Unclaimed (Turner #2)(74)

“Was there a great deal of gossip?”

“No.” She shook her head. Her hair covered his hands momentarily, before she flicked it away again. “Just sympathy.”

His eyebrows flickered downward in confusion.

“Nobody ever found out. My father threw me out of the house. Then he put it about that I had become ill, that I went to stay with relatives in Bath for my health. After a month, they told everyone I had died.”

His breath sucked in. “Oh, Jessica.”

He’d thought the other night that he was rich because he had his brothers. He felt it doubly now. He set his hands on the curve of her shoulders.

“Don’t. Don’t feel sorry for me. It doesn’t sting any longer.”

He didn’t believe that, not one bit.

“And he was right,” Jessica said. “He was right when he told me I should not take risks with my reputation. He was right when he told me I should not go driving with an older man. And he was right to throw me out of the house and disown me entirely. I was born Jessica Carlisle. Since then, I’ve called myself Jessica Farleigh. I relinquished all rights to my family name when I lost my family.”

The silence ate into him, caustic as acid.

“Your father. The man who first ruined you.” He tallied marks on her shoulder as he spoke. “And when you finally told me, I walked away from you. Jessica, has anyone ever stood by you?”

“My sisters.” A tiny whisper. “Charlotte and Ellen.” Jessica smiled. “We used to talk. If they’d been asked, I don’t want to think what they would have sacrificed for me—but I know they would—” She cut the sentence short. “Maybe it does still hurt a little.”

She drew in careful breaths, as if measuring them precisely would stave off tears.

“I send my father letters,” she continued. “So they’ll know I’m alive and well. But I’ve not heard one word from my family in seven years. Every year, I check the church records, just so I know where they are.”

Seven years. Mark tried to imagine what that would feel like, tried to envision himself cut off from his brothers for even so many weeks. He couldn’t comprehend it. Even when he and Smite had spent those months on the streets of Bristol, his brother had protected him. He couldn’t imagine a world in which his siblings didn’t exist. He had never been alone.

“Oh, Jessica.”

She smacked him on the shoulder—not hard, but enough to get his attention. “Look at me, Mark. Look at me, and stop feeling sorry for me. I’m not fourteen any longer. I lived. I survived. I did what had to be done. And it could have been worse.”

“How?”

“He might not have taken me to London,” Jessica said simply. “And I might have ended up in the hands of a procuress, or in a brothel. I…I may have been fourteen when I left home, but I met Amalie the first week I arrived. She had had the same protector for five years. She taught me how to get by. How to avoid the worst mistakes. Don’t you feel sorry for me, Mark. I survived.”

“Stop simply surviving. Marry me. Forget all of that—”

She leaned back into him. Her fingers found his lips, cutting off his words. “Don’t. Don’t. The most important thing that Amalie taught me is when it was safe to stay, and when you have to walk away.”

“You’re going to walk away from me?” Mark felt something dangerous building in his chest. “Not a chance.”

“No. You don’t know the worst of it.” Her voice was small. “There is something else. Something you don’t know.”

“Something worse than being cast out at fourteen?”

She didn’t answer right away. He reached out to her and pulled her to him. He could feel the subtle tremble of her hands. But she didn’t push him away. And when he held her, stroked her hair, she leaned against him. That was an illusion, though; he could feel her tension.

“It happened when I discovered I was pregnant.”

He started in surprise, and she stopped speaking. Her breath grew shorter. His had, too.

“I had taken precautions, of course, but no precaution is ever entirely effective. By the time I realized what was happening and told my…protector, I was months along.”

Mark’s throat closed, swallowing all the words he could imagine. He breathed, forcing them out anyway. “Did he cast you off?”

“No.” Jessica swallowed the lump in her throat. “He was actually quite kind. Or so I thought. He told me he would take care of the matter, that I should have nothing to worry about. I thought—I thought he meant…”

She didn’t say anything for a while. She had, perhaps, thought he meant to care for her. To keep her, in a more permanent capacity—to make some provision for her.

“The next time he saw me, he offered me a cup of a special blend of tea. He told me it had been mixed particularly for him, and he wanted me to try some. It was supposed to be a flavored tea, he said. An experiment, released only to a few.”

He couldn’t speak at all, could only hold her.

“It wasn’t just tea leaves in there. It was pennyroyal and lady’s lace and I don’t know what else from the apothecary, all brewed to bitterness, and then mixed with milk and sweetened. I didn’t know what was in the pot. He said he liked it. And so I drank it all. Just to be polite. You always have to be polite.”