The Spring Bride (3 page)

“Good. Jane can tell him herself, then.” Abby turned to Jane. “And I hope you send him away with a flea in his ear. The arrogance of the man!”

Jane didn't respond. She couldn't think straight. She'd expected—well, hoped—for an offer of marriage from some eligible gentleman, but not before the season had even started. And certainly not from someone she'd barely exchanged a word with. Or anyone so . . . rich. With a
castle.

“Jane?” Abby said, frowning. “You will send him away, won't you?”

Still Jane said nothing. She had no idea what she would do. She could feel everyone's eyes on her.

“It's what you've always said you wanted, isn't it, my dear?” Lady Beatrice asked after a moment. “To make a good marriage to a wealthy man?”

“Oh, but that was before,” Abby said. “Back then, when we were destitute and quite horridly desperate. I'd say any one of us would have agreed to marry a virtual stranger then, just to get a roof over our heads and to know where our next meal was coming from.”

“And to be safe,” Jane added.

“Exactly. But now we're in a completely different situation. We're not in need of anything. And Damaris and I are married and so very, very happy—more so than either of us dared to dream of.” There was a catch in her voice as she said it.

Jane was in no doubt of her sisters' happiness. Abby fairly glowed with love and joy and so had Damaris as she'd left with Freddy after Christmas on their honeymoon trip to Venice.

Abby continued, “So there's no need for anyone to make a marriage of convenience now. Everything's set for Jane to make her come-out, and over the next few months she'll meet dozens of eligible and handsome young men, and I just know she's going to fall in love with one of them, and be happier than she'd ever dreamed of.”

Jane smiled. She knew what her sister wanted for her. Abby wanted Jane to have what Abby had—everything her heart desired. But Jane was different from Abby.

“Is he a kind man, do you think?” Jane asked Lady Beatrice. It sounded like he was, seeing he walked his aunt's dogs for her. His liking dogs was promising.

“Jane, you can't possibly be taking this offer seriously,” Abby burst out.

“Why not? It was made seriously, wasn't it?”

“But—” Abby began.

“Now, Abby,” Lady Beatrice said warningly.

“But she's thinking of accepting him—can't you see?” Abby turned back to her sister. “What about love, Jane? You can't marry without love. You simply can't. You can't imagine how wonderful it is, Jane, to be in love and to know that you're loved in return.”

Jane swallowed and glanced away.

Abby gave her a narrow glance, then her tone changed. “Look, you don't need to decide now; there's plenty of time to meet the right man, to fall in love. You'll have dozens of eligible offers, just wait and see. Isn't that right, Lady Beatrice? Once the season gets started, she'll be knee-deep in suitors, all clamoring for her attention.”

Jane didn't say anything. She didn't want to be knee-deep in suitors. The very idea made her uncomfortable. Men always seemed to want something from her—she'd never quite understood what. They seemed to imagine she was someone different, someone who matched her face.

She didn't want dozens of men clamoring for her attention; she just wanted to be . . . safe. And comfortable.

She'd been so looking forward to her season, wearing pretty dresses and going to balls and parties and concerts—after twelve years in the Pillbury Home, wearing cast-offs and hand-me-downs from the older girls, what girl wouldn't? She'd looked forward to
dancing with a succession of handsome young men too. She hadn't thought much beyond that.

Oh, she knew marriage was the aim of it all, and she wanted to be married, of course she did; you had to be married to have children, and Jane wanted children more than anything.

But it had all been a bit vague in her mind. She'd vaguely imagined she'd meet a nice eligible gentleman and he would propose, and she would accept and then, at the end of the season, she'd get married.

And then her life—her real life—would start. She'd have a husband and a home and soon, she hoped, she'd be blessed with her own little baby. It was all she'd ever wanted—a home of her own and children. And of course, a husband made all that possible.

But dozens of suitors . . . staring . . . and clamoring . . .

“Jane—” Abby began again, but Lady Beatrice held up a magisterial hand.

“Hush, Abby! I know you want what's best for your sister—we all do—but it's Jane's decision and she needs time now, to think it over. In peace.”

Abby gave a rueful smile. “Of course. I'm sorry, love.” She rose and gave Jane a hug. “I didn't mean to be telling you what to do. It's a bad big sister habit—I forget sometimes that you're eighteen and all grown up now. You'll do the right thing, I know you will.”

Jane hugged her back, grateful not to have to explain herself while her thoughts were still in turmoil.

“I'd better go,” Abby said. “I said I'd meet Max at four, and I'm already late.” She kissed Jane. “Don't do anything rash, little sister.”

“I won't.”

Daisy stood as well. “I got work to do, so I'm goin' too. See you upstairs, Jane?”

Jane nodded. “In a few minutes.” She wanted to talk to Lady Beatrice alone.

Abby took her leave in a round of hugs, and Daisy hurried away upstairs. Jane sat down again, facing Lady Beatrice. There was a short silence while she organized her chaotic thoughts. Lady Beatrice sipped her “tea” and nibbled on an almond cat's tongue.

“I've never had a marriage proposal before,” Jane said
eventually. “It's a little daunting. So I have until tomorrow to make up my mind?”

“Not at all. He might press you for an answer, but if he does and it makes you uncomfortable, refer him to me. I have no intention of letting anyone rush you into a decision. Marriage is a serious matter, my dear, and this decision will affect your entire life. So take as much time as you need.”

“But if he's coming back tomorrow . . .”

“You can tell him you need more time to think it over. It does men good to be kept waiting—how often do I have to tell you gels that? Men want what they can't have. They're hunters by nature, and the harder the thing is to catch, the more they value it. Keeping them waiting and guessing is part of the game.”

Jane gave her a troubled look. “It's not a game to me.”

Lady Beatrice reached across and patted Jane's hand. “I know it isn't, my dear. It's all very serious, isn't it—and you're quite right to take your time and think it through very carefully. And even if you decide to refuse Cambury, it won't hurt your reputation at all when it gets out that you'd been asked.”

“Oh, but I'd never tell anyone—”

“Pish-tush, who is talking about
telling
?” The old lady gave an airy shrug. “But such things often happen to get out—I can't imagine how—but I assure you, it won't hurt your chances for it to be known that Cambury made an offer for you before the season has even started.” Lady Beatrice grinned. “Every eligible miss—and her mother—will be ready to scratch your eyes out. I've lost track of the number of dazzling beauties that have set their caps at Cambury—and failed. So whether you accept him or not—either way, it's a triumph!”

She chuckled gleefully, then saw Jane's worried look and assumed a solemn expression. “But there, I don't wish to put any pressure on you, my dear. It's entirely up to you. If you don't want him, tell him so, and if you're not sure, simply tell him you need more time.”

“But if I make him wait, he might change his mind.”

The old lady eyed her shrewdly. “He might. Would that distress you?”

Jane bit her lip. That was the trouble; she didn't know.

I lay it down as a general rule, Harriet, that if a woman doubts as to whether she should accept a man or not, she certainly ought to refuse him.

—JANE AUSTEN,
EMMA

“G
awd, I'm fair knackered.” Daisy stretched and groaned. She and Jane were getting ready for bed.

“‘
Vulgarity, Daisy, m'gel, vulgarity,
'” Jane said in Lady Bea accents. “Turn around and I'll get you undone.”

Daisy laughed and turned her back for Jane to unlace her. “I'm never gunna sound like a lady, am I? I'll have to get someone else to run me posh shop. If I ever get it, that is.”

“You'll get it,” Jane told her confidently. “We got a lot done today. Two more outfits finished.”

Daisy shook her head. “Yeah, but there's piles and piles of work still to do.” She plonked herself down on the bed with a sigh. “I dunno how I'm gunna manage it all, to tell the truth, Jane.”

“Even with Polly and Ginny helping?” Lady Beatrice had given two of the maids permission to help Daisy every afternoon.

Daisy nodded. “Even then. I reckon I might have overreached meself, Jane.”

“Nonsense.” Jane gave her a hug. “You're just tired.”

Daisy's dream was to become a fashionable dressmaker—fashions to the
ton
—and the plan was for her to make a splash this season, having designed and made all Jane's clothes for her come-out, most of Abby's and some of Damaris's—only some
because Freddy had taken Damaris to Paris on their honeymoon. Damaris had written apologetically that Freddy had insisted on buying her the most beautiful dresses and two gorgeous pelisses, that she didn't have the heart to say no to him and she hoped Daisy wouldn't be offended.

Daisy had admitted to Jane that far from being offended, she was a bit relieved—it was a bigger job than she'd imagined, making clothes for all three of them for a whole season. Of course, Jane and Polly did all the seams and hems and Ginny, who was skilled at fine needlework, did some of the fancywork while Daisy designed, cut, fitted and did the rest of the fancywork. And Abby lent a hand when she could.

Still, it was a stretch.

They'd all underestimated the amount of work it would be. And the space it would take.

That's why the two girls were sharing a bedroom—Daisy's bedchamber was so taken over with garments in various stages of manufacture, a dummy with a half-made dress pinned in place, rolls of fabric, patterns, pins, reams of braid, beads, lace, fringes and whatnot. “Me cave of gorgeousness,” Daisy called it, but her bed had become so buried under dressmaking materials that finally she'd moved the bed and her personal belongings into Jane's room.

It was cosier this way, Jane thought. For most of her life she'd shared a dormitory with other girls, and though she'd enjoyed the luxury of having her own room when they first came to live with Lady Beatrice, she had to admit she enjoyed sharing with Daisy, and talking over the day's events as they drifted off to sleep. Not to mention the convenience of having someone to help you dress and undress without having to summon a maid.

“But enough about me,” Daisy said. “Have you worked out what you're going to do about Lord Comb-it-up?”

Jane pulled her dress over her head. “No, I haven't decided.”

Daisy frowned. “You ain't gunna marry him, surely? You don't even know him.”

Jane sighed. “Probably not.” She wasn't dismissing him out of hand, though. A rich man of good family, with nothing known to his detriment, a dutiful nephew who was kind to animals. There was nothing alarming about that.

And he owned a castle. Oh, she'd grown out of that silly childhood fantasy, but still . . . if she said yes to him tomorrow . . .

Daisy reached for Jane's stay laces. “I saw your face when Abby said that about you fallin' in love.” As she spoke, she glanced at Jane's reflection in the mirror. “Yeah, that's the look. So, how come you ain't so excited about meetin' some handsome young gent and fallin' in love?”

“It would be nice to fall in love,” Jane said uncertainly. “But . . .”

“Cor, these strings is knotted tight! So what's the problem? It's not the broffel, is it? I mean you weren't touched or nuffin'.” It was how they'd met—Jane and Damaris had been kidnapped and sold into a brothel, and Daisy, who'd been a maid there, had, with Abby's assistance, helped them escape.

“No, it's not that. It's just . . . It's not so simple. I can't fall in love with just anyone. I have to make sure he's the right kind of man.”

There was a short pause, then Daisy said bluntly, “You mean rich, don't you?”

Jane sighed. “I know, it sounds awful, but you must understand, Daisy, a girl like me, without a bean to my name except the allowance dear Lady Beatrice makes us out of the goodness of her heart, well . . . I need to marry a rich man if I'm to have . . .” She trailed off.

“What? Pretty dresses? Jewels? Lots of parties—what?”

“Children.”

“
Children?
” Daisy stared at Jane in the looking glass. “Gawd, Jane, you don't need a rich bloke to get kids.”

“
I
do.” She knew very well the consequences of being too poor to support children. She'd lived them and she would rather die than submit her own children to such a fate. “I think it's more sensible to choose a man for what he can offer, instead of trusting to luck to fall in love with the right kind of man.”

And a rich man who was good to his aunt and who liked dogs didn't sound like the wrong kind of man.

She continued, “Trusting to love is like a leaf trusting the wind to blow it to safety. You never know where you might end up. So I don't plan to fall in love at all. I will choose a husband carefully and then I'll fall in love with him.”

“It don't work like that.” Daisy shook her head knowingly. “Not for you. When the time comes, you won't be able to 'elp yourself. You'll fall in love, just like Abby and Damaris; they never expected it neither. There y'are, it's done now.”

Jane pulled off her stays and stepped out of her petticoat. “Nonsense. People
choose
whether they fall in love or not.”

Daisy snorted.

“They do, they just don't realize it,” Jane insisted. She shrugged off her chemise and slipped her nightgown on. “I've observed it in others. There's a period of time at the beginning when a person thinks, ‘Him? Or not him?' And they either find reasons not to like him, or else they spin rose-colored stories about how wonderful he is.”

She climbed into her bed. “People
choose
to fall in love.” And plenty of people who made convenient marriages fell in love, she knew; it happened after the marriage, that was all. Because they chose to make the best of things.

Daisy climbed into her bed. “Some folks might think like that, mebbe. But not you.”

“Why not me? You think I'm being a coldhearted, designing female? Maybe I am, but there's nothing wrong with being ambitious. You are, for your business.”

“Yeah, but bein' ambitious and fallin' in love is poles apart. Anyway, I'm tough, me. I was brung up in the gutter, I know what I got to do to succeed and I'll fight to make it 'appen. And sure, plenty of ladies are ambitious to marry the richest bloke they can find. But not you—you got a heart as soft as butter.”

“I haven't!” Jane said indignantly.

Daisy laughed. “So who was it who brought Damaris out of the broffel with 'er, endangering 'er own escape—but would you take no for an answer?”

Jane frowned. “That was different. Damaris saved me from that horrid auction. I couldn't leave her there.”

“And then there was that cat and 'er kittens you brought in—fleas an' all. Without knowing how Lady Beatrice would react. You coulda got us all kicked out.”

“The building was going to be demolished, they would have been killed. And we got rid of the fl—”

“And we both know what you do wiv pennies—”

“That's diff—”

“Face it, you're as softhearted as they come, Janey girl. And knowin' you, you'll find the most impossible, unsuitable bloke in the
ton
and fall for 'im like a ton o' bricks.”

“I won't. I absolutely will not do anything so foolish!” She felt oddly panicky at the thought.

“Pooh, you won't have no choice in it, just like Abby and Damaris didn't. And if anyone's made for love, you are. You can say what you like, Janey, love'll find you anyway. Now go to sleep. We got a lot of work to get through in the morning. Your turn to blow out the candle.”

Jane slipped out of bed and blew it out. She climbed back into bed.
You'll find the most impossible, unsuitable bloke in the
ton
and fall for 'im like a ton o' bricks.

She wouldn't. She absolutely wouldn't.

*   *   *

“J
ane! Jane, wake up!” A hand was shaking her shoulder, hard.

“Wha—” Jane sat up abruptly, staring around her wildly. Her heart was pounding.

“You was dreamin' again.” Daisy was sitting on Jane's bed. “'Nother nightmare.”

Jane blinked, and her dazed thoughts slowly came into focus. She glanced at the window. The curtains stirred slightly, letting in a few slivers of gray predawn light.

“You all right now?” Daisy asked.

Jane nodded. “Thanks, Daisy.” It was the same dream as always.

Daisy didn't move. “You been dreamin' a lot lately. Cryin' and callin' out.”

“Sorry. I don't mean to wake you.” She hesitated, then, “What do I say?”

“Can't make out the words, just a lot of muttering, thrashing around and yelling—but that ain't the point. I keep tellin' you, it's the night air. Everybody knows night air is bad for you, but you will insist on sleepin' with the window open.”

“I don't like it shut,” Jane said.

Daisy slipped off the bed and stumped over to the window. “Yeah, well, too bad, because I'm shuttin' it now. It's bloody freezin' outside and we got at least another hour before it gets light
enough to start sewing, so I'm gunna get some sleep.” She pulled back the curtains and sniffed appreciatively. “Mmm, must be an east wind. Smell that? You can always smell the bread from the bakery when there's an east wind. Best smell in the world, that is.”

Jane repressed a shudder.

“Mmm, lovely it is. Makes me hungry.” Daisy took another deep sniff, then closed the window and pulled the curtains closed. “Funny that,” she said as she climbed back into her bed.

“What is?”

“You often seem to have bad dreams when there's an east wind. Night.” She laughed. “Or whatever you say when you're goin' back to sleep in the mornin'.”

“Night. And thanks, Daisy.” Jane snuggled back down in the warm bedclothes. She wouldn't get any more sleep, she knew. She never did after she'd had the dream.

Daisy never asked what Jane's nightmares were about. She took it for granted that everyone had terrible memories from before. “It's normal, innit?” she'd said once. “But we're the survivors, and bad dreams is what we pay for bein' survivors.” It was a comforting philosophy. Dreams were frightening while you were having them, but they couldn't hurt you, after all.

And Jane was a survivor.

London, 1804

A
fist thumped on the door. Hard. Three loud thumps. With every bang the door rattled. “Come on, little girl, open the door!”

Silence. Jane didn't move. Besides, she wasn't a little girl anymore. She was six.

“I know you're in there, little girl.”

She scarcely dared to breathe.

“I've got a bag of sweeties for you. Just open the door and you can have them.”

Sweeties? She loved sweets, had only tasted them a few times in her life, but she still didn't move. Mr. Morrison, the landlord, frightened her, sweets or no.

Besides, she was not to open the door to anyone, Abby had said. Not to anyone. Only Abby.

Outside in the hallway, Mr. Morrison's voice lowered. There was someone with him. Jane crept closer to the door and pressed her ear against it.

“She's in there, I know she is. And alone—her sister works at the bakery and won't be back for hours.”

“Then get that bloody door open. I 'aven't got all day.”

Jane froze. She knew that voice, low as it was. It was The Man.
The Man
. She started to shake. The Man had tried to take her before. Oh, where was Abby? She bit on her knuckle and stared at the door.

The first time he'd just grabbed at her in the street, but Abby was there and she'd pulled Jane back and The Man had gone away.

The second time she'd been playing in the street with the other children, and a boy had come eating an orange, not a boy she'd seen before, but he'd come right up to Jane and given her a piece, and oh, it was delicious, so sweet and juicy and the boy had said a man was giving out oranges to children for nothing, just go around the corner.