An Inconvenient Arrangement

Chapter 31: Rafe

"What's this about you not wanting to dance, poppet?" Raphael asked in bafflement after dismissing the fretting nanny who was supposed to be helping Jane dress. Jane stood in the corner of her room, fat tears rolling down her eyes.

'Dancing is stupid.'

"What? All of a sudden? Didn't you just say you wanted to go to a ball? Like a proper lady in the London Season?"

'London is stupid. I hate London. I want to go home.'

"No, darling," He crouched down so that they were at eye level with one another, his tone gentle. "Tell me why you've changed your mind."

A mix of emotions passed over Jane's face before she finally lifted her hands again.

'Everything bad happens in London. I want to go home.'

"Oh, poppet," he sighed, opening his arms and allowing her to step into his embrace. The soft rustling of fabric told him that Sylvie too had arrived to check on Jane. Rafe expected her to come barging in but to his surprise, she made no effort to cross the threshold. And he was touched more than he expected he would be by this simple act of trust, that she would let him deal with her daughter when the child was upset. "You were born in London, so how could that possibly be true?"

'My real mama died here. I lost my hearing here. And my father.....he said that he would come to Carlisle and that we would live together. He promised that he was coming home after Christmas. He said he would take me ice skating and fishing. That he would show me the best hiding spots for our games. He promised. But he went away too.'

"Oh, Jane," Sylvie's voice came from behind them, thick with tears, but she made no move to come forward.

'What if more bad things happen? What if Mama gets hurt? What if the bad man comes and takes me away?'

"That won't happen," Sylvie's firm response cut off whatever Rafe had been about to say as she finally stepped into view. She raised her hands and repeated it in sign. Rafe sucked in a sharp breath at the sight of her, dressed in a simple, serviceable green gown, her hair done up in an equally simple style, but days of seeing her in various shades of black for her mourning clothes, the color threatened to gut him and bring him to his knees.

How was it possible that she called to him like no other?

Ever since that god damned summer with the eclairs. And she had just grown more appealing with age.

Raphael, without a shadow of a doubt, could say that Sylvia Heartwood had been prettier at three and twenty than she had been at nineteen. And Sylvia Heartwood at nearly thirty? She was beyond exquisite.

While she looked at Jane, Raphael drank her in greedily. If this was how he was responding to her in the plainest clothes imaginable, god help him when she came out of mourning and he could lavish her with silks and satins in the finest quality.

'And do you want to know why I'm sure?'

Jane nodded her head hesitantly.

'Because we have Uncle Rafe here. And he would never, ever let either of us get hurt.'

When their eyes met, Rafe felt an undercurrent of something in that look. A trust and faith so profound that it shook Rafe's very soul. She believed every word that she was saying and that faith? That trust? It made Raphael feel as though he was ten feet tall.

"She's absolutely right. I would never let anyone touch a hair on your head, Jane."

In response, Jane wrapped her little arms around his neck and squeezed him tightly. He stood up, sweeping Jane up in his arms and turning to Sylvie who came with her own arms outstretched and Jane went to her mother readily. As he handed her off he caught the sight of the three of them in the nursery's mirror and felt himself freeze at what he saw.