Page 66 of Her Rake Fiancé

“Oh yes, they did. You weren’t there. You know that Spencer is somewhere out there in the navy. He needs me. He needs all of us. And I’m more than capable of finding out what happened to him.”

Jane chuckled. It was, after all, thanks to her that Richard found out the information that he needed. “I quite agree. I don’t think we women need men to do anything for us. I plan to run my own school. Richard wants to marry me, while—”

She almost said, while I want to break off the wedding, but the words stuck in her throat, feeling so wrong to say out loud. Because it was not true that she wanted to break it off.

She didn’t.

She felt like she had to. For her own good and for his.

But the truth was simple…

“While what?” asked Calliope.

Abigail inserted another small rose into her hair, throwing a curious glance at her.

Jane didn’t have any friends, except for Hercules. And the sudden presence of unconditional female support prompted the need to share.

Jane swallowed, a lump forming in her throat. The words felt as if they were stuck, too foreign to be spoken aloud.

“I…I love him,” she managed, the admission barely more than a whisper. Yet once uttered, the words seemed to echo around the room, reverberating through her very core. An overwhelming rush of warmth swept over her, leaving tingles in its wake. “I love your brother.”

Calliope’s eyes crinkled as her lips curved into a warm smile. “Jane,” she began, her voice soft, “it’s been plain as day to all of us how Richard feels about you. I have no doubt that the two of you will find immense happiness together.”

Jane’s heart fluttered at Calliope’s words. A soft sigh escaped her lips as she caught her reflection in the mirror, marveling at her transformation.

No longer was she merely Jane the teacher, but Miss Jane Grant, a woman of refinement and grace, a woman who had a place in Richard’s world. A woman who could be his wife, waking up in his arms every morning and falling asleep enveloped in his embrace every night. The woman she was always meant to be.

Someone who was a part of the world she’d been born into.

And this Miss Grant could belong anywhere she wanted.

“Ready!” said Abigail with a bright smile. “What do you think, Miss Grant?”

Jane turned her head, the perfect, intricate build of silvery-pink roses and baby’s breath somehow highlighted the elegant curve of her neck, making her cheekbones appear even higher and rounder. The colors hid the dark circles that she sometimes got under her eyes, the imperfections of her skin. Her lips appeared pinker, fuller. Her eyes sparkled like Thorne’s diamonds on her neck.

The gown was made of the finest silk, its soft hue reminiscent of the first light of dawn. The bodice was fitted, with a low-cut neckline that showcased her bosom. The neckline was embellished with delicate lace and embroidered with shimmering silver thread.

The short sleeves were sheer, made of the finest silk chiffon and adorned with silver beading that sparkled in the light. The skirt flowed like water down her legs, sparkling with silver.

“I love it,” said Jane as she stood up, her heart beating hard.

“So do I!” exclaimed Calliope.

Maybe Richard was right that she could have both the school and her life as a gentleman’s wife.

She could do more good with Richard’s help than she could alone, and she could influence others of the ton to help those in need and change the practices that caused this imbalance of wealth and power.

And in that world, maybe, just maybe, she did belong, and she and Richard could be happy forever.

30

As Jane entered the grand ballroom of Carlton House later that night, she paused and gazed in awe. Candles flickered on glittering crystal chandeliers while murmured conversations filled the air. This was not Almack’s of five years ago—it was far better. This was a royal ball, and it was her first.

Even though she couldn’t see very well without her spectacles, she could tell that the residence of the prince regent glistened with sparkling jewels on elegant ladies, moving, talking, dancing. The ball was given in honor of the British military and the navy, and the room was full of army and navy officers dressed in red and dark navy uniforms, who walked around with glasses of wine and punch in their hands.

Chatter and laughter swelled around her, and waltz music was played by the orchestra situated in the gallery above. Delicate silk dresses swished and swayed as couples enjoyed a scandalous new dance that was disapproved of by matrons but highly encouraged by the prince himself. Even through her blurry vision, she could see the large mirrors in gilt frames that lined the walls, making the already spacious room appear almost endless. Tall windows draped by sumptuous curtains offered glimpses of the moonlit garden outside. She wished she could make out the details of the hand-painted frescoes and gilded moldings adorning the lofty ceiling. The heady aroma of ladies’ perfume overpowered the fruity fragrance of the wine that proud footmen carried around on silver trays.

Richard, Jane, and Calliope stood at the entrance into the ballroom, and several heads turned to them, gazes landing on her. Even through her blurry vision, Jane recognized Lady Whitemouth with her golden hair and her aura of power and authority.