Ah.
“Did you give Miss Jo a baby, Papa?”
I hope I did.
He couldn’t say that. And he likely couldn’t dodge the question entirely, not with Letitia’s girls in the schoolroom.
Best to be as truthful—and vague—as possible.
“I don’t know, Thomas.” Ah, he saw a clear path. “Remember how I told you it took me many years to give your mama a baby—to give her you? So, I think it’s unlikely I gave Miss Jo one last night—or would give her one even if she and I, er, see each other every day we’re here.”
Thomas nodded, seeming to accept that explanation.
They were almost at the trees now, and Edward was just about to breathe a sigh of relief. Surely the subject of Jo and babies would be forgotten in the excitement of newts and frogs.
But Thomas had one more question.
“Don’t you want to marry Miss Jo, Papa?”
Oh, God. He wanted that more than anything.
“Of course I do, Thomas. But she has to want to marry me back.”
Chapter Fifteen
Jo had never been so happy to close a door behind her as she was to close her bedroom door that night. She leaned back against it, shutting her eyes as the day’s disastrous events paraded before her, beginning with the screaming maid, proceeding to the extremely uncomfortable conversation in Pen’s sitting room, and carrying on through each excruciating minute till she was finally able to escape here.
If only it hadn’t rained. She would have got out for a long, calming ramble and the other guests might have forgotten about the contretemps with the maid, Bear, and the almost naked duke.
To be honest, she wasn’t sure the coverlet really counted enough to justify that qualifier.
But it had rained. Everyone had been stuck inside, and everyone had had an amusing observation—several amusing observations—to make about the morning’s events.
She took a deep breath.
All right, yes. That was an exaggeration. Lady Muddlegate and Mrs. Marsh had had observations. They’d only made them once or twice.
Well, in Letitia’s case, three or four times.
But it didn’t matter. The others didn’t need to say a word. Jo could feel them thinking about her. She—
She heard a knock on the door that connected her room with Edward’s, and her heart jumped into her throat. She’d thought he was still downstairs playing billiards with the men.
There was another knock, and the door cracked open. She heard Edward’s voice.
“May I come in?”
She nodded—and realized he couldn’t see her.
“Y-yes.”
And then the door opened all the way and he was standing there, grinning, decanter in one hand, brandy glasses in the other.
Relief washed through her. She’d been on edge, every muscle tight, and just seeing this man caused all that tension to drain out of her.
She wasn’t alone any longer.
Well, yes, of course she wasn’t alone. She knew that. There was another person in the room. But that wasn’t the sort of aloneness she meant. For the vast majority of her marriage, she’d felt alone even when Freddie had been standing right next to her.
Even when Freddie had been in bed with her. Been in her.
But with Edward . . .
With Edward she felt she had a partner, someone who would take her side or at least have her best interests at heart. Someone she could trust to—
Careful! You’re getting in too deep here.
“You do know it’s acceptable to come all the way into a room after you’ve closed the door, don’t you?” he asked.
She stayed where she was, suddenly wary, not of him but of herself. “I was thinking.”
He smiled and gestured with his chin to the table and chairs near the fire.
The table covered with the cloth she’d worn as a shawl the first night.
“Come sit and think.” He lifted the decanter and poured the brandy. “And drink.” He held a glass out to her.
“And talk,” she said, finally pushing away from the door. “We need to talk.”
Perhaps talking will keep me from feeling so much.
He nodded. “Yes, we do.”
Freddie had run anytime she’d tried to start a serious conversation, so she’d stopped trying. It would be so nice to—
Stop!
She heard a noise in Edward’s room as she took her glass. “Is that Bear?”
“Yes. I believe Lady Cassandra’s room has been aired sufficiently so that Miss Woodrow was willing to let Bear return, but Thomas thought I should keep him.” He grimaced. “He thinks I need the dog more than he does.”
Jo grimaced, too, as she settled into one of the wing chairs. Might as well get the subject everyone else—or at least Lady Muddlegate and Letitia—had been talking about out of the way. “That was quite, er, something this morning.”
He laughed as he sat down. “It was. But don’t worry. I believe the housekeeper has decided I can do without maid service for the rest of our stay. We should not have a reenactment of that again.”
And that, of course, made Jo think in graphic, longing detail about what they had done before the maid’s arrival.
Is it sexual congress that is making me feel this connection to Edward?
How odd that the same basic act could have such different results. With Freddie, it had made her feel more isolated. Alone and lonely. With Edward . . .
Oh, dear. Edward’s brows had risen. Was he going to ask her what she was thinking?
She rushed into speech. “The housekeeper could have found a girl who liked dogs, couldn’t she?”
“I suppose so.” His eyes gleamed. “I suspect she was more concerned about my lack of clothes than Bear’s lack of manners.”
And now she was remembering every detail of Edward’s body.
She reached for another topic.
“I thought you were playing billiards.”
He pulled a face. “I was going to, but then Muddlegate and Marsh decided to play whist with their wives, and Lady Oakland was feeling tired so Oakland went upstairs with her. That left me alone with Darrow.”
“You still could have played.”
“Indeed. However, Darrow had been instructed by his wife to have a word with me concerning my intentions with regard to you.”
“Ohh . . .” Jo moaned and closed her eyes. Why did Pen have to meddle in her life?
“He apologized for it—felt he was sticking his nose where it didn’t belong—but, finding himself alone with me, he jumped at the opportunity to complete his assignment.”
She took a sip of brandy. “I hope you told him that it was indeed none of his business.”
“No. I told him I hoped to marry you.”
She choked and had to take a moment to mop up her dress and sort her breathing from her swallowing before she could speak. “Edward!”
“It’s the truth, Jo. I do hope it.”
“You can’t!”
“I can. In fact, as I said, I do.” He grinned. “And why shouldn’t I? You aren’t married.” He tilted his head toward the bed. “We are compatible.” His grin slid into a mock leer. “Very compatible.”
She rubbed her forehead. She felt a headache coming on. This was all happening far too quickly. “You need a young wife who will give you more children.”
“I don’t want a young wife.” He frowned. “And while I would welcome more children—as I think I’ve said—the thought also makes me . . .” He shrugged, looked away. “Anxious I suppose is the right word.”
“Anxious? Why—oh.” She remembered his history.
“Indeed. Children are wonderful. Childbirth is not. It is painful and frightening. Women die. Helen died.”
She nodded and took another sip of brandy. She wanted to tell him that things were not that bleak, to argue that his wife’s death had been . . . bad luck. That while many women died, most lived.
But he knew that already. S
he wouldn’t—couldn’t—insult him by appearing to belittle his experience.
So, she would move on to another topic.
“Pen had a footman waylay me this morning the moment I left my room.” Thinking about that conversation in the sitting room made her angry all over again. “It seems she and Caro have been corresponding with Livy.”
Ah! Surely, he would dislike being manipulated as much as she did.
She sent him a pointed look. “Did you know they were all—Pen, Caro, and Livy—scheming to get you to marry me? Livy even secretly altered my gowns, made them far more revealing, hoping that would entice you into seducing me.”
He laughed. “Well, it worked, didn’t it?”
Her brows slammed down. “What do you—”
He held up a hand. “No, don’t take umbrage, Jo. Your gowns are very nice, but in truth it was the woman in the dress who seduced me.” He chuckled. “Literally. I believe you are the one who first proposed an affair.”
Well, yes. He did have a point there.
“Which I was eager to agree to. But I’m certain I would have fallen under your spell even if you’d been dressed in sackcloth.” His brows rose. “Which, if you’ll forgive me for saying so, you basically were when we first met out on the lawn.”
He might be right about that as well.
“I’m a working woman. I need to dress sensibly. I’m not”—she gave him a speaking look—“nor do I wish to be, a lady who dresses to be gawked at, who does nothing more than promenade and gossip. I know that type too well. I lived among the ton for three years, remember.”
Oh, lud, how she knew that type. The horror of her London years came roaring back.
“I was only a minor member of the nobility then, only a baroness, when Freddie was alive. To be a duchess . . .”
She shook her head, repressing a shudder. Surely Edward must understand that was too much. “I can’t do it.”
She looked over at him.
He was scowling at the fire, his jaw tight . . .
Oh. That’s right. He understood too well.
“Believe me, Jo, I know how horrible Society can be. Remember, I was a solicitor before I was the duke. A good number of the ton look down their long noses at me, too.”
He turned to her. Smiled. “Let’s face them together. Bite our thumbs at them.” He leaned toward her, his eyes holding hers, his voice eager. “We can skip all the balls and soirees, Jo, and focus on more serious things when I have to be in London for Parliament. And we can stay in the country the rest of the year.”
She heard the need in his voice. It pulled at her. She wanted to say yes, wanted to make him happy—
No. I don’t have to make him or any man happy. I need only make myself happy.
But how to do that? Which path was the right one?
It would help if the entire burden didn’t fall squarely on her shoulders.
But that’s a woman’s lot in life, isn’t it?
“Edward, you are asking me to upend my life for you, while, if you’ll forgive me for saying so, you are giving up exactly nothing.”
He frowned, and then nodded. “Yes. I see that. But I can’t put aside my title and all its duties, Jo. I feel a responsibility to everyone who depends on me.” A corner of his mouth crooked up. “Including a certain charity in Little Puddledon.”
That was something else they needed to discuss. “You won’t withdraw your support for the Home if I don’t marry you, will you?”
All the good humor vanished from his face, and when he spoke, his voice was cold. “Do you really think I would do that?” He stood. “If you do think it, then clearly you do not know me.”
Was he going back to his room?
She jumped up, put a hand on his arm. She couldn’t bear it if he left her, especially not this way.
“No, Edward, I don’t think it. Truly, I don’t. But I had to raise the issue. Don’t you see? You aren’t the only one who has people depending on you. I have to think about all the women and children at the Home. I can’t risk their happiness. Their security. Their lives.”
She could see he was still offended, but at least he was listening.
“Some men would try to use their position to force me to do their will. You must know that.” She looked away, at the fire. “Freddie would have.” She swallowed. “Freddie did.”
“Jo—”
She shook her head and he stopped. The compassion in his voice threatened her control. She didn’t want to cry. “Oh, I learned to stand up to him soon enough. It wasn’t so bad. But I won’t be pressured.”
He took her hands then, and she turned to look up into his eyes. She saw warmth and understanding there. And honesty.
“I won’t pressure you about anything, Jo. Of course, I will support your charity no matter what you decide. I believe in the work you are doing. And, even if you find you can’t marry me, I hope we can always be friends.”
Warmth spread through her, a heady mix of joy and pride, of relief and . . . comfort? Trust?
“How about this,” he said. “We will both keep an open mind for the rest of the time we are here. I know it will be hard with everyone so interested in our business.” He frowned. “Or do you know now that you can never come to love me enough to choose me over the day-to-day running of the Home?”
She hesitated. Could she honestly consider marriage? On the one hand was the life she knew—the life she’d worked so hard to create. A life of independence, of dedication to the charity she felt so passionate about. A life where she had respect and a position of some authority. The safe, comfortable choice.
On the other? Edward. And Thomas.
And love.
You thought you loved Freddie, and look how very, very wrong you were.
Edward is not Freddie, and I am not seventeen.
True. But when Edward touched her, when he took her to bed, she felt young and starry-eyed again.
On the other hand.
That’s three hands.
“I don’t know.” She frowned at him. “I can try.”
Edward smiled. “That’s all I’m asking. Try to remain open to the possibility while we . . .” His smile turned rather salacious. “Explore the issue.”
She glanced at the bed, thinking of all the exploration they’d done last night.
She’d very much like to do more tonight.
It would only be wise to thoroughly research the matter. That was the way to making an informed decision.
She grinned. “Very well. Let’s begin at once.”
Chapter Sixteen
Edward walked up the path to Aphrodite’s temple, Jo striding beside him. It was early—very early—on the last day of the house party. Young Philip Arthur Edward Graham, Viscount Hurley, had been christened yesterday. Now all that was left was to say good-bye.
A panic akin to what he’d felt when Helen was dying gripped him.
No. He was overreacting. He was saying good-bye to Jo, but only for now. Not forever.
Well, of course not forever. He was the main benefactor of her charity. He’d promised her that would not change no matter what she decided about marriage.
And she would need his help. They’d discussed starting a home for mothers and sons, and Jo had suggested acquiring a tatterdemalion farm that bordered the Home’s property. He planned to visit the place to look it over and help her evaluate its suitability. And then they would have to work out the legal and financial details. The project’s funding would be borne by the dukedom, of course, just as the bulk of the money to run the Home came from those coffers.
But his hope that he could announce their betrothal today? That was dead.
It wasn’t a complete surprise. He’d felt her vacillating the entire house party. Sometimes he was certain she was going to say yes, and other times he felt a deep, debilitating dread, positive she would say no.
He’d tried to woo her during the day with words and at night with his body, but he could only plead his case. He was the ba
rrister, not the judge. Jo was the one who would decide the matter.
And then, at the christening, when they’d stood together as godparents, he’d felt the tide turn against him for good.
Was that the problem? He remembered all too well, when he’d thought he and Helen would never have a child, how holding—even just seeing—a baby could set off an emotional storm of longing and loss and despair.
He’d wanted to ask her, but by the time they were alone and he could have done so, the gulf between them had grown too wide.
Well, it was a difficult conversation to have at the best of times. And, to be honest, he was afraid words might betray him now. He’d foolishly allowed hope to live in his heart, the outrageous hope that Livy was right and Jo’s inability to conceive during her marriage could be laid solely at her husband’s door.
He’d allowed himself to hope that Jo might be increasing now.
He could not say that. And it was only a hope. A dream. Time would reveal the truth of the matter.
And if she is carrying your child, she’ll have to marry you.
He frowned. Jo would not like being coerced.
Ha! Not like it? She would hate it.
He scowled down at his boots. He wanted her to marry him, but he wanted her to be able to choose freely.
Bear, the ostensible reason for this early morning jaunt, was somewhere up ahead. He could track the dog’s progress by the chattering, screeching complaints of the squirrels and jays, who did not appreciate a large dog invading their territory.
Last night in bed, he’d made one last—well, several last attempts to persuade Jo to have him, to show her with his body what he couldn’t say with words, how much he loved her.
She’d been a willing, even eager participant, but he could tell she was just collecting memories. Saying good-bye, turning a page.
Zeus, how he wished it were a fortnight ago and he was walking this path for the first time, all the days—and nights—with Jo still ahead of him.
He looked at her—well, at the back of her bonnet. She was staring down at the ground.
Cheers to the Duke Page 19
