Oliver looked up.
“Stop moping,” Robert said, punching his shoulder. “Maybe it’s simply that with the Reform Act creeping its way through Parliament, you’re needing a new project. You’ve worked on this for how long now? It can be a surprising letdown to see something you’ve worked for come to fruition. It leaves an emptiness in your life.”
“That’s precisely what it is.” Oliver shut his eyes. “An emptiness in my life. I’m just not sure what would fill it.”
There was a tap behind them. Oliver turned to see a servant standing in the doorway.
“Sir,” he said, bowing to Oliver. “A telegram has come for you.”
“Oh, lovely,” Oliver said aloud. “I wonder what Free has done now?”
The servant didn’t answer and Oliver took the envelope in bemusement.
The flimsy paper inside contained three lines
NOBODY ELSE I CAN TURN TO
AM IN NOTTINGHAM
TOMORROW I WILL
That was it. That was the entirety of the message. It seemed curiously abbreviated, and the last line—he hesitated to call it a sentence when even in the truncated language of telegrams it lacked necessary parts of speech—made no sense. Tomorrow I will…who was this I?
Oliver had no idea.
Eat, drink, and be merry, some amused part of him whispered, for tomorrow I will…
He looked the paper over. He didn’t know anyone in Nottingham. And the only person who would send him a message asking for help, aside from his family, was…
He stared at the paper and reread it.
Jane Fairfield.
He licked his lips.
“Robert,” he said, “tell me if I am wrong, but this would be a most inconvenient time to leave town, would it not?”
There were ongoing debates in Parliament. Details were being settled on a regular basis. But the thought of staying—of going to yet another dinner with yet more people who made him feel strange inside his skin—seemed impossibly wrong.
Free hadn’t needed him. She hadn’t even asked for him. But Jane…
“Oliver,” Robert said, “is everything well? It’s not your sister again, is it?”
“No,” Oliver said, almost dazedly. “It’s not my sister.”
He could go to Jane. If it was Jane who had sent this message.
A stupid idea. He tried to dispel it with logic.
The world didn’t turn on Jane, he lectured himself, and everything would alter if the voting reforms were watered down. What were one woman’s problems when compared with the entire world? He wasn’t even in love with her. This might not even have come from her.
But for one second, he imagined seeing her again. He imagined spending a few days with a colorful, square block—a few blissful days without a single round hole in sight.
“I’m going to Nottingham,” he said.
And for the first time in four months, he felt right—as if he’d turned toward home after a long journey in a foreign land.
Robert blinked.
Oliver laughed, feeling almost giddy with relief. “I don’t know what I’m doing there,” he said. “Or why I need to go, or how long it will take. But I’m going.”
“You’re going now?”
Now seemed like a good time. An excellent time. After all, the sooner he went, the sooner he could come back. And maybe, just maybe, when he saw her, he could figure out how she managed to keep from being worn down. Maybe he needed a little dose of the impossible.
That was it. He wasn’t in love with her, but… God, he ached to see her.
“I’m going,” Oliver said, “as soon as I can put together a few things.”
He repeated that mantra on the train, chanted it in time with the rushing clack-clack-clack of the wheels.
He wasn’t in love with her; he was just fulfilling a promise.
He wasn’t in love with her; he was merely going to visit an old friend.
He wasn’t in love with her; he was simply going to set right a wrong.
The train steamed on through the afternoon, and Oliver let himself believe every word.
He wasn’t in love with her. He just wasn’t.
When he asked casually at the inn upon arrival, he was told there would be an assembly that night—starting in a mere fifteen minutes—and that all the eligible young ladies would attend. “Including,” the maid said, “an heiress.” She blinked at him. “I hear she has the most outrageous gowns. I do wish I could see them.”
So did Oliver. It had been her telegram, then. She needed him. He was going to see her, and the thought of it filled him with an electric anticipation. He wasn’t in love with her. He was just smiling because he knew she’d appreciate being called outrageous.
He wasn’t in love with her; he was just going to the assembly without taking the time to unpack his valise. Nothing wrong with that, was there?
He made excuse after excuse as he dressed, as he made sure his coat pockets contained all the necessary things one would need if a woman ended up in danger—money and a pistol pretty much covered it.
He wasn’t in love with her; he was just being careful.
He told himself those same lies when he joined the throng in the assembly. He was just looking for her—a perfectly normal thing to do, wasn’t it? To look for a woman you’d traveled a hundred miles to see. It was normal that his breath seemed heavy in his lungs, that the seconds without her seemed to weigh on his shoulders.
And then he saw her. The assembly doors opened, and she entered the room. She was dressed in a gown that clung to the curves of her breasts and flared at the waist. It was green—the kind of green that a monk might have used in an illuminated manuscript of old to sketch out a venomous snake whispering temptation from an apple tree.
Someone else might have found that gold fringe at her ankles gaudy. They might have winced at the color of her dress or the sparkling beads that adorned it. They might have blinked at her garish headpiece.
But this was Jane. It had been four months since Oliver had last seen her. She was utterly gorgeous, from the bejeweled slippers that peeked out under the edge of her gown all the way up to the poison-green feathers plaited into her hair. Jane. His Jane. His breath caught, and for the first time in what seemed like forever, he felt as if he had landed precisely where he belonged. Here, in this assembly that he’d never attended, amongst a crowd of strangers.
He’d been lying to himself all these months.
He was in love with her. And he had no idea what to do about it.
Chapter Twenty
“That gown is hideous,” Jane’s aunt said for what seemed the fifteenth time. “Do you want everyone to think you a…” She paused, but as there was no particular social message that was sent by wearing a viper-green dress, she had no way to continue. “Are you trying to be a ninnyhammer?”
“A ninnyhammer,” Jane said, “sounds like a magic hammer. One that I can use to smite ninnies. I have a great need for one of those.”
Her aunt was struck dumb by this. She stared and sniffed, and finally shook her head. “How will you ever bring Dorling up to scratch dressed like that?”
Jane didn’t dignify that with an answer. She refused to talk about the man with her aunt. Instead, she stared blankly at the carriage wall. Dorling was the author of half of her current misery, and she cared approximately nothing for him. It was when she thought of Emily—of what her uncle might do, what he might already have done—that she began to worry.
The telegram might not have gone through. Even if it had, what she’d remembered writing on the card in a tearing hurry was utter gibberish. She hadn’t given him an inkling of what she needed, when she needed it, where they should meet, or any other pertinent information—such as, for instance, her own name. Oliver had an entire life to live, people that he cared for, things to do. He wasn’t going to rush off because he received a telegram that might or might not have come from a woman he might or might not have forgotten.
He was likely married by now. He had almost certainly put aside his foolish promise. Besides, there wasn’t any time. The telegram had gone out just before noon. Scarcely seven hours had elapsed, and her plan was already in motion.
God. It was all going to happen tonight, whether she was ready or not. She had nobody to rely on but herself, no weapons except two rolls of bills. One was strapped to her thigh; the other was lodged rather uncomfortably between her breasts.
The assembly room was up a flight of stairs. The exercise made her too warm. With every step, those bills between her breasts chafed. On the plus side, there was no way that the money would slide out on accident, wedged in there as they were. On the other hand, she feared they would leave a permanent, bill-shaped imprint against the sides of her breasts. It was a good thing she didn’t need a pistol. That would hurt, stuffed down there.
So Jane smiled at her aunt, squared her shoulders, and marched into the assembly room.
It was blazing hot in that crush of bodies, so hot that Jane felt almost overwhelmed by the blast of warmth. She had less than half an hour to find Dorling, to explain to him what she needed.
But it was not Dorling her eyes lit on as she perused the crowd. It was another man entirely.
“Oh,” she said aloud. She had to be imagining him—those eyes, alight with some inner humor, pale blue and sparkling. That bright shock of hair. Those spectacles.
He was dressed in dark clothing with long tails on his coats. The cuffs of his shirt gleamed whitely at his sleeves. His hair shone in the lamp light like a bright beacon. He looked about, adjusted his spectacles on his nose, and saw her.
It had been months since she’d seen him last, and the sight of him felt like a blow—a welcome blow, one that nearly knocked her over with the weight of relief. Everyone else in the room vanished. There was only him—him and her—and the distance and time that lay between them seemed to dwindle away.
It took every ounce of self-control that Jane had—every last scrap of restraint—to keep herself from dashing across the room into his waiting arms.
But…her aunt was watching.
And so she waited demurely, trying to ignore the unsightly trickle of sweat that slid down her back, trying not to scratch at her breasts. She waited, talking to others with her mind in a daze.
How had he come so quickly?
Oh, it was possible, of course, that he might have done so. But he would have had to get on a train almost immediately after he’d received her telegram.
She was still dazed when Mrs. Laurence came up with Oliver in tow. Jane barely heard the words of introduction; she had no idea what story he had told. She only nodded in dumbfounded agreement when he asked if he might walk her around the room.
“Miss Fairfield,” he said with a smile.
“Mr…” She looked up at him. She couldn’t even remember if he’d used his real name in introduction. She hadn’t been listening. “Mr. Cromwell,” she finally said.
An amused light came into his eyes.
“You came.” She wanted to clutch his arm.
“Of course I did. I told you I would.” He glanced down at her gown. “What ungodly color are you wearing?”
“Green,” she said. “Serpent-belly green. Or perhaps it’s the green of a cloud of poisonous chlorine gas.”
“And yet nobody is shrieking and averting their eyes.” He gave her a smile. “Nice trick. How do you manage it?”
She gave him a brilliant smile. “Simple,” she said, adjusting the diamonds at her neck. “I already told you. It’s the heiress effect.” She smiled at him again. “You came, Oliver. I can’t believe you came. And so quickly, too.”
“Didn’t I tell you?” he smiled at her. “You’re not alone.”
“But it’s been months.” She looked over at him. “We only knew each other a few weeks. I assumed that you would be…” But maybe he was. She looked up at him in horror.
“I’m not married,” he said simply. “Nor engaged. Nor even courting.”
She wasn’t going to let herself feel glad about that. She refused to do so.
But her refusal didn’t seem to be working. A lightness pervaded her.
He gave her dress a pointed stare. “Although if I had realized that you were trying to blind the entire assembly, I would have brought blinkers. As for a horse.” He held up his hands to either side of his head, demonstrating. “They would keep me from getting skittish.”
They were smiling at each other, and for the first moment since that morning, Jane felt as if everything would turn out. Somehow.
“Now,” he said, stepping closer. “Is this a place where we can talk about what you need, or shall we arrange for a better time?”
“Time.” She laughed. “In fifteen minutes, I am supposed to meet the Honorable George Dorling.” She gulped. “For purposes of eloping with him.”
Something shifted in his expression—something that washed that humor out of his visage. He took a step toward her. “I’ll be damned if you do.”
He wasn’t married. She had sent him a nonsensical telegram, listing only the name of the city, and he had come in a matter of hours. Jane wasn’t particularly good at figuring people out, but even she could add two and two and come up with a number larger than three. She felt herself smiling despite everything.
He, on the other hand, took a deep breath and shook his head. He looked upward, and then…
“Terribly sorry.” His voice was a little rough. “That was overdone on my part.” His hand curled into a fist. “Is that what you want?”
“It’s not like that,” Jane said. “It’s a false elopement.”
He frowned.
“Or it will be. There’s no time to explain. I have to go bribe my pretend-bridegroom. You see, if he is pretending to elope with me, my aunt will think I’ve gone to Gretna Green. If she thinks I have merely run off on my own, she’ll let my uncle know I’m on my way. Then I’ll never be able to steal my sister in time.”
Any other man might have been taken aback at that. Oliver simply nodded.
“That makes almost no sense,” he said. “But I gather we’re on a tight schedule. I suppose you have an elopement to fake, and then…”
“Then we must make our way to Cambridge. As swiftly as possible.”
“That part I can manage. I’ll find transportation.” Oliver frowned. “If we’re going to Cambridge, and we don’t want your aunt to know…there are no trains any longer tonight. She’ll hear if we stay at a hotel in town.”
“I had my friend bring a valise for me to the Stag and Hounds over in Burton Joyce. I planned to overnight there and then catch the early train.”
He nodded. “I’ll have my things sent over and a separate room arranged.” He paused. “God, Jane…” His hand twitched toward her, but he brought it back swiftly. All he said was, “It’s good to see you. Go bribe your swain.”
She laughed.
He started to leave and then turned back. “I wasn’t expecting this.”
She shook her head in mock solemnity. “Nobody expects a false elopement.”
He reached out and touched her hand. Jane had to bite her lip to keep from grabbing hold of him and refusing to ever let go.
“That’s not what I meant,” he said, his voice low. “I never forgot about you at all. So why is it that now that I’m here, I feel as if I’m recalling things I’ve never known?” He looked into her eyes. “I missed you, Jane.”
Oh, God. She looked back at him, wishing the entire world away. All those dreams she hadn’t wanted to let herself remember… They all came rushing back on a wave of heat. But all she said was, “I missed you, too.”
Dorling was already waiting for Jane in the side room where they’d agreed to meet. She paused at the doorway and contemplated the man. She would have felt badly about using him except that he was using her as badly, and had planned far worse.
“Dorling,” Jane said.
He turned, dropping a fob watch back into his pocket as
he did so. It would be wrong to say that he smiled. That expression didn’t look like any smile Jane had ever seen. It was far too practiced, too sly.
“You’ve taken care of everything?” Jane asked.
When she’d talked to him earlier, she’d told him the bare basics. That she needed to leave. With him. That night—details to be determined later.
She’d never actually said she would elope with him, but she had strongly implied it.
He smiled at her. “I did,” he said. “Did you bring the money?”
Jane could feel that roll between her breasts. “Yes. We need to talk.”
“Plenty of time for that on the way to Scotland.”
“Yes, well. That’s what we need to talk about. You’re under a misapprehension. I’m not eloping with you.”
He blinked at her, his smile dying on his face. “But I’ve already told your—that is, I sent your aunt a letter. Think of your reputation.”
She snorted. Her reputation? For a year, she’d cultivated the reputation of an abrasive, foolish, awful woman. She’d done it on purpose. Her reputation wasn’t black, but it was definitely stained. Another blot wouldn’t hurt.
“There’s no time to explain,” Jane said.
“But—”
“I’m not going to elope with you. I will give you money to pretend to do so. This isn’t hard. You can have nothing, or you can have a vast sum. Your choice.”
“Money?” He looked struck by this. “How much money?”
“Five hundred pounds. All you have to do is leave town tonight and not return for another three days. Five hundred pounds for that, Dorling.”
“But—”
“No negotiations. Just cash.”
He huffed. “That wasn’t the choice I wanted. Ah, well. Let’s see the money then.”
She turned her back to him. She had to take off one of her poisonous green gloves to worm her fingers between her breasts. But it was lovely to get that roll of bills out of their hiding spot, to not have them digging into her skin. She rubbed surreptitiously at her bosom, and then realized belatedly that rubbing her breasts with Dorling around, no matter how innocent her intentions, was probably not a good idea. She turned back to him.