Authors: Prince of Swords
Jessamine sat up in bed, pulling the thick linen sheet around her. She was aching all over, in places she never expected to ache. She was exhausted, sticky, and bereft. And in desperate need of a necessary.
She climbed down from the bed, draping the sheet around her like a Roman toga. The house was absolutely silent—from the street beyond she could hear the usual city noises, but inside all was still. She had no doubt at all that the building was completely empty.
In a small closet several doors down from Alistair’s bedroom she found a bath waiting for her, still steaming, and new clothes laid out. Frilly underclothing, with costly enough lace to feed her family for a week. A rose-colored dress that was so pretty she wanted to weep. But she was past weeping.
She dropped the sheet onto the floor and stepped in the gloriously scented warmth of the tub, sinking down in the water’s comforting embrace. Years ago Marilla had told her stories of fairies and magical beings, and she remembered a tale of an enchanted castle, where unseen servants fed the fires, drew the baths, and cooked elaborate meals. But this was no
enchantment, and far from a happy ending.
She dressed by the fire slowly, willing Alistair to return and face her when she knew he wouldn’t. Her hair was still damp when she pinned it up, and even the rose slippers fit her feet. And then she descended the stairs to find her true love, to find a meal cooked by fairies, to find the answer to her future.
What she found was Nicodemus Bottom.
“
Don’t you look a sight!” he said admiringly, hopping down from the kitchen table, where he’d perched himself. “I outdid myself this time. His lordship told me to find you something pretty, and I bloody well did. You’re a real treat for these peepers.”
“
I should have known you’d be my fairy godmother,” she said. “Did you carry the water upstairs and heat my bath as well?”
“
I’m no servant!” he protested. “There’s a limit to what his lordship can expect from me.”
“
Where are the servants?”
“
Not back yet. Won’t be either, according to his lordship. He said he didn’t expect to be spending much time here.”
“
I see.” The kitchen was cold and dark. So was her heart. “Do you know where my sister is?”
“
Lord love you, miss, she’s back home. Which is where I’m to take you. And no arguments about it,” he said, forestalling her. “Glenshiel said I was to takes you home, and this time I’ll do me duty. He’ll have my head if I fail him.”
“
What if I don’t want to go?” she asked very quietly.
There was sorrow and pity on Nicodemus’s face. “Ah, miss, you don’t want to be saying that. He don’t want you here. It’s a cruel fact, but the way of the world, and you’ve lived in Spitalfields long enough to know it. He’s had you, and now he’s on to other things that interest him more. Such as thievery. There wouldn’t be any happiness with a man like that, and you
know it. Be thankful he’s sending you on your way before too much harm’s been done.”
“
Sending me on my way?” Jessamine echoed in a hollow voice. She closed her eyes, trying to force the cards into her mind, to call forth some guidance, some explanation. But there was nothing. They were gone, as vanished as her innocence. She opened her eyes again. “I’m going to murder him myself,” she said pleasantly.
Nicodemus had been watching her anxiously, pity on his face. At her words, he beamed. “That’s me girl,” he said. “He ain’t worth your tears, bless you. He’s a worthless blackguard who’ll end his days on the scaffold, and you’re far better off without him.”
“
Of course I am, Nicodemus,” she said. “Now take me home, if you please. My family must be worried about me.”
He must have hit his head when he fell, Alistair thought coolly, sitting back and sipping at the rich coffee that Freddie Arbuthnot thoughtfully provided. Something that knocked the sense out of him entirely, and it hadn’t yet returned.
He never should have touched her. Never should have bedded her. For that matter, he never should have taken her thieving, but that was before his fall, so he couldn’t blame that particular insanity on a head injury.
Laying eyes on Jessamine Maitland had been far more dangerous than any tumble off a balcony, any bullet hole in the arm. And he was a man who’d reveled in danger.
He wondered what she was doing now. Had Nicodemus taken her back home yet? Had she refused to go? Had Nicodemus presented her with the carefully composed letter that would finish any tender feelings she might have?
He’d labored over it, searching for just the right tone. Mocking enough to infuriate her without demoralizing her.
Condescending enough to make her hate him. Practical enough to make her accept the velvet sack of gold coins.
Oh, he’d been devilishly clever. Complimenting her on her awkward enthusiasm in the sport of love. Offering to recommend her to any of his elderly friends in need of a mistress.
She would never speak to him again, never go near him. He’d severed any feeling she might have quite cleverly, and it had been no more than what was absolutely necessary.
So why did it feel as if he’d severed his own arm?
Freddie appeared from his bedroom, freshly washed and shaved and groomed by his excellent manservant, though his temper seemed uncertain. “You have an incredible amount of gall, Alistair,” he said, flinging himself into a chair. “First you disappear from Kent, leaving me behind without a means of returning, and you carry off the Maitland girl as well, so that the entire house is in an uproar, accusations flying back and forth, and then you waltz in here at the crack of dawn with no explanations and no apologies and expect me to welcome you.”
“
Of course, Freddie,” he said cheerfully. “It wasn’t the crack of dawn, it was eleven in the morning. And despite what you think, I was desperately ill, I came back to London to consult my quack, and I delivered Miss Maitland to her mother’s door that very night. And no one can prove otherwise.”
“
Why would someone want to?” Freddie said, a little less dull-witted than usual.
“
I can’t imagine,” he said with a seraphic smile. “Eat your breakfast, man. We have business today.”
At this Freddie brightened noticeably. “A cockfight?” he demanded. “A boxing match? An auction of prime horseflesh?”
“
None of those excellent choices, Freddie. We’re going to the Tower of London.”
“
Bloody hell,” said Freddie, deflated.
“
Indeed.”
Spitalfields looked even more dreary than before, though Jessamine wouldn’t have thought that was possible. It was a cold, gray day, and the ice penetrated her very heart as she climbed up the front steps, her back straight, her shoulders squared. Behind her Nicodemus sat in the hired carriage, the gold pieces that she’d flung at him littering the seats and floors.
She still held Alistair’s letter in one gloved hand, crumpled in a tight little ball. She would hold on to it forever, to remind herself of how very foolish she had been. As if she might ever forget.
Fleur had already flung open the door by the time she reached it, and she threw her arms around her sister, weeping. “Where have you been, Jessamine? I’ve been so worried!”
Jessamine didn’t even look back. She stepped inside the plain, dark parlor and closed the door behind her. Closing the past out of her life.
And then her bravado collapsed. She leaned against the door and closed her eyes as a vast shudder washed over her body.
I
will not cry,
she told herself fiercely.
I
will not.
Fleur put her arms around her very gently, drawing her into the parlor. She settled her by the fire, murmuring soothing, meaningless phrases, tucked a lap robe around the beautiful rose-colored dress, and disappeared, leaving Jessamine staring sightlessly into the fire. Only moments later she returned with strong tea and biscuits, and Jessamine ate methodically, keeping her mind determinedly blank.
“
Oh, Jessamine,” Fleur said softly. “What did he do to you?”
At that Jessamine looked up, startled out of her self-absorption. And she managed to smile. “Nothing I won’t recover from, Fleur,” she said. “I’m sorry I dragged you into this. I should have been watching out for you...”
“
I can watch out for myself, Jessamine. I’ve tried to tell you
that over the years. You don’t have to do it all alone.”
“
If I do, I make a botch of it,” Jessamine said. “Where’s Mama?”
“
Prostrate.”
“
Any particular reason this time?”
“
Two ruined daughters.”
“
Oh, no, Fleur!” Jessamine dropped her teacup with a noisy crash. “I couldn’t have ruined you as well.”
“
Of course you couldn’t have,” Fleur said with some asperity. “It takes a man to do that. Congratulate me, Jess. I’m to be married. Today.”
“
No.”
Fleur looked at her blankly. “I beg your pardon?”
“
I said no. I won’t have you throwing yourself away on a rich idiot you despise. The money doesn’t matter—we’ve managed this far and we’ll continue to manage. I want you to marry for love.”
“
I didn’t know you believed in love, Jessamine.”
“
I don’t,” she said briskly. “Not for me. But you’re different, Fleur. You deserve love. You deserve all the good things in this life.”
“
And you don’t?”
“
We’re not talking about me. Who is it? Not that idiot Freddie Arbuthnot? Or that disgusting old lecher Lord Edison? You didn’t let them touch you?”
“
I’m afraid I’m marrying for neither love nor money. I’m to marry Robert Brennan this afternoon at the Church of St. Giles. I’m glad you’ve returned in time to be there. If you will.”
Something was dreadfully wrong. Jessamine had only to look carefully at Fleur’s pale, determined face to realize it, and for the moment her own despair vanished. “You’re marrying the runner,” she said flatly. “And you say it’s not for love.”
“
I forced him, Jess,” she said. “I announced to the world
that I spent the night with him at Blaine Manor, and he was left with no choice. He hates me.”
“
You spent the night with him?” Jessamine shrieked, blithely ignoring her own fall from grace.
“
No. I simply said I did.”
“
Why?” she asked finally.
“
Because he’s too wretchedly honorable. Because I was angry. Because I’m a fool, and I thought if I was ruined, he might be willing to take me.”
“
And clearly he is.”
“
Not willing. Resigned. I’ve made a miserable botch of things, Jess,” Fleur said. “And I love him.”
She burst into tears, sinking to the floor and burying her head in her sister’s lap. Jessamine looked down at her golden head, smoothing the curls. “We’ve both made a proper mess of our lives, haven’t we, Fleur?” she murmured, stroking her. “What are we going to do about it?”
“
I’m going to marry Robert Brennan,” Fleur said. “Even if he hates me for the rest of his life, he’ll have me. And I’ll be a good wife to him, Jess. A much better wife than I’d be to some rich lord.”
“
You’re right, Fleur. And I should have seen it.” She caught her sister’s shoulders and drew her back, looking into her tear-streaked face. “You can’t go to the altar looking like a bedraggled kitten, my love. If you’re going to be married, we should make you the loveliest bride in Christendom. Let Brennan appreciate what he’s getting. What are you going to wear?”
“
I hadn’t thought.”
“
Your wedding day, and you don’t know what you’re wearing? For shame.” Jessamine rose, all determination. “This is the last time I can arrange your life, Fleur. Come with me, and I’ll take care of everything.”
“
Mama refuses to come to the wedding,” Fleur said, sniffling. “She says I’ve ruined her life and broken her heart.”
“
Just as well.” Jessamine’s voice was brisk. “We’ll have more fun without her. Come along, my pet. We’ve work to do.”
Her wedding day passed in a blur. Sir John Fielding himself had sent a carriage to escort the bride and her party to St. Giles, and when it arrived she was ready, dressed in pale pink silk, bathed and perfumed and coiffed. Somewhere Jessamine had found small pink roses to fashion a bouquet, with a few left over to tuck into her hair, and Fleur had sat patiently while her sister fussed over her.
At the church she almost lost her nerve. It would be simple enough, she had always known it. She could refuse to marry Robert Brennan. No one would force her, and he would be free from the burden of responsibility she’d saddled him with.
She’d been cruelly selfish, she knew that, and if she had any core of decency, she’d free him. She saw him standing at the front of the church, waiting for her, a grim, cool expression on his face, and her determination faltered.
Jessamine was beside her, her hand on her arm as Fleur came to an abrupt halt halfway down the aisle. The church was deserted except for one other man, an elderly gentleman with a bandage across his eyes. She could easily turn and run, putting an end to this farce, freeing Brennan. But Jessamine held her tightly, as if sensing her confusion.
“
I’m afraid, Jess,” she whispered.