Kitabı oku: «The Secret Marriage Pact»

Chapter One

London—1825

The rat! What’s he doing here? Jane Rathbone balled her hands into tight fists at her sides. She stared across the auction house at her one-time fiancé, Milton Charton. Camille, his plain and meek wife, was nowhere to be seen.

‘The bidding for the Fleet Street building, a former tobacconist’s shop and residence, will now commence,’ the auctioneer announced. ‘Do I have an opening bid?’

Milton raised his hand.

Revenge curled inside Jane. If he wanted the building, she’d make sure he didn’t get it. She flung her hand in the air, upping the price and drawing the entire room’s attention, including Milton’s. The businessmen narrowed their eyes at her in disapproval, but Milton’s eyes opened wide before his gaze shifted, she hoped guiltily, back to the auctioneer.

‘What are you doing?’ Justin Connor whispered from beside her, more amused than censorious. He was here with Jane’s brother, Philip Rathbone, who intended to obtain a warehouse near the Thames. Jane had accompanied them because she’d had nothing better to do.

‘I’m bidding on a building,’ she answered as if she were purchasing a new bonnet. Thankfully, Philip had gone off to speak with an associate, preventing him from interfering with her spontaneous plan. Since she’d reached her majority last year, he no longer controlled her inheritance but it didn’t mean he couldn’t interfere in her management of it. With him occupied, she could spend her money how she pleased and she pleased to spend it on a building.

‘I assume your sudden interest in acquiring property has nothing to do with Milton Charton,’ Justin observed with a wry smile.

‘It has everything to do with him.’ She didn’t care if she was buying a house of ill repute or what Philip thought about her little venture when he finally returned. Milton would not win the auction.

‘Then by all means, don’t let me stop you.’ Justin waved toward the wiry man with the pince-nez perched on his nose who called for a higher price. Across the room, Milton raised his hand again and Jane was quick to follow, driving up the bid and making her old beau purse his lips in frustration. She’d once found the gesture endearing. It disgusted her today.

Milton’s hand went up again and Jane responded in kind, pretending to be oblivious to the disapproving looks of the other male bidders. She ignored them, as she did their sons when they sneered at her bold opinions, or when their wives and daughters had whispered about her after Milton’s surprise marriage to Camille Moseley.

The auctioneer continued to call for bids until the other interested parties dropped off, leaving only her and Milton. Except this time Milton hesitated before he raised his hand.

I almost have him. Jane suppressed a smile of triumph as she raised her hand without hesitation. Milton didn’t have the means to compete with her, or his father’s astute investment sense. Thanks to her inheritance, she possessed the money, and with her business acumen she’d find a way to profit from the building. It was a pity people were against the idea of a single young lady doing it. If they weren’t, she might become a force to be reckoned with in the Fleet like her brother. As it was, she was simply a spinster aunt. Oh, how she despised Milton.

Jane raised the bid three more times as Milton became less sure about the price he was willing to pay to acquire it until he finally failed to counter her.

‘Going once,’ the auctioneer called.

Milton tugged at his limp cravat and shifted in his cheap boots, but he didn’t answer.

I’ve won.

‘Going twice.’

Milton frowned at her, but she held her head up high in triumph. He deserved to be embarrassed in front of his associates just as he’d humiliated her in front of all their friends.

‘Sold, to Miss Rathbone.’ The gavel came down, sending a shockwave of critical rumbles through the gentleman before they turned their attention to the next item on the block. They respected Philip too much to say anything openly to her, but it wouldn’t stop them from thinking her odd. She no longer cared. With no husband or house of her own, the building would give her some much-needed purpose and a future.

Justin tipped his hat to her. ‘Congratulations on your victory. Shall we go and collect your prize?’ He motioned to the payment table. They would have to pass Milton to reach it.

‘Yes, let’s.’

She allowed her brother’s old friend to escort her across the room, not only to rub Milton’s nose in her victory, but to secure the property before Philip returned. She didn’t want him to find a way to stop the purchase from going through. He wouldn’t approve of an expenditure based solely on revenge. He preferred rationally motivated investments. So did Jane, except for today.

She fixed on Milton as she approached him, daring him to meet her gaze, and he didn’t answer it until she was nearly on top of him. Better sense advised her to continue past him, but she wanted to dig the knife in a little deeper.

‘Thank you for the rousing bidding war, Mr Charton.’ She was determined he experience some of the humiliation she’d endured when he’d all but left her at the altar two years ago. ‘I hadn’t intended to buy a former tobacconist’s shop today, but I’m quite delighted now I have it and you don’t.’

Milton’s dough-faced shock changed to one of gloating she wanted to smack from his full cheeks. ‘The building wasn’t for me. It was for Jasper.’

‘Jasper?’ Her heart began to race with an elation she hadn’t experienced in years. ‘But he’s in America.’

He’d left, like so many other people in her life. He wasn’t supposed to return.

‘Not any more.’

‘Did we get it?’ The voice from her childhood drifted over her shoulder, bringing with it memories she’d long forgotten. She was gripped by the thrill of running with Jasper through the Fleet when they were children, of turning pennies into pounds with their schemes and eavesdropping on his older sisters at parties. With the memories came the hope in every wish she’d made for him to come back or to send her word he’d changed his mind about their future together. The letter had never come.

Jane fingered the beading on her reticule, ready to walk away instead of facing Jasper and having her cherished memories of him ruined the way Milton had crushed his. A long time ago, the three of them had been so close. Heaven knew what Jasper must think of her now, especially if Milton had been filling his ears with stories. She didn’t want to see the same oily regard in Milton’s eyes echoed in Jasper’s.

No, Jasper is nothing like Milton, she tried to tell herself before the old fears blotted out her reason. Then why did he never write to me? Because I scared him off the way I’ve scared off every other man since.

Stop it, she commanded herself. She wouldn’t allow either the Charton brothers or her own awkwardness to get the better of her; she would be sensible, as always. It was only a childish infatuation anyway.

Jane took a deep breath and turned, determined to face her past, all of it, except it wasn’t the past smiling down at her, but the present. The lanky fifteen-year-old she’d parted from nine years ago was a man, and taller and sturdier than his brother Milton, who was one year older. During the time he’d spent in America learning the cotton trade from his uncle, his jaw had widened, carving out the angles of his cheeks and filling in the awkward gangliness she used to tease him about. He’d grown so tall she had to step back to see his face and the light brown hair mixed with blonde streaks. He wore a well-tailored coat of fine, dark wool with subtle black-velvet accents on the collar and cuffs. It was offset by the deep blue waistcoat hugging his trim middle. Savannah had added elegance to his masculine frame.

‘Mr Charton, welcome home. I never thought you’d return.’ She struggled to hold her voice steady despite the excitement making her want to bounce on her feet.

‘Neither did I.’ He took off his fine beaver hat to bow to her, revealing the slight wave of his hair across his forehead and the genuine delight illuminating his hazel eyes. Whatever Milton had told him, it hadn’t poisoned Jasper against her. ‘It’s wonderful to see you. I’ve been looking forward to it. I didn’t expect it to be here.’

He wanted to see me again. It was a far cry from the boy who’d told her not to wait for him after she’d finally summoned up the nerve to admit she craved more than friendship. She flicked a bead on her reticule before she eased her tight grip on the silk. Despite the awkwardness of their last meeting, he was here, as inviting as when he used to fetch her for another adventure. Perhaps I did mean something to him.

She moved to speak when Milton’s bitter words interrupted them like clattering cutlery at a party.

‘She bought the building.’

Jane struggled to hold her smile while Jasper’s tightened about the edges. It sucked the thrill out of Jane’s triumph and their unexpected reunion. She flicked the bead so hard it cracked, cursing Milton and her misguided impetuousness. It was Milton she’d wanted to hurt, not Jasper.

‘Congratulations on your acquisition,’ Jasper graciously conceded. ‘You’ve always had your brother’s talent for transactions. I’m sure you’ll put the building to good use.’

‘I’m sure I will.’ She buttressed her confidence against the shame undermining her as powerfully now as the morning Mr and Mrs Charton had told her of Milton’s elopement and apologised for their eldest son’s behaviour. ‘If you’ll excuse me, I must settle my account.’

‘Of course.’ Jasper tipped his hat to her and stepped aside. ‘I look forward to seeing you again, Jane.’

Her name on his lips sounded as natural as rain on a roof. She raised her eyes to his, catching the old mischief brightening the dark irises. It brought an impish smile to her lips. This was the Jasper she’d cherished, and he blotted out all memory of the one who’d forgotten her after he’d sailed away.

‘I look forward to seeing you again too, Jasper.’ When she did, it wouldn’t involve scampering in the Rathbone garden, but she was sure, and she couldn’t say why, it would be fun.

* * *

The heady scent of Jane’s gardenia perfume continued to surround Jasper as she walked away with Mr Connor. Jasper had expected a great many things today, but seeing Jane hadn’t been one of them. It was almost worth losing the building to hear her speak, the faint lisp she’d had as a child gone, her voice a tone closer to smooth velvet. Her posture had changed too, the stiffness of her movements having gained a more graceful and fluid charm. He’d caught the spark of pride lifting her chin when he’d complimented her on her business sense. In the brief exchange, it was as if nine years hadn’t passed, but it had, turning her from a young lady into a woman who commanded his attention even from across the room.

‘You lost the building to that arrogant chit because you weren’t here,’ Milton spat.

Jasper’s elation snapped like dry hay. ‘I was held up.’ He’d slept later than intended, exhausted from another long night and the effort of maintaining the façade necessary to hide his nocturnal activities from his family. ‘And watch how you speak of her. You were the one who betrayed her like a coward. No wonder she bid against you.’

‘You always did side with her against me.’ Milton curled his lip in irritation, not having the decency to be ashamed of what he’d done.

Jasper frowned. It wasn’t only Jane who’d changed while he’d been gone. He’d looked forward to his reunion with Milton when he’d disembarked at Portsmouth, eager to unburden himself of the anguish and torment he’d experienced in Savannah during the yellow fever epidemic, but Milton wasn’t fit to be a confidant. If he told his brother the truth about Savannah, and London, Milton would use it against him when it served his purposes, or simply out of spite. He wouldn’t keep Jasper’s secrets the way he had when they were young, the shared knowledge binding them together as much as the closeness of their ages. Jasper didn’t know what he’d done to earn his elder brother’s dislike and he barely recognised the one person he’d been closest to as a child, with the exception of Jane.

He spied her across the room where she bent over the payment table to sign the purchase register. He couldn’t see her face, only the elegant curve of her hand on the pen and the fall of her red cotton dress over the roundness of her buttocks. For a moment he regretted never having written to her while he was away. He could have used her friendship, especially after Uncle Patrick had accused Jasper of driving him to his deathbed while Yellow Jack had stormed through Savannah.

Jasper studied the flimsy printed auction list, shoving the guilt aside as he searched for another available property to fit his needs. There was nothing. Damn. The building Milton had lost was perfectly situated on Fleet Street and would have been Jasper’s best chance for creating a more respectable establishment than his current one.

‘If she were a proper lady she wouldn’t even be here.’ Milton flicked a piece of fluff off the arm of his poorly tailored wool coat. ‘And if she’d acted more like a proper lady I might have married her.’

Jasper crushed the thin catalogue between his hands, wanting to thrash his brother with it. ‘You’re a fool, Milton, and growing older has only made it worse.’

‘What’s it done for you except bring you back with some tat you’ve been fortunate enough to sell despite the smell of plague clinging to it?’

Jasper stepped toe to toe with his brother. ‘Shut your mouth before I knock your teeth out.’

Milton’s smugness drooped like his backbone. Jasper threw the catalogue at his feet and strode off, done with him and the auction. His day and all his plans lay in tatters because of his brother and Jasper’s own stupid mistakes.

He strode to the wide entrance door where men continued to stream in and out to examine the auction items. He paused on the threshold to take in the street, the stench of dust and filth making him cough. An open-topped caleche passed by filled with ladies smiling and laughing together, their lives like everyone else’s carrying on in the bright sunlight illuminating the street. He should be glad for the activity after the deathly silence of Savannah and heartened to see not every world had collapsed, but after so much death it was difficult to do. Few here understood what he’d been through. Milton certainly didn’t.

How dare he sneer at the epidemic. The pampered prat didn’t know what it was like to be stalked by death, to have all his money mean nothing because no amount of it could buy food to stave off the gnawing hunger or save those you loved from being carried off. No one around him did, except those unlucky enough to have witnessed it in other places, or those poor souls confined to the deepest slums of St Giles and Seven Dials.

A dark mood threatened to consume him when a flash of red caught his eye. The Rathbone landau rolled past the auction house, the hood open to take advantage of the fine day. Jane sat across from her brother, her profile sharp as she spoke with him, hands moving with her agitation. The dark brown curls beneath the red ribbon that held the bonnet in place bounced in time to the carriage’s pace. It mesmerised him as much as her full lips. She didn’t notice Jasper, but he couldn’t pull his attention away from her. Seeing her again had been like stepping though the door of his parents’ house after nine years in America and inhaling the familiar scent of cinnamon and brandy, the smell of his childhood.

He watched her until the vehicle rolled down the street and was finally lost in the crush of traffic. Isolation swathed him when she vanished from sight. Gone was the young girl who used to scamper with him and Milton, her surety in herself and her ideas eternally exasperating her brother and Jasper’s parents. Gone, too, was the boy Jasper had been. An ocean of experience and deception separated him from everyone he’d ever known. Yet in his brief moment with Jane, he’d touched something of the innocent young man he’d once been. He wondered, if he sat with her a while, could he be carefree and blameless again? It wasn’t possible. He couldn’t weigh her down with the awfulness of his past or his present deceits.

He started down the auction-house steps and made for the jeweller across the street, ready to pay a pound or two for a fine walking stick or something equally expensive. His soul might be in the gutter. It didn’t mean the rest of him needed to wallow there too. He’d escaped death. Now he’d make sure he enjoyed life again.

* * *

‘Mrs Townsend and I trained you to handle your affairs better than this, Jane.’ Philip chided from across the landau before he turned to Justin. ‘You should’ve stopped her.’

‘She’s not my sister.’ Justin threw up his hands in protest. ‘Besides, she’d old enough to decide what to do with her money.’

‘On that point, we disagree.’

‘He’s right. It’s my inheritance and I’ll spend it as I see fit,’ Jane insisted.

Philip didn’t answer, refusing to be baited into the fight Jane was aching for. Despite gaining control over her money there’d been little she’d been able to do with it except pay the milliner’s bill. Seeing Jasper today had reminded her of the few clever transactions she and the Charton boys had hustled as children. The experiences had given her a taste for commerce, but as her dresses had become longer her world had reduced in size until it nearly choked her. Jasper’s world had expanded and, judging by his fine clothes, he’d done well for himself in America. It made her wonder why he’d decided to return. ‘You knew Jasper Charton was home, didn’t you?’

Philip’s jaw tightened, almost imperceptibly, but she caught it. It was one of his few tells. To her surprise, he didn’t deny her accusation. ‘Yes.’

‘Why didn’t you or the Chartons tell me?’ It wasn’t like the Chartons not to fête a family member, especially one who’d been gone for so long and endured so much.

‘Mr Charton asked me not to. Jasper had a difficult time in Savannah and needed a chance to recover. He was very ill when he came home.’

‘I’m sure he was.’ Mrs Charton had shared news of the yellow fever which had ravaged the port city. Jane had worried along with her over Jasper, as eager as his mother was for the letter telling them things were all right. She might not have heard from Jasper for nine years, but it didn’t mean she’d stopped caring about him. Waiting with Mrs Charton had felt too much like when she was six and her own mother had been stricken with the fever. The long days had passed as she’d prayed, hoped and bargained with the Almighty to make her mother better. He hadn’t listened and her mother had passed, and it’d been all her fault. ‘Why did Jasper come back?’

‘His cotton-trading business collapsed after the epidemic. He plans to use the money his uncle left him, and the capital he raised from the sale of his Savannah properties and goods, to establish a new business in London. Jasper needs the Fleet Street building you purchased and the opportunity it offers. Since you don’t, we’ll visit the Chartons tomorrow and you’ll offer to sell it to him.’

‘I’ll do no such thing. I’ll start my own endeavour with it.’

Philip flexed his fingers over the handle of his walking stick. ‘Be sensible, Jane.’

‘I am being sensible. I need something more to do than tend the rose garden and listen to my niece and nephews tear through the house.’

‘And I’ve given you ample opportunities to do so.’

‘Yes, always behind you and your reputation, never out in the open where everyone can see it’s me successfully managing things.’

‘As well as the merchants of the Fleet regard our family, they won’t countenance a single young woman in trade. It would damage both your reputation and mine and hinder all our future dealings.’

She twisted her reticule between her hands, the deed to the building crinkling inside, before she let go. Philip was right. Customers and other merchants would recoil from her if she began openly to oversee some venture of her own. Jane dropped back against the squabs, cursing her unmarried state once again. ‘I hate it when you’re practical.’

‘It’s nothing but a headache when you aren’t.’

The landau carried them past the building she now owned in the middle of Fleet Street. The staid façade with its small Ionic columns reaching up to the first floor sat squat between two taller ones. A round outline of dirt above the front door indicated where the sign from the now-defunct tobacconist’s used to hang. She rested her arm on the landau’s edge and tapped the wood. The building was hers and, despite what Philip said, she would not relinquish it; she would use it to make something of her life and escape from this limbo of being an adult while being treated like a mindless child. She needed activity, industry of her own, or she would run mad. Now she needed to decide what she’d do, and how she’d do it, without drawing attention to herself or needing Philip’s help. Her brother might have her best interests at heart, but it didn’t mean she wanted him or anyone else deciding her path.

She glanced across the landau at Justin who chatted with Philip. Perhaps he could be her secret front. He might help her, if only because he thought it a lark, but with his wine business and the demands of his wife and family, she doubted he had time to dabble in any endeavour of hers.

There must be some man willing to be the front for a business. She continued to trill her fingers on the trim, mulling through the people she knew and not finding one likely to support her admittedly odd idea. No one had ever gone along with her schemes except at one time Milton, and Jasper.

Jasper.

Jane stilled her fingers. She could become a silent partner with him in whatever plans he had for the building. It would be a perfect arrangement—except for her having to hide her involvement from everyone, including Philip. However, being a silent partner was better than nothing at all, and she would only have to be silent in public.

Unless I can find a husband, and quickly.

She rolled her eyes at her own ridiculousness, wondering if she was going mad from boredom and how long it would be until she began collecting small dogs and refusing to leave the house. If landing a gentleman was as simple as selecting a stock, she’d be a wife by now. Besides, all her friends and acquaintances had taken every man worth having in the Fleet, except for Jasper.

‘Philip, did Jasper return with a wife?’ Jane asked, interrupting his and Justin’s conversation.

‘No. Why?’

She shrugged. ‘I was curious.’

Philip narrowed his eyes in scrutiny before Justin drew him back into conversation.

So Jasper isn’t married. She rested her elbow on the landau’s edge again and tapped her fingers against her chin. The vehicle vibrated beneath her arm as it crossed over the cobblestones. And he needs money and a building, and I have both. I wonder if he’d like a wife in the bargain, too.

She and Jasper had been friends once and friendship was an excellent basis for a marriage. After all, she’d tried affection with Milton and look where it had landed her. There was no reason not to try something more practical with Jasper. He might have rebuffed her advances nine years ago, but this wasn’t about romance. It was business. She could present her proposal in rational terms, appeal to his good sense and make him see how perfectly logical, reasonable and completely insane the idea was.

She dropped her forehead into her palm. I should buy a dog and be done with all pretence to sanity.

Even if she was foolhardy enough to approach Jasper with such an outlandish plan, he wasn’t likely to go along with it this time any more than he had before. Nor was she thrilled by the prospect of leaving Philip’s influence to surrender her fortune and all legal responsibility to a husband. However, she doubted Jasper would be difficult about it, especially if they came to an agreement beforehand on how she’d manage her affairs. She was certain they could, assuming their discussions even reached the negotiating stage and he didn’t turn her down outright. He probably would and she didn’t relish another Charton rejection. Two was quite enough.

The landau turned off noisy Fleet Street and on to quiet St Bride’s Lane. The steeple from St Bride’s Church cast a thick shadow over the houses facing it. Behind the high wall encircling the churchyard lay the graves of her parents. Failure whipped around her like the breeze. She’d failed her parents years ago, now she was failing them, and herself, again.