‘Through and through. Never had any choice in the matter. But I’m starting to see that there’s a hell of a lot more to see and do.’
‘There certainly is. And your talent will take you wherever you want to go.’
He paused, staring up at the ceiling with depthless dark eyes.
‘It’s not just my talent, though, is it?’ he said. ‘I’ve always had that. It’s you.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘My talent never got me anywhere until you came along. It’s not that I’m ungrateful or anything, don’t think that, but it doesn’t seem right. It doesn’t seem right that you can’t get anywhere on what you’ve got unless some person with a big list of contacts notices you.’
‘Well, I see what you’re saying, but it’s the way of the world. There are lots of good artists out there, but we need filters, or we’d be overwhelmed with them.’
‘But there are probably loads and loads of people just as good as me who’ll never even make it this far. It just doesn’t seem right,’ he repeated.
‘I do get that, Jason,’ she said after a while. ‘And perhaps, once your name is made, you can do something to help those people. But until then, we have to work on getting you to the top of the pile.’ She stroked his cheek. ‘Where you belong,’ she whispered.
He sat up, suddenly enthused. ‘That’s what I’ll do,’ he said. ‘If I get famous and all that. I’ll set something up to find kids like I was, from dead end towns, heading into dead end lives. Catch them before it all goes to shit, like it so nearly did with me.’
Jenna struggled up beside him and laid her head on his shoulder.
‘You’re a good man, Jason Watson,’ she said. ‘And I love you.’
‘It’s mutual, babe. Anyway, where’s that diary? I’ve got a feeling it’s about to get to the dirty bit.’
‘There isn’t going to be a dirty bit,’ said Jenna with a peal of laughter. ‘It’s written by a Miss Prim and Proper Victorian governess, you idiot. She may allude to some “slight discomfort” on her wedding night or something, but that’s as far as it’ll go.’
‘Don’t be so sure. She seems like a bit of a goer to me.’
Jenna shook her head, but she tottered on shaky legs to the drawer that held the diary and brought it back for a spot of bedtime reading.
Chapter Eight
February 21st
A month has passed since Lord Harville proposed to me, and I must apologise most profusely for being so errant in maintaining this journal, but there has been so much to do, to say, dear Lord, so much to think! Too much for me at times, I swear.
I try my best to continue to regard my altered status as exceptional good fortune but, alas, on some days it does not strike me that way.
What girl is luckier than I? I have caught a rich and titled man. Many women of much better birth and station do not do half as well. He is a little older than I, but certainly a fine figure of a man and many would consider him handsome.
Am I one of those many? Yes, I think I am. I do feel a great access of sentiment when he turns his eyes upon me, and in those glances I can forget all the difficulties that pertain to our attachment.
Yes, there are many difficulties. We announced our engagement and set a date for the wedding of March 10th, but very few congratulations have been spoken.
Even my parents recoiled at the news, assuming straight away that I had allowed him to seduce me and was now in a shameful condition. In vain have I tried to convince them otherwise – I suppose I can only wait until time proves my cause.
The family of his first wife have refused their invitation to attend the wedding – imagine having no wish to meet the woman who will be mother to their own grandchildren! It is quite unnatural!
The servants seem to have made the same assumption as my parents, for none will talk to me, though perhaps it is jealousy that fuels their animosity.
Worst of all, though, are the girls. Maria and Susannah have been little beasts since they found out. They refuse to attend to their lessons and they whisper among themselves without cease, even as I try to teach them.
A few days of this broke my will to remain calm and I lost my temper with them, telling them in no uncertain terms that the marriage would go ahead with their approval or without it.
Maria spoke to me then directly for the first time since the announcement.
‘We think you are a witch, and you have Papa under your wicked spell. Release him or we will tell the police and have you burnt at the stake.’