Her father had settled funds upon her. That handful of words far more telling than anything else she’d uttered to this point. “Who is your father?” he asked quietly.
Jane snapped her attention upward. “My father?” She eyed him with a sudden wariness. “It does not matter.”
And yet it did. It mattered because he wanted to know those details about the young woman before him with her thousands of secrets and unspoken truths. Her response set off the first stirring of warning bells. For the man to have settled funds upon her, he must be a member of polite Society. “Is he a nobleman?” Was it a man whose events he’d attended or spoken with at his clubs? He gripped his glass so hard, his knuckles turned white, as the need to know took on a lifelike force. “Jane?” he demanded with a touch of impatience.
Except, she’d proven herself incapable of being cowed. At his gruff command, she frowned and walked the perimeter of the sofa, ultimately putting distance between them. “It matters not, Gabriel. I will have my funds and you,” she gave a slight, nonchalant shrug. “And you are, of course, free of any obligations or sense of responsibility for me.”
Very well, she’d remain deliberately evasive. He relented. “And you’ll retire to the country and live a quiet,” unwedded, “life.” There was a crime in knowing that a woman of her beauty and spirit would remain forever alone, on the fringe of living.
Then, what was the alternative? Her married to a man who’d take her to his bed and give her children and—he growled.
Jane jumped. “I will establish a school,” she said quickly, likely interpreting that harsh sound as a show of his impatience. “A finishing school,” she clarified. “For young women.” She set her chin at a resolute angle. “A school different than Mrs. Belden’s and those others attended by young ladies. It will be for women such as—” She fell quiet.
Her. For women such as her.
Gabriel dragged a hand over his face. Her school would be a place for the young women who straddled the peerage and impolite Society. He hated that she hovered on the fringe of both. Despised it when she was worth more than most members of the peerage together. He let his hand fall to his side. “When do you attain your funds, Miss Munroe?”
“In two months,” she replied automatically. “One month three weeks and two days, to be precise,” she clarified, more to herself.
Two months. The length of time he’d required a companion for Chloe. He bit back a curse. And also one month three weeks and two days until she had access to those funds. Which posed the question—what would Jane do in the interim? “Who is your father?” he repeated. For the man would surely care for his daughter until then.
She hesitated and for a long moment he expected her to maintain that great secret. Then she squared her shoulders and met his stare with an unrepentant boldness. “The Duke of Ravenscourt.”
Christ. She was one of the Duke of Ravenscourt’s illegitimate issues. He swiped his glass from the table and stalked over to the window.
“My father’s identity changes nothing,” she said, hurrying over to him. “I will not wed you simply because my father is a duke.” She paused. “He is not truly a father,” she said softly. “Nor will he expect anything of you where I am concerned. None of Society will.”
No, the man was no father. A callous, heartless, self-indulgent nobleman who’d allow his offspring to take post after post in the households of other callous, self-indulgent noblemen was no different than the Marquess of Waverlys of the world. Jane, through the years, had been without protection and care. Just as Chloe and Philippa. He clenched his eyes tightly closed.
And yet, if he did not wed her, he’d be no different than any of them. “There is no choice but marriage, Jane,” he said tiredly. The decision had been made long before her admissions. Rather, it had been settled in a small alcove at the London Opera House.
A soft cry escaped her. “What you are proposing is madness, Gabriel.” And just like that, he was Gabriel again to her. “I will not wed you so you might be assuaged of unnecessary guilt. You’ve nothing to be guilty of.”