At The Stroke Of Midnight (22 page)

However, she could also not allow
Sebastian to damage his reputation even more than it already had been.
 
He still needed to marry Lizzie.
 
He still needed to produce the heir that the
Covington earldom depended upon.
 
More
than that, he was still bound by honor and duty.

As gracefully as possible, Jane
rose from the table, holding her head high.
 
"I am sorry for my words and my actions this evening,
Father."
 
She turned to the
countess and dipped a curtsey.
 
"Your grace, I should have declined to answer you, as improper as
that would have been.
 
My words have
caused nothing but trouble on what should have been a most joyful and
celebratory evening. For that, I beg your apologies."
 
She glanced about the room, tears beginning
to cloud her eyes.
 
"From all of
you, really."

Then she turned and swept from the
room as elegantly as she possibly could, even as she heard Sebastian, not to
mention her father, Angeline and Lizzie call after her.
 
When Margaret St. Giles' voice chimed in as
well, Jane hurried away even faster, as if she was running for her very life.

What did she have left to say to
them?
 
Nothing.
 
They had made their choices and she had made
hers.
 
She had meant to merely endure
the dinner, not make a spectacle on Christmas Eve of all nights.
 
Everything that had occurred had been her
fault.
 
All because one night at the
height of the season, she had foolish believed that she could be more than
Plain Jane and had fallen in love with a man too far above her touch.

She had also foolishly believed in
the strength and power of that love and embarked on an ill-fated romance with a
man not meant for her.
 
It was time to
let her dream of Sebastian go.
 
He might
not like it, but this afternoon, he had agreed with her that it was the proper
thing to do.
 
The right thing to do for
all involved.

Yet she had the distinct impression
that he could not let her go, either.
 
Therefore, it was up to her to release him.
 
And the only way to do that was by leaving.
 
Immediately.

As the clock approached eleven at
night on Christmas Eve, Sebastian was fighting back a throbbing in his head so
fierce that he was nearly blinded by pain.
 
This night had not gone at all how he had planned.
 
And it was completely his fault.

After leaving Jane in the parlor
that afternoon, he had hoped to speak with his mother, wanting one more chance
to change her mind about a potential marriage to Jane.
 
At some point, he had come to realize that
the only thing truly standing in his way of happiness was his mother.
 
Jane's family was beside the point.
 
They might not approve of the union but no
formal papers had been signed that would bind him to Elizabeth for life.
 
There was nothing legally holding him to a
woman he could not abide.
 
Well, nothing
other than social convention, but he could deal with whatever aftermath
occurred.

Not to mention that Jane was of age
to decide her own mind and, if he were still the earl, he would not need her
dowry.
 
He had fortune enough to sustain
them, more than he could probably spend in this lifetime or the next.

His mother, however, remained an
obstacle, and he thought that perhaps, just perhaps, now that she had met Jane,
she might be willing to change her mind.
 
Or not.
 
Still, he had thought it
worth the attempt.

Sebastian had been at his most
eloquent as he described - with numerous edits, of course - the scene that had
transpired in the Devonmont family's parlor.
 
He had related how Jane had loved him enough to set him free and urged
him to do what was right for the earldom and those whose lives depended upon
him.
 
He did leave out the part where he
had concocted the mad scheme to name another to be his heir and give up
everything in order to have Jane as his wife.

He did not think his mother would
look favorably on his pleas if he were to reveal that bit of information.

Though he had rather hoped for some
sort of reaction from her, even one of anger.
 
At one point during his impassioned speech, he would have even settled
for a resounding no.
 
At least it would
have been a response of some type, rather than the muted, frowning silence that
had followed his words.

Then, just when he thought he could
no longer abide the silence, Margaret St. Giles, the current Countess of
Covington, had looked at her son and with those same dark brown eyes that were
a family trait, asked two questions that he could not answer.

Why did I not know of her
character?
 
Why was I told that Jane had
no wish to marry and that, instead, she was simply more interested in
disrupting her sister's life?

They were asked quietly, with a
minimum amount of fuss, and yet Sebastian knew that his mother was greatly
troubled by what she had just learned.
 
What had Devonmont, or more likely Angeline, said in those meetings when
Sebastian himself was not present?
 
What
kind of lies had they told in order to snag a titled husband for their
daughter?
 
Sebastian was not certain
that he wanted to know.

I am not certain, Mother.
 

It was all he could think of by way
of a reply.
 
For he truly did not know.

In truth, Sebastian had wanted to
rail at his mother and vent his anger over having been denied Jane's hand in
marriage.
 
However, he did not, instead
remembering Jane's quiet strength in the face of unimaginable heartache as she
refused his offer.

Then he had offered up his final
plea.

All I know is that I love Jane
and have since the first moment that we met.
 
If you force it, I will wed her sister, but know that once an heir is
born, I shan't force myself to touch her again.
 
There will not be another child.

"Does Elizabeth really
disgust you that much?"
his mother had asked quietly.
 
"
She is, on the surface anyway, a
lovely girl, and I am given to understand much sweeter in temperament than your
preferred choice, though I do admit to admiring Jane's honesty.
 
She would be good for you, I think, were she
not so flighty and unpredictable."

That had made Sebastian snort and
even now he could still recall how he had disabused his mother of the notion
that Jane was flighty.
 
Or that Lizzie
was the sweet and innocent miss she played at being for society's sake.
 
Instead, he had reminded his mother that it
was Jane who had forced him into doing what was right by all - save for
her.
 
It was Jane who had turned him
away rather than allow him to loose everything that was his by rights.

He also described, in rather great
detail, how many times Lizzie twisted situations to her advantage, how she
tortured and manipulated poor Jane.
 
How
she was cruel and willful, not to mention spoiled, vain, and perhaps just a
little bit frigid.
 
And most of all,
how, despite what she said, she had not given up her pursuit of the Duke of
Hathaway.

It was Jane that he wanted, he told
his mother rather simply.
 
Not
Lizzie.
 
Though, he had quietly agreed,
that if his mother insisted that he marry Lizzie he would.
 
In exchange, however, he wanted his mother
to use her influence with Devonmont to prevent him from marrying Jane off to
Laird McKenna and binding her to the man's brood of children for the rest of
her life.
 
He would do his duty in
exchange for Jane's freedom from a life of misery.

That offer had finally given
Margaret St. Giles pause, and she had looked at her son as if truly seeing him
for the first time.
 
Then, she had
promised that she would look into the matter.

The last thing Sebastian had
expected, however, was that she would interrogate poor Jane over Christmas Eve
supper.
 
Then again, if not then, when,
even if it meant a great scandal?
 
Especially as Angeline was determined to announce Sebastian's betrothal
to Lizzie as soon as possible, preferably that night or, at the latest, the
following morning when Christmas Day dawned.
 
What better way to prevent that announcement than implying that
Sebastian's affections were engaged elsewhere?

He and his mother could weather the
social storm.
 
It was unlikely that
Devonmont and his new family could say the same.

He had seen Jane's lovely face
awash in misery and pain as his mother had questioned her.
 
He had seen the fury growing on both
Devonmont's and Angeline's faces, as well as the none-too-fetching pout that
Lizzie was working up to as well.
 
He
had also seen the avid curiosity on the faces of the other guests as Jane had
been nearly forced to answer his mother's questions.

He had also seen her great strength
when she had refused to crumble beneath the weight of it all, showing a great
deal more grace than anyone else in the room.
 
Including his own mother.

Most of all, however, he had seen
her pain and her shame.
 
He knew what others
would say once word got out about the scene at the Devonmont's table.
 
That Plain Jane was a jealous spinster after
her sister's betrothed.
 
They would call
her names and paint a horrid picture of her.
 
Yet never once had she shied away from any of it, instead standing proud
and strong until she had swept from the room like the regal woman that she was
at heart.

Pandemonium had broken out after
that, of course, with accusations of treachery and deceit being hurled back and
forth over the beef and salad courses and continuing well into dessert before
the situation had finally settled.
 
And
through it all no one, not a single person, had mentioned Jane's absence from
the table.
 
As if she had never been
there at all.

When he had inquired with Angeline
about Jane, she had dismissed him, reminding him that a "very special
announcement" was about to take place.
 
Damn and blast!
 
They had not
swayed the woman from her course after all.
 
He had replied that if she thought he was still about to marry Lizzie,
then she was gravely mistaken.
 
Then he
had stalked off, determined to find Jane.

Thankfully, no one had attempted to
stop him.
 
Not even his mother or
Devonmont.

Yet he could not find her, not even
after hours of searching.
 
She was not
in her suite of rooms in the family's living area, the ones he had bribed a
maid to locate.
 
She was not anywhere in
the family wing at all.
 
Nor was she in
any of the common areas or even some of the less traveled areas of the
manor.
 
He had also checked the
conservatory.
 
Twice.
 
In fact, he had no idea where she was and,
at present, he was growing extremely worried.

What if, in the confusion of
dinner, someone, someone loyal to Angeline, had managed to spirit Jane away in
a carriage?
 
What if she was already
bound for the Great North Road and beyond his reach?
 
Worse, what if she was injured?
 
Not just in body but in spirit?
 
What if she had left of her own volition?

No, he would not believe that of
her.
 
She would not flee, no matter how
terrible things became.
 
Of that he was
certain.
 
So after a trip to the stables
to speak with Horace - the one man Sebastian could count on to be truthful not
to mention loyal - he was certain that Jane had not been sent away on horseback
or by carriage.
 
He also felt relatively
certain that she was still at Blackstone.
 
But where?

He was not familiar enough with the
house yet to know, but there was one person who was.
 
Jane's maid, Colleen.

After seeking out the young woman
and promising her a place in his employ for betraying her ultimate mistress,
Colleen had revealed that Jane had been removed to the unused wing of
Blackstone, the one where the family's portrait gallery was located, for the
evening.
 
She was to remain there until
her father, or more likely Angeline, collected her the next morning.
 
After that, she would make the required
appearance at Christmas breakfast and then be packed off to Scotland post
haste, weather permitting of course.

As it was still snowing like the
blazes, Sebastian did not think her departure was imminent, but he could not be
certain.
 
Devonmont was hell bent on
matching him with Lizzie to appease his wife and securing a title for his
grasping, clinging younger daughter.
 
Sebastian could not be certain to what depths the man would sink to
ensure that occurred.

He was also far from certain of his
mother, or what role she would ultimately play in this little farce that was
quickly developing around him.

So after sending a quick note to
his mother by way of the ever-helpful Colleen, Sebastian had gone off to the unused
wing of Blackstone in search of Jane.
 
The note he sent was essentially a request for help.
 
Or rather a final, desperate plea for
help.
 

He knew that he needed to keep the
Devonmonts occupied for the rest of the evening.
 
All of them.
 
And the easiest
way to accomplish that was through his mother.
 
As long as she agreed to the ruse, he would have the time he needed to
find Jane.
 
Given how horrified his
mother was at dinner, there was a good chance she would agree if for no other
reason than to simply annoy the earl and his family.

Margaret St. Giles was not one to
be trifled with, and Sebastian had the impression that she felt the Devonmonts
had trifled with her more than they ought.
 
That left him free to find Jane.

Though once he located her, he had
no idea precisely what he would do.

Profess his undying love?
 
There was that, certainly and it might be a
good start.
 
But it would not be the
end.
 
He could promise to protect her,
but could he really?
 
If his mother
decided that, in the end, he really should marry Lizzie, then he was left with
little choice other than to go through with the wedding and pray that he had
enough favors to call in to prevent Jane from meeting the fate her family had
laid out for her.

Even now, it still baffled him that
Lord Devonmont could be so cruel to his own daughter, the flesh and blood child
of the woman he had claimed to love more than life itself.
 
Was his mind that warped by his new wife and
demanding daughter?
 
It must be, for in
Sebastian's mind, there could be no other explanation.

However the time to discover the
hows and whys was not now.
 
Instead, it
was time to find Jane.

With methodical precision, he
worked his way down the first corridor, finding no door that might either lead
to a room that was inhabited or was unlocked.
 
He even pressed his ear to a door a time or two in hopes that he might
hear some faint sound of breath or catch a glimmer of light as it peeped out
from beneath the door.