The Promise (12 page)

As a boy, subservience had left a bitter taste in his mouth. As a man, he had found a profession that provided ample opportunity to get even. The old adage was true — the pen was mightier than the sword — and Barnes liked to dip his weapon of choice in a particularly poisonous type of ink.

He had a nose for a good story, but even an unseasoned hack could sniff this one out. It wasn’t every day a peer engaged in a dangerous street brawl to defend a working class woman. How interesting that she had bandaged him then climbed into his carriage as if she knew him well. The fight was news enough, but the woman’s identity was a mystery he would relish solving.

Barnes did not cover anything so boring as government affairs or public works. Let other drudges regurgitate the details of chimney fires and kittens up a tree. Gossip and innuendo were his particular specialty and he had job security. Dirty laundry sold more papers than anything else. Rooting out scandal was damned fun. With the tracking instincts of a bloodhound, there was nothing he enjoyed more than exposing the peccadilloes of the privileged class, the more salacious and venial the sin, the better. A vast network of footmen, grocers, milliners, and the like, helped him keep his finger on the pulse of London’s gentry. With more than twenty years of experience gained in sorting through other people’s rubbish, bribing servants, and skulking behind trees, he was adept at ferreting out scandal.

When Lord Wallace leapt to the mystery woman’s rescue, he couldn’t believe his luck. His gut told him there was more to the story than a simple act of altruism. From a safe distance, he had watched in gleeful disbelief as Lord Wallace meted out harsh punishment to three of the four hooligans. After the danger had passed, he moved closer to listen.

Barnes had been working on the stolen jewelry story for weeks, trying to get one of Rutledge’s servants or the staff at Garrard’s to talk, but now he began to gather facts for a story that promised to be far more juicy. Who was this woman and what was her relationship to the family? Finn Wallace called her Miss Gray and definitely treated her as something more than a servant. Not much to go on, but it was a start.

He hailed a hack and ordered it to follow the Rutledge coach to Carlisle House. He watched as Lord Wallace entered through the front door while the woman used the servants’ entrance. Interesting. He had never seen her use that door before. Were they avoiding being seen together? Previously Barnes paid little heed to the unremarkable woman who entered every evening and left two hours later. But now he had questions. Was she the Duke’s mistress? Lord Wallace’s? If so, why was she dressed so poorly? Was it a disguise to throw him off the scent?

Then there was Clovershire. He had received fifty quid from the man to keep him informed about the larceny investigation. Perhaps this woman was related to the story in some way. Whether she was or wasn’t, Barnes was sure he could string the earl along for long enough to separate him from another hundred pounds or so.

He decided to follow her home that evening. Once he discovered her identity, he could begin to unravel the rest of the tale. Barnes smirked. Things were looking up. He whistled his way to a bench in the square across the street.

JANE WAS CLEARLY UNCOMFORTABLE having people fuss over her, Finn noted with amusement.

Mrs. Wilkins, the cook, wrapped a chunk of ice in a tea towel then sent Peckham, who had been glowering in the background, in search of a balm for her lip. While they waited, she restored order to Jane’s hair, brushed off her skirts with a damp cloth, and quickly mended the pocket of her pinafore that had been torn during the struggle.

The duchess, horrified by the attack, wrung her hands and fluttered about the kitchen making distressed clucking noises, stating angrily that Peckham, or Finn, or Cam…
somebody
… should have arranged proper transportation. Finn leaned against the wall and observed the chaos with his arms crossed over his chest. He clenched and unclenched his fists as if he longed to continue the beating; he particularly wanted a crack at the one who got away.

He should feel ashamed for stealing a cuddle from Miss Gray under the guise of comforting her, but he didn’t. It had felt entirely too good to have her soft little body nestled against his, however briefly. Was she aware he had brushed his lips against her hair? Although it had been a pathetic excuse for a stolen kiss, a desperate man had to take what he could get. He had breathed deeply of her scent, a blend of vanilla and something exotic and spicy.

Something womanly.

Finn gave himself a mental shake. What had gotten into him? It had been way too long since he had been with a woman if the smell of baked goods could make him hard. But it had nothing to do with baked goods, did it? With something perilously close to longing, he studied her delicate profile, the curve of her neck, the way her long, thin fingers held the ice against her swollen lip.

He wished he had the right to hold and comfort her.

Well, hell.

“What is the world coming to when a young woman isn’t safe in broad daylight?” the duchess cried. “Authorities should clear the streets of rabble… haul them all off to Newgate
before
they can cause trouble.”

“Arrest men
before
they commit crimes, Mother?” Finn asked drolly. “It is a novel concept.”

“Now is not the time for your pithy comments, Finn,” she snapped then turned to Jane with a pained look. “When I think what could have happened to you…” her voice trailed off.

“I should have known better than to pass on that side of the street,” Jane lamented. “I considered crossing, but I was in a hurry and they seemed too involved in their game to notice me.”

They’d have to be dead not to notice you
, Finn thought.

“It proves one should always obey one’s first instinct. Don’t worry, Your Grace,” Jane assured the duchess, “I will not make the same mistake twice.”

“You most certainly will not!” Justine puffed. “Finn will arrange transportation for you
to and from
Carlisle House. Pip loves you very much.” She paused then added, “And I have become very fond of you as well, Jane,” the duchess patted her hand. “May I address you by your Christian name?” she asked impulsively.

Jane blinked, “Of course, Your Grace.”

“And you must call me Justine when we are among family. You are like a daughter to me.”

“I don’t know what to say. Are you certain, Your Grace?” Jane appeared thunderstruck. Peckham and Mrs. Wilkins exchanged equally stunned looks and even Finn seemed shocked by his mother’s suggestion.

“I think Mother is overwrought, Miss Gray,” Finn said.

The duchess glared at her son. “Pay him no mind, child. You must do as I say. With all you have done for us, it seems ridiculously formal to continue with the ‘Miss Grays’ and ‘Your Graces’. Without you, I wouldn’t have Pip. She is so very precious to me and reminds me so much of my dear Maura.”

Jane’s eyes filled with tears. “Thank you for those kind words… Justine. It is a great comfort to me to know she has a large, loving family.”

The duchess draped her arm around Jane’s shoulder and gave her a gentle hug.

Finn’s eyebrows shot up. His mother’s attitude had done an amazing turnaround since the day she learned of Maura’s death. She had railed against God, Fate, Maura’s lover, even illogically at Jane… anyone she could blame, however unjustly, for Maura’s death. Apparently Jane’s gentle, compassionate nature had won her over.

He knew there were other reasons for her change of attitude, as well. From the first day, the duchess had peppered Pip with carefully worded questions designed to discover what kind of parent Jane had been. Taken as a whole, the girl’s answers revealed that she had been patient and selfless, sacrificing a great deal to raise a child who was not her own. Moreover, she had honored Maura’s memory, frequently visiting her grave to leave flowers.

“My daughter was blessed the day you took her in,” Justine asserted with a sniffle.

“It is
I
who was blessed. Pip has been my greatest joy. I couldn’t love her any more than if she were born of my own body. Truly.”

“I know that, dear.”

Finn exchanged another look with Peckham. His mother was well known for being more than a little toplofty. She was the daughter of an extremely wealthy man and the widow of a powerful Duke, fawned over and genuflected to throughout her entire life. Now she was embracing a common baker and asking her to use her Christian name. He grinned. Either age was softening her, or Jane had captured her admiration as handily as she had Finn’s.

“Speaking of Pip. How are we going to explain that lip?” Finn asked.

“I’ll tell her I stumbled and fell into a cart on the way here,” Jane suggested and rose from the sturdy kitchen bench.

“A believable explanation.” He breathed deeply then exhaled, as if coming to a sudden decision. “I agree with Mother, we should relax formalities at home. Please call me Finn.” He pushed off the wall and offered an arm to each of the women.

“Be prepared for follow-up questions from our Pip. I’ve already learned that not much gets past her,” he laughed. “She’ll want to know every last detail of your misadventure.”

OUR PIP.

The term wrapped her in warmth. Her daughter had a real home with the Wallace family. Although Pip was no longer hers alone, Jane found she didn’t mind sharing. And it was beginning to feel a little bit like she had gained an extended family, too. Even as the thought entered her mind, she reminded herself not to become too reliant upon them. Any contact she had with Pip was granted entirely at their whim and could be withdrawn just as easily. Still, the duchess’ words made her feel like she was no longer alone in the world.

It was a feeling she had not experienced in a long, long time.

They reached the entry hall just as the Duke returned from a meeting at Westminster. He took one look at Jane and opened his mouth to ask what happened. He stopped when Finn held up a restraining hand and cast a warning glance toward Pip.

“Uncle Cameron!” Pip ran over to the Duke and he swung her up in his arms, kissing the tip of her nose.  “Good evening, Pip. Tell me of the day’s adventures.”

“Grandmother and I went to the British Museum. It was boring,” she said honestly.

“Pip! That’s not polite,” Jane said and Pip had the good grace to look embarrassed.

“It wasn’t
that
boring, I suppose. I liked the mummies, ’cept they smelled bad,” Pip amended and the adults laughed.

“Miss Gray,” Rutledge dipped his head toward Jane.

“Good evening, Your Grace,” she responded with a curtsey.

He frowned at the cut on her lip and grey-brown bruise already shading her jaw.

“I had a little mishap on my way across town. I tripped and struck a vegetable cart,” she explained.

“Attacked by produce, were you?” he asked and Pip giggled.

“Pip was just going to show Jane the new dresses that arrived this morning, weren’t you sweetheart?” Justine suggested.

That was all the encouragement Pip needed. She squirmed out of Cameron’s arms to the floor, grabbed Jane’s hand, and proceeded to drag her up the stairs.

“Mama, you will not believe how beautiful everything is! I have so many fancy new dresses to wear,” she squealed.

“I can’t wait to see them,” Jane smiled.

“Cameron, Mother and I would like to speak with you in the library when you have a moment,” Finn said.

Cameron shrugged out of his coat and handed it to Peckham. “No time like the present.”

The Wallace family spent the next hour reevaluating the strange, convoluted nature of their relationship with Jane. The attack on her that evening raised questions about the depth of their responsibility to her. As they sorted through their feelings, they kept in mind the overarching fact that she had given Pip a loving home for five years. Without Jane, they would never have known what became of Maura, and Pip would have been lost to them forever. Although they had come to respect and admire the young woman, they were still uncertain what long-term role she should have in Pip’s life.

“Despite everything she has done, it’s not at all suitable for my niece to call a poor baker Mama,” Cameron said.

“Yet I am not inclined to ask
my niece
to stop addressing Jane as such,” Finn countered. “It seems needlessly cruel.”

Cameron frowned. “Come down off your high horse, Finn. Is this conversation going to end with you calling me a snob again?”

“If the sobriquet fits…”

“Acquit me of snobbery. I’m only thinking of Pip’s future and Jane’s role in it.”

Finn suggested moving Jane into Carlisle House to assume a governess-like role.

“She will not agree to it,” the duchess said. “I have already asked. She said she wouldn’t accept payment for something she has always done out of love. Jane is too proud by half.”

Finn nodded his head. “You’re right. She’s hesitant to accept something as insignificant as hack fare.”

“I find it admirable, if somewhat frustrating,” Cameron countered.