She turned back to Mr. Burry and nodded, not trusting herself to speak.
“Thank you, Lady Elsbeth. I should like to go up and take a peek in at her now.”
“Yes, of course,” she answered, exhaustion creeping into her tone.
A frown creased the marquis’s brow. "Hold the door. Burry,” he ordered. He took the brandy glass out of Lady Elsbeth’s hand, setting it on the table. Then he picked her up out of the chair.
“John! What?—?”
“Hush. You’re near to falling asleep. I’m taking you to your room and placing you in the hands of your woman. Then I don’t want to see you until at least noon tomorrow."
Despite herself, Lady Elsbeth chuckled. "How romantic,” she said dryly as she laced her arms about his neck, content to let him carry her.
He scowled at her fiercely, but Lady Elsbeth didn’t mind, for there was something in his expression that told another tale.
When the door closed after them, Sir Helmsdon cleared his throat and approached Jane.
She’d almost forgotten his presence and looked at him in surprise.
“Miss Grantley—” he began formally.
“Do you wish me to perdition? Shall I leave?” drawled Lord Royce.
Sir Helmsdon raised his hand and shook his head. One of Royce’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. He sat down in the chair he’d occupied earlier, his elbows on the arms, his fingertips steepled.
“When I came to Penwick Park, you accused me of wishing to kidnap you, to force you into marriage. This I vehemently denied. I find I must now confess that I lied to you.”
“Lied?” Jane repeated.
He laughed without mirth, a brittle sound. "Yes. I convinced you my intentions were honorable. They were not. I was ready to abduct you and force you into marriage by ruining your good name. My circumstances are that desperate, and I was lost to reason. Since I’ve been here, I’ve discovered a warm, generous person behind that formal façade you maintain in society. That person I could not treat so shabbily. I wanted to tell you before I go.”
“Go?”
“Yes, I’ve had my things sent on to the inn in the village. After the friendship you’ve shown me, I can no longer in goodconscience remain under this roof. But before I go, I want to offer this advice. Don’t hide away. Don’t be the Ice Witch or the only gentlemen who will brave the cold will be fortune hunters, like myself.”
He bowed curtly. "I wish you the best of happiness.”
“Sir Helmsdon, ” she called after him as he strode toward the door. "What will you do now?”
A crooked smile pulled at his lips. "Offer myself to one of those paragons of middle-class virtue. My position in society in exchange for their funds. " He shrugged. "Perhaps I’ll even reform.” He lifted his hand in a final farewell.
Jane noticed that Jeremy had opened the door before he reached it, as he had also done when Mr. Burry left the room. She shook her head. She didn’t think the young man would ever break the habit of listening at keyholes. Of course, if he hadn’t had the habit, he and Sir Helmsdon would not have been outside the window to provide the distraction necessary to stop Serena. She shuddered to think of the consequences. Her neck and throat still hurt, despite the soothing salve and the soft cloth bandage wound about it.
The red line caused by the chain Mrs. O'Rourke made her wear would likely not disappear for days. When Jane twitted Mrs. O'Rourke concerning the damage done by the medallion and its chain, the woman had smoothly reiterated that second sight was both a gift and a curse. Then she reminded Jane that she had said to trust in a tall, dark gentleman. And didn’t Lord Royce disarm Lady Serena? And wasn’t he a Lord and a tall, dark gentleman? To that bald pronouncement, Jane had had nothing to say. She had gracefully retired to the library to join the gentlemen and await word of Serena’s condition.
Now only she and Lord Royce remained in the library. They were silent as they heard Sir Helmsdon jovially call for his hat and coat and then close the front door firmly behind him.
Jane glanced over at Lord Royce, suddenly very nervous. He was frowning, his dark brows drawn together in a straight line.
“Helmsdon is right,” he finally said.
“I beg your pardon?”
“You have locked yourself away for so long that the only gentlemen who come around you are more interested in your purse than your person. I can’t take advantage of that.”
“You can’t take advantage of what?” Jane asked sharply. A little flicker of hope began to burn within her. Her heart beat faster, and her breathing rate increased, like bellows fanning the fragile flame. She rose from her chair, forcing him to do likewise.
“The Jane Grantley that society knows is only a façade, a shell covering a vibrant woman. That realization gives me an unfair advantage.”
