“Wait!” Amos demanded as St. John turned from him. “I can explain!”
St. John shook his head, not bothering to look Amos’ way. “Nay, sirrah, you cannot! I shall be departing Westmoor at once. A good life to you both!” And with that, he, too, left, slamming the door in his wake.
Jessie was certain the front door would split in two if it were slammed so violently even once more.
“Damn, damn, bloody damn!” Amos exploded. He glared at Jessie.
Left to themselves, the room became deathly quiet. Amos shook his powdered and peruked head, hatred and disgust leaping from his eyes.
Jessie felt anew the condemning sting of tears.
“Does he speak the truth, Jessamine? Tell me, now!”
For a long moment she couldn’t say a word, and then she nodded, her lips quivering. Her hands trembling, she wiped away the blur of tears from her eyes.
Amos gave her a contemptuous snort and shook his head. “Do you realize what you have done?” he asked gravely. “I cannot believe you would do this to me—to Westmoor!”
His expression was frightening, his tone cold and brutal in its sharpness. She recoiled as he came toward her, raising his hand in anger. He stopped abruptly, held it in midair, as tears pooled and spilled from her eyes. Silently they coursed down her cheeks, onto her lips. She let them, not bothering to wipe the humiliating wetness away. Looking directly into her brother’s vacant eyes, she realized then that there was nothing left of him there. They revealed not a trace of warmth.
“I thought he loved me,” she sobbed brokenly, tasting the salt of her grief. “I-I thought you?—”
His hand slammed down upon the desk and he glared at her as though to blame her for the violent reaction she’d wrought from him. “You thought too much!”
“Why, Amos? Why would you do such a thing? I-I don’t understand. Why would Lord Chris—” She choked on the question, unable to finish.
“’Tis not so difficult to comprehend,” he replied balefully, his words clipped and cool. “For the good of Westmoor, Jessamine, I would sell my soul to the devil himself. And Lord Christian? That is quite the simple deduction as well; he’s the lowest of low, the scourge of society. It is only to be expected from the likes of him.”
Once again, silence fell. Only Jessie’s sobs broke the hush. She cried softly. “What will you do?”
Amos shrugged, his look cold, unreachable. “Precisely what I should have done to begin with. Send you to Charlestown, m’dear.”
She blanched. “But Lord St. John said?—”
Amos eyed her coldly. “Have you no ears? Did you not hear? Nay, you’ll not go with St. John, but to Robert, instead!” He shook his head lamentably. “I can do nothing more for you here—you have seen to that well and good! Robert may fare better than I.”
He observed the silent tears as they spilled down her cheeks and was unmoved by them.
“You’ve disgraced us! You’ve dishonored my name. Eliza warned you that Haukinge was a debaucher of women—a penniless one at that!” he scoffed. “But nay, you would not listen. It was also made known to you that he would not stay overlong once he knew you came to him without a dowry. I can only say I told you so!”
Jessie held her breath momentarily.
Hope stirred despite the pain.
“He asked after my dowry?” Pride seemed a forgone thing suddenly. If Christian had asked after her dowry, he must have asked about matrimony. And then it dawned on her suddenlywhat Amos had said to him and hope surged. You really cannot have expected Jessamine would wed a bastard. “Amos, did he ask to marry me?”
“It never came to that. With no dowry, you are nothing to him, and I made that clear from the start—that you would be given none. He never bothered to ask.”
Jessie masked her face with her hands as an anguished sob burst forth.
Amos watched a moment longer, and then abandoned her, too. Just so easily, everything was gone.
Everything.
PART II
There is no greater sorrow than to be mindful of the happy time in misery.
——DANTE
