by Eloisa James
“Were you really up at dawn?” Edie asked. She’d never seen Layla like this. Tired, but with a glow of deep contentment.
“I gather children are early risers, at least Susannah is. She woke me up by climbing onto my stomach. My turnip-sized stomach.”
Susannah hurtled back across the floor and wound her arms around Layla’s neck from behind. “Susannah does not care about the size of your stomach,” Edie pointed out.
“Who’s this?” Layla cried, capturing a squirming body that she promptly started tickling. “Not this absurd creature who woke me up before it was even light outside!”
Edie would have guessed that Susannah’s shrieks indicated pain, but Layla obviously knew the difference. “I thought I would ask Gowan to a private supper tonight,” she said.
Layla’s fingers stilled. “Brilliant!” She set Susannah free, and the little girl sat back down next to her soldiers. “I suggest champagne. In fact, Edie, you should get properly tipsy.”
“What’s ‘tipsy’?” Susannah asked, raising her head.
“Tipsy is what you are when you spin around,” Layla said, pulling her onto her lap as if she couldn’t stop touching her. “Come here, you horrid child; you’ve worn me out. I refuse to stage another battle with those soldiers.”
“You think so?” Edie asked, a bit dubiously.
“Do you remember the evening when we went to Lady Chuttle’s ball?”
“Of course.”
“I had drunk rather more champagne than was strictly good for me.”
“You were pickled!” Edie said with a gurgle of laughter.
“That evening, I forgot all about babies and just enjoyed myself. If you stop worrying, all will be well.”
“I hope so,” Edie said. “At any rate, I must go. I have to work.”
“Play for him,” Layla whispered. “There is nothing more erotic. When your father plays something just for me, it makes me melt all over.”
Edie walked back to the small sitting room thinking about what she might play for Gowan, but Bardolph was there to inform her that His Grace had asked to see her. She went downstairs to her husband’s study, where a pudding-faced footman informed her that he would have to ascertain whether His Grace was free, as he had left strict orders with regard to interruptions.
A moment later, it appeared that Gowan was able to see her, so, trailed by Bardolph, she followed the footman into the room. There was a new bailiff to meet, and the mayors of two neighboring villages.
Then her husband made an apology and drew her slightly to the side. The three visitors had the good manners to withdraw to the other side of the room, but Bardolph walked over to the desk that stood to the side of Gowan’s own desk and sat down. He could hear their conversation perfectly well from there.
Edie took a deep breath. Bardolph was not a problem she could address at the moment.
“I summoned—” Gowan broke off and gave her an entirely charming smile. “Excuse me. I requested to speak to you because we must discuss the recital this afternoon.”
Edie blinked with surprise. “You can come, after all? That is wonderful.”
“I’m afraid that my press of work is such that I cannot lose an afternoon. But more to the point, Edie, I cannot allow you to play your cello before an audience, particularly one which includes a man.”
Edie was dismayed, but unsurprised by this. “I have a special drape that my father had made for just that circumstance. It’s made of pleated silk so it billows around the cello. But the truth is that a true musician is only interested in how I play, not what I look like doing it. I have hopes that Védrines is just such a musician, but of course I cannot know for certain until I hear him play.”
“I’m sorry to disappoint you, Edie.”
“You do not disappoint me,” she assured him.
“I’m glad to hear it.” He gave her one of those caressing smiles that apparently indicated he had remembered how much fun their bed sport was. For him.
“You will not disappoint me,” Edie stated, “because I shall play when and where I please.” Her entire body had lit with an anger so incandescent that she felt as if she’d caught on fire.
His eyes narrowed. She held up her hand before he could speak. “Perhaps you have misapprehended, and believe that my father dictated the circumstances under which I played. He did not. I did him the honor of acquiescing to his wishes by not performing in public. I have been asked to practice with the Smythe-Smith girls and I declined. Although,” she added punctiliously, “that was not the sole reason for my refusal.”
“If you would like to come to such an agreement with me, that would be more than satisfactory.”
“An agreement,” Edie said, “involves agreement, Gowan. I do not agree to your directive. In fact, given your presumptuousness, I shall agree to no rule whatsoever. You shall have to be guided by my sense of priority, and if I choose to invite the entire Smythe-Smith clan up here and hold a public recital in the nearest town hall, I will do so!”
Gowan had gone utterly still, which struck Edie as ominous. She abhorred altercations. In fact, she never argued—but this was different. She had to make a stand. He was trying to infringe on her music. It was the most important thing to her. Her soul.
“What if I were to attend the recital this afternoon?” His lips hardly moved.
Edie could practically feel Bardolph’s interested stare boring into her shoulder blades.
“I would be happy to see you.”
“But you will not agree to my request that you not play in front of men.”
“I did not hear a request, but a command,” she observed.
“Please, will you refrain from playing in the presence of men?”
“I will not play public recitals, if you wish.”
“Thank you,” Gowan said. His face was expressionless, but the image of an icy lake came into her mind as she looked at his eyes.
“You are welcome to join me during the recital, as I gather you are worried that I . . .” What? Did he imagine that she would start flirting with that young Frenchman? Throw aside her cello and embark on an act that she found not only painful, but distasteful?
His eyes hardened. “I trust you implicitly. What I do not like is the fact that your partner will be able to savor his lust during every moment in which you play together.”
She shook her head and, against all odds, felt a pang of sympathy for him. “You do not understand what duets are like. I would play only with a true musician. If I hadn’t talked to Védrines for two hours last night, I would never have considered it. I assure you that he will be thinking about the music, not my posture.
“We shall practice this afternoon in the orchard, if you would like to join us.” Then she turned, curtsied rather blindly to the room at large, and fled.
She didn’t get far. Mrs. Grisle caught her, dragged her into the housekeeper’s sitting room, and plied her with question after question. Two hours passed. Bardolph joined them, and droned on for fifteen minutes about the linen closet at the Highlands estate near Comrie. They had mice.
Mice?
Mice were everywhere. She managed to impress upon Bardolph the concept that said mice—indeed, all mice—were his concern.
It took another hour before Edie realized that if she didn’t organize the household better, she would never have time to put bow to strings.
There were bound to be a few problems in running a household of this size. Every once in a while, she thought about how Gowan had stated that she should not play in front of men. It lent her a spark of rage that she had never experienced before.
By the time Bardolph summoned her to the midday meal, she was reasonably certain that the household understood the way things were going to go from now on.
Meanwhile, Gowan deserted all the men in his study and engaged in a brief conversation with Védrines. It took only a couple of minutes to establish that Gowan would slaughter him if his eyes fell below the duchess’s neck.
&nb
sp; “I would not,” the Frenchman stated. And then he added, rather defensively, “When one plays, one thinks only of the music, Your Grace. Though, of course, one’s concentration depends upon the musical abilities of one’s partner.”
A faint undertone implied that he was as uncertain of Edie’s musical prowess as she was of his. They both held their own playing in damned high esteem. Gowan took a good look at the Frenchman’s indignant eyes and realized that Védrines was no threat to his marriage. He didn’t think of Edie as a woman at all. There was some other currency in play here.
“Right,” he said, holding out his hand. “I offer you my sincerest apology for the insult.”
The man looked at his hand for a moment, but he took it. For some reason, Gowan liked that the most of all. Védrines was on the verge of walking out of the castle, even though he desperately needed the income. “What are we paying you?” he asked.
Védrines flushed, and named a sum. It must rub at the man to have to accept employment.
Gowan nodded. “From now on, we’ll pay you twice that.”
Védrines’s brows drew together. “Why, Your Grace?”
“Every castle should have a musician,” he said.
The young Frenchman pulled himself upright, although that put his eyes only at Gowan’s shoulder. “I should be remiss in my duty as a gentleman not to point out that you do your duchess a dishonor.”
“How so?”
“You imply base things. Her Grace is all that is gracious and virtuous.”
Gowan felt even more cheerful now. He had acquired an employee with just the right kind of reverence for his wife. “Just wait until you marry.”
“I shall both maintain and display faith in my bride,” the Frenchman said coldly.
“As do I,” Gowan assured him.
He wasn’t sure what to expect when he left his study for luncheon sometime later. Apparently, there had been quite a fracas. Bardolph had actually interrupted him to deliver a complaint, but Gowan had cut him off: the household was now the duchess’s domain.
The first person he encountered was Layla. “Did you really sleep in the nursery?” he asked.
“I did, and your servants sleep on deucedly hard mattresses, Gowan. I had to tell Barlumps to bring me a new mattress or I won’t be able to straighten my back tomorrow.”
“Bardolph,” Gowan corrected.
Edie entered the morning room, greeting him with a face that betrayed no irritation stemming from their earlier conversation. In fact, it betrayed nothing at all, which he found annoying. He had the trick of concealing his own feelings, but he didn’t appreciate it in his wife.
“How was your meeting with Mrs. Grisle?” he asked, as they sat down.
Edie smiled at the footman offering her a helping of cheese pudding. “I dismissed her.”
“What?” Whatever he expected, it wasn’t that his wife would toss out a housekeeper who had held the post for a decade. Not that Mrs. Grisle was particularly pleasant, or particularly efficient, but she didn’t steal the silver.
To his left, Layla drew Védrines into a conversation.
“Why did you dismiss her?” Gowan asked, reminding himself that marriage entailed sharing power, at least in the household.
“She was unable to trust herself to make decisions,” Edie replied, looking quite unperturbed. “She felt she had to constantly check with me and actually requested that I spend two hours with her every morning. I told her that I would be happy to give her a few minutes in the evening, but I did not wish to be interrupted during the day, and she was quite discomfited by that. Were you really giving her an hour or more daily?”
Gowan nodded.
“The housekeeper should report to the factor, if she must recapitulate her daily accomplishments,” Edie said, cutting up her roast beef. “Your time is far too valuable to waste learning whether the laundry is drying properly. And, frankly, so is mine.”
Something like a smile twitched at the corners of Gowan’s lips. He would have loved to witness that conversation.
“In the end, we agreed that it would be more comfortable if I found someone able to work in the manner to which I am accustomed. Mrs. Grisle was agitated by our conversation, which merely confirmed my decision. I cannot abide people who raise their voices when angry.”
That was reasonable. “Have you dismissed anyone else?” he inquired.
“Two upper housemaids, a kitchen maid, and a footman.”
“Have you tasked Bardolph with finding replacements?”
“No,” Edie said. “I am quite certain he can take that initiative without my having to prompt him. I did instruct him to give each a substantial severance payment. The morning was disruptive, but from now on, I expect the servants will be far more self-directed.”
Gowan wondered what the footman had done to offend, but decided there was nothing to be gained by asking.
“Hopefully, there will be no further need for encouragement on my part.” She smiled at him without a bit of irritation in her eyes. It was as if their battle of the morning had never happened. “You are probably thinking I am headstrong, but my excuse is that I took housekeeping lessons at Layla’s knee.”
She touched the back of Gowan’s hand and an embarrassing streak of heat shot from her touch. “The household will settle down once they know my ways.”
Gowan thought they might well be dealing with an entirely new group of servants by then, but, as Edie said, that was Bardolph’s problem.
Edie went upstairs to practice after the meal, and Gowan invited Layla to come to his study. She was wandering about looking rather critically at the towering stacks of ledgers on Bardolph’s desk, when he simply said what he’d been thinking.
“It seems to me that you and Susannah are enjoying each other’s company.”
Layla whipped around, her face more serious than he had ever seen it. “I love Susannah.” She came over to him, her face alight with determination. “I—”
He held up his hand. “I agree that you would be an entirely appropriate person to care for Susannah.”
“I don’t want to merely be her nanny,” Layla said firmly. “I am her mother.”
“Do you mean that you wish to adopt her?”
“Of course.”
He thought about it for a moment. His mother had never bothered to tell him of the child, but even so . . . “I would be quite uncomfortable if I were not responsible for her education, wardrobe, and other expenses.” He hesitated. “And I don’t want to lose her entirely.”
Layla smiled, a wide, generous smile without a trace of the coquette in it. “How could that be? Edie is one of my favorite people in the world, and the person my husband loves best. You will see far too much of us, I’m sure.”
“Very well. We can work out the formal side of it when Lord Gilchrist arrives.”
Her mouth tightened.
“And if he doesn’t pay a visit in the near future, I will send the papers to him,” Gowan added.
Something eased in Layla’s eyes and she embraced him. “We are family now. This simply binds us closer together.”
“Of course,” Gowan said. “I am certain that Edie will feel the same.”
The smile fell from Layla’s face. “You did speak to her before you asked me to care for Susannah, didn’t you?”
He didn’t like the tone of her question. “I assure you that Edie will not disagree with my choice for Susannah’s guardian. Your affection for my sister is obvious.”
“Edie should have been consulted. Just yesterday, she was to be Susannah’s mother, and now you are giving the child away?”
“I think we can both acknowledge that Edie showed no great aptitude when it came to mothering Susannah. She had already informed me by letter that she didn’t welcome the role, so I did not find it surprising.”
“Edie will be a wonderful mother!” Layla snapped.
“But a person would have to be blind not to see that you and Susannah belong together,” he offere
d.
Her face eased into a smile. “She is the child of my heart. Not being able to conceive a child has been heartbreaking. But now I can only think how glad I am that it never happened.” A haunted look crossed her eyes. “If I had my own children, I wouldn’t have come to Scotland. I would never have met Susannah.”
Gowan was not a demonstrative man, but even he could tell when something other than a bow was required. So he allowed himself to be enfolded in Layla’s perfumed embrace once again. It wasn’t as unpleasant as he would have thought.
She drew back. “I have a present for you.” She put a book into his hand. “Love poems. These collections are quite the rage at the moment; everyone is reading them. I thought that, because you quoted Romeo and Juliet in that entirely outrageous letter you sent Edie, you would appreciate them.”
Poems . . .
His head snapped up. “Are you suggesting that I need to write poetry to my wife?”
Layla frowned. “Why on earth would I suggest that you write poetry? With all due respect, Duke, you don’t strike me as having a poetic soul.”
“I apologize,” Gowan said, turning the book over. “Of course you weren’t saying that.”
“In any case, Edie has a tin ear when it comes to poetry.”
“She has?”
Layla nodded. “Her governess tried to drum some into her head, but she is a proper dunce about the written word.”
“She is?”
“I think it must be concomitant with her aptitude for music. Edie does not read with pleasure. But she does love to listen to poetry read aloud.”
“Of course. She prefers sound.” The book was leather-bound and embossed in gold. On the cover it said Poetry for a Lonely Evening.
“You could read some to her.”
“All right,” Gowan said, thinking that he scarcely had time to kiss his wife, let alone read poetry to her. He put the book to the side and went back to work. But when the bailiff from the Highlands estate missed his appointed hour, rather than attend to the hundred items awaiting his attention, Gowan picked up the book again.
