Afterward Robert consoled her in her dressing room. “Jane, you are growing dramatically as an actress. I can see you improving with each performance.”
“Then how come nobody is coming?” She was tired and she slumped in front of her dressing mirror. She did not want to go home to the earl’s house. She wished she was going home to her own cozy house on Gloucester Street.
“Every show has a life of its own,” Gordon said. “Don’t worry, we can find you another role as soon as this closes.”
Jane just looked at him. She was too weary to explain to him she would have to take a three-month “holiday.”
That evening Jane gave Gordon a lift home in the Dragmore carriage with its black-and-gold crest. Before exiting, he leaned to her. “Is everything all right, Jane?”
She knew to what, and to whom, he referred. She managed a smile. “I suppose so.”
“If you need anything,” he said earnestly, “don’t hesitate.”
Gratitude flooded her. She was so lucky to have a real friend whom she could rely on. “Thank you.”
Shortly after, Thomas let her in, impeccable despite the hour, which was just short of midnight. While he served her a light supper, Jane had to casually ask if the earl was asleep. Thomas’s expression was carefully blank. “No, my lady.”
Jane was careful to stare down at her carrots as she forked them. “He is in the library, then?” Not that she cared where he was.
“He is still out,” Thomas said.
Jane was very tired, but decided to read for a while after checking on Nicole. She sat on a chintz-covered chaise in her sitting room, the door slightly ajar. She had learned that afternoon that his apartments were just down the hall from hers, and it would be impossible not to hear him when he returned, for he would have to pass her rooms. Of course, she was not waiting up for him, nor did she care when he came in. She found herself listening to the night, however, not reading. And there were no footsteps upon the stairs, no carriage wheels spinning on the gravel outside. Annoyed, Jane snapped her book shut and glanced at the malachite-framed clock. It was 2A.M.
Yet when she finally heard the carriage, the horses, and voices outside her window, which was open, she reached for the clock and brought it close to gaze at it in the starlight. She could dimly make out its face—it was four-thirty.
She rolled onto her stomach, feeling an acute stabbing that was distinctly hurtful. Of course he had mistresses, of course he would see them. It was not her business. Indeed, she had given him her permission to do as he chose. But why, oh why, did it have to hurt so much?
Jane never slept late despite her vocation and usually arose around eight. She did not expect to see the earl, recalling how at Dragmore he was up with the sun and gone shortly thereafter. Of course, in Sussex he was not out all night long with paramours. Therefore, it should not have stopped her in her tracks to see him sitting at the big gilt dining table with the LondonTimes.
Her heart skipped a few beats. He barely glanced at her. There were two other settings on the table, one used and abandoned. With a start, Jane realized Chad must take breakfast with his father. She had seen him yesterday to say hello, and had been stunned at the difference two years could make. He was quite the seven-year-old imp now, and he had been delighted to see her and thrilled to have her marrying his father. At least one member of the family was happy with the circumstances, Jane thought grimly.
She sat on the earl’s right. He said nothing, just cracked his paper once. To not even exchange civil good mornings was too much as far as Jane was concerned. “Good morning,” she said, not looking at him and pouring herself coffee from a silver pot.
He grunted.
Jane helped herself to a croissant. As she buttered it, not looking at him, she said, perversely, “Did you have a pleasant time last evening?”
“Very.”
Bastard, she thought, buttering the bread with vigor now. He laid aside his paper and penetrated her with a look. “And you?”
“Just wonderful,” she said calmly. “May I?” She gestured to theTimes.
He leaned back indolently in his chair, which reminded Jane of a throne with its high scrolled back and clawed arms. Jane took the paper and searched for the theater reviews. A headline in the social column screamed out at her: LORD OF DARKNESS WEDS LONDON’S ANGEL! She gasped, fixing him with big blue eyes.
He smiled. “What’s the matter? Aren’t you used to notoriety by now?”
His tone was hurtful. Deliberately, calmly, she closed the paper and set it back where it had come from, near his right hand. “Exactly what are you insinuating?”
“Am I insinuating anything?”
“I think so.”
“You tell me.”
“I think, sir, that you are a boor.”
He laughed. His teeth were so very white. “So I’ve been told.” He rose abruptly to his feet.“Bon appetit, Jane.”
