Just Jane by William Lavender Page A

be sent from heaven, child!” she exclaimed. “You’ll liven up this big ol’ house right quick, I’d say.” Jane returned her smile and, just this once, didn’t mind being called a child.
    Clarissa showed Jane up to a sunny, pale pink room on the second floor.
    â€œThis is your room, dear. We hope you’ll like it. We truly enjoyed getting it ready for you.”
    â€œIt’s beautiful,” Jane exclaimed, gazing around her at tall windows with lacy white curtains, a tall four-poster bed, and soft, fluffy pillows. “Thank you for everything you did to make it so.”
    â€œOh, it was mostly Cuba, really. Robert may be the owner here, but it’s really Cuba and Omar who run the place. Cuba works miracles managing the house, keeping us all fed and everything in perfect order. And Omar—there’s a man of many talents. In another life, he could have been a great leader.”
    Jane thought of the Ainsleys’ servants. Though kindly treated, they had seemed more like phantoms than people, gliding silently in and out, eyes downcast, speaking only when spoken to. Omar and Cuba, though, seemed to see themselves as valued persons in their own right, perhaps because their owners—or at least their mistress—openly acknowledged their importance.
    Jane felt tempted to soften her attitude toward her beautiful aunt. But when she recalled the whispered conversation in a moonlit garden—and the promise of a tryst to follow—the temptation vanished. In time, she hoped to overcome Robert’s anger toward her. But how could she ever get over her disgust at seeing his wife betray him?
And why
, she wondered,
do I, too, feel somehow betrayed?
    Â 
    The summer daylight was beginning to fade when they gathered in the dining room an hour later. To Jane’s relief, her uncle seemed in an amiable mood as he inquired if her room was satisfactory. She assured him that it was more than satisfactory, it was beautiful.
    â€œIndeed,” she added, “Rosewall is quite beautiful altogether.”
    Robert gave a pleased smile. “Actually, you’ve seen very little of it so far. Later I’ll take you upstairs, where you can see its full extent.”
    â€œFeel honored, Jane,” Clarissa said dryly. “You’ll get to see Robert’s favorite place, his observatory. He reads his precious poetry up there and stares off for miles in all directions. Everything you can see from up there is Rosewall land. The kingdom of His Majesty, King Robert the First!”
    Shocked by Clarissa’s sarcasm, Jane shot a curious look at her. But Robert only chuckled indulgently. He didn’t seem to mind her words a bit.
    The observatory, it turned out, was the entire third floor of the house. Reached by a steep, narrow staircase at the end of a long hallway, the chamber was almost bare, except for a table and chair in one comer and a desk stacked with old books in another. A portrait of King George, complete with crown and long jeweled robe, hung above the desk. Robert stood watching Jane while she gazed around her. The golden light of the setting sun shone through high, open windows on all four sides of the room, and the rich fragrance of the thousands of roses far below seemed to fill the air they breathed.
    Jane looked out beyond the massive rose wall at a panorama stretching to the distant horizon. Robert pointed out the intricate system of ditches bringing the flooded rice fields their life-giving water. There were barns, vegetable gardens, and fruit orchards, and two long rows of small brick houses for the slaves working the crops. Beyond the rice fields lay endless wilderness, with the river winding through a brooding swamp. Barely visible in the twilight, plumes of smoke rose from the chimneys at the plantation of Robert’s friend Louis Lambert and his family, several miles to the north.
    Robert pointed to a pair of large birds soaring in the luminous