Silence descended, but only for a moment. Then the whir of voices rose again, louder and more furious, stunned questions mingling in the cool air as everyone tried to make sense of what had occurred.
“Married?”
“Elopement?”
“You cannot have gone to Gretna Green so quickly!”
Jillian ignored the scatter of exclamations and fixed her gaze on Helena. “We chose to mitigate further scandal,” she said, voice clear and steady, “by being married in York by common license this morning. It was the most expedient solution and afforded us the benefit of beginning our lives together without unnecessary delay.”
Helena stepped forward, taking Jillian’s free hand in both of hers. “Only you, my dearest sister, would think a wedding ought to be expedient,” she said, torn between outrage and laughter. “Perhaps that is why you and Miles are so perfectly matched.My cousin by marriage will now be my brother by marriage. We must celebrate.”
The tension broke a little. The crowd began to disperse, people filtering back into the house as they muttered under their breath.
“York?”
“Good heavens! York?”
“Is it true? Did they really?—?”
Over all of it, Beatrice wailed, “The spirits have done it! I knew they would!”
Miles offered Jillian his hand again and she took it, letting him help her up the steps with a calmness she did not feel. She recognized that calm for what it was: the brittle composure of a woman who had willingly toppled herself into the abyss and had decided she might as well descend with dignity.
Once inside the house, away from the worst of the curious stares, Helena seized Jillian’s arm and tugged her toward a small parlor just off the main hall. The Hartingtons were already there, having been shown in by a too-efficient servant. Henry and Miles followed, with Henry closing the door firmly behind them to keep additional spectators at bay.
Helena caught Jillian by both arms and looked her up and down as if searching for injury. “You eloped,” she whispered, sounding horrified, relieved, proud, and exasperated all at once. “You actually eloped. With Miles Fairfax. Jillian, what in the name of all sanity possessed you?”
Jillian pursed her lips. “A great many things,” she said. “And none of them your concern at present.”
Helena arched a brow that promised several conversations later, then turned her attention to Miles. “And you,” she said, poking him in the chest, “could not have left so much as a note?”
“I left one for Henry,” Miles answered, irritatingly reasonable. “He was meant to find it on his desk.”
“I found it,” Henry muttered from behind Helena. “I wish I had not.”
Before Jillian could reply, Arabella surged forward, her mother close behind. Arabella’s expression was all wounded dignity and injured pride; it would have been laughable if it were not so tiresome.
“Well,” Arabella declared, folding her arms, “this explains everything. Missing together, found together, and then vanishing before dawn. A scandal arranged with such precision one might almost admire it.”
Jillian felt anger flare—clean and bright. “If you believe our actions were arranged with you in mind,” she said coolly, “I assure you they were not. You did not figure in our plans at all.”
Arabella’s mouth tightened. “Your marriage is an affront. A mockery of propriety. An insult to everyone forced to endure your theatrics.”
“It is an insult,” Mrs. Hartington added sharply, “to suppose you can simply run away and make it right afterward, as though no one will question your motives.”
Helena moved before Jillian could speak.
She stepped between Jillian and the Hartingtons, skirts flaring, chin lifted. Helena rarely allowed her temper to surface, but Jillian recognized the stiff set of her shoulders and the steel in her eyes. It was the stance of a Hale woman drawing a line.
“You will remain silent,” Helena said, her voice low and trembling with contained fury. “Both of you. If you say one more word against my sister or her husband, I shall ensure your standing in this community crumbles to dust.”
Arabella recoiled. “You cannot threaten us?—”
“I am not threatening,” Helena replied. “I am telling you how matters stand. Jillian and Miles are married—as much from your meddling as in spite of it. They are beyond the reach of your pettiness and your ambition. If you whisper against them inLondon, no one who matters will care what you think. But if you attempt to poison their names here, in the only place where you possess any real influence…” She took a small step closer, her voice dropping further. “Then I will ruin you here. Not socially for a season. Entirely.”
Mrs. Hartington’s face flushed a mottled red. “You would dare?—”
“I am Helena Fairfax,” she said, very softly. “This is my home. These are my guests. And that is my sister. The matrons of this neighborhood overlook more from you than they would from others because I am willing to tolerate you. That tolerance can be withdrawn. Your invitations can vanish. Your daughters’ prospects can vanish with them.”
