Historical Romance May 2017 Books 1 - 4. Bronwyn Scott
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some associates, confident and sure of himself despite his having imbibed a little too much. If he ever learned what exactly Jasper had made of himself in Savannah, and London, he’d never toast him again.
Beneath the clear blue sky hanging over the garden, and with the guests laughing and chatting, it was difficult to take his worries seriously. With Jane working alongside him, they’d have the club founded in a matter of weeks and he could stop living two separate lives. He might retain a percentage of the hell, but he’d have nothing more to do with its nightly activities, no extending of credit or having a hand in how any of the clients decided to waste their livelihoods. His father would never find out exactly what he’d sent his son to and what kind of man it had made him.
‘Jane, come with me.’ Olivia, Jasper’s eldest sister by ten years, hurried up to Jane and took her by the arm. ‘Lily, Alice and I have some advice we’re dying to give you.’ She led Jane off to join his other two sisters near the fountain along the back wall, welcoming Jane into the circle of married ladies. Olivia, with their mother’s fair complexion and lithe frame, talked the most, taking her role as eldest sister and potential marital mentor very seriously.
‘Olivia wasn’t so welcoming of Camille and Father wasn’t so effusive with his congratulations at my wedding dinner.’ Milton appeared at Jasper’s side, intent on bringing shade to the sunny day. He’d always been the most serious of the three of them, fretting over the consequences of their plotted adventures. He’d become even more morose as an adult. ‘But then you always did get the better deal.’
Jasper took a sip of his champagne to bite back the remark about it being his and his wife’s own fault they hadn’t received a warm wedding reception. This was not the time to start an argument. ‘I think you got the better end of the deal. I’ve seen horrors you can’t even imagine.’
A shadow seemed to pass over the garden until Jasper caught Jane’s eye. She flashed him a proud smile to drive back the darkness encroaching on him and he raised his glass to her.
‘There can’t always have been death and disease. There must’ve been something more thrilling to have kept you there for so long.’ It was the first sentence Milton had uttered to Jasper without each word dripping with condescension or jealousy.
Jasper studied Milton, seeing a hint of the brother he’d left and not the rival he’d become. ‘There was at one time, but nothing, and especially no one, there who can compare to here.’
None of the women he’d been with in Savannah, not the jaded widows who gambled as hard as the men, nor the bored planters’ wives who were eager to educate a man new to intimate nights, could match Jane. Her beauty was like deep water, not flashy or overdone, but steady, enhanced by her curves and the smooth fit of her dress. Her innocence called to him, as did her sharp wit and head for business.
‘Of course, I haven’t done too poorly.’ The brief moment of fraternity vanished as Milton puffed out his chest in pride and lifted his champagne glass to his wife who stood in the corner. ‘I’ve done well with Father, increasing his profits on more than one occasion, and I have a fine wife.’
Camille responded with a small smile before peering longingly at Jane and Jasper’s sisters while they continued to talk. It gave Jasper a better understanding of why Milton had chosen her over Jane. His wife held back where Jane strode forward and she wasn’t likely to show Milton up or reveal his weakness in business by exercising her strength. Milton might have avoided the challenges of a strong wife, but Jasper would welcome them, especially tonight. ‘If you’ll excuse me.’
Jasper wove his way through the guests to reach Jane, who stood now with Mr and Mrs Rathbone. Once beside her, he took her hand. He caught the slight intake of breath as he caressed her palm with his thumb.
‘Tell me about your cotton-trading business in Savannah, Mr Charton,’ Mrs Rathbone pressed. ‘My father was a draper, and I used to help him in his shop. I once knew a great deal about southern cotton. I’m curious to see how much I remember.’
Jasper’s thumbed stilled on Jane’s palm and her fingers tightened around his. He knew as much about cotton as Uncle Patrick had, which was nothing. He hadn’t expected Mrs Rathbone to be an expert. He racked his brain, trying to remember any of the conversations he used to overhear while pouring libations or slipping notes for more credit beneath the cotton-growers’ pens. Nothing came to him.
‘Don’t pester him with work, Laura.’ Jane batted her free hand at her sister-in-law. ‘We’re here to celebrate, not to be serious.’
‘Marriage has changed you already, Jane. You rarely ever pass up a chance to discuss business.’ Mr Rathbone regarded Jasper and Jane the way he used to when they were children and he caught them entering the house after being up to no good. Thankfully, Jasper’s mother approached and drew the host and hostess away.
Jane brushed her forehead with the back of her hand. ‘I see what you mean about lying to everyone.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me your sister-in-law knew about cotton?’
‘Because I haven’t heard her speak of it in years. I didn’t think she’d bring it up today.’
‘I might have to read up on the subject before our first family dinner,’ he joked, working to set her, and himself, at ease.
* * *
Jane tried to share in Jasper’s humour, but the brief interlude with Laura and Philip had left her shaken. Jane might have put Laura off the subject, but she’d noticed Philip scrutinising her and her husband.
My husband.
She stepped closer to him. Let Philip scrutinise them. She was a married woman now and he no longer had a say in her affairs.
* * *
It was dusk when the merry guests saw Jane and Jasper off in his landau. She could barely sit still beside him as the vehicle carried them from St Bride’s Lane to Jasper’s town house in Gough Square. In the privacy of the conveyance, she considered starting their marital relations early, but she didn’t want to shock the driver when they arrived at their destination.
Instead, she enjoyed the weight of his arm on her shoulders and the solid muscle of his thigh beneath her palm while they laughed about Mr Jones having tried to outdrink Mr Charton and failing.
Once they reached his house, he introduced her to his few servants, then showed her around the recently painted and repaired narrow rooms filled with the same gaudy furniture as his office. Like the furniture in the warehouse, it had belonged to his uncle and had come with the house. They poked into this room and that, discussing the minor details of housekeeping while avoiding the most important one waiting for them above stairs. They’d been friends for years and shared some of the most private events of their lives. None of those would compare to what was about to pass between them.
At last, with darkness settling over the house, they lit the candles and followed the housekeeper, Mrs Hodgkin, upstairs. Jane’s things were settled and away in Jasper’s room, her life at last completely one with his, leaving only the melding of their bodies to accomplish. At thirteen, she’d dreamed of this night, but as she’d watched him from the back of Philip’s landau as it pulled away from the Charton house, leaving him to his family and the ship that would carry him away, she’d never believed it possible. She held up her hand and the large diamond in her wedding band sparkled in the candlelight. He was hers and she was his.
‘Do you like it?’ he asked.
‘I do. It’s as overdone as the rest of your things.’ She motioned to the large, gilded four-poster bed from the warehouse, all but engulfing the room. It had been assembled and cleaned with a large mattress affixed to its sturdy frame.
‘Redo the rest of the decor if you like, but I assure you, by tomorrow you will not want to part with this piece.’ He slapped the post of the bed and it barely shivered, unlike her.
‘You’re so sure.’ She swallowed hard, suddenly nervous.
‘Incredibly