Historical Romance May 2017 Books 1 - 4. Bronwyn Scott

me the moment she discovered I wasn’t a lord but from the same solid merchant stock as her father.’

      ‘Did she ever get her title?’

      ‘No, she died in the epidemic.’ The mischievous Jasper faded into one much older than his twenty-four years. He turned to stare out the coach window at the dimly lit streets, a darkness coming into his eyes which made her shiver. ‘You have no idea the things I lived through in Savannah.’

      He spoke with a weariness she understood. It was the one she’d experienced during the two weeks of her parents’ illness and which swathed her around this time every year. Jane leaned across the carriage and clasped his fingers tight. ‘It’s over now.’

      The pressure of her touch seemed to startle Jasper, but he didn’t recoil from her. Instead he turned his hand over to hold hers. ‘No, it’s not. It’s still with me and sometimes as real as you sitting there.’

      He let go of her and sat back, rubbing his thumb across the tops of his knuckles as he fisted his hand and brought it to his lips. A long moment passed and the clatter of the equipage settled in the quiet. Then he lowered his fist to his knee, tapping it in time to the rocking of the coach. ‘When the epidemic first began no one really thought anything of it. Every summer there were incidents of yellow fever—even I had a mild bout of it the summer before. It’d claim a few people and then disappear when the weather turned cold. It was clear something was different that year.’

      ‘But you didn’t know what.’

      ‘Not until it was upon us.’ He continued to stare out the window, his attention fixed on something not outside, but in the past and across an ocean. ‘Those who could fled to their plantations, but death followed them. I was one of the thousands caught in the city after the quarantine.’

      ‘How awful it must have been.’ She longed to embrace him and drive away the sadness in his eyes, to comfort him the way he’d done for her so many times around the anniversary of her parents’ death, but she didn’t move. It was clear by the stoic set of his jaw he didn’t want her pity any more than she ever wanted anyone else’s.

      ‘It wasn’t so bad at first, with people flocking to our hell to enjoy themselves before death snatched them away. I enjoyed life with them; you see, once you’ve had Yellow Jack, you can’t catch it again, but it doesn’t mean you can’t suffer or be afraid. We stayed open until the authorities closed all the public places. By then everything was falling apart, and even if you weren’t sick, you were starving. No amount of money or influence could buy you food. It was the first time I’ve ever experienced what it was like to be without and unable to provide for those I care for.’

      ‘Your uncle?’

      He nodded. ‘There was nothing I could do to save him and I could barely feed him either. It’s the reason I started the hell when I came home. Yellow Jack may not be here, but I’ve seen what happens to people who fall into poverty. I don’t ever want to be unable to provide for those I care about again.’ He offered her a sad and apologetic smile. ‘Unfortunately, gambling is the only trade I know.’

      ‘I understand. I’m not supposed to want a business, but without a husband, in the end, it might be the only thing to keep me should something ever happen to my inheritance. I don’t want to be spinster, but I certainly don’t wish to be a poor one.’

      ‘You won’t be. You’re too clever.’

      She wished she shared his high opinion, but she didn’t. He had his hell and would some day have his club. She would still be alone and growing older. However, nothing she had suffered or endured compared to what Jasper had gone through. She admired his strength and vowed to be more like him. He hadn’t given up in the face of death and sickness. She couldn’t crumble beneath a few setbacks.

      The carriage rocked to a halt at the entryway to the alley behind the Rathbone house, the one which led to the garden. The mist had thickened during their ride, but the faint outline of the garden gate was visible. It’d been a lifetime since Jane had last viewed it from this angle, when she and Jasper and Milton had returned from an outing, with her dressed in Philip’s old clothes and a soft hat covering her hair. Back then, she used to creep through the shadows and in the garden gate, steal past Philip’s room and slide into bed as if she’d been there the entire night. Tonight, she’d do it again once more.

      Jasper stepped out of the coach and held out his hand to help her down. She gripped it as she joined him on the pavement, reluctant to let go. She didn’t want to leave him to ride home alone with the memories of all the awful things he’d seen accompanying him. To her surprise he didn’t release her hand, but covered it with the other one. ‘Thank you for not judging me too harshly for what I do.’

      ‘I could never judge you harshly, not even for refusing me.’

      ‘It’s why I trusted you.’

      She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him close. ‘If you need someone to talk to, don’t be afraid to come to me. I’ll listen and keep anything else you want to tell me a secret.’

      She squeezed him tight and then, before he could refuse this offer, hurried across the short distance to the garden gate, conscious of him watching her the way he used to do to make sure she was home safe. At the gate she stopped. The moisture collecting on the wrought iron wet her fingers while she slowly pulled it open to keep the old hinges from squeaking.

      Jane threw Jasper one last look. He touched his hat to her, the faint grey of it just visible in the silver light of the half-obscured moon. She slipped into the garden, past the fragrant flowers and the dew-moistened stepping stones, her regret at having to leave him as strong as the scent of the roses.

      * * *

      The mist grew thicker and colder the moment Jane disappeared from sight. It wasn’t like the air in Savannah which could drown a man with its heat, but lighter and more mysterious, like Jane. He opened and closed his hand at his side, the warm pressure of Jane’s fingers against his still lingering, along with her concern.

      He took hold of the carriage-door handle to keep from chasing after her and changing his mind. It’d been a relief to speak with her instead of trying to hold back his memories, and the truth of his income, as he did with his family. When they’d spoken of Savannah, she hadn’t hugged him in pity like his mother had when he’d first come home, the spaces under his jaws hollowed out, the depths of his suffering hidden like the banknotes tucked inside his trunks. Instead, Jane had merely listened, her presence stopping the spectre of the past from rising up from the shadows to consume him.

      He stepped inside the carriage and rapped his knuckles against the top to tell the driver to move on. Each turn of the wheels carrying him away from St Bride’s Lane, and Jane, made him more agitated. So many mornings he rode home from the hell before dawn, yearning for someone to speak with about the night’s challenges or simply to view him in a better light than he viewed himself. With his family, he had to pretend his troubles were not what they really were and allow lies and falsehoods to separate and isolate him from the people who’d welcomed him home.

      The carriage made the turn towards the warehouse and rolled past the cluttered windows of the shops locked tight for the evening. Soon, the shops gave way to the square, shapeless buildings lining the river. Weariness began to smother him the closer they drew to the hell. He was exhausted by the deceit and the walls it created around him, except there wasn’t one between him and Jane. Tonight, she’d listened. The concern in her blue eyes calling to him, the hints of yellow near the irises reminding him of the sky during the many sunrises he’d been glad to meet during the awful weeks of the epidemic. The flicker of her pulse against his fingertips had been a potent reminder of how alive and good the world could still be and how he might be a part of it again.

      The warehouse came into view and the carriage slowed to a stop. He hopped down, his determination not to marry Jane weakening with each step as he approached the rear door. It would be risky having someone so close, but she might be the one person who could keep him from sliding further into the darkness. He’d seen what years of loneliness and dissipation