Chapter Sixteen
July 24, 1817
“Ican’t do this,” Jane whispered as she clenched her gloved hands tightly in her lap. The carriage in which she sat rolled ponderously through the crowded Mayfair streets toward St. James Square. It was the evening of the Duke of Ballantrae’s annual summer ball, and the time had come for her to tender an answer to his question of two days ago.
I can’t consign my life to being his duchess.
The conspicuous absence of their father was noted, but he would arrive at the ball later once his business endeavor had concluded. A light rain was falling, rendering the passing world soft and blurred around the edges. Her brothers, Royce and Trey, stared back at her through the dimly lit interior of the closed coach. Both were dressed immaculately in the requisite dark evening clothes. Royce had chosen a burgundy waistcoat while Trey had selected one of peridot green. Other than that, they resembled the twins they used to pretend to be back in childhood days.
“You’ll need to pinpoint the crux of your nerves,” Royce said with a specific tilt of his mouth that heralded teasing. “In the last weeks, you’ve been more at sixes and sevens than I’ve ever seen you.”
She bit her bottom lip. “It’s a twofold problem.” For the span of a few heartbeats, she traced the watered silk pattern of her emerald gown with a fingertip. The emerald and diamonds of her bracelet sparkled at her wrist, as did the silver embroidered scrolls lining the hem of her gown and the bodice. “I’m afraid I cannot accept the duke’s intent to court me.”
Trey snorted. “That’s a bit of a stupid move, little sister. The bloke is rich. If you can manage to have him sponsor our clinic, do you know how much good we can do?”
A shaft of guilt stabbed deeper into her chest. “I’d thought of that too.” It was a strangled sort of whisper.
“Father is near bursting with pride at the impending match,” Royce said. “You can’t do better than Ballantrae.”
“I don’t want better, I want happy.” She turned her face to the window. The heavy black velvet drapes were drawn open. Droplets of rain clung to the glass, racing down with each bump and bounce of the coach. “I don’t love the duke.”
Two days ago, her world had been completely upended by the major. What had begun as a teatime respite, made cozy with him reading her a fairy story, had ended with her sated in the best possible way. The fact that the devices her brothers had given her for Finn’s problem had worked astonished her. She’d been able to ride him and his erection had held strong for the length of time needed, which meant enjoying penetrative intercourse had become possible, but more startling and infinitely more wonderful was the connection they’d shared. Her soul had shivered with it, as if it had recognized his and had welcomed him with enthusiasm.
As if she’d finally come home from an eternity of wandering.
That meant something.
Never in any of the meetings she’d taken with the duke thus far had he produced any such reaction, not even on a smaller scale.
“Does it matter?” Trey asked with indifference in his voice. “Love takes time. Enjoy a long engagement with Ballantrae if you wish.”
“What if I already know love with another right now?”
When Royce leaned forward and placed a hand on her knee, she looked at him. “Major Storme holds your heart.” It wasn’t a question.
“Yes.”
“Ah.” He sat back. “Has he declared himself?”
“No.” And there was the rub. She had no idea how he felt about her, for though his other emotions were easy enough to read, anything that smacked of love or romance he held close to his chest—if he had them at all for her.
“Dashed coil, that.”
“Thank you for that wise commentary.” Sarcasm clung heavy to the retort. She needed advice, not obvious statements. “What should I do?” The world she’d been born into demanded she put duty over all else. Wasn’t that the English way? Yet the romantic in her, the woman who’d fallen in love with fairy stories and tales of old knights of daring, beseeched her to follow where her heart led.
“What can any of us do?” Royce glanced at Trey, who shrugged. “I will be an earl someday despite my calling as a doctor. Once that happens, I’m duty-bound to take a wife and start my nursery. Will my dreams be forfeit to tradition? As much as I would like to say no, you and I both know what the outcome will be.” He shrugged. “Trey is the most fortunate of us all. He’s the spare, the middle child. He has freedom neither of us will know.”
“Ah, yes, the freedoms a one-armed man has.” Trey shook his head. “What does it matter? If you both live your lives by the dictates of someone else, then life will be long indeed.” He leaned forward until Jane looked at him. “I’ve come to know the major better since he started working at the clinic with us.”
“And?” She could hardly squeeze the word out from her tight throat. Tonight, her path would either open before her or she’d see it blocked and closed.
“A man who isn’t thinking along the lines of love doesn’t look at a woman like he does you when you’re not paying attention.”
Tiny trembles moved through her belly. “Meaning?” When had she been reduced to one-word inquiries in response to conversation?
“If the major hasn’t realized that he’s in love with you by now, he soon will.” Trey shrugged. “Perhaps he needs proper motivation to make a definitive move.”
Royce snorted. “Some men are stubborn and refuse to fall.”