Jenny smiled and took the first step, before turning back towards her sister-in-law. “Thank you, Frances. I’m grateful that I have you in my life to help me navigate this terrible… affliction,” she snorted.
She turned to continue up the stairs when Frances’s voice called to her.
“Jenny? You are a grown woman now, one who is old enough to make her own decisions and live with the consequences of those decisions. No matter what you decide, Thomas and I will always defend you. If you say you want to marry Harry, then we will stand by you. We both know what it means to fight for what you want. If you want this marriage, then so be it.”
With that, Frances nodded and made her way back into the library.
“And if you want to fight for something else, then we’ll also stand by you,” she added before she closed the door. Her voice echoed in the hallway.
Jenny continued up the stairs, contemplating Frances’s parting words. Was she willing to fight for what she wanted? She had always thought she would stop at nothing to get her happily ever after. Now that her dream was finally in front of her, she needed to figure out if it was worth fighting for.
Or has this fiasco with David changed what she wanted?
CHAPTER 17
David looked at the ledger on his desk. His eyes refused to look at tomorrow’s date. He knew Jenny was getting married to Dovegrove tomorrow. He’d read about it, he’d heard about it. It was as if there was nothing else going on in this bloody town other than her marriage to that pompous arse.
He slammed the ledger shut and rubbed his hands over his face. He needed to get out of the house. The hallway clock chimed one in the morning, and he huffed out a sigh. If he went out now, he’d only meet trouble.
He pushed himself out of his chair and made his way towards the stairs when a knock sounded at the front door.
“What the deuce?” he grumbled. “Who the hell is calling at this hour?”
He slowly walked towards the door, picking up a cane he had left nearby. He raised the cane over his head as he opened the door. He brought the cane down, stopping just mere seconds before it landed on the head of a cowering Jenny.
“Jenny! What are you doing here? Do you know what time it is?” David scolded. “I could have hurt you.”
He looked around to make sure there were no onlookers before he pulled her into the foyer and slammed the door shut behind them.
“I’m sorry, I wasn’t aware you changed security measures since we parted.”
David bit his lower lip. He refused to give in to the urge to smile at her remark. She was still as spicy as ever.
“I won’t ask again. What are you doing here?”
The relief of not hurting her was waning, and anger was taking its place. Which was good. He knew how to handle anger. It fueled him. It kept him going.
Jenny ignored the question and walked into his study. She headed straight to his drink cart, pouring herself a glass of whisky. “I hope you don’t mind if I help myself. It’s been a chaotic few weeks.”
David’s jaw ticked. “Yes, I heard.”
He stood in the doorway, refusing to go in. If he went in, he was accepting her arrival, and she should not be here.
Jenny stared back at him. “That’s it? You heard?” She cocked her head. “What have you heard, David?”
He swallowed, trying to hold onto the composure and sanity that were currently fleeing him. “I heard about your news.”
She gave a wicked smile, one that grabbed the knife in his heart and twisted it. It did not matter that he placed the knife himself—she had the control to inflict more damage.
“Ah. I see you’re still a man of few words.” She threw the whisky back and made a sour face that almost broke through his anger. “Well, since you heard, you know it’s cause for a celebration.” She poured herself another glass and raised it in his direction. “To a happy marriage.”
She took a healthy sip and sputtered violently.
David sighed and walked over to her. He placed the whisky glass down on the cart and filled another glass with water from the pitcher. “Here. Drink this.”
A red-faced Jenny took the proffered glass and drank from it.
“Thank you.” She coughed a few more times.