The Valentine Legacy

by Catherine Coulter

  She met Mr. Goodbody, the gardener, and his undergardener, Carlos, who’d washed ashore off Scarsborough some five years before. He was from Spain, he told everyone in his broken English. He never gave any details.

  “The gardens are beautiful,” Jessie said as she stepped out the wide French doors that gave onto the east lawn, not even a fraction of the size of Chase Park, but quite lovely in high summer, hydrangeas, roses, hyacinths, daisies, all blooming madly. “The Duchess insisted,” James said.

  “You sound almost embarrassed. Isn’t it manly to admire beauty?”

  “The Duchess adores flowers. I let her have her way,” James said, ignoring her question. He turned to face her. “Which do you prefer—Candlethorpe or Marathon?”

  “I’d like to own both. Each is special in its own way. You won’t sell either one of them, will you, James?”

  “Not unless I go bankrupt. Would you like some lemonade?”

  “What I’d really like is to ride Bellini.”

  He grinned down at her. “Perhaps on your next visit. He’s a devil, though he acts charming enough when he wants to. Are you wearing stockings with that sinful riding outfit, Jessie?”

  She didn’t hesitate, just pulled up her riding skirt to show him pristine white stockings that disappeared into her black riding boots.

  “The Duchess must be going bankrupt clothing you.” He was frowning—why, she didn’t understand. She thought it was a jest, nothing more, yet James had lost his sense of humor.

  “No she’s not. I’m paid two pounds a week. I plan to shop tomorrow and pay her back.”

  “Two pounds a week? What riches. She pays you the money to pay her back. Come now, you know you can’t remain at Chase Park until you’re old and doddering.”

  She walked away from him to touch the petals of a deep red rose. “I know,” she said, not looking at him. She leaned down and inhaled deeply.

  “What are you going to do?”

  She turned now and stared up at the man she’d loved since she was fourteen years old. It had been hero-worship then, yes, she knew that now. James had been a god to her, perfect in all ways, a splendid being who occasionally smiled upon her, yelled at her, recognized that she needed a kind word sometimes and gave it freely. But then she’d grown up and seen that he was a man, not a god, but oddly enough her feelings for him had just grown stronger, more abiding. They had changed into something very deep, as deep as the Ft. Point reservoir.

  But it didn’t matter. James still looked at her as if she were fourteen years old, or a trollop in her new finery. No, it didn’t matter.

  “I think I will work for the Duchess and the earl for several years. I will save all my money. Then I will come home and buy my own stud. I will race horses and I will win.”

  He didn’t laugh. She was surprised that he didn’t. She was also thankful. She didn’t think she could have borne it had he laughed. Nor did he sound remotely condescending as he said, “That will require a lot of money, Jessie. Two pounds a week is about forty dollars a month. In two years, if you saved every pence, you’d still have less than a thousand dollars.”

  “I know that. It will be enough. My father will surely sell me several stallions and mares at a cheap price. All I need is a start. I can grow and succeed just as you have.”

  He looked away from her then toward the rich-leafed maple trees that climbed up a rolling hill. “I had more help than you know, Jessie. I married a girl with a large dowry. I had a great deal more than a thousand dollars to start up the stud here. In fact, Alicia’s father gave us Candlethorpe as a wedding present. So you see, Marathon had the chance to succeed just because I had ample funds to begin the stud here, and ample funds to lose money that first two years.”

  “How much money, James?”

  “Alicia’s dowry was nearly twenty thousand pounds.”

  Jessie did a fast calculation. “Goodness, James, that’s much more than a hundred thousand dollars, that’s almost—”

  “Yes, I know. I’m a rich man because I just happened to fall in love with a girl whose father was a baronet and very rich. She was his only child. He loved her very much. He urges me to visit him. He thinks of me as his son, though the good Lord knows I don’t deserve it. He doesn’t blame me for Alicia’s death, though I know his loss is great.”

  “Why should he blame you for her death?”

  “I planted my seed in her womb. She died in childbirth, the babe with her. We hadn’t even been married a year.”

  “I see.”

  “No, you don’t, not really. You’re young, Jessie, you’ve never considered a man as other than a competitor to beat at the races. You can’t possibly know what it’s like to, well, that’s not important. So you see, money would be difficult.”

  “Why do you blame yourself for her death?”

  “The doctor was a fool. He dithered. Her labor was difficult and long. I was banished from the bedchamber and told it was women’s business. Foolishly I left only to return to hear her screams. When I got into the bedchamber, she was nearly dead. He’d let her die because he was too ignorant to know what to do. Since then I’ve done a lot of reading on childbirth, I’ve spoken to physicians in London. I know now that she could perhaps have been saved. If I had only taken the whole business more seriously, Alicia could still be alive today, our child as well.”

  Tears fell down her cheeks. She made no sound. James saw her shoulders shake and turned her to face him. “Tears, Jessie? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you cry before. It happened over three years ago. I shouldn’t have told you about it. Now, dry your tears. Jessie, please.”

  But she didn’t. She lowered her face into her hands and cried harder. James cursed quietly, then pulled her against him. “Shush, Jessie. It was a long time ago. The pain’s not close anymore. It’s in the past where it belongs, all vague and blurry, not sharp and prodding anymore. Hush, you’ll make yourself sick.”

  She raised her face and stared up at him. Slowly, she raised her arms and closed them around his neck. “James,” she said only.

  He didn’t know why he did it, but he did. He lowered his head and kissed her mouth. Her closed mouth. Her very soft closed mouth that had just a light smear of the lip cream. He felt a shot of lust so strong, he trembled with it. Lust? With Jessie Warfield? It was ridiculous. He ran his tongue over her bottom lip, saying against her mouth, “Open your mouth just a little bit, Jessie. Yes, that’s right.”

  The lust was incredible. It was piercing and powerful, and he simply lost his wits. He cupped her bottom in his hands and lifted her to press her against him. She froze like a rabbit in the sights of a fox.

  He felt like a near-rapist. He immediately released her and gently pushed her back.

  “I’m sorry. Forgive me.”

  She was staring at the buttons on his riding jacket. “You startled me. No one’s ever done that to me before. Perhaps you shouldn’t have let me down so quickly. Perhaps you should have let me grow accustomed to having your hands around my bottom. Perhaps—”

  “Be quiet, Jessie. Damnation, I’m sorry. Despite your new plumage, you’re still Jessie Warfield, and it wasn’t good of me to attack you like that.”

  “It was a very nice attack. Perhaps you could kiss me again?”

  “No,” he said, then pulled her against him and kissed her, not a very gentle kiss, but one that was hot and wet and—She giggled into his mouth. He drew back and smiled down at her. “I made you laugh?”

  “I dreamed about you last night. I dreamed you were kissing me, that it was hot and very wet and that you were pulling me tightly against your chest. When I woke up, it was Damper sitting on me and licking my nose.”

  He dropped his hands to his sides. “You conjure me up in your dreams when a damned dog licks your nose. That puts me in my place.”

  “Oh no. I can’t imagine you sitting on my chest.” She stared up at his mouth and swallowed. “Again, please, James?”

  “No,” he said more violently than he
’d meant to. “It’s time for luncheon. Come along. Mrs. Catsdoor will have prepared something for us.”

  15

  HE FELT AS if he were standing in front of a tribunal. All they needed were those rolled white wigs on their heads and long, thin noses. He wondered if Maggie could ever be convinced to cover her glorious hair with one of those things. Probably, if she cared enough. He wasn’t actually standing in a docket. He was seated on a gilt chair given to him by the Duchess, in his own drawing room, drinking Mrs. Catsdoor’s tea. The tribunal were all staring at him over their teacups. A silver tray lovingly loaded by Mrs. Catsdoor with small delicately trimmed cucumber sandwiches and slivers of lemon cake hadn’t been touched. He knew she’d prepared them to impress Badger, whom she held in awe. He wondered if Badger knew that Mrs. Catsdoor admired him excessively, and that admiration had nothing to do with his cooking. They continued to stare at him. He felt like a criminal.

  “All right, out with it,” James said. “Why are you here? What have I done now?”

  Spears lay down his cup of tea and cleared his throat. “James, we came to Candlethorpe today because we’ve discussed the situation thoroughly and have come to a decision.”

  “Did you tell Marcus and the Duchess your decision first?”

  “No, we’re telling you first,” Badger said.

  “What situation?”

  Maggie smoothed her brilliant emerald green satin skirts as she said, “You’ve grown up into a fine man, James. That’s what I told Jessie and I mean it. We’re all very proud of you. However, it’s time for you to get a good hold on yourself and do the Right Thing.”

  “The Right Thing?”

  “Yes, James,” Sampson said, the judge of the tribunal. “We also agree that you know our decision first. It concerns you, not his lordship or the Duchess. It does concern them, but not as directly as it does you.”

  “Just what is this Right Thing, if I may inquire?” James rose to stroll over to the fireplace. It gave him an illusory sense of freedom to be able to walk even across his own drawing room. The grate was empty, swept clean. He leaned negligently against the mantelpiece, his arms crossed over his chest, which was difficult since he was still holding his teacup. “Come, Spears, spit it out.”

  “Very well, James,” Spears said, and rose, all austere as a judge ready to deliver his verdict. He took three measured steps, then turned to face all of them. He cleared his throat. Garrick acting on Drury Lane couldn’t have done it better. He said, “We believe you should marry Jessie.”

  James stared at him. He’d known all along what they meant by that Right Thing business, but he just hadn’t wanted to accept it. Now it was all said, all out in the open. He’d not wanted to confront it like this, well, perhaps he already had in the deepest recesses of his brain, but he’d dismissed it. Surely he had. He didn’t ever want to consider such a thing, at least not when he was fully conscious. He stared some more. He fidgeted. Finally, he spoke. “This is none of your collective business. Jessie has nothing to do with any of you. She has nothing to do with me. She’s whined to you that I ruined her? I didn’t ruin her. I had nothing to do with anything. When I didn’t ruin her, when I told her father I hadn’t ruined her, he still kept after me. It was Jessie who refused to let it continue. So she’s changed her tune now, has she? Now she wants not only my hide, she also wants my name?”

  Maggie studied her thumbnail, then turned the wedding ring slowly, ever so slowly around her finger. “That is quite the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard you say, James. Jessie is innocent; she’s extremely vulnerable; she’s in a foreign country; she still doesn’t know what’s good for her, though our hints have become a mite more specific over the past three days. She’ll go to her grave protecting you, or trying to. She hasn’t changed any tune. I don’t think she even wants to marry you.”

  “You see? I was right. She has no interest in me at all.”

  Badger cleared his throat. “As Miss Maggie was about to point out, the only reason Jessie won’t hear of marrying you is because she believes you don’t even like her. I believe, Miss Maggie, that you made that telling point last evening over my dessert of stewed pears and sponge cake.”

  “Damn all of you meddlers! You want the truth? Very well. I rarely like her. I can count on my left hand the number of times I’ve liked her more than rarely.”

  Spears cleared his throat. He waited until all the murmuring had died down. He waited until all eyes were on him. Then he said, “We questioned Jessie closely. She was shut down as tightly as a clam protecting its innards. All she would allow was that she found Candlethorpe splendid. We all found that observation very telling.”

  “What the hell does that mean? Telling? That tells me she’s got eyes in her head and a modicum of sense. Candlethorpe is an excellent property. Why shouldn’t she acknowledge that?”

  Sampson and his wife, Maggie, exchanged glances. Badger was studying those delicate slivers of lemon cake. He ate one, chewed for a very long time, his eyes half closed, then nodded to himself. Spears looked more austere than ever.

  “This is gaining us nothing,” Badger said, the lemon cake forgotten, his voice now colder than James had ever heard it. “Listen, Mr. Spears, let us just lay the cards on the table. James, you must marry Jessie Warfield. You will do it immediately. There is no other choice. She will never be able to return to the Colonies with her head up unless you do. Regardless of your part in it, she’s the one who is blamed. If you’re a gentleman, you will put things to right and you will do it very soon.”

  “James,” Maggie said, fingering the exquisite emerald earrings that dangled from her white ears, “Jessie has loved you since she was a girl. She will make you a splendid wife.”

  “She hasn’t liked me any more than I’ve liked her, Maggie. You’re quite wrong.”

  Sampson cleared his throat. “Are we in error to assume you are no more mourning your late wife?”

  “Yes,” Badger said. “If you’re still mourning her then we’ve a problem.”

  “No, I’m not still mourning Alicia. She’s been dead for over three years. I have learned to live without her. All of you know it was difficult for me for a very long time, but no longer. My life is full to brimming. I don’t want another wife. I don’t want an American girl who’s a hoyden, who many times beats me in races and who’s changed her stripes completely and now dresses like a damned trollop since she crossed the hallowed threshold of Chase Park.”

  “She’s beautiful,” Maggie said, as indignant as Clorinda when Fred the peacock managed to sneak up on her and get in a free peck. “She just needed a bit of adjusting, that’s all. Certainly she doesn’t look like a trollop. That’s very unfair of you, James.”

  “She doesn’t look like herself. At least I knew what to expect when she looked like herself, but no longer. She shouldn’t have been adjusted, she didn’t need it, I didn’t need it. Just the other day I was noticing that even with her hair in a braid, it’s not all slicked back as tight as stretched material the way it used to be. You’ve taught her to have those silly little female curls dangling down on either side of her face. She couldn’t strut around in her breeches and race with those silly little curls.”

  “I call them streamers,” Maggie said.

  Spears said, “We’ve gotten far afield here. You will marry her, James. It’s imperative. Do you want her to remain an employee of his lordship and the Duchess for the rest of her life? It would be a blight on your good name. It isn’t fair that his lordship and the Duchess be responsible for her until she becomes an old woman and passes on. She deserves much more. She has wit and spice and good sound common sense. Marry her.”

  “Aye, do it.”

  “Hear, hear.”

  “How about next week? The Duchess and I can manage it. Ah, I know just the wedding gown for her. I’ve pictured it in my mind. You will be immensely pleased, James.”

  “I’m sure it’s a treat, love,” Sampson said, and kissed his wife’s soft white hand
.

  Badger ate one of the dainty cucumber sandwiches. This time he frowned ever so slightly.

  James threw his teacup at the wall.

  Jessie walked into the nursery, Charles in her arms, tickling him and telling him he would break female hearts when he gained but another year to his ticket, telling him that little females would find his gnawing on anything that didn’t move fast enough quite charming. She nearly ran into James, who was standing just inside the doorway, staring at her with acute dislike.

  “James! What are you doing here?”

  “Where have you been?”

  “Charles wanted to see his mama’s roses. They’re beautiful, particularly the red ones, just like velvet—”

  “Shut up, Jessie. You know very well why I’m here, damn you.”

  Charles looked at James then back at Jessie. His chin trembled. “Don’t raise your voice,” she said, bouncing Charles up and down in her arms. “There, little love, it’s all right. Your cousin James is just a bit like a volcano. He blows up, then cools. The cooling part is all right, but the other—”

  “Shut up, Jessie,” he said, this time in a near whisper. He held out his arms to Charles. That insensitive little tot gurgled in delight and went right to him.

  “It isn’t fair. Have you ever burped him? Has he ever wet on your shirt?”

  “Once he did,” James said, rocking Charles. “Wet on me, that is. My little godson recognizes I’m a man. He knows men should be in charge of their lives, should make their own decisions. He knows that I can’t, thus he feels sorry for me and he’s comforting me in the only way he knows how. He’s pulling my hair and drooling on my neck.”

  “What do you mean you’re not in charge of your life? You’ve got Candlethorpe and Marathon both. What more do you want or need? You probably even have a Connie Maxwell over here in England. It’s true, isn’t it, James? What’s her name? Stop shaking your head—I’ll never believe you. My mother always said that men are driven to seek out all sorts of females because their natures are unsteady. What are you talking about, James?”