The Heiress Effect (Brothers Sinister #2)

There was a pause, the sound of footsteps. And then…


“Mother?” he said. There was another pause. When he spoke again, his voice had altered from swift and business-like to anguished. “Oh my God, Mother. What’s wrong?”

Jane motioned to the servant and sent her away through the smaller servants’ door. No maid needed to overhear this. Jane shouldn’t either, but she had no place to retreat to.

“I’m just glad I found you in time,” the woman—Oliver’s mother—said. “The duke said—well, never mind. I can’t really think—Oliver, listen to me, I can’t get a straight sentence out of my mouth. It’s just…”

“Take a deep breath. Take your time. Tell me.”

The other woman’s voice broke. “It’s Freddy.”

“What happened to her? We can take care of her, find her the best doctors, give her—”

“They found her in her bed a day and a half after she passed away.”

“No.” But Oliver didn’t sound as if he were denying it, just reflexively pushing away the words. “That can’t be. I saw her not so long ago. She looked a little ill, but…”

“It was an apoplexy. They say she didn’t suffer.”

“Oh, Mother.” Oliver’s voice was muffled. “I should have said something to you when I saw her, should have let you know she wasn’t doing well. I should have had you come out and—”

“Enough. I told her I loved her the last time I saw her. We’ve had our differences, but we’ve also had our good times.” The other woman’s voice quavered. “Don’t lay blame. There’s more than enough sorrow without it.”

There were no words for a while after that, just a few sniffles. The sounds of family giving—and receiving—comfort.

Oliver had mentioned his aunt Freddy in the bookshop all those months ago. It was one of the first things that had drawn Jane to him—that he’d talked about a woman who obviously had her own peculiarities with such respect and affection.

It was as if someone had whispered to Jane that if he could love an ornery, stubborn, strange old woman, he might like her.

And he had.

“It’s tomorrow,” his mother said. “The funeral. Everyone is down—Laura and Geoffrey, Patricia and Reuven. Free and your father. We’re having dinner tonight.”

“Of course I’ll be there.”

There was a long pause.

“And Oliver, the woman who is staying with you…”

Jane froze.

“What woman?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You’re here under an assumed name. You’ve never used my soap, and yet someone here has washed with my May blend. I smelled it the instant I walked in. I only wanted you to know… There won’t be many of us present, just family and a few others. If she’s important to you, if she would bring you comfort, you should bring her.”

“Mama.”

“I won’t pinch your cheek in front of her, and if you’re worried about the example you’ll set for your sister…”

“Mama, please.”

“…don’t. Free will probably lecture you better than I could.”

There was a long pause. Oliver had to know that Jane was listening. He had to be wondering what she was thinking, what she would make of all this. Jane wrapped her arms around herself and wanted. Even if this didn’t last. Even if they never saw each other again after their days together, even if he married his perfect little wren next month.

Right now, she wanted to be the one who comforted him.

“I’ll…”

“Think about it, Oliver.”

Jane bit her lip and looked away, trying not to feel the sting of it. They had agreed, after all. And he was upset. She really didn’t have a place in his life, and it was the work of a moment—one soul-squeezing moment—to forgive him the small pain he caused her.

“I’ll see,” he said.

Chapter Twenty-eight

Oliver knew what was coming the instant he closed the door after his mother. He didn’t even want to turn around. Didn’t want to have to look at Jane and see what he had done.

But he did. He went and found her where she was still seated on a bench in the dressing room. She was wearing petticoats and a corset and was gazing off into space. She looked up as he came in.

“Good,” she said. “You’re here. I suppose we need to…” She trailed off and looked at her hands in her lap.

“Jane.” He felt a lump in his throat as he faced her.

“I need someone to help me put on my dress.” She pointed to a blue silk with red ribbons. “That one.”

“Jane…”

“I’m not going to have this discussion with you when I’m half-dressed,” she said, and so he helped her put it on. It was agonizing, to brush her soft skin. To want to kiss her shoulder, as he smoothed fabric over it. He wanted so much with her…but he suspected that this was the end, the donning of this dress, and not a beginning.

When he had finished to the best of his ability, she turned back to him.