Page 55 of The Bachelor Spy
Grace stood and glanced past him to Jane, who looked as if she had been crying. Again.
“Yes, Brandon. Do stay. And if Jane feels uncomfortable with your presence”—she gestured toward the trembling girl—”then we shall take our privacy.”
“Indeed, my lady. She requested I remain present.” Brandon’s tone deepened. “As a witness.”
A witness?
Good heavens.
“I believe she has something of importance to confess,” he added.
“I see.” A sluice of cold dread washed over Grace’s earlier agitation. “Yes, then, Brandon. Please stay.”
Jane entered fully, and Grace’s heart twisted at the sight of her blotchy face and red-rimmed eyes. The girl clutched something wrapped in cloth to her chest, her hands quivering.
“Jane, what on earth has happened? Is it your father?” Grace stepped forward, but Jane lifted a shaking hand.
“Please, my lady. Don’t—don’t be kind to me. I can’t bear it.” Her voice cracked. “Not after what I’ve done.”
Grace exchanged a glance with Brandon, who stood sentinel at the door.
“Why don’t you sit and tell me what’s troubling you,” Grace said softly, lowering herself into her chair and gesturing toward the opposite seat.
Jane shook her head violently. “I don’t deserve to sit in your presence, my lady. I’m … I’m a thief.” The word broke on a sob. “A common thief. You’ve been nothing but good to me, and I’ve stolen from you.”
Everything in Grace’s mind halted.
Jane?
Janewas the thief?
This revelation did not fit any of Grace’s very elaborate, well-constructed theories.
“What are you talking about?”
“The candlesticks. The silver ones from the drawing room.” Jane’s words tumbled out in a rush now, as if she’d been holding them back for so long they were bursting to get out. “And the painting from the morning room—the small one of the sheep in the meadow. I took them. I was going to sell them to pay for Papa’s treatment.”
She unwrapped the cloth with shaking hands, revealing the two silver candlesticks.
“I only sold the painting,” Jane continued, her voice barely above a whisper. “But I couldn’t … After you gave me that money, after you were so kind, I couldn’t sell these too. I tried to take them to the pawn shop in Matlock, but every time I looked at them, I saw your face. The way you smiled at me. The way you didn’t even hesitate to help.”
Tears streamed down her cheeks.
“I’m so sorry, my lady. I’m so very sorry. I know sorry ain’t enough. I know what I’ve done is unforgivable. But I couldn’t keep carrying this guilt. It’s been eating me alive. Every time I see you, your … your kindness, I feel worse.”
Grace sat very still, processing. This was rather disappointing in several ways. First, because it did not remotely resemble the dangerous criminal mastermind scheme she’d been certain lay behind everything. Second, because it never felt particularly pleasant to be deceived. And third—oh, poor Jane. To feel so desperate she would jeopardize both her reputation and her position.
Over silver candlesticks, no less. Not even the reallyinterestingpieces.
“Why didn’t you simply ask me for help?” Grace asked softly. “If you needed money for your father, why didn’t you come to me?”
Jane let out a sound halfway between a laugh and a sob. “Because people like me don’t ask people like you for help, my lady. We’re not supposed to burden our betters with our problems. We’re supposed to be grateful for our wages and not ask for more.”
“That’s not—” Grace started, then stopped. Because wasn’t it true? Wasn’t that exactly how society worked in this world? Servants were supposed to be invisible, their problems their own. But that had never been Grace’s way. “Jane, you must know by now that isn’t how I do things.”
“I know that now.” Jane’s voice cracked, and she sent a look over at Brandon. “But by the time I realized it, I’d already taken the painting and the candlesticks.”
She sank to her knees, still clutching the candlesticks.
