The Heiress Effect (19 page)

Genevieve simply smiled and treated the
folded square of linen as if it were a bouquet, a perfectly natural
thing for her to be holding. She used it to add a little flourish
to the perfectly executed curtsy she made.

“My lord,” she said in unison with her
sister.

Jane came in a few moments later with a
lopsided curtsy of her own. “Bradenton.”

The marquess gave Jane an annoyed glance at
that familiarity. “As it turns out, ladies,” Bradenton said,
“there’s a new plant in one of the greenhouses. I had thought to
show Miss Fairfield.”

The two ladies looked at one another. “Of
course,” Geraldine said. “We should love to see it above all
things.”

“Ah, that’s the thing.” Bradenton shook his
head sadly. “It’s delicate. Very delicate. We could not all crowd
about it without risking its demise.”

What claptrap. What was the man getting
at?

“I propose we all walk to the greenhouses,”
Bradenton said, “and I will conduct Miss Fairfield inside. You’ll
be able to see her through the glass—there will be no chance of
impropriety—and I’ll be done in a matter of minutes.”

There was a pause—a longer, more reluctant
pause. If Genevieve had set her sights on Bradenton, she was
probably thinking murderously jealous thoughts at the moment. But
if she aspired so high, she did not let it show. After a moment,
the twins simply nodded.

“But of course, my lord,” Genevieve said.

“Whatever you say, my lord,” Geraldine told
him.

The word
greenhouse
called to mind a
single structure of glass. The greenhouses here were actually a
complex of glassed-in buildings, jutting out like spikes from a
central hallway. They were made of heavy brick mortared over in
gray from the ground up to waist level. Above that point, windows
made up the walls and ceilings. On some, the top windows were open
a few inches. Jane could feel the warm air tickling her face as
they passed. Bradenton walked along a side path before opening a
door.

“We’ll just be a moment, ladies,” he said to
the twins, before he ushered Jane inside.

She’d been in the greenhouses before. A main
hallway stretched in front of her, with individual rooms connected
off it, each with its separate temperature and humidity. The
hallway itself was moist and heated; jungle vines flourished on the
walls.

The specimens here were labeled in both Latin
and English, and sometimes in letters and numbers that meant
nothing to Jane. Some university botanist must be studying them,
Jane supposed. Steel pipes made a quiet gurgling sound, hot water
flowing through them, radiating warmth. Jane had dressed for the
cold, and suddenly she was sweltering.

Geraldine probably wouldn’t have done
anything so uncouth as
sweat
.

Bradenton bowed her into a room of clay pots
and sand with a smile. Jane didn’t smile back. This was the man who
wanted her hurt. Humiliated. Who was willing to trade a vote in
Parliament to get that result.

“So, my lord,” Jane asked, “where is this
exceedingly rare plant?”

He contemplated her. “I cannot make you
out.”

“Whyever not?” Jane spun around, taking in
the plants in the room. “You and I are so similar.” It was dry and
hot; a big, square planter to the left contained rocks and sand and
a number of squiggly misshapen green things. They’d have been
swallowed up by the underbrush if they’d dared to grow in the
Cambridge woods.

“Similar?”

“But of course.” Jane still refused to look
at him. “We’re simple people. The sort that nobody would care about
if circumstances were different. I’m elevated by my fortune. You’re
elevated by your title.”

He made a sound of disbelief. “That’s why you
spurned me? Because you think you’re my
equal?”
There was an
ugly tone in his voice.

Her heart beat faster. She put him off
because that was what she
did.
But perhaps she’d made a
special effort with him. Others had talked and laughed about her,
but after those first few weeks, he’d encouraged them. And he’d
tried to pretend he didn’t.

“Spurn you?” she said with a laugh. “How
could I have spurned you? You’ve never offered me anything to
spurn.”

He made a noise. “No matter.”

“I can’t imagine
why
you’d offer,”
Jane said. You’re a marquess. You don’t need…” She stopped, as if
something had just occurred to her. “Oh.”

His eyes burned into hers, but Jane wasn’t
going to let his glare stop her. She wanted him to feel a fraction
of the pain he wished on her.

“You
do
need my money,” Jane said.
“Don’t you?”

“Shut up.”

“Of course.” Jane kept her face a mask of
solicitude. “I feel dreadfully for you. How embarrassing that must
be. You write all the laws, you can’t lose your lands even by
mismanagement, and yet with all those advantages, you can’t even
fix the game to turn a profit on your own estates. Good heavens;
that must take singular skill.”

He took another step toward her. “Shut up,”
he said on a low growl.

“Oh, don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone. You
know I am the very soul of discretion.”

He made a strangled noise in his throat and
took yet another step toward her.

She’d gone too far. Twitting him was one
thing; taunting another. She froze and looked up at the menace that
had taken over his features. For all that the Johnson sisters were
watching, there was nothing they could—quite possibly nothing they
would
—do to save her if he wanted to hurt her. She was
effectively alone with the man, and he wished her ill. He wanted
her to shut up.

It had never been one of her skills.

She smiled blindly at him, clinging to her
pretense of ignorance. “I feel for you, Bradenton. Did you hear of
me and imagine a poor, impressionable child, one who would be
overwhelmed by your wit and charm? You must have been so
disappointed. You imagined my dowry was yours, and then I laughed
at you the first time you gave me a grandiose compliment.”

If anything, his eyes grew angrier. “You
little bitch,” he whispered. “You’ve been doing it on purpose.”

“Doing what?” Jane held on to her smile as if
it were the only thing shielding her from a dragon’s flames. “I
haven’t been doing a thing except stating a few facts. Don’t you
like facts, my lord?”

No. He didn’t. He took a final step toward
her, and this time he raised his walking stick, clenched like a
truncheon in his fist.

Her hands went cold. She really
had
gone too far.

She kept smiling. “You were going to show me
a plant, my lord.”

He stopped, shook his head, as if remembering
that they were in a greenhouse. That the walls were glass. That no
matter what words had been exchanged, she was a lady—and if it got
out that he’d struck her, his reputation would suffer.

He took a breath, and then another, and then
yet another, until his countenance presented as smooth a lie as
Jane’s.

“There.” He inverted his walking stick so
that the curved head pointed to a clay pot filled with sand. “That
is it.”

It was greenish-gray, an ugly mess of a
plant. Fat snakes as thick as her thumb pointed up in a tangled
knot, radiating sharp little needles.

“It reminds me of you, Miss Fairfield.” A
trace of venom still carried on his voice.

No wonder.

“I quite like it,” Jane mused. “It seems a
brave little thing in all that sand. Here, let’s find a plant for
you, my lord. I know just the thing. I saw some sort of weed when
first we came in.”

There had been a foul-smelling creeper of
some kind back in the jungle-like hallway. She started to turn
away.

She saw it out of the corner of her eye. He
swung the head of his walking stick down hard. Little bits of that
snaky, spiney cactus went flying.

Her stomach turned to ice. She had no way to
bluff past that act of violence, no way to smile it off. She had
only one choice—to pretend she didn’t see it. She kept on turning
to the door and marched away, even though her hands were
shaking.

“It’s here,” she said. “In the hallway. Let’s
seek it out, shall we?”

He was breathing heavily. “No. Let’s just get
back to the others.”

He hadn’t meant it as a threat, she told
herself. She’d irritated him, that was all, and once he’d passed
the point of frustration, he’d snapped. The little cactus had been
an unfortunate casualty of his anger.

They walked in silence—Bradenton unwilling to
speak, and Jane unable to say anything more. They went back through
the humid central hallway, opened the door onto the path. Genevieve
and Geraldine were waiting for them, turned to each other, speaking
in low, urgent tones.

“You saw it,” Geraldine said. “You saw it,
and—”

At the sound of the door, they stopped
talking. They turned as one and broke into twin smiles.

“My lord,” Genevieve said.

“My dear Miss Fairfield.” Geraldine stepped
forward, her hands outstretched for Jane. “So good to see you once
more. Thank you for returning her to us.”

“Here you are,” Bradenton said. “Ladies, I
give you back your friend.”

Jane’s head was still ringing. Her hands were
shaking. She could scarcely pay attention as the twins murmured
polite invitations to the marquess.

“I don’t suppose you would like to join us on
our further ramblings?”

She wasn’t even sure who spoke.
No,
she was thinking.
No. Go away. Go away.

“Sorry, ladies.” He gave them a cool smile,
one that didn’t touch his lips. “I’ve already been out for far too
long. It was a pleasure, to be sure. Miss Johnson. Miss Genevieve.”
He stared at Jane. “Miss Fairfield.”

Jane’s heart was still beating in hard, heavy
thumps.

Genevieve pouted. “If you must,” she said.
The two of them stationed themselves between Jane and Bradenton,
watching him retreat down the path away from the greenhouse. A few
steps away, he stopped and turned—perhaps to look at Jane. The
sisters stood shoulder to shoulder, though, and if Bradenton had
any particular message he wanted to send—a frown or a scowl—his
visage was blocked by the twins. Geraldine lifted her hand and gave
him a little wave.

Never had Jane been so relieved by their
incessant flirtation. Her breath was finally beginning to slow when
the sisters turned back to her.

They weren’t smiling. In fact, they were
looking at her with something that she might have thought was
concern, had it been on anyone else’s face.

Geraldine took a step forward. “Miss
Fairfield,” she said, her voice delicate and musical—everything
that a lady’s should be. “Miss Fairfield, we were watching through
the window. We couldn’t help but notice…”

“What was it he said?” Genevieve asked.

Jane’s throat closed up. She couldn’t talk
about it—not with these two, not with anyone. She couldn’t care
about their foolish, misplaced jealousies.

God. He’d killed her plant. He’d been on the
verge of hurting her.

“Nothing,” Jane said. “It was nothing.” Pray
that they couldn’t see her hands shaking.

“Tell me, Miss Fairfield.” Geraldine reached
out and touched Jane’s wrist. “When we decided to…befriend you, we
agreed with one another that we would…take care of you.”

“After a manner of speaking,” Genevieve
added.

Jane shook her head. “It was nothing. He
showed me a plant. He said it made him think of me. Isn’t that…”
Sweet.
She’d been going to say it was sweet, but even she
could not get that word out of her mouth.

Geraldine’s mouth tightened. She turned to
her sister. “You’re right,” she said. “We have to tell her.”

What new horror was this? She couldn’t play
games any longer.

“I have a headache,” Jane demurred. But
Geraldine tightened her grasp on her wrist.

Genevieve came to stand by her side. “Miss
Fairfield,” she said gently, “there is no good way to say this.
Sometimes…” She looked over at her sister. “Sometimes, I think that
you are…”

Geraldine gave a sharp nod. “Sometimes I
think that you are not always good at understanding other people’s
intentions.”

Jane stared at them, her mind reeling.

“And so maybe,” Genevieve said, “maybe you
didn’t understand what it was that Bradenton was saying to you. And
I don’t think you saw when you turned away—that look on his face,
and the thing that he did.”

Jane had understood it. She had understood it
perfectly well. That they had, too… She couldn’t let them see,
couldn’t have this conversation. Hearing it from their mouths made
his threats feel real in a way that she couldn’t explain. He wanted
her hurt. He wanted her humiliated.

“But we did,” Genevieve said. “His intent was
unmistakable, even through the window.” She took a longer, deeper
breath. “We haven’t always been kind to you.”

What were they saying? What were they
doing?
It took Jane a moment to look into Genevieve’s eyes,
to see that this wasn’t going to turn into some jealous tirade. The
two sisters exchanged glances, and then nodded at one another.

“In fact,” Genevieve said, “since the first
few weeks we knew you…we probably haven’t been kind to you once.
We’ve been making use of your particular skills. I know this may be
hard to hear, that you might not understand what we’re saying.”

She couldn’t speak, couldn’t say anything at
all.

“But,” Genevieve continued, “please believe
me when I say this—I do not think you should ever be alone with
Lord Bradenton again. Not even for a walk in a garden with other
people nearby. We haven’t been very kind to you, but we
did
promise when we started that we’d keep you from the worst of it. I
can’t be sure of Bradenton’s meaning, but I refuse to stand idly by
while we find out.”