The Rebel Read online

  “No one can make a difference.” Jane shook her head, avoiding the older woman’s gaze. “And I truly appreciate your belief in me. But there is just too much scandal in my past…in my life now…”

  She let go of Alexandra’s hand and stared at the fire.

  “Nicholas and I have no chance of happiness. I should have stopped it before anything began. It is my fault. I am to blame for his situation. I am sorry.”

  Despite the pain in her ankle, Jane pushed herself to her feet and stood by the window. The view before her was a blur, but she held back her tears, refusing to allow herself to fall apart before this woman. Not after everything that she’d just said.

  Lady Spencer said not a word more, but Jane heard her rise from her chair and walk out of the room. Only after the door had closed behind the visitor did Jane allow the tears to come. They were bitter tears, helpless tears, angry tears…for she knew there would never be another chance for her. She was now a captive to her own past and family for life. There could never be an escape for her.

  Jane quickly wiped the tears from her face when she heard Jenny enter shortly after.

  “I…I am sorry, Jenny, that you were forced to entertain this afternoon. I never thought…I never imagined anyone would be coming here…like this.”

  “Never ye mind, lass. I don’t mind that one. In fact, I should say I liked yer Lady Spencer a great deal. In many a way, she reminded me of ye, my joy. Aye, she’s the kind of woman I’d like to be seeing ye become when ye reach her age.”

  Jane looked over her shoulder at the older woman and tried to smile. But the small boulder lodged in her throat would not allow it.

  “Why are ye doing this to yerself, child?” Jenny scolded. Seeing Jane’s stricken face, she hurried to her side and wrapped her arms around her. “When are ye going to stop punishing yerself?”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Stop the mourning. Let him go, my dove. Nine years is far more than enough. Conor is dead, and ye must be living. Do ye hear me? Ye must be living!” Jenny voice was becoming increasingly urgent, impatient. She drew back and looked into Jane’s face. “’Twas not yer fault that he was hanged. The lad knew what he was doing. He understood the dangers and the risks, both with the Shanavests…and with wanting ye. He lived every day of his life as he pleased. I was his kin. I raised him as my own. And I tell ye now that my Conor would not be having anything to do with ye if he saw how ye’re fading away with him gone.”

  “I am not fading away.” Jane stepped to the hearth. The peat threw very little heat, but she could feel her face burning. “I picked up where he left off. I have kept our band of Shanavests to the course…”

  “Nay, my joy. You have lost the spirit of Egan. I think ye are no longer Conor’s ‘wee fire.’” Jenny moved beside her. “Egan would know how to let that boy’s memory rest. Ye talk about guilt. How would ye feel if your situations were changed about? What if, after these many years, ye were looking down from St. Brigid’s right hand, only to see such sadness afflicting him? Do ye think ‘twould make him happy to see ye throwing away a chance like the one ye just sent packing with Lady Spencer? Do ye truly believe our Conor would be one to hold a grudge if ye were to settle with this woman’s son and finally begin living?”

  Of course, she thought, considering the size of the cottage, it would only be natural for Jenny to hear everything that had been said. “I…Sir Nicholas…”

  “I have ears, child.” Jenny placed a gentle hand on Jane’s shoulder again. “With Ronan’s big mouth yapping, everyone from Cork to Limerick knows the baronet is sweet on ye. And everyone knows that ye have feelings for him, too.”

  Before Jane could say a word, Jenny continued. “And that’s the way it should be. Finally, someone has come to call who is deserving of my Egan.” The older woman smiled. “Just knowing that he didn’t give you away that first day! And later, hearing what he did for Rita—old fool that I am—sure ye can’t blame me for hoping something might happen between the two of ye. And today, after meeting himself’s own mother…well, darling, I can only ask what ye could possibly be waiting for.”

  “I cannot.” Jane shook her head adamantly. “There is more dividing us than Conor and the Shanavests and…” She drew a deep breath. “It is no use, Jenny. He and I…we just cannot.”

  The older woman frowned at her for a long moment before speaking.

  “This has something to do with yer sister, does it not?” she asked, her disapproval evident in her tone. “Everything, no doubt.”

  “Leave Clara out of this.” Jane ran her hands up and down her arms. “Please just accept what I say and let me be.”

  A lengthy silence fell over the room while Jane once again found herself struggling in her own thoughts. Jenny’s tone was much softer when she spoke again.

  “Ye still must go back for the doings at Woodfield House tonight.”

  Jane looked with surprise into the woman’s face. “But I…”

  “Liam sent me a message. Finn wants you to go back—ye must make yerself visible, he says. Ye must attend yer mother’s ball. Ye must pretend that there is nothing wrong and that ye know nothing of what happened last night.”

  After her years with the Shanavests, Jane had mastered the ability to block the dangers of raids and their aftermath from her mind. With the exception of tending her swollen ankle, she hadn’t given much thought this morning to the trap and to her unmasking last night. It had been dark, though, and she had never really come face to face with anyone after the mask had been torn off.

  She frowned. Queen Mab, though, had been seen close up by a number of soldiers. And it was possible that someone might have guessed that Egan was a woman. “Has there been any significant news? I am certain no one saw me.”

  “All I know is the message that he sent.”

  Finn had said the same thing to her last night—about resuming her other life.

  “But the complications of going back…I cannot just walk in with that ball tonight…” Not to mention that she would need to face Nicholas again. Perhaps it had been a cowardly path, but she hadn’t thought she could face him. She knew she could not explain things to him after her meeting with Clara.

  “This is not for ye that I am speaking, now. You must do this for the rest,” Jenny insisted. “Even the smallest of suspicion falling upon ye, and more than a few of us would be tied to the band through you. That includes those at Woodfield House. Jane, ye have no choice.”

  Jane sat down in the nearest chair. The pounding in her head was now a hundred times worse than the ache in her ankle. She couldn’t argue what Jenny was saying. With Musgrave’s sharp claws poised over her, it was very well possible that he would make the connections. “I…I wish I had thought of this…while Lady Spencer were still here.”

  “She is still here.” Jenny shrugged at Jane’s immediately suspicious glare. “I asked her to wait in her carriage and give me a chance to talk to ye. I knew ye had to go. And as I listened, I thought, ‘What better ruse than this…”

  The older woman continued to explain, but Jane had an uncomfortable feeling that she had been duped.

  CHAPTER 25

  There was no time to be wasted.

  Jane was not at the parsonage at Ballyclough, and Mrs. Brown said she had not seen her sister in the past few days. Clara asked about the whereabouts of Parson Adams, but then refused the housekeeper’s offer of waiting for him there. Setting off on foot and in the direction she was pointed toward the lower village, she walked as fast as her legs could take her until she saw him coming along the knoll, beyond the Mallow road.

  Her customary reaction to seeing him—the inability to breathe, the hammering of her heart in her chest, the images of them together in her mind—all of this quickly came and went as the pressing nature of her search washed them away. Clara ran toward him for a few steps, slowed to a fast walk, and then ran again until she reached him breathlessly.

  “Henry! You must help me. I am loo
king for Jane, but…but…I have no idea…idea… where else…to look…It is so urgent…!”

  Placing a hand on her chest to calm her breath and find her voice, she looked into his face for the first time and was surprised by the sadness she saw there. Her heart sank. She placed a desperate hand on his arm.

  “No! Please do not tell me something has happened. Please…no!” The tears fell fast and furious, and denial twisted her throat into a knot. “Not Jane…”

  Clara felt him take her by the arm and lead her away from the road and the curious eyes of the villagers. Vaguely, she was conscious of moving down a path across the stony brook and then up through green fields. The tears, though, continued to fall.

  “It is all…my fault,” she hiccupped. “If I had not…”

  “Nothing has happened to Jane,” he assured her calmly.

  Clara stared unbelievingly into his red-rimmed eyes. “But…you…you look like…you have been…that you are upset!”

  “I have just left a funeral.” The gray eyes looked back at the lower end of the village. “The tanner Darby O’Connell’s wife, may she rest in peace. God knows she never knew any until now.”

  “Oh. I am so sorry,” she whispered, wiping away at her face. “Was she young?”

  “Very.”

  “And she left children?”

  “One died during the child birth that killed her. There are three more young ones left behind.”

  Clara wiped away more tears. “And…the…husband?”

  “Nearly mad with grief, poor devil.”

  Her tears would not stop, and she dashed at them incessantly. She couldn’t seem to get hold of her emotions. In a moment, Henry placed an arm gently around her shoulders. It only made things worse as she melted against him.

  “I am…so sorry,” she sobbed. “Here, I did not even know the woman. But it is so sad and I am so worried about Jane. But I cannot find her…and I know she is angry with me. She might not even believe what I have to tell…her. But I overheard…Captain Wallis talking to the father…and…I have to find Jane to warn her.”

  Clara hadn’t even realized that she was babbling until Henry turned her around in his arms. She stopped abruptly. Her face flushed with heat when his hand lifted her chin until she was looking into his intense gray eyes.

  “Start from beginning. What was it exactly that you overheard?”

  Clara took a deep breath and blurted out word for word everything she’d heard by the paddock.

  “Captain Wallis did not say that they think Jane is the rebel Egan, but if they are looking for a horse like Jane’s…and if they come tonight and arrest her, I…” Clara broke down under the weight of her own misery. She could not even try to control the sobbing that was robbing her of her breath. The tears continued to fall even when Henry pulled her against him. His strong hands caressed her back. Her head nestled beneath his chin.

  “You cannot allow yourself to fall apart like this. We cannot give them confirmation of something they may only suspect.”

  “Please, Henry! I have to find her.” She clutched at the lapel of his coat and looked up into his stern face again. “We cannot let them catch her. Please…!”

  “We shan’t let them take her away,” the parson assured her solemnly. “I want you to get back and prepare for the ball as if everything is as it should be. Pretend nothing has happened.”

  “But I cannot. I must find her…”

  “This is all nothing more than an opening gambit. Musgrave is beating the drums of rumor, and then waiting to see who runs. If he had proof that Jane is the rebel, he would have already had Captain Wallis and his dragoons turning Woodfield House inside out.”

  “But you do not know that for certain. Henry, I cannot chance that she might…”

  “You must trust me, Clara.” He took hold of her shoulders. The gray eyes bore into her. “I shall be there tonight…and I will try until then to find Jane. She must be present, as well. Musgrave is a coward, and he must be faced down.”

  Twinges of doubt still raked at Clara’s insides. “But what do we do if he decides to arrest her tonight?”

  “Out of respect for your father, Sir Robert would not risk making a scene during the ball. But I give you my word, I shall come up with a way to thwart him if he is so foolish as to act. Nothing will happen to your sister, Clara. Nothing.”

  Henry’s assurances worked to calm Clara’s worries. But the growing awareness of the touch of his hands and the gaze on her face revived another deeper ache. It might have been entirely the fault of her hopeful imagination. But the pressure of his fingers still on her arm. The closeness of their bodies. The feel of his warm breath so close. And then she saw his gaze fall on her lips.

  She prayed to God that he would kiss her.

  “Go,” Henry whispered hoarsely. His hands dropped from her shoulders. “We must be at our best, tonight.”

  Clara didn’t give a rush about the appropriateness of any of it. She wrapped her arms around his neck and planted her lips firmly on his for an endless moment…before turning and walking away. He hadn’t responded to the kiss, she thought, glancing back as she reached the edge of the village. He was still standing where she left him, staring off into the green fields.

  But he hadn’t pushed her away, either.

  ***

  “She is here, Nicholas. Really she is.” Frances nodded emphatically at him from her horse. “I saw Jane with my very own eyes. She came back with Mother not half an hour ago.”

  Nicholas dismounted, handed the reins of his steed to a groom, and started quickly toward the manor house.

  “But you cannot go to her,” The young woman warned, urging her mare up the path alongside the garden. “The guests will begin arriving in less than three hours. Mother and Jane are in the middle of some little scheme having to do with some of her paintings. And just before I came down from the house, I heard Fey ordering a bath brought up for Jane. And after that, she still needs to dress and do her hair and all the other things to get ready. And you have a lot to do to get ready yourself, as well, Nick!” Frances glanced from the tip of his muddy boots to the stained shirt and unshaven face. “You look absolutely hideous. By the way, your valet is already waiting in your room and…”

  He started toward the archway. Frances reined her horse to a halt.

  “And Mother told me to warn you not to scare her off again,” she called after him.

  He stopped at the door and turned to frown fiercely at her. “Do you mean to say that Jane was staying away because of me?”

  Frances carefully weighed her words before speaking again. “No. I do not know that exactly. But I did hear Jane tell Fey that if you asked to see her…well, to say that she was not available.”

  Without another word, Nicholas turned on his heel and yanked open the door.

  ***

  Every family of any substance for fifteen miles around appeared to have ridden over for the ball. The noise of the throng, mixed with the harmonic rhythms of the music, drifted up the stairs and into her bedchamber.

  The invited guests had arrived. The rest of the Purefoy family was already down playing their parts as hosts. But Jane continued to sit rigidly on the edge of her bed, dubious and fretful as she returned the gaze of the stranger reflected in her mirror.

  She had thwarted the hairdressers’ insistence on using plumes of feathers and whole gardens worth of flowers in her hair. She’d then refused to wear the tall, powdered wig that Lady Spencer had brought in. As a compromise to everyone, though, she’d allowed them to gather and arrange her own dark hair, without powder, so that a few ringlets framed her pale face while the rest was piled up safely behind.

  The hair she could live with, but the elegant dress that appeared was an ordeal that she hadn’t been prepared for.

  At the same time, she had not been able to fight wearing it. She could not bring herself to hurt Lady Spencer’s feelings…not after everything she had already done for her. From the embroidery on the sof
t yellow and white silk to the fitted bodice with its lace and ruching, to the quilted petticoats with their lace and fringe hem, this was perhaps the most graceful and beautiful dress Jane had seen, never mind worn. But this high style hardly helped to ease the tension that coiled inside of her.

  There were people down in the Hall and in the parlors that she had loathed for all of her life. There were others whom she had hoped might once again respect her, but who had never been able to overlook her transgressions. And her family? As far as any of them knew, Jane wasn’t attending the ball tonight.

  And then there was Nicholas. Her hand unconsciously traveled to her exposed throat. As she sat and looked at the ample skin showing above her breasts, Jane realized what she feared most was his reaction.

  There was a soft knock on the door and Jane rose immediately to her feet. She cast a final glance at the direction of the mirror that had been brought into her room earlier. She only wished she could feel some of the reflected woman’s apparent confidence. It was amazing what some clothes and powder can hide.

  Alexandra’s encouraging smile helped a little.

  “Lovely,” the older woman whispered confidentially. “It is late, my dear. I do not want you to miss a moment more of the admiration pouring forth in the Blue Parlor. Almost everyone has come through at least once already. And some of the guests have decided not to move an inch until I reveal the artist’s name. It is most exciting.”

  Until they find out it is me. Jane didn’t voice her concern and instead quietly accompanied Alexandra downstairs. Her ankle still hurt dreadfully whenever she put weight on it, so she tried to take her time. Without asking any questions about the nature of the injury, Lady Spencer had been very considerate earlier in the afternoon and she continued to be so now.