Page 53 of The Scarred Duchess
Her father considered that a moment, then rose and pulled a book from the shelf. He handed it to her.
She ran a hand over the thick binding. “René Descartes?”
“Cogito, ergo sum.”He lowered the finger he had pointed upward. “I charge you to learn its English meaning and discuss the first chapters with me next week.”
“Thank you, Papa.” She rose and kissed his cheek before leaving him.
Elbows on the bed, hands clasped, the space between her forehead and the top of her nose rested on her left mid-forefinger knuckle.
Jane closed her eyes and relaxed her breathing. Her heart opened.
“Lord, I speak not for myself, but for my precious family. Please relieve them the burden of defending me. I accept my fate. My vanity is nothing. Your will is all.
“I thank Thee, my Heavenly Father, through Thy dear Son, that Thou hast kept them this day from all harm and danger. For into Thy hands, I commend myself, my body and soul, and all things.
“Amen.”
Jane slid under the cover pane, adjusted her head pillow, and hugged her second pillow to her person. She fully embraced the peaceful night.
“Tomorrow will be a better day....” she whispered, as she had every night sinceithappened.
The Bennets had ceased to attend social events and entertained few callers. Lord Lambrook missed his friend. The bits of gossip that his man and his wife’s lady’s maid had related incensed them both. The vicious, cruel lack of sympathy from many Meryton families disgusted him and Lady Lambrook. Where was their charity? Their compassion?
The gist of the tittle-tattle revolved around the advantages those families’ daughters had gained now that Miss Bennet was no longer the jewel of the county. That gossip of her injury, her rumoured release of John from their betrothal,and the absence of the reading of the banns ripped through Meryton society. When Lambrook enquired whether they had seen an increase in invitations to dine with those families with eligible daughters, his wife’s pursed lips provided the distasteful answer. If his family’s political situation were not so treacherous, he would have all the husbands of those despicable women clapped into irons!
He, Lady Lambrook, and John secured a call upon Longbourn on a beautiful summer day. It had been a difficult year for their son, nursing a broken heart while aching for the pain and suffering endured by the woman he loved. After finishing his education, and after Jane had refused his visits, he had travelled to Italy, returning somewhat recovered but just as determined in his love for her. This would be his first visit with Jane in months.
John had done his best to conceal his anger and heartache from his parents and from the letters he wrote to Mr Bennet, asking after Jane’s welfare but careful never to importune. His travels to Italy had given him little comfort, but in some way helped him to put his mind to other tasks, to seeing a world he had hoped to share with Jane. It was when he stood in a garden in Florence and his eye was caught by a statue of the Madonna—her delicate beauty so clear, the marble so perfectly carved, the woman’s face so soft to the touch—that he fell to his knees, whispering Jane’s name. The statue was no match for Jane’s lost beauty, a trait that mattered little to him for he loved what she had within her, the joy and happiness she brought to him with her thoughts and gestures. But to her, that was not enough. Now, herbeauty marred in her eyes, she wished only to be free of him.
I shall return,he vowed to himself,and do what I must to fight for her.
Now, months later, while the four adults entertained each other in Longbourn’s parlour, John followed Miss Elizabeth to the stillroom. She walked to a table and began working with a pestle and mortar. In a corner were two chairs; the left was unoccupied; Jane stood before the right.
He paused, taking in the sight of her. She wore a white dress, her hands clasped to her front. He could not see her face as she wore a large-brimmed bonnet with a thick veil. How he wished to see her lovely face, her beautiful eyes!
“Good morning, Miss Bennet. Thank you for consenting to see me.”
“Good morning, Mr Smyth.”
“May we sit?”
Jane gracefully lowered herself into her chair; he joined her in the adjacent one. John stared hard at her through her veil. She lowered her chin.
“I am grieved. Will you not speak to me? How do you fare?”
Jane sniffled, and he bent his head closer to her. “I miss you. If you cannot accept me as a husband, surely you can see me as a friend.”
“I have learnt that friendships which I once believed real are feigned. It distresses me that I must separate the true from the false.” Her shoulders rose in a sigh and she glanced at him. “Sadly, the latter far outnumber the former.”
“I hope you will count me in the former,” he said urgently. “Forever, I will be your friend.”
Jane stared at him for a long time. She removed her hat and veil, and boldly looked at him. Two angry red slashescrossed her face—the one from her temple bridged her nose, the other from her cheek passed below her lips to her chin. John did not blink.
“Jane?” whispered Miss Elizabeth. “What do you do?”
Jane held up her hand. “I am seeking a friend. Is this society’s definition of beauty? Am I even tolerable?”
John grasped her hand with both of his. “You are as beautiful as ever.”
