Typical.
Jane shook away the familiar resentment toward her mother and put her book aside, cringing at a bend in one corner, likely sustained when Lady Frances had abducted the book and hurled it to the bed. The poor book. It didn’t deserve to be hurt just because Jane had to get married.
Married. Uck.
She wished people would stop trying to marry her off. It was such a bother.
Jane’s first engagement had been to the son of a silk merchant. Humphrey Hangrot had been his name, and since Hangrot Silk had been the only silk merchant in all of England, they controlled the prices. Humphrey’s parents were not shy about reminding the Grey family of their exciting new wealth. Most notably this was done by draping their stick-figure son in layers and layers of their most expensive brocade available. Jane had lost count of the number of balls she’d been forced to attend at the Hangrot family home; she’d survived by always having a book in hand.
As for Humphrey, he’d introduced himself to her as the “future king . . . of silk,” and instructed her to touch his sleeve. No, really touch it. Feel it. Had she ever beheld such fine cloth? She’d asked him if he realized the worms were boiled in their own cocoons in order to degum the silk, and he refused to speak to her after that. The engagement had dissolved thanks to the sudden arrival of a second silk merchant, one who was willing to undercut Hangrot Silk’s prices enough to take all of their business, which led to the immediate destitution of the family. No one, it turned out, wanted to pay Hangrot Silk’s outrageous prices, and the family retreated to a small home in the country where they faded from the public memory.
The second engagement had been to Theodore Tagler, a virtuoso violinist from France. He’d been touring England with the Oceanous Orchestra when his family came to visit London. Several highborn families had heard about the Taglers’ desire to find a wife for their son—a lady of refined taste and good family, and who wouldn’t mind her husband’s long absences, should she decide not to accompany him on tour. Lord and Lady Grey had immediately suggested Jane—they were still trying to recover from the Hangrot scandal—and the match was approved.
Jane had a fair ear for music and enjoyed many sonatas, minuets, and symphonies. She even liked the occasional opera—her favorites being the tragedies in which the lovers both died in the end as punishment for a small act of mercy—but she hadn’t been fond of her new fiancé’s style of playing, which she found rather boisterous. Theodore himself turned out to be rather boisterous as well. The saying “bull in a china shop” came to mind. How he’d been able to handle such a delicate instrument had been a mystery to her, and it had been the instrument that dissolved this engagement as swiftly as the last.
The violin, a one-of-a-kind Belmoorus from the late violin maker Beaufort Belmoor, had been stolen. Snatched. Thieved. Taken from its place in the home of Beaufort Belmoor’s children. It had been tracked across France and through Spain, all the way to England. The “owner” who’d loaned the violin to Theodore Tagler—as all non-musician owners of instruments do to ensure their possessions are played regularly—had been arrested and, in spite of Theodore’s innocence in the matter, he and his family had also gone into immediate destitution.
The third engagement had been to Walter Williamson, the grandson of a famous but reclusive inventor, though what it was he had invented was said to be a state secret. If it hadn’t been for the whole marriage thing, Jane wouldn’t have minded Walter; he appeared intelligent and well read, and spoke often of the legacy his grandfather had left. He, too, had aspirations of invention. It was in his blood, he said, not that he had ever shown a hint of creativity.
Only a month into the engagement, papers were released revealing Walter’s grandfather had been a thief, imprisoned these last fifteen years. Public regard of the Williamson family plummeted, and (as you can surmise) the result was immediate destitution.