London, United Kingdom

May 1852

Despite how exhausted she was, sleep did not come easily to Jane. She lay awake in bed, clutching a pillow to her chest and praying to sleep through the night. Since she woke up that morning, she had been plagued with an uneasiness in her stomach that had only worsened as the day went on. She knew she shouldn't have gone to the ball that night, but she forced herself to go through with she and James's plan. It had gone well, so she supposed it was worth it; but still, she couldn't help but dreaded the moment when Lorraine would scold her for putting herself under so much stress.

Jane tightened her grip on the pillow in her arms as another wave of nausea came rushing over her. With her eyes clenched shut, Jane's body shook as she tried to will the feeling away, but to no avail. If she didn't make it to the bathroom soon, her sheets would be soiled.

Though everything in her wished to remain in bed, Jane quickly forced herself from her place of comfort and ran to the bathroom for what felt like the hundredth time that day. When she was finished, Jane sat on the bathroom floor with the wall up against her back and the cold tile beneath her legs. Jane shut her eyes and began mumbling quiet prayers to herself in hopes that the sickness would be done for the day. It was a small prayer, but it was one that she desperately longed to see fulfilled.

Jane didn't know how much time she had spent on the bathroom floor before she finally convinced herself to return to bed. Her back already ached from sitting on the hard surface so long, and she didn't fancy spending any more of the night there. But in returning to her room, Jane decided that she would make herself some tea before trying to sleep again; maybe that and a touch of bread would help settle her stomach. Of course, she would have to do it herself since the whole household was now asleep, but she didn't mind so much. In the last few weeks, everyone had been going out of their way to be unusually attentive to her, and so Jane liked the idea of doing something for herself. It made her feel like less of a burden.

After pulling on her robe, Jane walked quietly through the dark mansion with a small lamp in hand. Shadows danced across the walls as she carefully descended the great staircase, paying extra care not to make a sound. She didn't suppose that anyone would approve of her walking around on her own at night. That was another thing Jane wouldn't miss about being pregnant; she couldn't stand how everyone—Lorraine, her father, her lady's maid Claire, the rest of the staff, and even James on occasion—seemed to treat her like a china doll that was walking along the edge of the cliff. Though she did struggle with nausea from time to time, she knew she was a great deal stronger than they gave her credit for. She wasn't the one who needed to be babied; after all, the time for babying would come soon enough.

It took Jane longer than she had anticipated to make it down to the kitchen, but she was nonetheless glad to have made the trip. Once she had the teacup nestled between her palms, she could feel herself growing sleepier and more at ease with every passing moment. Jane shut her eyes and hummed softly to herself, savoring the feeling of the hot tea on her tongue and relishing in the stillness of the night. It had been a long time since she had felt this degree of peace.

As she sat there alone in the dark, Jane recalled her evening with James and noted how uneventful it had been. To her surprise, James hadn't caused her any difficulty, nor really, did her grandparents. Of course, her grandmother employed her usual schemes and general unpleasantness, but that had been expected and was of little concern to Jane. Even the information Regina had shared with Jane about their plan wasn't all too concerning. She had known that she was going to be asked to betray her husband, so really, the only unusual thing that had happened all night was James actually smiling at her. She knew it was just an act like the one she had put on, but still, it was nice not to have him frowning at her like usual.

It was also odd to hear him speak about becoming a father, especially with such enthusiasm and what sounded like pride. Before that night, she had rarely heard him mention their child at all, let alone refer to it as the son he couldn't wait to meet. The first time he had said it, Jane almost forgotten herself and asked him if he was serious. Of course, she refrained, but still, her surprise continued to last throughout the night. Though she knew he was just saying what people wanted to hear, Jane couldn't help but hope that there was some degree of truth to his words; maybe he wouldn't be as absent in her child's life as she had thought he would be.

Dismissing the possibility of James as a competent father, Jane shook her head and continued to drink her tea. It was not wise to entertain false hope when James's actions had continually reflected his displeasure with his future. Until he said the words aloud to her when she was the only one to hear them, Jane could not let herself think that he would change; to do otherwise would only lead to disappointment.

When she finished her drink, Jane set her cup in the sink and left the kitchen with her lamp in hand. She climbed the first set of stairs then made her way to the great staircase that led to her bedroom, once again taking care not to make a sound. However, as successful as Jane was at being quiet, it seemed that someone else was not.

A loud crash severed through the peaceful quiet that had descended upon Devonshire House, making Jane jump and simultaneously freeze in place. She had just reached the top of the staircase, and so she was much closer to the disturbance now than if she had been in her bedroom. Though for a moment Jane worried that someone had broken in, it did not take more than a few seconds for her to conclude that her husband was the cause of the noise; after all, it had come from the direction of his bedroom, and the likelihood that he had gone to sleep already was slim.

For a moment, Jane considered ignoring the disturbance and returning to her room, but when she heard the sound of shattering glass followed by her husband's anguished cursing, she decided against it. Even though James was likely drunk by now, Jane knew he needed help; and given the lateness of the hour, she was the only one awake who could offer it to him. It was a risk—she knew that—but there was just something about the distress in his voice that made his condition unignorable. However much he may have deserved it, if he hurt himself, she would feel guilty if she had knowingly done nothing.

Glancing in either direction along the hallway, Jane drew her robe more tightly around herself and went in pursuit of James. Only, as she made her way to James's bedroom, Jane took notice of a door that she had never seen opened before. She paused just before it in the hallway, carefully listening for any sign of movement.

"Who's there?" James's voice came thundering from inside his father's study, but this time, his tone was very different than in the moments before. The distress Jane had heard fled from his voice, and in its place remained an edge that made her wish she had left him alone. But it was too late to turn back now, and she would have to face her husband's hostility whether she was ready for it or not.

"I know someone's there," he said harshly. "I can see the light."

Jane cursed silently to herself for being so foolish with her lamp, but nonetheless forced herself to enter the dark room where her husband apparently sat. Her heart beat loudly in her ears as she searched the darkness for his tall figure, but to her confusion, she was unsuccessful. It wasn't until he spoke again that she realized where he was.

James sighed from his place on the floor, "Oh, it's just you."

Turning towards the sound of his voice, Jane held her lamp higher to find that James was sitting in front of the couch with a half-empty bottle of liquor right beside him. As much as she detested the bottle for what it had done to him, the bottle was the least of Jane's worries when she saw the the ruined portrait of Charles Hale propped up across from him.

"What do you think?" James asked dryly, glancing back at her. "I think it looks better that way, don't you?"

But Jane could hardly think, let alone indulge James in a peaceful discussion about his recklessness.

"What did you do?" she asked him as she observed the damage he had done.

The frame was broken, split along its bottom left corner so that entire left edge was beginning to pull away from the canvas. The canvas itself had a large hole just beside the subject's face, and judging by the glistening surface, Jane supposed that James had thrown his glass through it.

The face of Charles Hale, however, was relatively untouched and still presented him as he had been in his youth. Even though the lamp in Jane's hand did not provide nearly enough light to see the details of the portrait, Jane was nonetheless shocked to see how similar James and his father really appeared. With hair darker than ebony and eyes that seemed like ice, James was the living remainder of his father's deserted youth.

Jane shifted on the balls of her feet as she stared at it, because she knew that if she had a son as James apparently hoped, it was likely that the child would take after her husband's family rather than her own. Jane didn't know how she felt about that, but it didn't matter now. What mattered was that James was drunk again, and this time, he might really do some irreversible damage to himself.

"I took it down," James answered her casually, as if he hadn't quite literally ruined his father's image. "It needed to come down."

At the risk of angering him, Jane couldn't help asking, "Why?"

"Because."

Jane rolled her eyes. Of course, he was going to behave like a child about this. He always was senseless when he had been drinking, and he was even more senseless when it concerned his father.

"Alright then," Jane said flatly, not wishing to pursue the conversation further. "There's no sense looking at it all night; you should go to bed now."

"I'm fine."

"You're not. You need to go to sleep." Jane stepped forward into the room and held out the lamp so that he could see the ground in front of him. "Come on. Let's go."

James looked up at her and sneered, "If I wanted to go, I would have. Now, leave me alone."

Deciding that he was not worth the fight, Jane sighed heavily, "Fine, but if you do something stupid and hurt yourself, I'm not going to feel sorry for you."

"As if you would anyway," James scoffed, returning his attention to the portrait of his father sitting still before him. "You sound just like him." And then as if he was trying to spite her, James lifted the bottle to his mouth and tilted his head back to drink, letting far too much liquid go down his throat than could ever be good for a person. Jane rolled her eyes; she didn't want to see him like this.

"I'm going to bed," she told him, and to her surprise, that made him lower the bottle from his lips.

"Why?" he teased, suddenly now trying to push himself from the floor. Using the couch for balance, James clumsily tripped and nearly fell to the floor again before at last managing an upright stance. He coughed and took a few lazy steps towards Jane. "Isn't this what you wanted? Surely I'm not too sober for you now?"

Jane frowned, "What?"

"In the carriage," James said, approaching Jane with slumped shoulders and tired eyes. "In the carriage you said I was too sober." He spread his arms wide as if he was on display, the bottle still in hand. "What about now? Is this more to your preference?"

"I shouldn't have said that." Jane rolled her eyes at her stupidity. She had been frustrated and tired from her day on the bathroom floor, and so she had admittedly taken it out on him. "Really, I didn't mean it. I'm sorry."

James let his arms fall down to his sides, and immediately, Jane knew that he was going to challenge her further. With that burning look in his eyes, how could he do anything less?

"Why'd you say it, then?"

"I don't know; I—" Shaking her head, Jane sighed in defeat, "I was upset, but I know that's no excuse. I'm—"

James rolled his eyes, cutting her off, "What could you possibly be upset about? You have everything you could ever want here; what more do you want?"

"Nothing, I—"

"Don't lie," James said, raising his voice as he stepped towards her. Jane took two steps back in response, but doing so only resulted in trapping herself against the wall. Trying to remain calm, Jane held her breath and looked her husband in the eyes, despite the genuine fear she felt now that he was so worked up. He had never hit her before, but then again, she knew he had never been this upset in her presence; and since he was drunk, she had no idea what lines he was willing to cross.

"Stop pretending everything is alright, Jane." James closed the gap between them, now completely blocking her from making an exit.

Upon smelling the foul stench of whiskey on his breath, Jane turned her face away from him and cringed further into the wall. She held her breath so as to block out the smell, but her actions did little to settle her now churning stomach. He sickened her, and he was too drunk to even realize it.

But James didn't see a woman struggling against her own body; he saw his wife rejecting him yet again, and he didn't like it one bit. Without considering what she would think of him, James roughly took Jane's jaw in his free hand and forced her eyes to meet his.

Jane looked at him with wide eyes, her whole body suddenly tensing as James senselessly grasped her throat in his hand. She remembered a time when he had touched her like this before, his drunken breath pouring across her skin. But he had let her go then, and for the sake of maintaining her composer, Jane had to believe that he would do so again. Quite frankly, she didn't want to face the alternative.

"Look at me when I'm speaking to you," he commanded, "and tell me what you want from me. I won't know if you don't say it out loud."

"I don't know what you want me to say." Jane answered him incredulously, momentarily failing to keep her calm. She had hoped not to anger him further with an emotional response, but with his hand around her throat, she could hardly help control herself. "Please, just let me go."

"No!" James yelled, forcing Jane into a stunned silence. She sucked in a sharp breath as his grip tightened around her neck, but he showed no signs of letting up. Instead, he pressed her further despite the fear gleaming in her eyes, "No, Jane. I can't live like this anymore! What is it going to take?"

"I don't know what you're asking me!" Jane replied, raising her voice despite her previous intention to keep the peace between them. It was clear that James didn't mean to play along, so there was no reason for her to even try. If he wanted a yelling match, she would give him one. "What do you mean, 'What do I want from you?' I don't want anything but for you to leave me alone!"

Her changed tone did seem to have some impact on James, though not enough for him to relent in his needless aggression. His stance remained unchanged.

"So that's the truth of it, then!" he roared, evidently trying to conceal his emotions with a hardness that Jane saw right through. She could see the hurt in his eyes clearly enough to know that she had gotten to him, if only just a little bit; and for the first time, she had absolutely no regret in doing so. If he wanted to hurt her, then she could easily return the favor; that is, she could as long as he allowed her to breathe.

While he yelled at her, the pressure of James's hand across Jane's neck came to its climax, forcing her to gasp for air. Dropping the lamp in her hand and letting it clatter to the floor beside them, Jane reached up to pry his fingers away.

"James, please." Jane coughed as she struggled against her husband's unrelenting strength. "You're hurting me."

But her words had no effect on him. Even now that the light from the lamp no longer lit James's face, Jane was painfully aware of the unchanging state of his expression. James had never been a man to be moved by weakness. She would have to go deeper if she hoped to penetrate the anger he felt, and she would do so using the very man who had started this whole thing.

"You look just like him," she said faintly, dropping her hands and letting her eyes drift to the portrait lying on the floor. "You're acting like him, too."

Realizing instantly to whom Jane was referring, James narrowed his eyes and sneered, "You don't know what you're talking about."

But despite the hardness of his tone, Jane was encouraged by his faltering grip. She made no attempt to move as she replied with a shaking voice, "I may not know every detail of what your mother went through with him, but I– I do know that she's why you hate him. He hurt her... Didn't he?" Jane saw in her husband's eyes that she was right. She breathed deeply as James's hand slackened against her neck and continued, "Look at yourself then, James, and tell me that you and him aren't the same. You can hurt me if you'd like, but know that when your son grows up, you will be the villain in his life as your father is to you. He will hate you as you hate your father, and I won't–" She shook her head and laughed solemnly, "I can't defend you."

They were both still for several moments, Jane unrelenting in her condemning gaze. It was then that she reached up again and pushed James's hand away, and this time, he made no effort to resist. Relief washed over her as he clumsily backed away, apparently in shock over what he had done, but still, Jane made no move to leave just yet.

"At least our marriage will be short," Jane said coldly, intending to get at James where she knew it would hurt him the most. After all, he did deserve it. "Because when you drink yourself into an early grave, I will not mourn you."

"You don't mean that," James stated, though despite the certainty of the words themselves, his broken voice betrayed his confidence. "I know you don't."

Jane scoffed and crossed her arms over her chest, "You're fooling yourself if you think you know me at all. I do mean it, and it shouldn't surprise you."

Suddenly, the bottle still in James's hand fell to the floor and began to pour out all over the carpet. Neither one moved as the foul-smelling liquid saturated the finely-woven rug.

"Jane, I–" James began, this time much more softly than before, but Jane quickly cut him off. There was not a thing he could say to undo what he had done to her that night.

"Save it."

Turning on her heel, Jane stepped over the broken lamp and quickly made her way down the dark corridor, her heart still pounding in her ears. She didn't look back as she returned to her bedroom, quickly shutting the door behind her and turning the key in the lock. Though she doubted he would try to pursue her that night, Jane didn't fancy another run-in with James before the sun rose the next morning. He had done too much to break her already weak trust in him that night for her to think that she could safely stay in her room.

Now that she was alone, Jane was able to process what had just happened to her. In the moment, she had been somewhat calm and rational, which she attributed to her instinctual need to escape; but with the threat behind her, the fear Jane had felt all along came crashing down upon her. She didn't even make it two steps from the door before the strength in her legs deserted her, and she weakly crumpled to the floor. Despite his absence, James's skin still burned at her throat, constricting her trachea and forcing her breath away. Jane reached up again to relieve the pressure, only to find that there was nothing there to remove; even when he wasn't there anymore, he still would not leave her alone. It was then that the tears stinging at her eyes began to fall.

How James could have done this to her, Jane hadn't the slightest idea. She had been trying to help him, but he responded violence and irrationality in return. Even then, Jane could hardly decipher the meaning behind his raving interrogation; what on earth could have prompted him risk harming not only his wife, but also his heir?

Still sitting on the floor, Jane cried quietly and mumbled frantic prayers over her unborn child. Jane could take her husband's violence against her, but she knew that her body might not be so forgiving. She prayed that his actions wouldn't have any lasting effects on her or the baby, because in her state, she knew they very well could. It was for that reason that Jane was so furious with James. He had compromised the safety of their child, and that was one thing she absolutely never would forgive him for.

Though it was against her character to speak so unkindly to someone, Jane didn't regret anything she said to him, nor was she likely to regret the cruelty she would exercise against him the following day when he was sober. He needed to know that his actions were inexcusable, and that if he didn't change his behavior immediately, he would no longer be welcome in their home. If he didn't regard her demands, she would be on the first train back to Chatsworth, and he would be on his own in dealing with the Pelhams. Maybe then in her absence, he really would drink himself to death, and she might be free.

•••

Hah just when I got yall feeling sorry for him... but hold tight yall, this was a very necessary scene i promise :)

I'm teaching myself how to play guitar and my fingers hurt so bad from holding the strings down oof send prayers. Also, I started to read Little Women for the first time, and I relate to Jo so much it's stupid 10/10

Anyways, thanks for reading, my loves! Ily

-kate