Authors: Kate Noble
As he poured out the remaining golden liquid into the lake, those precious drops falling away, becoming lost in the water, he decided it was time for him to become the man Jane needed.
The next day was terribly hectic at the Cottage. It was the day before the ball, and on top of all the preparations, and every different faction of the party (culinary, musical, decorations, accommodations, gardens) having some form of catastrophe occur (the gardener in particular nearly incited homicide when it was suggested that the stakes and pitch for the game of horseshoes be removed), the household had to tiptoe around the Duke’s health and his daughter’s careful watch over it.
For her part, Jane’s emotions were equally divided between hovering with mad attention to detail and listless with despair. No, despair may be too harsh a word. Apathetic maybe, possibly bereft, but Jane refused to despair. She was too much like her own mother, in that whatever challenge faced her, she would sigh for five seconds, then square her shoulders and face it. However, it was more difficult to square her shoulders knowing that she had nothing to look forward to.
The plans for the ball did not hold her interest—in fact, they never really could. But before, she had tried, to please her brother, Victoria, the entirety of the town. But now, it just lost all its color to her. The breathless anticipation everyone else felt translated solely to nerves for her. Charles and Nevill’s assistance was proving invaluable, but when the two got into a fight about which year port should be served (Charles insisting on the ’93 and Nevill adamant for the ’91), they went to their rooms for an hour to sulk, leaving Jane to talk them out again.
She was softly knocking on Charles’s door, begging him to come out, when Jason happened by, riding crop in hand.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Jane asked, eyeing him apathetically.
“Out of this madhouse,” Jason replied, as a footman and two maids carrying table linens made their way past him in the hall. Jason then knocked on Charles’s door. “Charles!” he barked. “I’m going for a ride. Come along!”
There was no response from within, just the sound of feet shuffling on carpet.
Jason shrugged at Jane. Then Jane spied a footman carrying an armful of cut roses, and pounded on Charles’s door. “Charles, the flowers have arrived!”
The door opened immediately.
“Good! Just in time. Did they bring only long cut roses, or did they happen to include wildflowers like we requested?” Charles said as he stepped out of the room, straightened his coat, and went off in pursuit of the blooms, without waiting for a reply.
Immediately thereafter, Nevill emerged from his rooms, obviously having heard Jane’s latest news. “Flowers are here? If Charles tries to put in his accursed wildflowers . . .” he grumbled, and set off after his brother.
Whether or not he even noticed Jason standing there was a matter for debate.
“What have you done to my friends?” Jason asked once Nevill was gone, bewildered. Then, shaking his head, he said, “Well, at least you’re keeping busy. Ta, Sis.”
As Jason whistled his way down the hall, Jane called after him. “We haven’t touched the library,” she ventured, causing her brother to turn. “We’ve left that room closed to the party. That is, if you wanted to seek refuge there, I’m sure Hale and Thorndike would be happy to get to working.” At his silence, she tried a new tack. “Or, if you seek company on your ride, you could go with Father.”
“Father?” Jason’s head shot up.
“He’s feeling much better today. And he used to love to ride. I’m sure he would appreciate it.”
Jason looked for a moment as if he considered the prospect, but then simply shook his head. “No, it might rain.” It was cloudless. “Besides, I’d have to get a mount for his nurse, too . . .”
“You’d be with him; he’d be all right without his nurse for an hour.” Jane didn’t know if this was strictly true, but was willing to chance it. Jason had not spent so much as five minutes in their father’s company alone that summer. Nor had he begun his study with the stewards. If he chose either option, Jane would have been elated. But Jason shuffled his feet and backed away.
“It wouldn’t be a very good ride for Father,” he muttered. “Besides, you’re so much better with him than I am . . .” he trailed off dumbly, his body already halfway down the hall, fleeing. “I’ll see you later.”
And Jane was left alone again, amid the chaos.
Victoria needed her attentions in the kitchen—the cook kept shifting the menu to accommodate the latest count of people who would be attending. The stables were having difficulty preparing for all of the carriages they expected. Charles and Nevill were likely to kill each other in increments with rose thorns, but whereas Jane may have been running here and there, solving one crisis and blundering another, her mind was constantly on her father.
He had awoken this morning, after a rather tumultuous night, his mind again his own, and horrified that he had put his family through any ordeal. Dr. Lawford had come by shortly thereafter and determined that the Duke was fit enough to resume his daily schedule of exercise and activities.
Jane didn’t want to leave her father’s side, no matter how much Nurse Nancy assured her it was all right, that he would be fine taking his exercise today without Jane, knowing she had a million other things to do. But even so, knowing that her father was in good hands, Jane couldn’t help but want to oversee every tiny detail of his comfort. Making certain the soup was to his liking, that he was comfortably occupied, that the stress of the preparations for the ball would not disturb him again.
This made her very short with everyone else.
“For the last time, Charles, I do not care about the year of the port!” she yelled, rubbing her hands over her eyes. Apparently the flower argument had been easily solved, and they were back to the Great Port Debate of 1816. Charles had gone so far as to put the two bottles side by side, and make everyone in the room taste each to decide which was best.
“The ’93 is superior!” he argued.
“But the ’91 will finish much better after a roast!” Nevill argued back.
Jane was about to knock together the heads of the two men who a mere week ago were her party-planning saviors, when a deep rumbling voice came from the door.
“Why not serve both?”
All eyes turned and saw Byrne Worth, standing in the foyer, dressed in what had to be his finest morning coat and breeches, cane in hand. It was so idiosyncratic to see him in anything other than shirtsleeves that Jane had to blink twice before she remembered herself enough to be shocked at his arrival in general.
“You can offer up the ’91 or the ’93 as a choice, and let the public decide,” Byrne continued, as he entered the dining room, where the debate raged.
While Charles and Nevill considered this simplest of options that they had managed to not think of, Jane went to Byrne.
“What are you doing here?” she whispered.
He shrugged. “You said I was welcome anytime,” he replied with a smile.
“I did?”
“Yes, you did.” Byrne winked, then said low, “Or do I need to remind you of every word from your lips during our swimming lesson?”
Jane’s pallor dropped instantly, turning a shade of white heretofore unseen outside of the Himalayas.
“I say, Jane, are you all right?” Charles ventured over, two glasses of port in hand, discriminatingly taking tastes out of each.
“I’m quite well,” Jane replied.
“Maybe you should try the port,” Nevill added, his eyebrow going up. “Get your color back up. Mr. Worth,” he turned to Byrne, bowing.
“Mr. Worth is it?” Charles said, and then, quizzically, “Byrne Worth? Do I know you from somewhere?”
“Yes.” Nevill rolled his eyes. “We accused him of having robbed us. A pleasure to see you again.” He nodded to Byrne.
“No, that’s not it,” Charles replied, trailing off into his own memory, trying to decide where he knew Byrne from.
Byrne smirked and bowed to Nevill. “Tea, I think, would be better for Lady Jane than port,” he replied. “Jasmine blend, correct?”
OVER the course of the next two hours, Byrne managed to organize it so every single difficulty that arose regarding the ball was taken care of. No longer did they run to and from one crisis to another, everyone looking to Jane to provide the final say. Instead, they sat in the drawing room, tea and scones at the ready, all in a row. Victoria, Nevill, Charles, Jane, and Byrne, who with the assistance of tea and port, held court on all difficulties that were brought their way.
The cook said she needed at least three more servers and an assistant for the pastry chef to make the tarts for tomorrow’s dessert. She claimed her niece was ready and able to take the position.
The tribunal deliberated, and the request was granted.
The stable lads needed room for all the extra horses they expected. Byrne suggested establishing a small section of the woods by the stables to tie up any extra horses.
A dozen heart-stopping, party-ending questions, a dozen simple answers. Jane’s particular favorite was when one of the kitchen staff was worried about purchasing enough fish for the fish course, Victoria was the first to point out that there was a lake right outside the front door, full of fish for the catching.
“Honestly,” Nevill laughed as he sipped his port-laced tea. “You’d think they’d never thrown a party before.”
“They haven’t,” Jane replied. “The older staff, yes. When my mother threw parties, they were here, but it was only once a year. The newer staff are as inexperienced in executing a ball as we are planning it.”
“Speak for yourself!” Charles cried, with Nevill nodding.
This camaraderie in the midst of chaos continued as the Duke joined them for the rest of tea—adding his voice to his appreciation for the octet (who had arrived unexpectedly a full day early and were unable to get rooms in Reston, as they were fully booked due to the ball) when they obliged him with a quick reel, which he danced with his daughter, to the delight of the entire room.
The newfound pleasantness continued on into supper, where Jason joined them.
Jason was shocked by Byrne’s presence, to say the least.
They were seated in the dining room, everyone except Victoria, who had been summoned home for supper at her house. The meal was simple, to allow the cook to prepare tomorrow night’s opulence, and the mood merry. That is, of course, until Jason decided to question Byrne.
“Mr. Worth,” he said, as he violently sipped a spoonful of soup—if one could do so violently, “why have you decided to grace us with your presence today?”
“A long overdue call,” Byrne replied smoothly, smiling charmingly at the assembled party—all of whom had paused mid-soup to hear his reply. “I should have paid my respects to your family when you first arrived, but was remiss.”
“I promise you it was unnecessary,” Jason replied through gritted teeth. “After all, we’ve already met.”
The audience’s eyes shifted back to Byrne.
“But I had not called upon your father. He has the right to know who is living on his grounds,” Byrne said. “Besides, I was aware of the commotion here and thought I could lend a quiet hand.”
“And he did, too!” Charles interjected. “In fact, we were at raw ends until he showed up!”
“Indeed,” Nevill drawled. “Came in and commanded everything. Almost makes me feel sorry for mistakenly accusing you of thievery.”
Byrne tipped his glass to Nevill, who raised his back.
“They thought you a thief?” the Duke asked, his eyebrows rising in surprise.
“Yes, it’s how we were introduced,” Nevill supplied.
“Why does no one tell me these things?” the Duke replied. “I haven’t had a good bit of gossip in ages.”
“I never believed him a thief, Father,” Jane spoke up, and gave a pointed look to Jason. “Neither did Jason, which is why we didn’t mention it.”
“It’s an easy mistake to make,” Byrne interjected. “I’m not well known in the community. And, after all, it’s not as if man is ever above such things.”
“You consider yourself capable of disreputable acts?” Jason interjected, his eyes narrowing and then sliding to the side, to his sister.
“Jase, don’t get us started on your disreputable acts!” Charles sniggered. “There was that one time, in . . . where was it, Barcelona, that—”
“Thank you, Charles,” Jason said sharply, eliciting no small amount of giggles from the table.
“All humor aside,” Byrne said, his gaze never leaving Jason’s quickly reddening face, “yes, I consider myself capable of disreputable acts. When I was in the army, I did things for King and Country that I would rather not own. But I’ve moved past them.”
“Besides,” the Duke said, “you were under obligation to the Crown. Whatever sins you committed were for the protection of this country. There is a difference between sinning for something and sinning for idleness or greed. Which is what this highwayman must be doing.” A surprised look from his daughter had the Duke saying, “Yes, I know all about the highwayman. Except that this young man was accused of it. For heaven’s sake, child, I have ears.”
But that aside did not avert the staring match between Jason and Byrne.
“But what about during peacetime?” Jason asked, not even deterred by the changing of the courses. “How would you assuage yourself of guilt over disreputable acts committed then?”
Byrne held his gaze level with Jason. “I don’t know,” he said slowly. “How do you?”
Before Jason’s face could turn more florid, Mr. Thorndike thankfully changed the subject.
“Mr. Worth, you say you were in the army?” he asked, biting into his lamb with fervor. “Then surely you must be familiar with the game of horseshoes.”
Byrne nodded appreciatively. “I am. A few boys in the Seventeenth Regiment learned the game from their American cousins. Everyone was wild for it . . . I know more than one soldier who lost his week’s pay on that game.”
“Well, then you must indulge us in a round!” Thorndike cried, and Charles and Nevill joined in. For his part, Hale rolled his eyes. “After dinner. There’s a pitch out back.”
“Thank you, but I thought I might challenge His Grace to a game of chess after dinner.”
“I’ll take you on, Thorndike,” Nevill said. “Don’t look so sad.”
The Duke’s ears perked up. “I would happily accept your challenge, Mr. Worth.” Then he turned to his daughter. “You don’t mind, do you? Jane is my usual partner,” he explained, “but she’s not terribly skilled at it.”
“No, she’s not,” Byrne agreed, earning himself a shocked and annoyed look from Jane. The Duke began laughing, and Jane soon enough joined in. However, no one seemed to notice that Byrne had made an alarming admission of familiarity. No one, that is, except a livid Jason.
After dinner, Byrne and the Duke played a very intense game of chess, and Jason watched his sister as she wrote on a piece of paper, checking things off a list . . . presumably for the ball tomorrow.
She seemed glad to be getting to it, Jason thought, humming to herself with every check mark, but she kept sneaking glances toward where their father and their uninvited guest were locked in a battle of wits. As Byrne began rolling his cane between his hands, studying the board, Jason watched Jane smile wistfully.
His stomach turned.
Damn it all, planning the ball was supposed to keep her away from him. But somehow their connection had not been strained; instead, it had deepened. Obviously she had been with him when Father had his episode yesterday, but that hadn’t deterred her from mooning over the man today.
Damn it, he should have just sent Jane away when he first overheard their . . . swimming. But he couldn’t do that. He couldn’t be left alone with his father. And now with the ball . . .
He would just have to remove Mr. Worth, he thought as he narrowed his eyes shrewdly.
Which should be simple enough.
The chess game finally ended. Byrne Worth placed his king down, conceding defeat.
“I thought I had you for a moment there,” Byrne said, rising from his seat.
“You brought out your queen too early,” the Duke replied as he wiped his forehead with a handkerchief. “But I will admit there was a moment of fear when you cornered me and I had to castle.” He then turned to his daughter. “Jane, you could learn a few things from this young man here.”
Jane shared a smile with Byrne. “I’m sure I could.”
Jason nearly groaned aloud.
Luckily, Nurse Nancy chose that moment to discreetly nod to Jane, who went over and took her father’s arm. Those two had a rhythm worked out, Jason realized, as Jane steered her father out of the room, after good nights were exchanged with Mr. Worth.
Leaving Jason alone with Byrne.
“You must be a very skilled player,” Jason commented, smiling. No reason to be unpleasant about the matter. Yet. “To nearly best my father.”
“Nearly being the operative word,” Byrne replied, coming to sit in one of the high-backed wing chairs by the low embers of the fireplace. It was still too warm for a full blaze, but no one wanted to keep the Duke cold.
Jason wandered over to the sideboard. “I’ve never beaten my father at chess. Jane only wins when he lets her. If you had actually managed to triumph, I would have had to accuse you of cheating. Care for a brandy?”
“Certainly,” Byrne replied without missing a beat. “But I wouldn’t have cheated. It would be a disreputable act.”
“Ah yes,” Jason replied. “Disreputable acts. In peacetime, no less.” He came and sat in the chair opposite Byrne, handed him a short glass of brandy. “I’m curious: What would you say qualifies as a disreputable act?”
Byrne shrugged. “Besides cheating and thieving? Lying.”
“Fighting?” Jason supplied.
“Idleness?”
“Seduction.”
Byrne regarded Jason for a moment, a slight smirk on his face. “Now we come to the point.”
“I know you have an interest in my sister,” Jason said, lounging in his chair. “But you should be aware, she’s a flirt. Always has been up to mischief. You shouldn’t take her seriously.”
“No?” he answered. “Someone should.”
“She’s a Duke’s daughter, used to getting her way, but she knows her place—that she will end up with someone of import. And I won’t have a summer romance ruining that. She’s passing time with you, nothing more.”
“If that’s the case, why would you feel the need to warn me away?”
“I simply think it’s to her benefit if you are aware of the circumstances.” Jason idly sipped his brandy. “And it could be to your benefit as well.”
Byrne paused in lifting his drink to his lips. “To my benefit? How?”
“Perhaps you’d like to find a house in a less isolated corner of the world. And I’ve been thinking of reintegrating the widow Lowe’s house back into our property. Fifty thousand pounds would go a long way toward both ends.”
The little house wasn’t worth five thousand pounds, and both men knew it.
Byrne’s eyebrows shot up. “But, my lord, what on earth would I do with a hundred thousand pounds?”
“Don’t get greedy,” Jason snapped. “The offer is for fifty, an immense sum—one that could buy this house.”
“I know it’s an immense sum. I wasn’t being greedy, I was simply adding. You see,” he said with a smile that made Jason’s own falter, “I already have fifty thousand pounds in the bank. If I haven’t spent that, how on earth would you expect me to spend another fifty?”
“How . . . but you live in that little shack!” Jason exclaimed, but Byrne just shrugged.
“I was very good at what I did for the army. Now”—he leaned forward, his smile gone—“what is between me and your sister, remains between me and your sister. And in no way does it qualify as a disreputable act. Not in my eyes and not in hers.” He looked daggers at Jason then, his gaze steady and unnerving. “I am appalled that you can dismiss her needs so easily. Yes, you have,” Byrne said before Jason could argue. “You say she’s used to getting her own way, but I don’t think she’s had her own way in quite some time. I came here today to try to be a friend to Jane, to help her—she bears the weight of the world on her shoulders, and you do nothing to assist. In fact, you hinder, you hide—you leave her to take care of everything, while you avoid doing the most basic of tasks that are asked of you. Idleness,” he added. “That’s your disreputable act.”
“Don’t you dare judge me so!” Jason jumped out of his chair. “I came up here at Jane’s insistence, putting my own life on hold . . .”
“What life?” Byrne asked. “Riding? Getting sotted with your friends? From what I’ve seen, you’ve done that here.”
“I’m just trying to have some fun,” Jason said defensively. When had the conversation turned on him so? “You’re only young once.”
“I told you when we met to grow up, remember?” Byrne countered calmly. “Likely not; you were drunk. Well, grow up now. Take your place. You are done being young. Be a man now. For your father. For Jane’s sake.” And then under his breath, he added, “And so will I.”
Byrne shot down the last sip of his brandy, stood, and walked to the door. “Thank you for dinner. I’m afraid I must be going.”
And with that, Byrne left. Left Jason sitting alone, with his words echoing in the room, against his brain . . .
... and up the chimney.