The Heiress Effect (5 page)

“Bossy or not, that book is tripe,” Jane
said. But her throat felt too tight, and her fingers curled into a
ball. She didn’t think she could ever forgive Titus for those
scars.

If Emily took note of her altered tone, she
didn’t remark on it. “There’s no smell quite so good as a newly
printed, unread book. As for this one… It’s educational. How else
am I to learn about other countries?”

There was nothing to be said about Emily’s
scars, and the fact that she had them was no reason to stop teasing
her. So Jane bumped her sister’s shoulder and adopted a severe
tone. “You realize these books are fiction? That each separate
volume is probably written by a different man, one who has likely
never left London? They’re not
educational.
They’re
made
up,
and I imagine that the actual residents of Russia, China,
and Japan would be quite disturbed to hear what the supposed Mrs.
Larriger says of them.”

“Yes, but—”

The door to the room opened without warning,
interrupting the argument. Emily jumped and jammed the book under
her skirts. Jane stepped in front of her sister. But the damage was
already done.

Titus Fairfield looked from Jane to Emily and
then back again, more slowly. He shook his head sadly.

“Oh, girls,” he said.

Their uncle Titus was balding and had heavy
jowls. That, combined with his deep, somber voice, made him appear
perpetually dour and disapproving—an appearance that he no doubt
rejoiced in. Jane suspected that he practiced that glum expression
in the mirror.

He probably thought an air of moroseness made
him seem more intelligent.

“I am not fooled,” he said.

Jane looked at Emily. Emily looked back at
Jane.

“Uncle Titus!” Emily said. “How lovely to see
you.”

Their uncle held out one hand and tapped the
finger of the other against his palm. Emily heaved a sigh. Slowly,
she stood and pulled the book out from underneath her. Uncle Titus
strode forward and took it from her.

“It’s an improving work,” Emily told him. “A
very moral tale, about…”

“Mrs. Larriger and…” A sad sound escaped him.
“Victoria Land.” He spoke those last words as if he were
reluctantly reciting the name of a brothel. “Jane, my dear, what
have I told you about leading your younger sister astray with
novels?”

Jane would have been delighted to have Emily
give up Mrs. Larriger and her string of unlikely, ridiculous
exploits. It wouldn’t take much to divert her attention—just
allowing her out in company. Even letting her outside for longer
than ten minutes at a time might do the trick.

She’d tried to argue that point too many
times.

“Oh, but Uncle,” Emily said, “it’s an
educational tale, replete with…geographical features of
interest.”

“A novel.”

Emily set her jaw determinedly. “A true
story, covered with the thin veil of fiction to protect the
identities of the innocent.”

Titus Fairfield opened the book, turned a
handful of pages, and began reading aloud. “‘Having convinced the
seals to pull my raft and catch my fish, it only remained for me to
find some way to train the voices of the penguins.’” He looked up.
“A true story, covered by the thin veil of fiction?”

No. Even Titus wasn’t that gullible.

Emily clapped her hands to her ears. “You’re
ruining it. Don’t tell me what happens.”

Titus looked at her. “If that is what it will
take to stop this. You’ve disobeyed me, and disobedience has
consequences.” So saying, he shuffled slowly to the end of the
book. “You should not be allowed to take pleasure in your
willfulness. If you do not want to hear the ending, then…” He bent
his head and began to read. ‘Chapter Twenty-Seven. After the sharks
had come—’”

“La la la,” Emily sang, drowning out his
words. “
La la la la.”

He stopped and closed the book, his
expression even more grim. “Emily, my dear. Who taught you to tell
untruths? To flout the authority of your elders? To speak as your
guardian is speaking?”

You,
Jane thought.
Necessity.

But her uncle, apparently, had a different
thought. His eyes traveled to Jane.

He didn’t look at her with accusation in his
eyes. There wasn’t a cruel bone in his body. His expression was
just pathetically, droopingly sad. He sat gingerly next to Emily
and patted her shoulder.

“Now, Emily,” he said quietly. “I know you to
be a truthful girl. And I know that you feel a great affection for
your sister.”

He didn’t know Emily at all. He’d never
bothered to know either of them.

“It’s quite natural,” Titus said, as if Jane
were not in the room. “But you need to keep in mind that your
sister is lacking in moral character.”

Jane refused to react. It never did any good
to argue or scream or cry—any response on her part only reinforced
his poor opinion of her.

But Emily shook her head. “I don’t like what
you’re saying. It’s not true.”

“I understand, I understand,” their uncle
said, in his slow, sad voice. “I won’t ask you to hate your
sister—that would be unnatural for any girl, let alone one of your
frailties.”

Jane could see Emily’s fist clenching in her
skirts. They might not have looked like sisters, but looks were
deceptive. And Emily was incapable of letting an insult to Jane go
by.

Don’t fight it, Emily. Just nod your head
and let him maunder on.

“You’re wrong,” Emily said.

“You’re overly emotional.” Titus picked up
the offending novel and slipped it into one of his voluminous
pockets. “And I think I can identify the culprit. If you need
anything to read, dear Emily, there’s material aplenty already in
my study. You need only ask.”

Emily stared directly at her uncle. “Material
in your study? But it’s all old law books.”

“Very improving,” Titus said.

“Which should I read tonight, then?
A
Treatise on the Art of Conveyancing
sounds so promising, but
how could I read that, when
The Legal Relations of Infants,
Parents, and Child
is available?”

Jane made a little motion with her hands.
Stop, please stop.
But Emily wasn’t done.

“Oh, now I recall,” she said. “I’ve read them
all. Because I’m trapped in my room, not allowed to go out in
company, not allowed to even read of real people—”

Or invented ones.

Titus stood. “Miss Emily,” he said, “you’re
overwrought. You attend church, as any good young woman should. And
Mrs. Blickstall accompanies you on walks appropriate to your
physical wellbeing every morning.” He frowned at her. “It’s not
like you to be so emotional. Was there…an occurrence today?”

“An occurrence?” Emily echoed. “Why, yes. The
first thing that occurred was that I woke up.”

Titus frowned. “Dear child. You know I did
not mean the word in that sense.”

Emily glared at the man. “Then say what you
really mean.”

“Did you have—that is, did you have the
misfortune of—of falling victim to—”

Emily set her jaw. “I had a seizure.”

The concern on his face was real. He placed
one hand on Emily’s shoulder. “Poor, dear child,” he whispered. “No
wonder you are overwrought. You should sleep.”

“But Jane hasn’t told me about her evening
yet.”

Titus looked up from Emily to contemplate
Jane. Jane wished she could hate him. She wished she could hate his
good wishes and his assumptions and his single-minded determination
to cure her sister. But he wasn’t a bad man. He was just a tired,
lazy one.

He heaved another, horrible sigh. “Emily,
your sister…”

Emily patted his hand. “How can I encourage
her to do what is right if I am never allowed to speak with
her?”

Titus sighed. “Very well. You may speak with
your sister a little while longer. But Emily…encourage her to
marry. It would be the best thing for all of us.”

He wanted Jane out of his life. It was, Jane
supposed, partially her fault. Her choices. It wasn’t surprising he
thought her a bad influence on her sister. But there was nothing
she could do now to change his mind. Her uncle knew that she wasn’t
really her father’s child, and that,
that
made everything
about her unforgivable. She could break her heart trying to change
his mind, but she had to keep that safe for Emily.

“I will, Uncle,” Emily promised.

“You are an inspiration to us all, my dear,”
Titus said, and with another sad smile, he left the room.

Emily waited until his footsteps had
disappeared down the hall before she balled her hands. “I hate
him,” she said, standing up and turning back to her bed. “I hate
him. I hate him. I hate him.” With every sentence, she drove her
fist into her pillow. “I hate his sorrowful face and his wide
concerned eyes. I hate him.”

Jane went to her sister, put her arm around
her. “I know.”

“At least
you
get to go out in
company,” Emily said. “I’m nineteen, and for God’s sake, he won’t
let me go anywhere—for fear that I might suffer from an
occurrence
if I did. Does he really think that I’m better
off languishing in my room like a storybook princess with nothing
to read but moral philosophy and legal tracts?”

Jane had long since given up wondering what
Titus really thought. He
intended
to do what was right. A
doctor had once told him that her sister’s fits were exacerbated by
exercise and excitement, and so Titus had put Emily on a regimen of
bland languishment. The fact that Emily was so often confined to
her rooms meant that
he
saw her seizures less often, and so
nothing could convince him that this dictum hadn’t worked.

The last thing Titus had wanted was to become
the guardian of two girls. Especially when one of them wasn’t his
blood relation, and the other suffered from inexplicable fits.

Jane sighed and pulled her sister close.
“Fifteen more months,” she said. “Then you’ll be twenty-one and
free of him. We can leave him and live off my money, and I promise
you, you will have every novel you want. You’ll dance at every
dance. Nobody will stop you. Nobody will dare.”

Emily heaved a sigh. “I want to know how Mrs.
Larriger escapes Victoria Land.”

Jane thought—briefly—about teasing her sister
some more. But there’d been enough heartache that night. Instead,
she crossed back to her cloak and pulled out a second slim volume.
“As he keeps finding them… I got two copies.”

Emily made a little noise in her throat and
grabbed the book. “I love you.” She opened the cover, ran her
fingers tenderly down the elaborate frontispiece. “I don’t know
what I would do without you.”

Jane didn’t know, either. It wasn’t that
Emily needed a guardian—quite the contrary. She needed the opposite
of a guardian, someone who kept Titus from interfering with her too
badly. She needed someone to fend off the endless stream of
physicians. She needed someone to bleed the edge off of her
unbearable frustration. Someone to give her something to do, even
if it was only to smuggle terrible novels for her to read.

“Titus would disapprove,” Jane said. “You’re
supposed to be encouraging me in my search for a husband.”

Emily shut her eyes. “Never,” she said.
“Never leave me, Jane.”

That was the crux of it all. Jane was the
product of her mother’s sin. She was argumentative, crude,
unmannerly. She was, according to Titus, a poison in their
household, one he only tolerated in the name of the duty he owed
his dead brother.

And so that was what Jane had made of
herself. She was a blight, one that would choke her uncle in
return. It didn’t matter. He didn’t love her, and he had no legal
obligation to keep her around. The instant he believed she had a
respectable offer, he’d know that he could get rid of her and feel
complacent about having done his duty—and her presence would no
longer be tolerable.

She put her arms around her sister. She
thought of the hard look Bradenton had given her that evening, of
the sweet, meaningless smiles that the Johnson twins gave her. She
thought of the look on Mr. Marshall’s face when she’d taken the
cakes off his plate.

Insolence on that level required real effort.
She was
exhausted.

Still, Jane smiled. “Don’t worry.” Mr.
Marshall had seemed like a decent fellow, and she’d managed to
disgust even him. “I can safely promise that I am never going to
marry.”

Long after the ladies had left, the gentlemen
stayed. Bradenton had invited Oliver, and Oliver had hoped that the
later
they’d spoken of would come soon—that he’d have the
chance to present his argument to Bradenton.

Instead, Bradenton had sat down with his
nephew at a table near the brandy decanter. “Watch, Whitting,” he
had said. “It’ll be your turn soon enough.”