“When I asked him what he’d like, he mentioned that he’d prefer not to have pickles.” Emma Jane hesitated, wondering if she should share his secret.
Cook nodded slowly. “I wondered who’d been leaving pickles in strange places in the dining room. Poor Mr. Jasper probably didn’t want to hurt his mother’s feelings. Mrs. Jackson prides herself on those pickles, though I don’t know a single soul who can tolerate them. I’ll keep that in mind for the future.”
It was a simple conversation about pickles, but it told something about Jasper’s character that Emma Jane hadn’t been expecting. As much as he played the role of a carefree playboy, Jasper’s compassion ran deep. Rather than hurt his mother’s feelings, he’d gone along with the charade of liking her pickles.
As Emma Jane finished preparing Jasper’s tea, she thought more about Jasper’s compassion. At the church picnic, when everyone else mocked Emma Jane’s outmoded dress and the ridiculous way her mother had painted her face to attract attention, Jasper had reprimanded the girls who’d mistreated her in front of him. He’d spoken to her with kindness and treated her with dignity even when everyone else was whispering about her father losing everything at the gambling halls. He’d even promised to help her find a way to get her family out of the mess.
Of course, he hadn’t meant to marry her, and he’d said as much. Poor Jasper had only thought to do a good deed for Emma Jane, and she’d repaid him by forcing a marriage he didn’t want.
She sighed and put the sandwich and tea on a tray. No, she hadn’t forced the marriage. Her parents had. And when she’d tried telling everyone that it wasn’t Jasper’s fault they’d been trapped in a mine together and that nothing had happened requiring marriage, everyone ignored her.
When she arrived back in her room, Jasper lay sprawled in the chair, his mouth hanging open, snoring softly. His thick dark hair had fallen over closed eyes. The rugged lines had disappeared from his face, and he appeared so peaceful, full of calm and innocence. Looking at him like this, Emma Jane understood why his looks beguiled so many. He seemed so handsome and debonair. So...perfect. Everyone seemed to want that perfection, and yet, the more time Emma Jane spent with Jasper, the more she realized there was so much more to him. Which was strange, because she barely knew him at all.
After setting the tray down on a nearby table, Emma Jane took one of the blankets from her bed and tucked it around Jasper. She’d have liked to have moved him, but she wasn’t that strong, and she didn’t want to disturb him. He seemed to be sleeping comfortably enough, and because she’d napped on that very chair a time or two, Emma Jane knew he’d be fine.
Then, because it seemed like the right thing to do, Emma Jane bent and kissed him on the forehead. “May God bless you and keep you.”
She crossed the room, turned out the lights, then climbed back into her own bed and settled into sleep.
* * *
Jasper woke with a crick in his neck, feeling more rested than he had in days, yet not entirely comfortable. He opened his eyes, then realized where he was. Emma Jane’s room. He must have fallen asleep when she’d gone to get him something to eat. He glanced around the room and noticed the tray sitting on a nearby table.
Dear, sweet girl. His stomach rumbled, so he went ahead and grabbed the sandwich. The tea was cold, but it quenched his thirst. He ate and drank, enjoying the meal she’d prepared for him. Even the lack of pickles on his sandwich warmed his heart. True, his mother would have done the same and brought him a tray. But something about the fact that Emma Jane had taken it upon herself to tend to him was endearing. She hadn’t needed to go to all that trouble.
As if to remind him of her presence, Emma Jane gave a small sigh as she shifted in her bed. He looked over at her, noticing that she lay curled up in the blanket, almost like a child. Her hair lay spread out across the pillow, a deep honey shade that was neither brown nor blond, but a combination of the two. He’d heard people talk about how plain Emma Jane’s looks were, but watching her sleep, he thought her quite lovely. True, she didn’t have the classical beauty that seemed to be prized in society, but there was something genuinely attractive about her innocent face and lack of artifice.
Emma Jane sighed yet again and mumbled something incoherent. Jasper turned away. He shouldn’t be intruding on her private moments of rest.
She’d been kind to him the night before, trying to talk to him and find out what he was really like. For all her faults, Emma Jane was trying to be a good wife. But could she make up for the fact that she’d used him so badly?
He remembered how she’d made a point to tell him that she’d complied with his request, not investigating on her own and relying on him to share information.
Emma Jane was doing her part, and it was time he thought about doing his. Letting go of his resentment of the situation and giving her an honest chance. He’d told her last night that he was finding it difficult. But for as hard as he saw Emma Jane trying, he knew he owed her nothing less.
Jasper folded the blanket Emma Jane had put around him. Her consideration gave him pause. He hadn’t known that she’d helped out the night of the brothel fire. Nor had he known that she’d been helping with the women displaced by the brothel fire. In some ways, it shamed Jasper to realize that as angry as he was about his marriage, he hadn’t at all thought about what kind of woman he’d ended up with.
Somehow, in all of this mess, he’d found himself attached to a good woman.
As he placed the blanket on the chair, the bedroom door opened.
“Jasper! What are you doing in here?”
His mother’s gasp jolted him and, from the startled sound in the bed, Emma Jane, as well.
“Good morning, Mother.”
“Answer my question.”
Jasper wanted to laugh at his mother’s insistence. He was a married man, and still she concerned herself with the propriety of being in a woman’s—no, his wife’s—bedchamber.
“Emma Jane heard me come in late, and she wanted to be sure I was taken care of.” He gestured to the empty plate. “I fell asleep in the chair, and she was kind enough to let me rest.”
“She should have alerted the staff.” His mother’s face was pinched in an unpleasant expression. “Speaking of which, one of the maids says she saw Emma Jane leaving the kitchen last night. I cannot have her interfering with the staff’s business.”
He knew his marriage had been hard on his mother, who’d dreamed of a big society wedding with a woman of her choosing. But as he’d told her the day before, they had to come to terms with the fact that life had other plans for them.
“Emma Jane was being a good wife,” Jasper said in a carefully modulated tone. “I was grateful for her kindness to me.”
“I see.” She turned her attention to Emma Jane, who’d just woken and now sat up in bed, pulling her covers around her. “In the future, please leave the care of my son to our staff.”
Was his mother seriously telling Emma Jane not to take care of him? Did she truly expect that he and Emma Jane were going to continue to live in this house as strangers? But as he saw the tension in his mother’s elegant figure, he knew that was exactly what she was thinking. His mother never thought that he and Emma Jane would have a real marriage.
Jasper swallowed. He’d never imagined it, either. But he had hoped that, over time, he and Emma Jane could at least find a peaceful way to live together. Last night, she had reached out to him in an attempt to make that happen.
Constance’s edict would only serve to drive a wedge between their already fragile marriage.
“I like Emma Jane’s care, Mother. So if it’s no trouble to her, then I see no need for her to rouse the servants on my behalf.” Jasper looked directly at Emma Jane, hoping she understood that he was on her side.
“I