My Plain Jane (The Lady Janies #2)(104)

“I’d be willing to make you my heirs. Think about it. That twenty thousand pounds a year, after I die. You’d be rich.”

“Twenty thousand pounds!” came Helen’s voice from behind them.

“Oh, Helen. You can’t take it with you,” said Jane.

“Go. To. Hell,” Charlotte enunciated plainly.

The duke smiled. “Oh, dear. Do you at least have my book? You checked it out, Miss Eyre, but you did not return it in a timely fashion. Give it back to me at once, or there will be consequences.”

A shudder made its way down Charlotte’s spine. There was nothing so disturbing to her as an overdue book. Possible fines. It was very scary.

Jane held up the Book of the Dead. “We’re going to keep it, thank you. You’ve clearly been abusing its power.”

The duke sighed dramatically. “Well, this puts me in a rather awkward position. I, of course, wish to remain as I am, as the prime minister and the caretaker—you might say—to the king. You obviously mean to stop me, and will not be reasoned with. Therefore I must get rid of you. The easiest way would be to kill you all. I have a gun, but then so do you, and I find that I am outnumbered. Obviously that won’t work.” He sighed again. “So I’m afraid I’ll have to stick to my initial plan of killing poor old William IV.” He was still aiming the gun at the king’s head.

“All right,” said the king. “But it’s going to hurt, isn’t it?”

“Only for a moment.”

“But then you’ll put me back into the next king,” the white-haired man said slowly.

“Yes. After I frame Mr. Blackwood and his friends for regicide.”

“Wait a second.” King Mitten hesitated. “Isn’t the next in line for the throne actually a woman?”

“It’s a girl. Victoria, I think her name is.” The duke chuckled. “As if a woman could ever rule a country without a man behind her secretly pulling the strings.”

Charlotte’s mouth opened. “That doesn’t make sense. Elizabeth was a great queen!”

“But . . . a girl?” Mitten looked doubtful.

“You’ll get to be young again, and beautiful, and rich,” said the duke.

But the man who resembled the king was frowning deeply. “I don’t think I would be comfortable, you know, in a woman’s body.”

“You’d get used to it,” argued the duke.

“No, I wouldn’t. Even being in this old fellow is a bit odd. His back aches from all the sitting, and he has too much hair in his nose, but at least the equipment’s all the same. I don’t want to be a girl.”

“You’ll be what I say you’ll be.” Wellington sounded angry. “Now hold still.”

“No!” The king (or the ghost inside of the king) jumped to his feet. “I don’t want to be a girl! I won’t! You can’t make me.”

The duke scowled and tried to shoot him, but at that moment Mr. Blackwood darted in and grabbed the duke’s arm, at the same time that Bran leapt forward and tackled the king to the floor. Charlotte’s heart seized at the thought that her brother might take the bullet himself, but instead it shattered a rather expensive-looking vase in the corner. The duke shoved Mr. Blackwood back and pointed his gun at Jane.

“Don’t move or I’ll shoot her!” he cried.

Everyone—even the king, who had continued to repeat how he did not want to be a girl—froze.

The duke smoothed his hair back. “I know you love her,” he sneered at Mr. Blackwood. “Even though she’s so remarkably plain, you love her, and if you try to get at me, I’ll kill her right before your eyes.”

“What?” Charlotte squeaked. “What did you say about love?”

“Him?” Jane said incredulously, at the very same moment that Mr. Blackwood said, “Her?”

“You’re obviously in love,” said the duke. “You kept talking about her—how resourceful she was, and quick-witted, and how you wanted her to be an agent. And you—” He turned to Jane. “You were so devastated when I told you that he was dead. Because you—”

“She’s more of a friend, is all,” said Mr. Blackwood. “But we’re not—”

“Right, they’re not in love,” said Charlotte. “You’re reading it all wrong.”

“I have a thing for Rochester,” confessed Jane. “It’s not healthy.”

Mr. Rochester coughed uncomfortably. “My dear, I am so sorry at what my brother put you through while he was in control of my body. I couldn’t stop him. I wish there was something I could have—”

“Oh, no,” Jane said demurely. “I know it wasn’t your fault. I would never blame you.”

Mr. Rochester gave a short laugh. “And goodness—I’m old enough to be your father, aren’t I? As a matter of fact, we have a—”

“And you love your wife,” Mrs. Rochester added loudly.

He turned to gaze at her. “Yes. I love my wife. More than anything.”

“That’s wonderful,” murmured Jane. “I’m so happy for you. I—”

“I feel we’re getting off topic,” interrupted the duke. But then he didn’t say anything more. Instead, he grabbed a large painting from the wall—this one actually turned out to be one of William IV, himself, and hurled it at them. They ducked, and the duke took the opportunity to flee, screaming for the guards that there had been an attempt on the life of the king.