Actions most certainly had consequences.
Yet how was Jane to have known this, when she'd never been given the right to make any but the most frivolous of choices?
The carriage came into view, looming up in the mist and rain like a giant ship. Jonathan flagged it down. He helped Jane inside it, out of the rain. Then Amelia. He tied his mount to the back of the vehicle, then climbed inside, shut the door, and rapped smartly on the roof with his fist.
The carriage started its jouncing, rocking motion forward, and Amelia thought she'd never been as pleased with any particular mode of travel in her life. The Range Rover be hanged-at least this contraption would get them all safely back to the shelter of Lindsey House.
Yet the roads were still dangerous at this time of night, and in a storm such as this. She'd noticed the pistol Jonathan had tucked inside his waistband, and Amelia had utter confidence that he would protect both her and Jane, with his life if necessary.
How like Hugh he is. How Jonathan would have loved to have met him, just for a moment.
She thought how extraordinary it was, to see both people come to life, step out of the mists of history, become living, breathing spirits. They sat on the narrow seat across from her, their faces illuminated by the shifting light from the small lantern. Even in such irregular light, she could see the deep concern on Jonathan's face; the way he looked at Jane was so unbearably intimate that Amelia had to glance away.
Jane had started to cry again, and seemed to be trying to tell him what had happened. It crossed Amelia's mind what an extraordinary thing that was in itself, that she should trust this man with all a woman possessed in this century- her reputation. But this was Jonathan Lindsey, not your ordinary man. He soothed her to silence, and Amelia found comfort in his deep, rich voice.
Soon Jane quieted, her agitation ceased. Amelia leaned back against the seat, her eyes closed, feeling as if she were invading a most private moment but so glad she was out of the driving, chilling rain. Jonathan hummed to Jane; Amelia was sure the man was rocking her in his arms the way a father would tenderly hold his most beloved, wayward child. He talked nonsense into her ear, and at one moment Amelia even heard what sounded like a breathy, exhausted laugh.
Then silence. Jane was asleep, or had fainted from exhaustion, she wasn't sure which. The interior of the carriage was silent as it rocked along the muddy road.
Amelia thought both of them were probably sleeping, or at least Jonathan would have his eyes closed when she chanced a peek. And that moment was the one she knew would be burned into her soul for the rest of her life. She'd remember this, even if Emma's spirit subsumed hers completely and all her former memories left her.
Jonathan rested his chin on the top of Jane's fiery hair. She was asleep, curled into his chest like an exhausted kitten, her small fingers gripping the front of his white shirt and waistcoat. What was so extraordinary about this particular scene was that Jonathan was crying.
The tears coursed down his cheeks, and it seemed as if all the pain in the world were mirrored in his eyes. A pain so deep it seemed to have shattered him.
Amelia couldn't look away. At that moment, she realized the depth of his love for Jane, that he felt her pain as if it were his own, as deeply as she had. He knew her, he could see inside to those most secret recesses of her soul. He knew what tonight had cost her, and it was tearing him apart.
He wasn't thinking about what Jane's folly had done to him, to his dreams, to their impending marriage. He simply empathized, felt her pain, knew her fears. He loved her.
She must have made a slight noise, for somehow Amelia knew she'd alerted him to her presence. His gaze swung to hers, their eyes met, a long frozen moment in time. Amelia almost shrank back, for she knew this certainly had to be a breach in behavior, a most serious offense.
She wasn't even aware of the tears running down her own cheeks.
"We will not speak of this night to anyone," Jonathan said, his deep voice breaking.
Amelia didn't say a word. Couldn't.
"Do you understand?"
She nodded her head.
"We have to protect her."
She found her voice. "Yes."
He wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand.
"Tell me what happened."
With a certain sort of person, you left out the details, sugarcoated the facts. With Jonathan Lindsey, Amelia sensed that nothing could be left out. He was an extraordinarily sensitive man, but strong as well. He could and would be strong this evening, for both himself and Jane.
Briefly, but with as much detail as she could remember, Amelia recounted their evening.
"And you did not think to come to me?"
“The-this plan came up suddenly. She-she threatened to leave without me. I thought the most prudent course of action was to go with her. To protect her. I had no idea…" She faltered as tears filled her voice and her nose stung painfully. "I had no idea of what that man intended to do to her."
The silence in the rocking, creaking carriage was agonizing.
"I believe you," Jonathan said quietly. "And I thank you, for protecting Jane as best you could." His eyes welled with tears as he looked down at the bright head, nestled so trustingly against his chest. "You acted accordingly."
High praise indeed, from Jonathan Lindsey.
She'd had no idea that Jonathan would have to fight his own father before this long night was over.
The carriage took them to the main entrance of Lindsey House, and Jonathan stepped out first, then swung an exhausted Jane up into his arms. He started up the front steps after giving the driver swift, careful instructions for the grooms. He wanted his horses looked after.
Amelia followed close behind him, knowing where her protection lay. She was so very tired, but filled with the knowledge of what an extraordinary evening this had been. And it was still far from over.
"Get her out of here!" The angry voice came from an old man, sitting in a chair by the fire. Now he rose to his full height and Amelia recognized Edward Lindsey, Jonathan's elderly father.
Jonathan simply kept walking toward the staircase. Amelia followed him, practically running on her short, stubby legs to keep up with his long-legged stride.
"You, young woman. Stop. I won't have this going on in my house."
She knew he was addressing her, knew she was a mere servant and in service to this man's family, but Amelia kept her attention on Jonathan's back. If he continued to move, so would she.
"No, Jonathan!" Now Edward made his final move, and it was quite remarkable for a man of his years. He blocked Jonathan at the foot of the stairs, refusing him entry to the rooms upstairs.
"I won't welcome that whore into my house."
"Step aside, Father."
"You cannot be serious-"
"Get out of my way."
Two strong-willed men, clashing over a woman. Amelia stepped back, knowing she had no place in this particular battle. And sensing that it had been an ongoing one.
"You bloody fool, you'll never know whether your children are your own-"
"If she wasn't in my arms, I'd come after you-"
"I will not have her presence in my house!"
"It's my house as well, old man."
The silence stretched interminably, the only sound the pattering of the rain. Its force had lessened, but still it fell outside, sheeting the garden and vast lawns.
She saw the implacable strength in Jonathan's face, and already knew who the winner in this battle would be. The two men faced off, the younger already the winner in this particularly deadly game of one-upmanship.