Cheers to the Duke

by Sally MacKenzie

  This time it was the duke’s snort that caused a squirrel to change direction.

  She’d thought when she’d read the story of his being plucked from obscurity to great wealth and prestige, that he must have been delighted at his astounding good fortune. It was just like a fairy tale.

  But real life rarely had tidy happily-ever-afters, did it?

  “I suppose it must have been a shock to ascend so suddenly to the top of the peerage.”

  The duke gave a sharp nod. “It was. Who thinks an entire branch will be lopped off the family tree”—he snapped his fingers—“just like that? I grew up knowing I was related to the duke—distantly related. But I also knew I had to make my own way in the world.” He looked down at her. “And I did. I worked hard, built a good life, a good career.” He shook his head. “And then everything changed.” He sighed. “Again.”

  They walked several steps in silence. Death had changed Jo’s life in the snap of fingers, too—or more, in the pull of a trigger. It had changed the duke’s life twice, first taking his wife and then the old duke and his family.

  She would never have said hers and the duke’s situations were similar, but perhaps they were, at least in this regard. They both knew how fragile life was.

  She heard a jay screech high in the branches above them, a squirrel complain about their intrusion—and Thomas call to Bear somewhere farther up the path.

  The duke heard Thomas as well and grinned down at her. “I do hope I won’t have to fish him out of the water.”

  His smile did odd things to her breathing—but his words quickly pushed the fluttering aside. “He can swim, can’t he?”

  Grainger frowned. “Well enough to get to the bank if he did fall in. I’m not really worried, but—”

  “Papa! Miss Jo!”

  Thomas and a suspiciously wet-looking Bear came running back down the path toward them.

  “We found the stream. Come see!”

  Chapter Five

  Well, that was embarrassing.

  Except, oddly enough, it wasn’t embarrassment Edward felt. It was . . .

  Peace?

  He walked along the path, watching Thomas hop and skip next to Lady Havenridge—they were now a few paces ahead of him with Bear in the lead—and listened to the boy’s chatter and Lady Havenridge’s replies.

  “Does your dog like water, Miss Jo?”

  “Oh, yes. I think all dogs must, don’t you?”

  His surroundings were certainly peaceful—if you discounted a young boy and a large dog. He’d always found the woods calming. The trees blocked out the sights and sounds—and worries—of the world and allowed him to focus on the present moment.

  On Thomas.

  And on Lady Havenridge.

  He watched her smile down at his son. She was a very easy woman to talk to.

  Too easy, as you’ve already discovered. A confidence shared cannot be unshared. You’d best be more cautious.

  He was sick of being cautious. Since his elevation to the peerage, he’d felt he’d had to be on his guard every moment.

  His instincts told him he could trust Lady Havenridge, and his instincts had always steered him right in the past. She wasn’t a stranger. He’d been corresponding with her for months. Her letters had shown her to be intelligent. Thoughtful.

  And now, to his pleasant surprise, he discovered she was also a good listener.

  And kind. No other woman of his acquaintance would engage this way with his son.

  And attractive. Don’t forget attractive.

  Yes. Not conventionally beautiful, perhaps. She would not be the first woman most men’s eyes would find in a ballroom. To be honest, perhaps his eyes wouldn’t have picked her out of a crowd of young—of younger—women.

  Which just went to show how silly ballrooms were for meeting a prospective wife—

  Whoa. Pull up. Remember—don’t rush matters.

  He wouldn’t. He had a fortnight. He would see what, if anything, developed. If, by the end of the house party, things still looked promising, he would finally make that trip down to Little Puddledon to visit the Home and see Lady Havenridge at her charity. They could continue to explore their acquaintance and see if they might have a future together.

  “Yes.” Thomas hopped on one foot. “Bear likes water a lot!”

  Lady Havenridge smiled knowingly. “And you have to be careful, don’t you, when he comes out of the water?”

  Thomas laughed—and the sound went straight to Edward’s heart. Zeus, he’d not heard his son laugh enough of late.

  “Yes! He shakes and sends water everywhere!”

  They rounded a bend in the path and saw the stream—and a small clearing with the promised bench.

  Bear took off for the water, Thomas following. “Come look at the fish, Miss Jo,” he called over his shoulder.

  “Are there a lot of them?” Lady Havenridge hurried after the boy with every appearance of enthusiasm.

  Edward was left holding the bag.

  Literally.

  He walked over to the bench, put the satchel down, and then made his way to the stream. Thomas and Lady Havenridge were already crouched on the bank, their heads almost touching, both looking at something in the water.

  “There’s one!” Thomas’s voice was bright with excitement.

  “And there’s another. Oh! Look over there, Thomas—there’s a newt!”

  “Where? Oh, yes, I see.”

  Bear came over to investigate as well, and the newt, wisely, darted under some leaves.

  “Don’t eat it, Bear!” Thomas looked up at Edward. “Papa, you missed the newt!”

  Lady Havenridge looked up at him, too, her eyes laughing. “Come down here with us, Your Grace. If you are lucky, we’ll see another.” She directed her eyes at Bear and said, with mock sternness, “That is if someone doesn’t frighten them all away.”

  Bear barked, but it was unclear whether he meant to argue his case or to encourage Edward to join the fun.

  Edward smiled, a sudden lump in his throat making it impossible to speak. Had he ever seen another adult—one that he didn’t employ—engage with his son this way?

  No.

  You can’t marry someone because she is good with Thomas.

  True, but he was feeling more and more confident Lady Havenridge would be good with him. He was definitely looking forward to exploring the question, even if he had to squat on a muddy stream bank to do so.

  But he would not be clambering around in the mud now. “May I suggest we eat before we get too dirty?”

  Thomas frowned. “But, Papa, what if we miss some newts?”

  “I think there will still be newts available for viewing after we eat.”

  Lady Havenridge nodded and stood, shaking out her skirts. “Yes, indeed. And it will be pleasanter to eat with clean hands, Thomas, don’t you think?”

  Thomas looked unpersuaded.

  Edward opened his mouth to order the boy to come up, but stopped when Lady Havenridge laughed.

  “Well, no matter,” she said. “I prefer clean hands—and I’m quite hungry. It’s been hours since I had breakfast.” She smiled at Thomas. “Aren’t you hungry?”

  Thomas jumped up as if his stomach had just that moment spoken to him. “Yes, Miss Jo. I am hungry. I’m starving. It’s been hours since I had breakfast, too.”

  Thomas said “hours” as if he meant days.

  Edward led the way to the bench and took his seat at one end. Lady Havenridge sat at the other, and Thomas bounced up and down between them.

  Bear sprawled at their feet and looked hopeful.

  “What’s in the bag, Papa?” Thomas leaned forward.

  “Patience, Thomas,” Edward said. “I have to open it first.”

  “Yes, Papa.” Thomas sat back a few inches, still bouncing with excitement.

  Edward smiled, and then opened the satchel and looked in. “Let’s see. Ah. There’s bread, cheese, apples—and some gingerbread for after.”

  Th
omas leaned closer. “Gingerbread?”

  “For after.” Edward smiled and then turned to Bear. “And a nice beef bone for you.”

  Bear barked his approval and beat his tail on the ground.

  Edward parceled out the provisions, and the next few minutes were spent happily chewing.

  “Do you have any brothers, Miss Jo?” Thomas asked around a mouthful of bread and cheese.

  Edward considered correcting his manners—besides talking with food in his mouth, it wasn’t quite the thing to ask such personal questions—but he was interested in the answer, too, and Lady Havenridge was already speaking.

  “No. Only sisters—three older and three younger.”

  Thomas wrinkled his nose, clearly not impressed by an all-female household. “Jasper says girls don’t like bugs and frogs and things, but you do. I thought you must have a brother.”

  Edward frowned at Thomas. “Jasper?” Thomas’s tutor’s name was Henry. “Who’s Jasper?”

  “Mr. Green’s son—the one who’s two years older than I am.”

  Edward must have been staring blankly because Thomas added helpfully, “You know, Papa. Mr. Green. He has the farm next to Mr. Fisher’s—the one with the white spot on the barn and a cow named Daisy.”

  “Right.” He had no idea who Mr. Fisher was either. Clearly, he needed to pay more attention to a number of matters.

  “Well, I’m afraid Jasper is misinformed,” Lady Havenridge said. “Girls can like anything they want.”

  Thomas did not look completely convinced, but wisely chose not to argue the matter. “Papa has only brothers.”

  Lady Havenridge looked at him.

  “It’s true. I’ve three younger brothers—two in the army and one in the navy. I’m the only one still here in England.”

  He’d always thought he’d have a family like the one he’d grown up in, rough and tumble and happy. That’s what he and Helen had wanted, but it hadn’t happened.

  “I’d like to have brothers,” Thomas was telling Lady Havenridge. “Jasper has six.” Thomas shrugged. “Maybe I’d like a sister. I don’t know.”

  Lady Havenridge was not going to give him six children—

  Of course, she isn’t, you idiot. Suggest it and she’ll give you a swift kick that will end your hopes of fathering even one more child. You’d better—

  “Do you want children, Miss Jo?”

  Good Lord! This time he would intervene.

  “Thomas, that is not something you ask a lady.”

  Thomas was still looking at Lady Havenridge. “I’m sorry, Miss Jo. I didn’t mean to make you sad.”

  And she did look sad, didn’t she?

  “But if you had a new husband, you might be able to have children.” Thomas smiled brightly. “It’s like getting lambs or foals or calves. You need a husband to make a baby.”

  Edward closed his eyes. He now understood what it felt like to die of embarrassment. And if he tried to say anything, he suspected he’d only make it worse. Clearly, it was time for a distraction.

  “I say, is anyone ready for gingerbread?”

  Chapter Six

  Jo stood in her bedroom and looked out the window at the intricate hedge maze some previous Earl of Darrow had planted. Her focus, however, was on a different, less orderly maze—her tangled feelings.

  She was so . . . unsettled. It was not like her. She usually knew her own mind. Yes, she’d been on edge since Caro had left the Home and Livy had moved in, but this was different. This was . . .

  To be honest, she hardly recognized herself.

  Instead of seeking out Pen or Caro when she’d got back from her informal picnic with the duke and his son, she’d come up here. She’d told herself she needed to wash her hands and face and change her clothes after being out in the mud, hunting fish and newts and skipping stones—which she did.

  And which she had done, quite a while ago. And yet, here she was, still in her room.

  Hiding? Is that what I’m doing?

  No. She just needed some privacy, some time to sort out her thoughts before she was around other people, particularly her sharp-eyed former partners.

  And the duke.

  An odd frisson of excitement danced through her.

  It’s just that I’m eager to discuss the Home with him.

  Ha! She didn’t usually lie to herself, either. She did want to talk about her charity, of course, but that didn’t explain the butterflies that were back in her stomach.

  The hours she’d spent with Grainger and Thomas had been unlike anything she could remember. She’d felt free and light and, well, playful.

  The duke had said he was happy because he’d left the dirt and noise of London behind, but she couldn’t claim that as the explanation for her high spirits. She’d spent the last decade in the country.

  But always working. Always worrying. Always alone—

  She frowned. No. She might always be working and worrying, but she was never alone. The Home was far too crowded.

  It’s possible to be alone in the middle of a crowd.

  True. And it was also true that her friendship with Pen and Caro, a friendship that had sustained her all these years, had changed. It wasn’t just that they didn’t live at the Home any longer. They had different priorities now. They had husbands. Families . . .

  Maybe that was it. Today’s activities had given Jo the illusion of being part of a family.

  She’d spent years surrounded by children—well, girls. But the girls’ mothers had been there, too. Jo had never had to be a mother—to act as a mother. And no child had ever asked her to do so.

  No child had ever looked at her the way Thomas had looked at her. It had been . . . nice.

  That didn’t mean she could agree to what he’d asked. Of course not. She knew better than that. But it had made her feel . . . different. Connected. Happy. She had enjoyed being with him.

  And you enjoyed being with his father.

  The butterfly population in her stomach exploded. Some fluttered up into her chest—and others ventured down to her feminine bits.

  Oh, Lord. She closed her eyes and groaned, resting her forehead against the window. Why did the man have to be so handsome?

  And so kind and so—

  She straightened and glared at the maze.

  Stop! You are being foolish beyond permission. You are here for a fortnight. You are not looking for a husband, especially not a husband who will take you away from the Home.

  Right. That was Livy’s plan, not hers. And, more to the point, the duke would not want a wife who couldn’t give him children. He might have his heir, but he would want his spare.

  Well, she suspected he would like several spares as well as a few daughters.

  And he should have more children. It would be a shame if he didn’t. He was so good with Thomas.

  She heard voices in the corridor. Everyone must be going down to the drawing room to assemble before dinner. She should go down, too. She couldn’t spend the entire fortnight hiding in this room.

  If I don’t go down soon, Pen will send someone to fetch me.

  She turned away from the window. It was time to stop cowering and—

  She caught another look at herself in the glass and her courage deserted her. She’d chosen this dress because it seemed to have a little more of a bodice than the others, but it was still barely—with the emphasis on bare—decent. What was she going to do?

  She looked around the room. She couldn’t pull down the curtains or wrap herself in the coverlet—

  Aha! She spotted a lace cloth draped over a table by the fire, protecting the wood from nicks and water stains. Well, now it could protect her from embarrassment, at least until she could ask Pen to lend her a proper shawl or a fichu.

  She plucked it up, threw it around her shoulders, and sallied forth before her courage deserted her again.

  * * *

  Jo paused outside the door to the drawing room to adjust her makeshift shawl and exhort her resident bu
tterflies to settle down.

  “May I get the door for you, madam?”

  “Oh!” She hadn’t heard the butler come up. He was standing next to her now, likely wondering why she’d been rooted to the spot like a gawk.

  She would pretend she expected doors to be opened for her. “Er, yes. Thank you.”

  He looked relieved. “And shall I announce you?”

  “Oh, no. No need of that.” She would prefer to slink in and find some nice curtains to hide behind.

  I’m being silly. It’s just a little skin, no more than the vast majority of women show. It’s not like I’m mother-naked.

  She took a deep breath—and then a quick glance down to confirm she hadn’t inadvertently exposed more of herself—and stepped over the threshold. She saw Lord Darrow’s mother—now Lady Muddlegate—and her new husband, Lord Muddlegate, talking to Darrow’s widowed sister, Letitia, and a man who must be Letitia’s new husband, Mr. Adam Marsh. Not far from them were some lovely, thick, concealing curtains—

  “Jo!”

  That was Caro’s voice! Jo’s head snapped around—

  Oh! There was the Duke of Grainger, tall and handsome in his snowy cravat and dark superfine coat. Though he’d been equally handsome earlier when he’d been a bit windblown and rumpled—

  Don’t stare!

  Her eyes veered off to the man he was talking to—a stranger—and then on to . . .

  “Caro!” Seeing her former partner—her very pregnant former partner—hurrying toward her swept away all her feelings of awkwardness and self-consciousness. “It is so good to see you.”

  She gave Caro a hug.

  There was rather a lot of Caro to hug.

  Jo stepped back and smiled. “You look very well.”

  It was true. Until this moment, she’d not really believed Caro was happy. Yes, Caro’s letters had been cheerful, but paper and pen could conceal as much as—or more than—they revealed. However, now that she could see her friend . . .

  Caro glowed.

  Though Jo thought her happiness was dimmed just slightly by a hint of fatigue.

  “How do you feel?”

  Caro grimaced. “Enormous. I can’t believe I have almost two more months left.” She sighed and put her hand on her belly. “And this little fellow seems to think it’s time to jump and kick the minute I lie down to sleep.” She snorted. “Or, rather, try to sleep.”