Page 67 of The Scarred Duchess
“Time for you to go, boy,” said the second, a black eyepatch on his face.
They clamped chains on his ankles and wrists, then removed his gag.
“Who? Why?”
“Darcy wishes you abon voyage,”said the first man.
“Hammer and Anvil warn you to ne’er come back,” threatened the second.
“No, no, no, no, no!” screamed Wickham.
Two other men stepped towards him, grabbed him roughly, and carried him onto the ship, where they rudely deposited him on the deck.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Jane stood alone in her room, flustered, her agitated hands revealing her discomfort. It embarrassed her that her countenance fascinated so many. She despaired of how men ogled her, the things they said thinking she could not hear them, or not caring if she did.
Standing several feet from her dressing table, Jane stared into the tarnished mirror, her features satisfactorily blurred. She tilted her head a bit left, then right, and then repeated the activity several times. She knew not what she sought, but the movement soothed her melancholy.
“I am Jane Lily Bennet.” She took a step forward and sat. “I am a lily,” she voiced to the emptiness.
Closing her eyes, she thought of the stillroom at Longbourn and her mother’s book of pressed flowers and horticultural etchings. She mentally turned page after page. She stopped upon some sketches of flowers with six petals, each a different colour.
“I am a white lily.”
Uncertainty swept over her. “Or am IThe Scarred Lily, as they say of me?”You are what they say you are.
Jane chose not to yield, although her self-doubt left an ashen taste in her mouth. Minute turns of her chin allowed the sunlight to highlight her stigmas—her facial imperfections, her now undeniably renowned scars. She decided she must no longer allow them to define who she was.
It was but a moment’s contemplation to decide she desired to walk amongst the gardens at Kew. She recalled the pamphlet Aunt Gardiner had given her of the attractions—the Orangery, the Great Pagoda, and the domed rotunda. So much to enjoy! It was just what she desired to bolster the doldrums in which she felt herself mired. After suppressing her apprehensions, she made her way downstairs.
“Uncle Gardiner, may I have a word?”
Gardiner welcomed Jane into his study.
“Uncle, I would like to spend the day amongst the gardens at Kew. Will you allow it?”
He studied Jane before giving his answer. It was daunting for him to protect his nieces. Elizabeth was a pleasant handful, with her constant rambles and desire to enjoy the open air. Her curiosity, sparkling eyes, and zeal for life made her a delightful addition to the household. She was an uncomplicated yet complex young lady.
Jane was another matter. Before the carriage accident—if that is what we have named it—she had been a beautiful, serene, gently bred young lady. Her injuries had altered a masterpiece into a torn canvas. As the years passed, theportrait not only recovered its appeal, but had become more alluring, leading to disquieting consequences.
Although Jane would not speak of it, he knew from his wife and Elizabeth that the fairer sex refused to acknowledge Jane, most seeing her through a competitive eye. A drawing room invitation was a rarity, and upon the acceptance of one, malicious gossip preceded her presence. A fifteen-minute parlour visit would many times conclude early. Social isolation was now Jane’s constant companion. Her placidity both pleased and baffled her aunt and Lady Matlock.
It was a more dire situation amongst the male population. She could not venture outside without being approached, even when accompanied. There was always someone—a garrulous gentleman, a resolute rogue, an unwavering widower—who importuned Jane for her direction. With Legget gone back to Longbourn, she and Elizabeth were protected by his footmen; still, few of these pursuers failed to walk away from Jane’s demure refusals. But that was changing. The public interactions had become increasingly hostile.
Of course, when not carrying out Lord Matlock’s business, Roark hovered as well. Gardiner worried that stubborn, drunken men would lead Roark to use physical restraint; violence inevitably followed.
As he was accountable for Jane’s welfare, her outings and security were no small expense—not that he begrudged a farthing; he was pleased to allow her a moment of entertainment outside their Gracechurch Street home. When he shared his apprehensions with his wife, specifically with regards to Jane’s future, she failed to soothe his fears but reassured him their niece was aware of his concerns. He remained unconvinced.
Jane interrupted his musings. “I promise to adhere toyour instructions,” she said earnestly. “I know how you worry about Lizzy and me.”
“I would suspend no pleasure of yours, my dear niece. Nothing less than your angelic smile should ever complement our discourse. Let us work to recover your serenity as we endeavour to buoy your spirits. To Kew, you ask? I daresay we could entertain a novel experience such as this. Let us have a footman, in addition to your maid, accompany you, shall we?”
Jane inclined her chin in accord. Shaking off a sense of foreboding, he would remember to discuss his rekindled fears with Roark. Gardiner glanced at Jane briefly again and surrendered to his worries. “One moment, my dear.”
He wrote a short missive, pulled the bell cord, and handed it to his man. “Matlock House. Make haste,” he whispered.
He hoped Jane did not discern the stress in his voice. Turning back to her, he immediately amended his provision. “MatthewsandStokes will accompany you, if you will indulge me.”
