Historical Romance May 2017 Books 1 - 4. Bronwyn Scott
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of anything. It was eerily similar to the way Milton had approached her the morning before he’d eloped.
‘What exactly are you trying to say?’ Fear tightened her throat. He’s going to call it off. No, if he’d changed his mind he would have sent a note instead of coming here himself. It was slim comfort. There was a reason he was standing here viewing her as if he’d already lost her.
‘I want to make sure you understand fully what we’re about to do, including the potential dangers. It’s something we may have overlooked in our rush to wed.’ He glanced past her to make sure no one was eavesdropping. Then he shifted closer and dropped his voice. ‘Not every player loses. There’s a very real chance someone could win and bankrupt us, or a cheater I unmask might lash out at me or you. You must be sure this is the kind of life you want.’
He’s trying to get me to cry off. She certainly would not. If she had to club him over the head and drag him up the aisle to ensure he said his vows, she would. She wouldn’t be humiliated in front of the Fleet Street community again. ‘After a lifetime of living here, having been in the house the night Laura’s uncle tried to kill her, I’m well aware of the risks involved in dealing with money and people.’
‘I don’t doubt you can handle any challenge our life together might create.’ His words were light, but there was no missing the deep furrow marring his brow, or his insistence in pressing on. She might not be willing to end things, but it didn’t mean he wouldn’t. ‘But we can’t be so lax about it or the realities of our situations.’
‘Which are?’
He hesitated before he answered. ‘The danger aligning yourself with me might put you in.’
She waited, bracing herself in anticipation of the words she expected to follow and end everything. Outside, her niece’s and nephews’ high voices rang out, tensing Jane’s already tight nerves, but still Jasper didn’t speak.
Don’t do it, please, don’t turn away from me. Her cheeks burned with her silent shame until she was sure they were the same red as her velvet dress. She didn’t want to beg or to be this weak in front of him, but his pulling back cut deeper than when Mrs Hale had moved away. He’d promised to create a life, home and business with her. They weren’t even married and he was already reneging on his word.
‘What’s really wrong, Jasper, please tell me?’
* * *
Jane studied Jasper with the same pleading look as the men who approached Mr Bronson in search of more credit. Her desperation cut him because he’d caused it. Instead of waiting and better thinking things through, he’d come here in a panic and created a doubt which hadn’t existed before and it had hurt her.
Down the hall, the back door leading from the garden squeaked opened. The Rathbone children’s footsteps rang through the house, accompanied by their high voices as they called to one another. It echoed with the sound of his childhood when he and Milton used to tear through the same door and race upstairs to find Jane and bring her out to play. He especially remembered the months after her parents’ deaths when he’d come here to fetch her, eager to see his heartbroken friend smile again. Those days were gone, but Jane was here with him, as beautiful and trusting as back then. He couldn’t throw her over the way his brother had. If she’d set her mind to facing all challenges with him—and Heaven knew after living with Philip Rathbone she was the best woman to do it—he couldn’t push her away. He would find a way to keep her safe.
He pulled her to him and clutched her tight against his chest. Resting his chin on her smooth hair, he inhaled her gardenia scent and allowed it to soothe his concerns. ‘Forgive me. I didn’t mean to startle you with my visit. I just wanted to make sure you were completely aware of what marrying me means.’
She relaxed against him with a sigh of relief and slid her arms around his waist. ‘Of course I’m aware of it. Despite it all, I still want to be your wife and work with you.’
‘And you will.’
She leaned back but didn’t pull away, her usual exuberance colouring her cheeks with a pink more alluring than the shameful red he’d brought to them a few minutes before, the weight of her as natural in his arms as his coat on his shoulders. ‘Philip spoke to Reverend Claire this morning. It’s all set for Friday at eleven o’clock, the soonest we could do it given the seven-day wait. The Reverend was stunned when he found out I’m marrying you. I’m surprised he didn’t look up the rules of consanguinity to make sure it’s all right for a woman to marry her former fiancé’s brother.’
Jasper laughed, the first genuine one he’d enjoyed in ages. This was how it had always been between them and this was how it would continue. He’d make sure of it. ‘I don’t think he’s so medieval.’
‘I hope not for I have no desire to appeal to the Archbishop for a dispensation.’
He softly cuffed her under her chin. ‘We could always elope and stun a few more people.’
‘And deny everyone in the Fleet the chance to come and gawk? Heavens, no. I want them to be there when we see this betrothal through. And we will.’ Her warning was clear. She would make him live up to his promise.
‘Yes, we will.’ He took her hand and brought it to rest over his heart. Her pulse flickered in each fingertip against his as he drank in her wide blue eyes and the full lips which were parted in anticipation. She wasn’t just his greatest friend; she was about to be his wife. At fifteen, he’d longed for this, but he’d hesitated to tell her for fear she’d laugh at him. Then the night of his farewell party, with the single candle in the study making her eyes sparkle, she’d vowed to wait for his return. The missed opportunity had crushed him. It wasn’t only his family he’d been exiled from, but a future with her. It was why he’d denied any feelings other than friendship and why he hadn’t written despite dreaming of her. He’d been too angry over the chances stolen from him.
But they hadn’t been stolen, only delayed.
The old bitterness faded under the soft pressure of her fingertips on the back of his neck and her stomach against his as he leaned down to press his lips to hers. A charge of passion arched between them, driving away his exhaustion and worry, and invigorating him like nothing since before the dreaded summer in Savannah. In her arms, the future surrounded him and he wanted to embrace it as he did her. With her help, he’d build a new life and at last bury the old one. He’d finally leave Savannah behind and Jane would be there to help him do it.
‘Are you sure you want to wear this dress?’ Mrs Fairley, the blonde modiste, asked as she laid the silk creation across the back of the chaise in her fitting room. The modiste had sewn this dress for Jane’s wedding to Milton, making it the only one she could have ready before Friday. Jane had insisted Mrs Fairley keep it, determined to wear it to the next Charton party and give Milton a taste of what he’d rejected. When the opportunity had finally arisen, Mrs Fairley had talked her out of her revenge, making Jane realise she’d only embarrass herself.
‘Yes, I’m going to wear it.’ After Jasper’s visit this morning, Jane didn’t want to waste money on a new gown she might not use. If this one didn’t make it to the altar she’d sell it in Petticoat Lane herself instead of allowing it to moulder here like some shed skin. Then she’d use the money to buy a dog.
‘Let’s see it on you.’ Mrs Fairley helped her pull on the dress, then ushered her up on to the stool. The cream-silk skirt brushed the tops of Jane’s stocking-clad feet, the intricate embroidery of the interlaced diamonds decorating the hem and weighing it down. Blue-and-silver embroidered flowers coloured the bodice and set off her blue eyes. The dress was stunning, despite its past, and she craved the chance to wear it, at last to be a bride instead of a cast-off spinster—assuming Jasper intended to go through with the wedding.
‘Are you excited about the marriage?’ Mrs Fairley asked as she knelt to examine the hem.