Jane pressed her hand against her lips in complete empathy with his emotions, even without fully knowing the cause.

“Even at the time, I thought that Beth had not learned as much as she ought to have, but was willing to believe that perhaps she did not have as much aptitude as my parents had hoped. No one else said anything, and I, fool that I was, said nothing, not wishing to bring discord where everyone seemed content. I returned to Oxford after the first of the year.

When I came again three months later, Beth put on a very pretty tableau vivant for us, and I was relieved that my fears were groundless. Even then, though, I remember noting that he had stood by her, but presumed it was to catch her if she fainted. He was flushed and sweating, but I attributed that to a mixture of pride and nervous energy. Now—oh, now I understand all too well why he was flushed. I also remember the laugh she gave when she finished and how, when I praised her, she said that all the praise belonged to Mr. Gaffney. I should have seen it then. In her manner; in his. But I had been so long away that I thought she was only growing up. And him? What did I know of him? Only what my father told me, which was nothing but praise.

Shortly after, I left the family to go hunting with some fellows of mine. We were gone some days in the country, and only when we returned to my friend’s house did I find that I had an urgent post from my father. Beth had run away with Mr. Gaffney.”

He paused again to collect himself, the memory even now too raw in its horror for him to continue without effort. Jane could see all too clearly why Beth did not want her brother to know she had a secret engagement; it would only bring this earlier indiscretion to mind.

“You cannot—indeed, I hope that you cannot—imagine the horror this gave me. I had known, you see, that something was not right. But with Gaffney’s references, with his manners and bearing, it was impossible to imagine that he had spent his time with Beth, not teaching her, but wooing her. Though the clues were small, they were there for me to see in hindsight. Her poor performance at the holidays, followed by a sudden leap in ability. And then—then I understood why she had given all praise to Mr. Gaffney. She had not performed the tableau vivant. He had. To mask the hours spent together and how little they worked on glamour, he had worked the folds of glamour from his place by her side. Had I but looked, I would have seen it.

The scoundrel took her across the border into Scotland, and after a week, I caught up with them. I met him in the only manner that I could.”

Jane, startled, stopped in the lane and said, “What? Did you meet him to—?” Her thoughts went to the box on the mantel in his drawing room, and to the dueling pistols it contained.