“Keeping you safe is not enough?”
“I was safe, until my son defied my directives and you refused to part with your maid. You must know that there will be consequences to that.” He narrowed his eyes. “I am being generous in allowing you to set the conditions for his apology.”
He was an awful, awful man. Jane had to bless her long training as a young lady, which had given her the ability to govern her expression, although she was fairly certain that her complexion had given away her rise in temper. It was always so much more difficult to maintain her composure when he made an attack on Vincent. Jane sighed, understanding the balance that Vincent had spoken of having difficulty with. Well, then … if she was angry, she would use it.
Jane shook her head. “You have a misapprehension about this conversation. My family does not, as a rule, indulge in the same games of intrigue that yours does, so I will speak to you plainly. You speak of wanting an apology, but any ‘conditions’ you set would clearly be punishing Vincent for defying you.”
He clapped slowly. “Brava, for your insight.”
“I am not finished.” Jane rested her hand on her stomach. “You want contact with this child, because you think it likely that Richard will not sire an heir. My entire knowledge of you gives me no reason to ever allow it.”
“I see why Vincent hides behind you. At least one of you has a spine.”
“Do you offer insults as a reflex? Because nothing I am seeing here convinces me that my estimation of you as a dangerous influence is incorrect.” Jane leaned forward. “If you want to have any contact with this child, you will need to show that you are capable of kindness and generosity of spirit. I will measure that by how you treat Vincent.”
“You want me to coddle him.”
“I do not care how you choose to frame it. You are perfectly aware of what behaviour I expect.”
He snorted. “So you expect me to submit meekly to your plan of being confined to a slave cottage, and to dote over Vincent to reward him for defying my direct orders.”
“Yes.”
He leaned back in his chair. “And when I do not?”
“Then I hope that you have a plan for avoiding Mr. Pridmore.” Jane smoothed her gown. “I very sincerely hope that you will not refuse to go to Frank’s house simply to spite me or Vincent.”
Verbury stared at her until Jane began to grow uncomfortable, but she held his gaze and waited. If there was one thing that a young lady learned, it was how to wait with a tranquil expression. Jane had spent many dances in her youth perfecting an easy and disinterested countenance while waiting for someone to ask her to stand up with them. She counted it as a small triumph when Lord Verbury reached for the silver bell on the table next to him and rang it.
“You may go. Send Frank to me.”
“Of course.” Jane stood as the door to the library opened and Miss Sarah reentered the room.
As far as she understood Vincent’s father, he had been on very good behaviour. He could not agree to her terms immediately without feeling that he lost face. Jane’s mother would also lament things, but given time to calm down and reflect in private, she always found a way to justify a decision as being her own choice. Jane had to hope that Lord Verbury would show at least as much sense as her mother.
Her fear was that his bile would outweigh his reason.
Jane curtsied to Verbury and turned to take her leave. Louisa still stood by the door, perfectly composed if you ignored the tears on her cheeks. She turned with exquisite grace and held the door for Jane.
Only when they were out of the room and the door had shut carefully behind them did Jane acknowledge what had occurred. “My dear … I am so, so sorry.”
“He promised me? To Mr. Pridmore? But he stopped him—he made him stop—” Louisa’s voice cracked into silence and she pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes. “Please don’t let Papa know about—I never told him. Please, please don’t let him know. He would be so angry.”
“I promise that your father will not be angry at you.” Jane kept her voice low and gentle as a section of the wall opened and Frank stepped silently into the white parlour. The grief on his face nearly broke Jane.
“Not at me.” Louisa lifted her face, eyes red with tears. “If he knew, he would hurt Mr. Pridmore, and then they would hang him, and it would be my fault, and—”
“Shh…” Frank put his hands very gently on his daughter’s shoulders.
She turned and flung herself on her father, sobbing. He folded her in his arms and rocked her back and forth.
Jane stole away as quietly as she could. There were some parts of the story that did not belong to her.
Twenty-six
Good Counsel