The Rakehell Regency(321)

"I'm a man of the cloth. If I can't keep faith, who can?" he said gruffly, and swung the carriage door open.



"Uncle Jon, Uncle Jon!" a tiny voice piped from the front door.



An adorable little moppet in a green dress with matching ribbons in her ebony hair threw herself at his knees.



"Hello, Sophie, love."



He swung her up into his arms and returned the resounding kiss she gave him.



She gazed at him with grave green eyes so like her mother's he wanted to weep every time he looked at them. This could have been their child together, if only....



But no, the eyes were not like her mother's any more.



He heard a terrible keening sound coming from the open door.



"'S'not a good day, today," the child whispered, before her thumb crept into her mouth.



Jonathan closed his eyes and swallowed hard. "Oh Lord, give me strength."



"Where is she? Where? Where?" the voice demanded in increasingly strident tones.



A large matronly woman with iron-gray hair clad in a floral patterned frock and apron came hurrying to the door to peer out. "She's safe with Mister Jonathan, Jane," she said.



She waved and blew a kiss at the little girl, who beamed back at her nurse lovingly.



"Where is she? Where?"



"Here, Jane. she's right here. She's safe with me," he called, hurrying inside, leaving a heartbroken Sarah to trail along behind sadly.



She heard a cackling laugh, and the sound of footsteps hurrying toward the door. "Here, my darling, look what I made for you."



Sarah caught a glimpse of a completely knotted and tangled piece of embroidery.



"T'ank 'oo, Mummy," the girl said shyly, though it was clear from her expression that she found the ragged piece of cloth just as pitiful as their visitors did.



"And you, sir, who are you? Why have you come?" came the shrill demand.



"It's me, Jane," he sighed. "Jonathan. Don't your remember?"



He passed one hand over his eyes to avoid looking at the lifeless flat emerald ones he had once sworn he would never grow tired of. Had even composed sonnets to in his youthful folly.



She looked daggers at him through the tangled fall of her ebony hair. "You pig. Leave my daughter alone. You men are all the same. Disgusting! Disgusting!"



Sarah saw him shiver and tremble. "Jonathan, really, we ought to go. You can see it's a bad day."



"But Sophie--"



"Get out. Get out! I hate you! I hate you!" Jane hissed. "You only want to keep me here as your mistress! I know what you want. The way you look at me. The things you want to do to me--"



Sarah tugged hard on her brother's arm, half dragging him to the door. She had to shout above the awful recitation which was becoming more abusive and graphic by the minute.



"Jonathan, we must go. This can do no one any good."



Jonathan resisted her importunate tugging. "Please wait outside, my dear. I would not wish you to hear any more vulgar--"



"I'm not leaving without you, Brother!"



"But--"



"Let's leave together now," Sarah urged, hauling on his arm. "Thomas needs you to go to London. We'll come back soon. When she's having a good day."



A vision of blond, beautiful, adoring Pamela in his arms last night, kissing him, telling him how much she loved him, was the last straw.



He turned and fled.



"Goodbye Sophie, my dear. Take good care of Mummy. I'll see you soon!" he called over his shoulder.



He bolted from the dark room and out into the garden. He grabbed hold of the gate for support and vomited explosively, until he was sure he would turn inside out.



Then Sarah was beside him, holding his middle on either side, before fishing out his handkerchief from his pocket to clean up his face.



"It's all right. It'll be all right," she soothed.



Jonathan fought back the bile still bubbling in the back of his throat. "How? In Heaven's name, how?"



She hugged his head down onto her shoulder, and began to lead him back to the carriage. "I don't know, Brother. I wish to God I did. All we can do is pray for some sort of miracle, or the divine will of Providence."



Jonathan felt as though he would choke. Pray indeed. He'd done nothing but pray. God seemed to do nothing but mock him.



A vision of Pamela arose in his mind once again. Thomas was right. He loved Pamela as he had never loved Jane. He felt as though he was being ripped in two. Yet now both women were lost to him utterly...



He was so wrapped in his welter of emotions he never even heard the commotion still going on inside the house.



"Lawd, no!" the matron shouted.