The Promise (34 page)

Fighting mind-numbing terror, she covered her eyes and jumped through the flames, thankful for the damp sheet protecting her arms and legs. Mercifully, she landed on cool stone. Still crouching, she crept toward the storeroom, knowing the priest hole was her best chance of escaping the inferno. She plunged down the last flight of stairs into the English basement where the heat wasn’t as intense. She quickly searched for others, but soon realized she was the last person left in the house.

Jane remembered the tunnel through the eyes of an eight-year-old, the age she had been when she first discovered the secret opening on the back wall of the springhouse. It was as frightening to her now as it had been then. She shuddered. No doubt it was still a dark, slippery haven for bats, rats, and giant, hairy spiders. She squelched a wave of insipient claustrophobia as she lit a candle. Shrugging off the damp sheet, she hurried into the storage room just as a dark form dropped to the floor.

“Who’s there? John, is that you? Thank God, I thought…”

She sucked in a sharp breath as a dark figure rose above her like a giant raven. A beam fell in the room behind her, sealing off her exit. It illuminated hate-crazed eyes set in a twisted face.

Tom!

“Why cousin Jane, what an unexpected pleasure. I do hope it’s not too late to drop by for a visit. Ah, well, one need not stand on ceremony with family,” Tom purred maliciously.

Jane was trapped between hell and a madman whose wild eyes broadcast murderous intent. She seized the offensive, lunging forward to push his chest with all her weight. It worked. He stumbled backward against a table and crashed over the side onto the slate floor. Jane dropped to her knees and began to scramble through the tunnel opening.

“Leaving so soon? But the party was just…” Tom’s hand clamped around her ankle, “…getting…” he jerked her backing the room, “…started.”

She squirmed out of his hold and crab walked backward. Her legs tangled in her nightgown. Tom dove, landing on her with such force that she was momentarily knocked breathless. He straddled her chest, wrapping his hands around her neck slowly, as if savoring the act.

“Last time I saw you, we were getting so… close. If only I had more time, I’d show you what you’ve been missing. Alas, I must keep it strictly business.” He began to squeeze, his fingers digging into her fragile neck.

Her arms were pinned beneath him. She struggled to dislodge him, bucking and squirming, but with each second that passed she grew more faint. Spots began to swirl before her eyes. Tom’s grinning face dimmed until finally the world faded into darkness.

FINN SPRINTED TOWARD THE springhouse flanked by three guards. He grabbed a lantern and plunged into the tunnel. As he neared the end, he saw a faint light and heard voices. The smell of lamp oil was strong. He stealthily crawled into the room and saw a man with his hands wrapped around a Jane’s neck. He leapt, pulling him off her and flinging him against the wall.

His brain felt as if it exploded in his head when he saw her lying lifeless and pale on the floor, the outline of Tom’s fingers standing out in harsh relief on her neck.

A raw, rage-driven cry rose from deep in his throat. Tom looked around for something to protect himself with. By the time he remembered his knife, Finn was already on him. He grabbed Tom’s shirt with one hand and slammed his fist into his face, breaking his nose. Blood poured from Tom’s nostrils as he slid to the ground unconscious. Finn dropped beside Jane and checked for a pulse. He couldn’t find one. He pressed his ear to her chest and thought he heard a faint heartbeat, but he couldn’t be sure with all the hissing and popping around him.

The tunnel was the only way out; the fire raged beyond the storeroom door. He grabbed the edges of her sheet to use as a makeshift litter then backed toward the tunnel, towing Jane on behind him.

Heat followed them into the priest hole. It felt like an eternity before he felt cool air on his back. In the springhouse he lifted Jane in his arms and carried her out onto the lawn. He cradled her against his chest, willing her to breath, to open her eyes, to live.

“Don’t leave me, my love,” he whispered over and over again, but Jane’s face had a blue caste and her arms and legs were limp. Finn sank into a bottomless well of despair. How could he live the rest of his days without her? Until that moment he hadn’t understood how much she meant to him. How much he
loved
her. With a regret so profound it gutted him, he wished he had spoken those words. He would never have the chance to tell her she had brought joy to his life and given him back a sense of purpose.

Mrs. Williams appeared at his elbow with Pip. She cried and pulled at Jane’s sleeve. “Wake up, Mama. Please wake up.” The housekeeper tried to comfort her, but she was beyond consolation.

“Mama! Mama, please don’t die,” Pip sobbed.

Finn gently placed Jane’s body on the grass and reached out for Pip. “Shhh. Everything is going to be all right.” He said the words to comfort Pip, but he didn’t believe them. Nothing would ever be right again. As he rocked the child against his chest, a faint, weak cough sputtered from Jane’s mouth. Pip squealed and jumped from Finn’s arms.

“Mama’s not dead! She’s not!”

Finn smoothed hair back from Jane’s forehead as a stronger cough broke from her, then another. Her eyelids drifted open and she looked up at the circle of faces staring down at her.

“Jane,” Finn’s voice strangled in his throat. He leaned over and rained kisses over her face, unconcerned with the guards and servants watching them.

Jane became painfully aware that she was lying in the grass in a thin, wet shift and nothing else as her husband kissed her in front of men she didn’t know. She struggled to sit up.

“Finn,” she rasped and the stress of saying that one word caused another bout of coughing. It hurt to speak. She could taste smoke in her mouth and smell it on her body. Her throat felt swollen and scratchy. She winced when she tried to swallow.

“Cold,” she croaked, and Finn cast aside the wet sheet, jerked off his coat and wrapped it around her shoulders.

The house was fully engulfed. With a deafening roar, the rear section collapsed, shooting a tower of sparks into the air that illuminated the grounds.

Jane watched the implosion, then turned to Finn and asked, “Tom?”

“Gone,” was all he said.

Finn held Jane tightly as he barked out orders, verifying everyone was present and accounted for. He lifted her in his arms and directed the guards to take Mrs. Williams and the other servants to an inn. Then he told the stable master to hitch the team. Minutes later the carriage pulled around and Finn insisted on holding Jane on his lap all the way to London with Pip stretched out on the velvet upholstery beside them.

Despite the excitement, or perhaps because of it, Pip soon fell asleep. Finn threw a lap blanket over her without relinquishing his hold on Jane.

“Really, I’m fine,” she said hoarsely. “You can let go now.”

“Never,” his arms tightened around her. “I’ll never let you go again. I need to know you’re going to be all right. I need to feel you breathing. Jane,” his voice broke. “I thought you were...” Finn swallowed convulsively. “It was the worst moment of my life.”

He closed his eyes, fighting back tears.

She touched his cheek. “It’s over now.”

“I want you to know…”

“Yes?” she whispered.

“I love you. More than I ever thought possible to love another human being. You have become as essential to me as oxygen. I don’t know how I would have gone on if I lost you.”

With exquisite tenderness she cupped his jaw in her palm. “I love you, too, although I suspect you already knew that.”

“I’ve been a fool.” He lowered his head as brushed her lips gently with his own. “Say it again.”

“I love you,” she said, her voice raspy.

“Again.”

“I love you. When we get home, I’ll show you exactly how much.”

“You’ll sleep,” he growled.

“Then I’ll sleep and dream of you,” she smiled and lifted her face for another kiss.

Epilogue

Jane stretched out on the blanket and rested her back against Finn’s chest, his long legs bent at the knee on either side of her. He pressed his thumbs into the muscles of her shoulders, easing the tightness with firm, soothing circles. Her eyelids fluttered shut and she groaned, “That feels heavenly.”

“Would you like me feed you some grapes? Fan you with palm fronds, perhaps? It is my greatest pleasure to serve you, my lady,” he grinned.

“Perhaps I’ll think of a way you can serve me later.” Her lips tilted at the corners. A mild breeze cooled her cheeks as she turned her face toward the sun. On the lower terrace the children played among excited shouts and peals of laughter.

“Now
that
sounds promising,” Finn’s breath tickled her ear. “Happy, my love?”

“Endlessly,” Jane glanced back at him and her stomach flipped as it always did when she caught that predatory look on his handsome face. “We have been together four years. How is it that you still have the power to make me feel like a nervous girl with her first crush?”

“That’s an easy one. I
was
your first crush.” He slid his arms around her swollen belly and nuzzled her neck. “And you were my first love.”

“Were?” She elbowed him gently.

“Are,” he corrected. His hand skimmed along her ribcage and brushed against her breast.

Pip was spinning with a squealing toddler on her hip. Finn and Jane’s first child had been born a year after the fire that had gutted The Willows. Maura was now three years old and they were expecting their second child soon. They had lived in the townhouse until The Willows was rebuilt, often sailing down to Middlesex for the day to check on its progress and to picnic in the gardens.

“Do you remember the first words you ever said to me?”

“Hmmm. Under the circumstances, I doubt they were too kind.”

“No, they weren’t. You said, ‘Who in the devil are you and how did you come to have this locket?’ I’ve been thinking about that locket and how it brought me to you. You’ve often said I was Maura’s guardian angel, but I sometimes feel she is mine. She guided Pip home to her family.”

“And you into my arms,” Finn said with a smile.

Notes

             
Adoption in the modern legal sense did not occur in England until the early 1900s, but people have been informally adopting children for as long as there have been children.

             
According to P.J. Walker, in
History of the Family
, “Britain had a long history of informal adoption, particularly among laboring families. Family and friends provided for orphan children and those who desired more hands took children into their households when the parents could not provide for them. Historian Anna Davin has documented how often working-class families in the later nineteenth century took children into their households so that the children could remain in the neighborhoods, close to kin and friends (Berebitsky, 2000; Carp, 1998; Davin, 1996; Fink & Holden, 1999; Gordon, 1988; Gustafson, 2005; Kunzel, 1993; Nelson, 2003; Rooke & Schnell, 1984; Ross, 1993).

             
Adoption occurred in the peerage, as well. The love child of Georgiana, Duchess of Devonshire, was adopted by her lover’s family in the late 1700s. Eliza was not consigned to a miserable life due to her parents’ indiscretion. She married Lt. Col. Robert Ellice who later became Governor-General of Malta. Eventually they returned to London, lived in Mayfair, and were members of good society. There are countless instances of such adoptions throughout history. Although illegitimate children could not inherit titles, they were from time to time raised along side a nobleman’s legitimate children, or in nearby houses. These illegitimate children, if acknowledged by their fathers, often went on to claim positions of status in the aristocracy. Emanuel Scrope, Earl of Sunderland, fathered several children with his servant and mistress, Martha Jeanes. The eldest daughter Mary married Charles Paulet, First Duke of Bolton, and became Duchess of Bolton. A second daughter Elizabeth married Thomas Savage, Third Earl Rivers.

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About the Author

Kate Worth lives on a farm in Central Virginia with her wonderful husband Jeff, their four children, three cats, a hound dog, and God only knows how many squirrels, bunnies, skunks, raccoons, and mice. (The dog and cats are very lazy.) She spends her days writing, reading, gardening, and painting… basically anything that doesn’t bear the slightest resemblance to housework.

Kate lived a nomadic childhood, moving every year or two as her father was assigned to a new post throughout his career with the State Department. Her family was evacuated during the revolution in Iran, watched tanks roll through the streets of Quito, Ecuador from their attic windows during a coup d’etat, survived an Oktoberfest bombing in Munich and a massive earthquake in Chile that walked their refrigerator across the kitchen floor… all events that fired her fertile imagination.

She began her career as a journalist then meandered into graphic design, illustration, and baby making for a decade before returning to her first love… writing.

In her spare time Kate collects Victorian etiquette manuals, old newspapers and magazines about life in pre-1900s England, and first-person travelogues from the Golden Age of travel.

She loves reader feedback and always responds to emails. Drop her a note at [email protected].

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