Page 68 of The Scarred Duchess
Jane acknowledged his request, seemingly understanding it was, instead, a requirement.
Later that afternoon, Jane strolled along the garden paths at Kew. She moved about in no discernible pattern; whatever struck her fancy received her attention. As the day progressed, her steps lightened, and her body relaxed. Her posture remained ladylike, but in an easier way. She wore a fashionable day dress in Saxon blue. Her full-brim hat kept off the sun; the beaded veil masked her features. She wasanonymous, as much as a fine-figured, well-clad gentlewoman could be.
Molly walked a few feet behind, carrying Jane’s reticule. Mr Stokes trailed her by several yards; his companion in livery, Mr Matthews, who led the procession, constantly peered back over his shoulder, checking her safety. The day passed with greater agreeability than it would have shut away in her bedchamber on Gracechurch Street. Jane found great tranquillity in nature’s bounty. Then, as they exited the gardens, she heard a rumble of voices.
“The Scarred Lily!” someone shouted.
Jane looked left and right.What is this?Her breathing increased. A parade of footfalls grew louder.What am I to do?
She sought her uncle’s men. Mr Matthews was moving towards her, trying to elbow past a trio of male gawkers. Jane turned to find Mr Stokes pulling on the shoulder of a man far larger than he; the man pushed him and Mr Stokes fell to his knees.
“Molly?” Jane held her arms tightly against her sides.Save me. Save me. Save me. She gasped for breath; unlike in the fragrantly floral gardens, the air was now redolent of tobacco, sweat, and horse. Suddenly, her hat and veil were pulled from her head. “Do not touch me!” she hissed.
Jane watched in wonder as the crowd backed up in haste; the air freed up about her. A veritable mountain of a man, clad in livery she recognised as Matlock, stepped next to her. He blocked the sun, and a silhouette was all she could perceive. No one present seemed to doubt the threat he implied and they quickly dispersed. His rasp rent the air. Jane recognised that timbre and smiled faintly.
“Are you well, Duchess?” Bill asked with surprising gentleness.
She turned back to her fleeing tormentors. Her laughsounded unforgiving even to herself, but she cared not. “I am now.”
Gardiner followed Madeleine into the parlour. Where he usually took pleasure in the warm setting—pale green and cream walls and complementary Chippendale stuffed furniture pieces—he instead focused on his wife’s mood. The events at Kew Garden had infuriated and shocked them, but since Jane’s message had arrived, alerting them to the events and her removal to Matlock House, she had been uncharacteristically quiet, responding in a perfunctory manner to his conversation.
Madeleine sat next to him on the settee. A moment later, she rested her hand upon his forearm. “Forgive me, my dear,” she said softly.
“There is nothing to forgive. Like you, I am sorry for what transpired this afternoon.”
She paused. “It was terrible, and I am not happy that Jane has chosen to remain at Matlock House for the nonce.”
“That may be to all of our advantages for the Season.”
His wife turned to him with flashing eyes. “Perhaps, but I do not like the manner in which her decision is based.”
Gardiner held up his hands, palms out. “What would you have us do more than we have? If she feels a greater measure of safety there, and less a burden on our household, so be it.”
A knock on the door forestalled her response. “Sir. Madam. Mr John Smyth to see you.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Knowing that Ishtar would stay true to the road, John focused upon the cautions Bennet had discussed with him: ‘Forgo your carriage; ride your horse. Present yourself at all times as a country gentleman. Do not draw unwanted attention. Remember, there are eyes everywhere.’
Some three hours after leaving Netherfield Park, he arrived at a tidy Cheapside house with a green door. The red brick facade stood tall, the street-level windows, adorned with lace curtains, allowed a glimpse of a lavish interior. He tied off his horse, brushed out his coat, and took a deep breath.Will Jane welcome me? Does she still love me?He banged the door knocker.
He followed a housekeeper into a well-appointed parlour where Jane’s aunt and uncle were waiting. “Good afternoon, Mr Gardiner. Mrs Gardiner. I apologise if my call is ill-timed.”
The couple exchanged a glance, and then Mr Gardiner spoke. “Not at all. How may we be of service, my lord?”
John, who was just taking his seat, quickly stood up again. “You know?”
“Of your true standing? We do,” replied Gardiner, glancing at his wife. “What brings you here?”
Mrs Gardiner’s small smile wiped away John’s reservations of asking after Jane. He sat and took a breath. “Mr Bennet provided me your direction, as I am unfamiliar with town.”
Gardiner turned to his wife, who answered him with an uplifted eyebrow. He nodded.
“Tea?” asked Mrs Gardiner. Before he could reply, she was fixing him a cup. “May we ask if you are seeking Jane?”
He nodded and accepted the cup. “I am. Is she here? May I speak to her?”
Mr and Mrs Gardiner exchanged what he thought was a meaningful look. “She is not here,” replied Mr Gardiner.
