Page 32 of Adeline

A jolt of pain so powerful he nearly fell to his knees spiked his chest, and his breath left him in a rush. It was something he and his servants lived every day knowing, yet never spoke of. It was the cloud that had descended on all of Faversham all those years ago, one that had never lifted, never cleared, never faded. They’d all gotten so used to the darkness and their beast, that no one sought the light any longer. At least not since Jasper’s aunt had died. She’d been the only spot of sunshine in all of Faversham, never allowing her shine to dim no matter the mourning that continued around her.

“Please, tell me what happened to your parents.” Adeline moved toward him again but stopped when Jasper flinched. “Who raised you? Why are you here, in this huge home, all by yourself?”

Why had he thought the woman would come and go, letting him escape being forced to face all these question—the heart of his past? Though Jasper was certain his heart had stopped beating when he was unable to save his parents, their servants, and the horses from the fire that had consumed the Faversham stable.

He didn’t want to discuss this, especially with Adeline. It was a burden he never would have wished to place on her shoulders, for it was his and his alone. Yet, her concerned stare drew the words from him.

“My mother and father perished in a fire that claimed the lives of several Faversham servants along with a half-dozen horses.” When she remained silent, and whatever vice had held tight to his chest a moment before began to lessen, allowing him to breathe, he continued. “My paternal uncle and his wife came to the Abbey and saw to my upbringing.”

Not a hint of pity or judgment shadowed her face. “Your scars...” With each word she spoke, Adeline kept her eyes on his. “They are from the fire.”

No question, meaning no denial was needed on his part. “Yes.”

“How old were you?”

“Twelve.” Jasper swallowed to keep the sob within him, not daring to say another word, lest his voice tremble as much as his body did.

He’d spoken enough, shared more than he planned, but he would comment no more on the subject.

Jasper would not confess that it was all his fault: the fire, the deaths, and the continuing distrust of the villagers. If he hadn’t had a habit of staying up late, reading by candlelight in the rafters, his parents would never have come looking for him in the stables. Yet, that night it hadn’t been his candle to set the blaze, nor had he been in the stables when the fire commences. Though, from the reaction of the servants, Jasper might as well have been completely to blame.

“I’m so sorry for your loss.” She took the final step toward him and reached out to take his hand. Her skin was soft, and warm, despite her still damp clothing. She must have removed her gloves when they returned. Jasper hadn’t noticed. What he did know was that her delicate caress was not meant for him. In no realm of possibility had Jasper done enough to deserve the innocent, pure touch of an unblemished lady. “I cannot imagine—“

He cleared his throat, shrugging away her hold on his hand. “Let us not imagine it at all.”

He turned toward the hearth, his forehead only inches from the mantel, but the warmth was welcome. The look of injury certain to overtake her at his refusal to speak further on the subject was not something Jasper wanted to see, let alone attempt to withstand.

Something about Adeline had Jasper silently vowing to not let her down. He didn’t want to disappoint her, but he had no choice but to turn away from her. It was for her own good, even if she didn’t understand.

“Your aunt and uncle are kind people?”

“Were,” he corrected. “And yes, they were the kindest, most caring relatives an orphaned child could ever hope for. They made certain I wasn’t alone and saw to my education.”

“What University did you attend?”

That she’d latched on to the change in topic both surprised and unsettled him, bringing him around to face her. “My educational needs were attended to here at the Abbey.”

Adeline retreated as a spark of unease filled her eyes at his harsh tone. A measure of guilt coiled around his chest. It was not her fault that the mere thought of his past filled him with an overpowering need to escape, to flee, to…hide.

“They passed away years ago—my aunt when I was seventeen, and my uncle when I was twenty-two.” He pushed through the pain, needing to repair the damage he’d done a moment before. “They prepared me well for my responsibilities as the lord and master of Faversham Abbey. I have everything I need, and seek to provide well for those who depend on the Ailesbury Earldom.”

It was Adeline who turned away next, pacing to the lounge. She seemed to debate something in her head before deciding there was no harm and lowering herself to sit. She crossed her ankles and slid them under her as she folded her hands in her lap. It was all a dramatic show, the stilted conversation grounding to a halt as she arranged her skirts and refolded her hands.

Too late, Jasper realized the woman was making herself comfortable as if she expected the candid conversation to continue, and her time at Faversham was little more than an afternoon social call. Adeline seemed to forget that she still wore her borrowed wet habit and that her hair hung loosely down her back and over her shoulders.

“What of your responsibilities in parliament?” she asked.

It was difficult for a man to assume such duties when all his time was spoken for in Kent. “I have yet to accept my seat as there are many things that keep me otherwise engaged here in the country.” She seemed to allow his words to sink in. “I have always meant to one day travel to London. However, the—“

“You’ve never been to London?” she asked.

The truth of the matter was far more shocking than she knew. “Since my parents’ deaths, I have not traveled more than an hour’s ride from Faversham Abbey.”

Her mouth fell open, and her shoulders tensed. “What of holiday trips?” He shook his head. “Meetings with advisors, vendors, and clients for Home Works?” Again, he gave his head a firm shake.

“My father’s solicitor, Barclay, visits Faversham twice a year. He handles outside investors and the export of gunpowder from the plant.”

“Have you never been to a proper London ball? The opera or playhouse?”