The Heiress Effect (Brothers Sinister #2)(26)

“Of us?”

“I forget; you don’t know us. My brother, Ro—the Duke of Clermont. Sebastian Malheur. Me. They called us the Brothers Sinister because we were always together, and we are all left-handed.”

“Are you sinister?” she asked.

Something flashed in his eyes, a hint of discomfort. “I’ll leave you to decide. I can hardly judge for myself.”

Her nervousness had faded to a pleasant hum. She was smiling a great deal at him.

“Tell me, Miss Fairfield,” he murmured in a low voice. “What do you think? Because I rather get the impression that you’re a good judge of sinister behavior.”

She could feel the tug of him. She’d dreamed of this—of having a friend, someone she could laugh with. Someone who looked at her and looked again, who looked for the pleasure of looking and not to criticize her deportment or her clothing. If she had dared, she might have dreamed of more.

But the bell rang behind him, and Jane glanced over to see who had entered the shop.

Her breath caught. It was Susan, the upstairs maid, dressed in brown and white. She caught sight of Mrs. Blickstall, still sitting bored at the front of the room; Mrs. Blickstall sat up straighter and pointed at Jane in the back.

Jane took a step forward just as Susan came up to her.

“Miss Fairfield, if you please.” The maid’s voice was breathy, as if she’d dashed all the way here from the house.

She probably had.

Susan glanced once at Mr. Marshall. “Perhaps we might have a word outside.”

“You can speak freely,” Jane said. “Mr. Marshall is a friend.”

He didn’t dispute the label, and her heart thumped once.

“There’s another physician come,” Susan said. “I got away as soon as I could, but he was just going in with Miss Emily as I left, and that was twenty minutes past.”

“Oh, hell. What kind of quackery does this one practice?”

“Galvanics, Miss. That’s what he said.”

“What the devil are galvanics?”

“Electric current,” Mr. Marshall supplied. “Usually stored in some sort of electrical battery, used to deliver shocks as—” He stopped talking.

Jane felt her face go white. She couldn’t look at him. She couldn’t think of this dream world she was leaving, this place where one might talk of books and laugh about pranks and consider what it meant to be respectable. This was not the world she inhabited.

She fumbled a heavy coin from her pocket and pressed it into Susan’s hand. “Thank you,” she said.

The household staff no doubt very much appreciated the fact that Jane and her uncle were at odds. It gave them all sorts of ways to supplement their income.

“Miss Fairfield,” Mr. Marshall said carefully, “might I accompany you home?”

In her mind, she’d imagined telling him everything. She’d imagined him telling her not to fret, that it would be all right. But he couldn’t say that now. After all, he’d told her he wouldn’t lie to her.

It wouldn’t be all right. The best she could hope for was an uneasy truce—one bought with as many banknotes as she could carry.

Her mind had gone numb. There was no room in her life for a simple friendship.

“No.” Her voice was tight. “Don’t. You’re respectable, see, and you should try to remain that way. I have to go bribe a doctor.”

Chapter Six

By the time she reached home, Jane could scarcely breathe. Her chest heaved uselessly against her corset and spots danced in front of her eyes.

The housekeeper greeted her in the entry, glancing once out the door. But she didn’t ask any impertinent questions—questions like, Where is the carriage? or Why are you gasping for air?

Jane answered those unspoken queries anyway. “I left the carriage behind,” she said. “I thought a brisk walk would be nice.” In truth, with the market in full force today, it would have taken her forty-five minutes to bring the conveyance around. It had taken her fifteen minutes of quick marching to make her way home.

“Of course,” the housekeeper said, as if it made sense for Jane to be heaving in the entryway like a fish landed on the dock.

Jane’s hair was falling out of its careful arrangement. The curls at her ears were tilting; the hairpiece of long brown curls pinned to the nape of her neck had come askew. Pins jabbed into her scalp. She reached up a hand, tried to arrange it all into some semblance of order, and gave up when her fingers encountered chaos.

The housekeeper didn’t move from her spot. “The exercise has brought color to your complexion.”

Ha. Sweat beaded on Jane’s forehead. She could feel it trickling down one cheek, tickling her skin as it slid. She didn’t need a mirror to tell that her face was bright as brick.

“I’ll just go see my sister, then?” She threw this out airily.

Mrs. Blickstall was just turning onto the street behind her, puffing heavily.

“Yes,” Jane said. “I’ll go talk with Emily. Just like I always do when I return home.” Coming at a dead run, just like I always do. She clamped her lips together. Shut up, Jane.

The housekeeper gave her a pitying look—one that said, Really, Miss Fairfield, don’t bother with the lies. We all know how this is supposed to work.