Page 48 of An Engagement with the Enemy

Her lips parted, and her eyes widened in surprise. Then she turned from him again, dropping her gaze to the ground. “Thank you for respecting my friendship with your sister.”

“If I didn’t, Catherine would throw me in the old stocks in front of the village hall,” he said with a lightness he didn’t quite feel. When Jessica looked up with a smile, he would have donned the uniform of a jester in that moment if it meant seeing that expression on her face rather than the other, sadder smiles she’d worn that day.

Jessica stared at him, silent and contemplative, before speaking with that tremble still present. “For others, it seems like nothing. What happened today. But for me, it was overwhelming. The noise, all those people. The expectation to talk and laugh, to weave through the crowd as though nothing was wrong. I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t focus. I felt...”

“Frightened?” James supplied in a whisper when her words failed her.

Relief filled her eyes. “Yes. Frightened of losing control. It happens sometimes. When I’m around too many people. Strangers, usually. Or in a room that is too full of sound, of bodies, of smells. Everything builds and builds in my mind until I feel I will drown amid the crowd as surely as I would in a sea of water.” She swallowed, and he saw her eyes take on a new shine. That of tears. “It’s been that way since I was a girl. I don’t know why. No one does.”

He couldn’t bear the heartache in her voice. The shame. He came away from the wall, standing so they were but a step apart. He wanted to take her hand. To hold her. Instead, he urged her gently, “Why have I never seen this in you before now? Are there times when you are not so affected?”

Slowly, she shook her head. “It’s been this way for as long as I can remember,” Jessica continued, her voice a mere whisper. “Even as a young girl, at social events with my family, I would become overwhelmed.”

As Jessica spoke of her childhood, he could vividly imagine her as she had been, a slip of a girl trembling in a corner, pulse racing and breaths coming too fast, invisible to the crowds but so deeply afraid. Yet he’d never seen that side of her. He’d seen the girl who smuggled a flock of chickens into his bedroom. The Jessica who had cleverly used Ottis’s training to cause his master trouble. She’d matched him, jest for jest, wit for wit, with her iron gray eyes and quick laughter.

He hadn’t known this other side of her existed. Had he not seen her that afternoon, and someone else told him these things about her, he wouldn’t believe them.

She wrapped her arms tighter around herself. “I would get heart palpitations and my chest would feel tight. Once, it grew so bad, I nearly fainted during a musicale. I didn’t, though. I even played through my piece. You may even remember. It was the summer your mother wanted Catherine and me to start attending events, to ease ourselves into Society before traveling to London.” Her voice hitched upward on the last word.

London. The reason she never went, not even as a friend to Catherine, had finally been made clear. His throat tightened. She hadn’t an aversion to Town, and her father hadn’t neglected giving her a Season. He’d kept her home to protect her.

Jessica blinked back tears. “I learned to avoid any place busy with people. Father stopped taking me to York. I stayed here, at home, surrounded by familiar people and scenery. While my friends, while your family, went away.” She wiped at her tears and a weak laugh escaped her. “And I am grateful for my father’s understanding. For his gentle handling of my weakness. But I’ve spent so much time alone when everyone else goes away.”

Had she been lonely? How had she occupied the long winter hours while he and Catherine had navigated London’s theaters, ballrooms, and museums? The desire to gather her to him, to hold her against his heart and promise not to leave her again, nearly overtook him. “I’m so sorry, Jessica. I never suspected any of this.”

“Why would you?” She took a shaky breath. “We took great pains to hide it. Even here, in the wilds of Yorkshire, people look down on this sort of mental fragility.”

“I would never describe your mental abilities as fragile,” he said, daring to step closer again. They were nearly shoe-to-slipper. “Nor would anyone who knows you.”

She sniffled and smiled up at him, the tear tracks along her cheeks breaking his heart. “The physicians wouldn’t agree. There were several, those early years. My father paid for them to come from as far away as Edinborough. They said it was a form of hysteria, or a lack of strong morals, or a weakness of my mind. The treatments they advised were not gentle. Your mother was such a comfort. She tried, along with my father and Mrs. Vincent—do you remember her? My last governess. Anyway. They helped me learn strategies to cope with my weakness.”

He hated that she believed any part of her weak. But how could he make her see what he did? He reached for her hand, taking it in both of his. Her skin was soft and cool, the tremble in her fingers subtle but unmistakable. He rubbed a gentle circle with his thumb, wishing he could absorb her pain.

“You have such strength, Jess. I cannot imagine the daily struggle you withstand. As I think on it, all I can imagine is a world of crowds. They are daunting to everyone, but not as you describe. I could not face such a thing as you have. I am glad you had help. Please, let me offer myself as another support. I am here for you, in whatever way you need, whenever you have need of me.”

James ached at the loneliness she had endured, hidden away while the world went on without her. How frightened she must have felt, unable to make sense of her own mind and body. He longed to wrap her in his embrace and only resisted because he did not wish to startle her.

Anger and protectiveness rose in his chest. She had endured this alone for so long.

“You cannot know how much it means to hear you say that.” Jessica glanced down, a few lingering tears glistening on her cheeks. James didn’t hesitate this time, pulling his handkerchief from his pocket. With gentle fingers beneath her chin, he tilted her face up.

Her eyes widened at the contact, lips parting in surprise. James’s pulse raced at her nearness, but he kept his touch light, dabbing the handkerchief at the tear tracks on her skin. Jessica remained still beneath his ministrations.

When he finished, she did not pull away. His fingers still cradled her chin. An aching tenderness filled his chest. Without thinking, James brushed his thumb over her cheek. How could someone so soft on the outside be so resilient and carry such strength within?

“You are so very brave,” he whispered.

Jessica drew a shaky breath. She leaned into his touch. The world around them faded away until there was only her, the warmth of her skin beneath his fingertips, the soft gleam of lantern-light in her eyes.

This was dangerous, to stand so close. To touch her as he was. And yet James could not bring himself to move away. This connection felt far too right. He let his thumb trail along the line of her jaw before reluctantly letting his hand fall away.

“Thank you,” Jessica murmured. “For listening. For understanding.”

James managed a nod, not yet trusting his voice. With effort, he steadied his breathing. She gifted him a tremulous smile.

He had hoped to offer her comfort tonight. In the end, somehow, she had soothed his soul. She had granted him her trust, a thing so precious he couldn’t quite comprehend it. But he would prove worthy of it.

“Tomorrow will likely prove difficult,” Jessica admitted as she stepped aside, bringing them shoulder to shoulder. “The fair will draw a crowd. They said at the inn that all the rooms were full here and in neighboring villages. Lord and Lady Retford advertised the event quite well.”