrs. Cage to Jeannie and back again. Sighing, she extracted Monica's letter from her pocket and slipped it onto the table. “This letter arrived from my sister this morning. She says she wants me to come home for Christmas.”

Mrs. Cage frowned. “And by how down in the mouth you are, I assume that's not good news?”

“Not when I add in the other things she says.”

Jeannie leaned forward, her elbows on the table and her eyes dark with worry. “Is it Mama? Is that what has you looking so distressed?”

Jane smiled and clasped Jeannie's hands. “No, your mother is recovering well from her bout of flu, Jeannie. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to worry you.”

“Then what is it?”

Jane drew her hand from Jeannie's and opened the letter. She glanced between Mrs. Cage and Jeannie once more and began to read.

Jane refolded the letter and slipped it back into her pocket. Taking a deep breath, she lifted her gaze and looked at Mrs. Cage and Jeannie in turn. “Well?”

The two women exchanged raised eyebrows before turning identical blasé expressions toward her.

Jane frowned. “Why do you look at me that way? What do you say? Matthew has reunited with his wife.”

“You do not know that.” Jeannie lifted her shoulders. “Miss Monica says the squiress has returned, not that they are once more man and wife.”

“Well, what else could it mean? Matthew has withdrawn into the Manor once more. He is working but not been seen around town or making further plans toward the village Christmas festivities.” Jane's cheeks turned hot as tears pricked her eyes. “He has decided to take Elizabeth back for the sake of the village, I know it. I should admire him for his commitment, yet . . .” Tears clogged her throat. “Yet, I had so hoped we could one day—”

“Hmmph.” Mrs. Cage cleared her throat. “If you could see a way to spare me the histrionics and listen to some good old-fashioned advice rather than the new-fangled, eye-batting nonsense your class like to dally in, I think I can steer you in the right direction.”

Jane stared. She didn't know whether to laugh out loud or cry.

Jeannie laughed. “Mrs. Cage, you do make me smile.”

Mrs. Cage shrugged, her gaze still on Jane. “Well?”

“You don't understand. I've . . . I've made a huge mistake, considering he no longer wants me.”

“A mistake?” Jeannie leaned forward, her eyes wide with interest. “What do you mean?”

Jane's face turned hot under their scrutiny and the bitter taste of regret coated her tongue. Second by excruciating second, Mrs. Cage's and Jeannie's expressions changed from confusion, to suspicion and finally comprehension.

“Oh Jane.”

“Well, you ain't the first, and you won't be the last to give in to the cravings of the flesh, that's for sure.”

Mortified, Jane covered her face with her hands and leaned her elbows on the table. “I am a fool. An utter, utter fool.”

“'Course you ain't.” Mrs. Cage gave an inelegant sniff. “Now, are you ready to listen to me, or not?”

Jane battled the threat of tears into submission and pulled back her shoulders. “I'm listening.”

“Right, then.” Mrs. Cage refilled their teacups and sat back. “First of all, you write to your sister telling her you wouldn't miss spending Christmas with your family for the world.”

“Then?” Jane's disgrace still burned hot at her cheeks. Hadn't Mrs. Cage heard the part about Matthew and Elizabeth? Hadn't she heard that Jane had ruined her entire reputation for a tussle under the bedclothes with another woman's husband? “What am I supposed to do if I see Matthew? I've given him all of me, and now he's tossed me aside for his wife. His
wife
, Mrs. Cage.” Her voice cracked as shame engulfed her. “What was I thinking by lying with him?”

Mrs. Cage gave a dismissive wave. “What is done is done. He's still yours, young lady, make no mistake. That man looks at you as though you're a goddess. Your sister knows nothing and says nothing of what is happening with the squire and his strumpet of a wife.”

Jeannie giggled, and when Mrs. Cage threw her a glare, Jeannie hastily lifted her teacup to her lips.

“And . . .” Mrs. Cage sniffed. “Who's to know what's being said behind closed doors between the two of them? Your lot, the upper class, you always play your silly games. Worry what's right and proper. You think long and hard before you get home, young lady. What are you prepared to do, prepared to sacrifice, for him? You go home and confront the man. Discover his intentions and what he's prepared to do to be with you.”

Jane's hands turned clammy as she looked from Mrs. Cage to Jeannie.

Her life was here now. With these wonderful women and children. . . wasn't it?

Did she want to give up everything she could have in Bath for the small chance Matthew still wanted her? He had left two weeks before and had not sent a single word of news or affection since. They had spent years apart when he had been blind to her love. She was grown now. A full-fledged woman in body and mind.

She lifted her chin. “You're right. It's time to go home and show Matthew Cleaves just what kind of woman he dares to cast aside.”

Jeannie clapped and Mrs. Cage beamed as the three of them lifted their cups in a toast.

“Amen.” Mrs. Cage laughed. “Finally, the girl sees sense.”

“Then we are agreed? A divorce is the only way forward.” Matthew sat behind his desk as Elizabeth paced back and forth in front of the fireplace.

She halted. “Yes. I'm sorry, Matthew. Sorry I was unfaithful. If I could have the time again . . .”

“What, Elizabeth? What would you do differently? Time and again, I tried to make our marriage work, and time and again, you turned the other way.” He shook his head. “None of that matters. Not anymore.”

She smiled softly. “You seem different. Happier.”

He shrugged, images of Jane passing through his mind. “I am.”

“You have plans?”

“Some.” He held his wife's curious gaze, protectiveness toward Jane keeping his words deep inside. “But what I do with my life no longer concerns you.”

“I know that.” She came toward him and sat in one of the two chairs on the other side of the desk. “But do you have to be so cold toward me?”

Matthew leaned back. How could he have not seen the breadth of her self-centeredness and ego before? “As much as my anger might have cooled, you'll have to forgive me if my sense of trust toward you remains forever fragile. You lied and you cheated. You didn't come to me and admit the depth of your unhappiness. You rejected my attempts to improve things between us time and again. How was I ever to fix whatever it was that made you so unhappy?”

Her gray eyes dimmed and her shoulders slumped. “I didn't know I was unhappy until I met Charles. I swear it. I thought, assumed, my life in Biddestone as your wife would be enough. When I met Charles, I . . .” She shook her head, her cheeks reddening. “It was as though everything I had been looking for my entire life stood right in front of me. You have no idea how captivating that can be. How impulsive it can make your decisions and actions.”

Matthew stared.
The hell I don't
. The feel of Jane's naked skin still lingered on his fingertips as though he'd touched her only moments before. He wanted Elizabeth to know nothing of his feelings of Jane. No one to know they were lovers and risk her reputation before he had the chance to ask Jane for her hand in marriage.