Page 83 of Stolen By the Heartless Duke

Her mother looked up sharply. “A disagreement leaves marks like this?”

Jane gently withdrew her hand and tucked it behind her back. “He was… frustrated. That is all.”

“That is not all,” her mother insisted, voice rising. Then she lowered it again, fear creeping back in. “Jane, what is happening in this house? First Colin, then those men, then your uncle behaving as if he owns everything—” Her voice cracked. “I do not understand any of it anymore.”

Jane felt something tightening in her chest. She softened her expression, just enough. “Mother,” she said gently, stepping closer, “you are overwhelmed. Anyone would be.”

Her mother shook her head, tears welling now. “I amfrightened.”

That admission hit harder than any argument. Jane reached out and took both of her hands this time, steadying them. “You do not need to be frightened,” she said carefully. “I am handling it.”

Her mother let out a shaky laugh that had no humor in it. “You are handling it?” she repeated. “Jane, you are barely more than a girl yourself.”

“I am handling it,” she repeated. “And Colin will be found.”

Her mother searched her face as if she was trying to find something solid to hold onto there. “But Zachary,” she whispered. “He said such things… about the estate… about us… I do not like the way he looks at this house. It is as if he is already?—”

“Mother,” Jane interrupted softly.

Her mother stopped. Jane squeezed her hands once, grounding her. “Do not borrow tomorrow’s fears.”

That earned a faint, tired exhale from her mother. Not quite relief. But something closer. For a moment, they just stood there in the corridor. The house around them felt too large, too hollow, as if it had been rearranged while no one was looking. Zachary was already seeing to that.

Her mother’s grip tightened slightly. “Jane… what are we going to do?”

Jane looked past her mother’s shoulder, down the corridor where Uncle Zachary had disappeared. She forced herself back into the present.

“We are going to keep going,” she said simply.

Jane softened her tone again. “Go and sit down. I will have tea brought to you.”

Her mother hesitated. “And you?”

“I will be with you shortly.”

Her mother finally nodded, though her eyes lingered on Jane’s wrist again before she turned and walked slowly back toward the sitting room, still visibly shaken.

Jane waited until she was out of sight before letting her shoulders drop slightly. The moment she was alone again, the corridor felt colder. She rang the bell once to alert her mother’s lady’s maid that it was time for tea, and flexed her wrist afterwards. The ache was still there, but it was distant now, as if it belonged to someone else.

Jane’s jaw tightened. She turned and walked in the opposite direction, toward her mother’s sitting room, rearranging her expression before she even reached the doorway.

By the time she stepped inside, she was calm again. She felt composed. She knew to be careful. A daughter returning to her duties, nothing more.

Her mother looked up immediately. “Jane?”

“I am here,” Jane said gently, pouring herself into the role with practiced ease. “You are not alone.”

And as she sat down beside her mother, taking up the teacup that had been set out, Jane kept her hand steady.

Even as everything inside her refused to be still.

Chapter Eleven

The note arrived just as Hector was preparing to retire for the evening. Benson entered his study with his usual measured stride, carrying a silver tray. Upon it rested a single folded sheet, sealed with plain wax.

“For you, Your Grace.”

Hector looked up from the reports spread across his desk. He had spent the better part of the evening reviewing the names his parliamentary acquaintance had sent him, known associates of Phineas Strachan, suspected gambling dens, warehouses near the docks, shipping manifests that revealed nothing useful. Hours of work had yielded little beyond more questions.