The Secret Marriage Pact

Philip glanced at Justin who took the none-too-subtle hint for him to leave.

He winked encouragingly at Jane as he passed, but she couldn’t muster so much as a tight smile to reward his optimism. He would go home to his wife and children. When this was over, Jane would still be alone.

Laura remained behind, the pity in her eyes adding to Jane’s disquiet. She didn’t want to be pitied by anyone, for any reason. There’d been enough of that in the weeks after Milton’s betrayal and years ago after she’d lost her parents.

Philip rose and came around the desk to face her, his anger fading to brotherly concern. ‘What’s wrong, Jane? Tell me the truth and we’ll find a way to deal with it.’

She stared at the portrait of their parents hanging behind Philip’s desk, too ashamed to look at him. He’d guessed her plan today had involved more than a desire to be wilful, but she couldn’t explain to him the guilt and aching loneliness carving out her insides, and how it always grew stronger around the anniversary of their parents’ deaths. He would try to banish it with logic and reason. Jane had learned long ago certain notions couldn’t be dislodged with either. ‘I told you, I want industry of my own.’

‘But that’s not all of it, is it?’

In his tender voice there lingered the memory of him holding her the morning their mother had died only a week after their father had passed. She’d cried against his chest and followed him around for the next month, clinging to him because she’d been afraid he’d die, too. He’d never pushed her away, but had kept her by his side until the day she’d finally been brave enough to let him out of her sight and go play with Jasper. Even when she’d been thirteen and doing all she could to disobey him, he’d never failed to love her. He was the only one, and she was at last succeeding in driving him away, too.

She screwed her eyes shut and forced back the tears. Everyone she’d ever cared for—her father, her mother, Jasper, Milton, even Mrs Townsend—had all abandoned her and it was her fault. She hadn’t done enough to keep their affection, like she hadn’t behaved well enough to keep her mother from going away.

‘Perhaps we can discuss it,’ Laura offered.

Jane opened her eyes and took in the two of them standing side by side. It was meant to be a show of compassion, an attempt to reach out to her, but it only pushed Jane further inside herself. Their happy union drove home her growing isolation and how far down in importance she was to everyone.

‘There’s nothing to discuss.’ It would sound childish spoken aloud. There were many people who loved her, but each of them had their own lives while she hovered on the periphery, watching theirs unfold while hers was stuck like a coach in the mud. ‘I’d like to be alone now.’

If they didn’t leave, then all sorts of immature things might tumble out of her, along with tears.

Philip nodded, took Laura’s arm and escorted her from the room.

Jane stared out the French doors to the blooming roses in the garden, her mother’s roses. She struggled hard to remember her mother tending them, her old dress dusted with dark soil, oversized gloves covering her hands. If Jane closed her eyes she could just catch the faint scent of her mother’s lilac perfume above the wet earth, hear her melodious voice calling for Jane to bring her the spade. It was the only clear memory she had of her mother and she wasn’t sure if it was real or something she’d created, like the image of a happy life with Milton.

How much enjoyment will he derive from this little incident? It’d taken her ages to face everyone again after he’d eloped with Camille Moseley two weeks before their wedding. She didn’t relish having to endure more ridicule or proving to everyone he’d been smart to do it because she was nothing more than an obstinate hoyden. Philip was right—instead of making things better for herself, she’d once again made them worse.

Jane marched to the doors, threw them open and stepped outside. She stopped on the shaded portico to take in the sun-drenched garden. At the back was a high wall broken by a metal gate, separating the Rathbone garden from the alley and mews behind it. There’d been many family gatherings here, parties and celebrations, quiet moments, and one or two daring ones. It wasn’t a comforting sight, but a confining one.

No, this won’t be the extent of my life.

She stepped into the sunlight and allowed its warmth to spread across her face. Today might have been a disaster, but it was one of the first times in nine years that she’d been adventurous, and alive, and it was all due to Jasper. She craved more of what she’d experienced today, not the guilt and humiliation in Philip’s office, but the heady delight in Jasper’s embrace and the pleasure it’d ignited inside her. She stared at the pink rose bobbing on a bush in front of her. This was dangerous. Emotions weren’t supposed to play any part in this plan, yet they’d slipped in between them the way his tongue had between her lips.

She touched her mouth, remembering his wide-eyed amazement when they’d parted from the kiss, and his more pressing reaction lower down. Perhaps it was good he’d tried to dissuade her from the union by acting the rake. It’d stopped her from making more of a fool of herself with him, as she had at thirteen.

She flung her hands down to her side. No, this wasn’t about some silly girlish infatuation; it was about seizing a future and she must make him see it. Hurrying in to her brother’s desk, she snatched up the pen and set a blank sheet on the blotter. In swift strokes she told Jasper Philip was considering forcing him to make her an honourable woman and they must discuss it before he took action. She didn’t like lying to him, but it was the only way she could think of to tempt him here so she could overcome his objections. After all, he’d said he needed her and he did, as much as she needed him.

* * *

‘What the hell were you two doing?’ Jasper’s father blustered while his mother sat embroidering, as sensible and calm as her husband was agitated.

‘Discussing business,’ Jasper answered in all seriousness. He slipped his hand inside his coat pocket and fingered the letter which had been delivered a short time ago. He had to admire Jane’s tenacity; she was determined when she set her mind to something and she’d set her mind on him. With the firm imprint of Jane’s breasts against his chest sharper than a shot of brandy, the thought of allowing things to play out as Jane had written held a certain appeal. After the kiss, she could have asked him to rob a mail coach with her and he would have gone along. It had taken him hours to come to his senses.

His father dropped the crystal stopper of the decanter on the table beside it. ‘In your room?’

‘I didn’t invite her there. She appeared all on her own.’

‘Preposterous. It’s not something a lady of her breeding would even consider.’ His father shook his head. ‘Next you’ll tell me she gambles and I detest gambling. Men default on my loans because they’re throwing their money away at the tables while leaving their children to starve and their businesses to founder. Why, I had a cheesemonger’s son in here the other day trying to beg money from me because he’s wasting everything while his father slaves away. The man made me sick.’

This wasn’t the first time Jasper had heard this sort of thing. He’d grown up having the evils of gambling drilled into him. He should have listened to his father.

‘I think this little incident sounds exactly like something Jane would do. She’s always been a bit wild.’ His mother drew a long thread through her embroidery hoop, amused rather than disgusted by Jane’s more than usually outlandish behaviour. ‘You remember the time she dressed up as a boy to visit the coaching inn with you and Milton.’

‘Or the time she went with us to buy tobacco at the auction, thinking she could sell it at a higher price by the docks.’ It was one of Jasper’s fondest memories of Jane.

‘She made quite a profit from that little endeavour, didn’t she?’

‘So did I. It was Milton who lost money because he wouldn’t listen to her and buy a pouch.’

‘Well, there’s your brother for you.’ His mother loved her children, but wasn’t blind to their faults, not even Jasper’s. If she ever learned the true extent of them, she’d throw Jasper out of the house. She was a patient and tolerant lady, but even she had her limits. If his father ever found out where Jasper’s money really came from he’d exile him from the family for good.

Jasper took a deep breath, pushing back his worries. He’d make sure his father never discovered the true source of his income or his inheritance.

‘What the devil has got into the two of you?’ His father frowned. Mr Rathbone had informed Jasper’s parents of the incident, to his surprise leaving out the part about the kiss. It was a good thing he had. With so many Charton siblings, there were few secrets anyone in the family could keep. At times, Jasper was amazed he’d been able to hold on to his for so long. ‘Miss Rathbone isn’t a child any more, but a grown woman who should know better than to act like a wh—’

‘Henry, mind your tongue,’ Jasper’s mother warned.

‘Don’t get me wrong, I love the girl like she was my own and she has an admirable head for investments, but all this nonsense today does make one wonder.’ He took a hearty drink.

‘She’s stubborn, like her mother, God rest her soul.’ Jane’s mother had been Jasper’s mother’s best friend.

‘You’re lucky Philip didn’t march you two up the aisle.’ His father poured himself more brandy, stopped by a stern look from his wife from filling up the glass. ‘Maybe I should. Man like you establishing himself in London after being gone so long doesn’t need Philip Rathbone working against you. You need him with you.’

Being so intimately connected to Mr Rathbone was the last thing Jasper needed. If anyone could ferret out Jasper’s secret it was Philip. Jasper had caught the scrutiny her brother had lodged at him the moment he’d broken from Jane in his bedroom. It was the look he remembered from when they were kids and the man could guess at once exactly where they’d been and what they’d been up to. He had the elder Mr Rathbone’s gift for sizing people up in an instant.

Jasper fingered the letter again, wondering if her note was to be believed and if Philip was indeed planning to haul Jasper and Jane to the altar. If so, he’d have to find a way to turn Philip down and it wouldn’t be any easier than refusing Jane. He admired him and his father was right, he couldn’t afford to make an enemy of the man. The best he could hope for was Philip turning his attention elsewhere and having no reason to pry into Jasper’s affairs by insisting on a wedding.

‘Whatever happens, you can’t let it distract you from establishing your club. The money from the sale of your American goods won’t support you for ever,’ Jasper’s father continued. ‘I’m still amazed what you brought back from Savannah garnered as much as it did.’

‘It appears there’s a better market here for old Louis XIV than in America. So much for superior English taste.’ Jasper forced himself to laugh, pretending like always to be light-hearted. It was the only way to hide the lies weighing him down.

‘You’ll run through the money if you keep spending it like a drunk earl,’ his father blustered and Jasper pressed his lips tight together to hold back a retort. Like the rest of his family, his father failed to understand why Jasper indulged in a few fine things. Death had brushed up against him in Savannah and he was determined to embrace life in London. Besides, it wasn’t only himself he spent money on, but on the footmen and dealers who needed it more than he did.

‘I don’t know what you learned about managing your affairs from your Uncle Patrick. Heaven knows he...’ A warning look from Jasper’s mother made his father abandon whatever line of reasoning he’d embarked on concerning his mother’s favourite brother. ‘Either way, you’re here now, not in America. You must be swift and decisive and stop missing out on opportunities like the Fleet Street building.’

Jasper nodded as his father continued to lecture him about how to handle his affairs, but Jasper’s thoughts wandered from his future and his past to fix instead on Jane. He touched the letter again, the paper smooth like her lips beneath his. He’d meant for the kiss to put her off him. Instead of dissuading her, he’d given her even more reason to pursue him and for him to accept. In her soft sigh he’d heard her whispering for him to follow her out of the shadows of his lies and into respectability.

He wondered if he could.

He plucked a glass paperweight with a wasp suspended inside it off the table beside his mother, the glass cool and smooth against his palm. At one time he would have followed Jane’s intuition and believed, like she did, in everything working out as planned. After the things he’d seen in Georgia he no longer could, and he couldn’t corrupt her the way his uncle had corrupted him.

However, if anyone could help him establish his club, it was Jane. She’d always had a knack for making money.

He rolled the glass between his palms, amazed to find himself considering her offer. A partnership with Jane might have advantages, but it held so many risks. Living as one man during the day and another at night was wearing on him, and not having complete privacy in his parents’ house while his Gough Square town house was being repaired further complicated things. He’d inherited the residence from Uncle Patrick and had intended to move there in the weeks after he’d came home. Then he’d got a good look at the place. It hadn’t been well maintained in the thirty years since Uncle Patrick had left it. Jasper had been forced to employ a builder to see to the much-needed repairs before he could hope to move in. They were almost finished and he would at last have complete privacy, one he didn’t wish to impede with a marriage.

He couldn’t continue the deceit inside the intimate bonds of a marriage, but as a friend, she might understand. He could confide in her the way he hadn’t been able to do with Milton or anyone else, and trust her to keep his secret the way she’d trusted him enough to be alone in his room and take his nakedness in her stride, confident he’d do nothing against her will. He was certain of it, even if it risked making her recoil from him.