“How does one endure it?”
“We sleep away the morning, a practice foreign to you. Just as well. I doubt it is one that will be available to any of us tomorrow. In keeping with country hours, I suppose we should be up the stairs and to bed.”
Instead of listening to his companions, Devlin had tuned his sensitive hearing to private conversations, particularly to the last noisy group, for their talk seemed to be about the nobleman and his ladies. He didn’t like the men observing his party so closely.
Then the deepest, most graveled voice overcame the others as all conversation in the room fell to whispering.
Devlin knew his concerns probably were unwarranted. Still, he would feel better having his charges upstairs and bolted. He would put both ladies in one room and assign Bear to the door. Also, he decided to tell Ned, a sturdy, well-trusted footman, to mind the back of the tavern, the area between the inn and the stable, as another precaution.
“Jessica,” Devlin said quietly as she guided him up the stairs, his hand, as usual, on her shoulder, “would you mind very much quartering with my mother tonight?”
Her exhale sounded like relief. “Certainly, Your Grace.”
No questions? How extremely unlike her, but she had been behaving strangely since the band of men entered the tavern. Perhaps they had expressed unwelcome interest, had cast lurid looks her way, and she had been uncertain about how to spurn their attention. He didn’t bother asking. She would no doubt deny her nervousness in an effort to allay his concerns.
As they reached the top of the stairs, Devlin sent Ned to tell the innkeeper to set either a second bed or a pallet in the dowager’s room, then to summon Bear from the stable where the men had settled for the night.
When Bear arrived, the duke heard him riffle a hand of playing cards. “Bear, will you bring your blankets and sleep in front of my mother’s door tonight?”
“Do you believe the dowager is in danger?”
“I don’t know, but something is amiss. I don’t want to take any chances. I might hear an intruder’s approach, I might not be able to prevent any … unpleasantness.”
“I will see to it, Your Grace.” Bear had retreated several paces when he spoke over his shoulder. “I’ll get my things and be right back.”
“Thank you. I am grateful, particularly as you were otherwise pleasantly occupied.”
Bear riffled his cards again with a thumbnail. “Not so pleasantly as ye might believe. I was bluffing. By now the buggers ’ave figured it out. They can manage fine without my blunt. I expect this little interruption may provide protection for my purse as well as your mum.”
Devlin smiled and Bear chuckled. No one eavesdropping would have heard their earlier conversation or would have suspected they were having any but a light discussion.
• • •
Bear slept sitting up, his back propped against the door to the ladies’ room, his pistol loaded, his thumb on the hammer. The way his hat dipped over his face, a person could not tell if he were awake or asleep.
The dowager and Jessica prepared for bed, laughing and talking like schoolgirls.
“Jessica, I want to give you something.” The duchess rummaged in her satchel and produced a cameo often worn by unmarried girls from wealthy families. It hung from a delicate gold chain. “This was mine when I was a girl. I would like for you to have it.”
“Oh, Your Grace, it is lovely, but I seldom wear jewelry. I could not accept such an exquisite necklace.”
“Posh. I planned to give it to my daughter, but God saw fit to bless me with sons.”
“Then you must save it for a future daughter-in-law or a granddaughter.”
“Look closely, my dear. The face on it is yours. The resemblance is amazing. Since the likeness is you, the piece must be yours. I hope you will wear it always.”
The duchess indicated Jessica should turn. She fastened the delicate chain around the girl’s swanlike neck.
“It’s a little long,” the duchess said.
“Which means it will hang concealed where it will not be scratched or broken … or envied.”
The duchess caught Jessica’s shoulders and turned her around. Tears in the older woman’s eyes silenced further objections or mention of Jessica’s return to Maxwell Manor.
• • •
As Bear prepared the duke’s coach for travel the next morning, Devlin again heard the graveled voice he recognized as the leader of the noisy bunch from the tavern the night before. Fatigue — or perhaps worry — prevented the duke’s usual morning glimpses of light.
Jessica’s shoulder beneath his hand trembled at the sound of men’s voices as she led him down the stairs. Her reaction made hairs prickle on the back of the duke’s neck. He would pay much for one look at her expression when she spied the man with the grating tone.
At the bottom of the stairs, Devlin realized the graveled voice was coming closer. Judging by the volume and the man’s odor, he imagined the fellow to be a farmer in his late twenties; tall, burly, and a bully, by the way he ordered people about. It sounded as if people deferred to the fellow’s noisy demands.
The innkeeper’s voice appealed quietly, a tone below the bully’s. “I have your bill here, Your Grace.”
“Thank you.” Devlin removed his hand from Jessica’s shoulder. She inhaled sharply and her skirts swished as she moved quickly toward the door and out. “Where are you going, child?”
He heard a whispered exchange before she answered a little too loudly. “To the coach, Your Grace. I will send your valet back to provide escort.” The door slammed.
Since Jessica had been in his household, she rarely referred to the servants by titles or occupations. She called them by name. Why had she said she would send his valet back when that same valet, Henry, was one of her closest friends?
• • •
In step beside her, John Lout grabbed Jessica’s arm and whisked her around a corner of the inn. She did not object as he shoved her against a wall where they were hidden from the duke’s men preparing the coach.
Using a falsetto voice, Lout whined, “Yes, Yer Grace. No, Yer Grace. Kiss yer ass, Yer Grace?” Then the graveled hiss was back. “I won’t have any woman a’ mine squallering between another man’s sheets, especially no rich man’s bed, for no paltry hundred pounds.”
Reminding herself of possible danger to the dowager or the duke, Jessica tried, but lost the battle against her rising anger. She yanked free of John’s grasp.
“You forget yourself, John Lout. First, I am not ‘any woman of yours’. Not yet. And let me tell you, if this is the kind of behavior I can expect if I take you as husband, then I am not going to be your woman. Not in this lifetime. I will die first.”
He retreated a step, but she followed, rising onto her tiptoes, propping her fists on her hips, and spewing words directly into his face.
“I told you before, in words I thought even you understood, the duke would not have me in his bed. He has other, more important considerations. He is blind as a bat. Beyond that, he is too old and too experienced to be interested in easy ladies or urchins off the streets. As you can also see for yourself, he is easily thirty years of age, practically in his dotage.
“Another thing,” she continued, not allowing him a word, “I am as much a paid companion to his mother as I am to him.”
Scowling, Lout attempted to interrupt as he retreated, staying close to the wall but moving toward the rear of the building. Her temper unleashed, Jessica continued her stalking tongue-lashing.
“Do you have any prospects of making one hundred pounds, John Lout? Any that will not finish with you swinging from the end of a rope?”
He held silent and withdrew another step.
“No, you have not! I have! And I am willing to share my good fortune with you. If this brutish
bullying is how you respond to my womanly regard, I will reconsider my plans for us.”
John jutted his chin at her and stood his ground, as if he felt finally, safely beyond her reach.
“I don’t want ’im putting ’is filthy hands on ya.”
A glance at John’s hands and her eyes popped. How could he even speak such words?
“His hands are never filthy, John, never so dirty as yours … or mine either. He puts one hand on my shoulder to steady himself and I lead him. In his dark, unseeing world, he thinks of me as a child. No one, not even his mother, has convinced him that I am a woman grown. That information has no bearing on his interest in me or on our business relationship. He does not consider me a person, male or female. I matter to him only as a guide to lead him through his current darkness. I will not tolerate your bullying like this and behaving like a complete oaf. I will not have my intended embarrass me.”
Lout drew a quick breath as if signaling he wanted to be heard, before his frown deepened with the sting of her words.
Seeing his expression darken, Jessica checked her aggression. She made a conscious effort neither to quail or retreat as she saw the change. Perhaps she had carried her attack too far.
John’s hands balled into ham-like fists and he spoke through clenched teeth, edging closer to Jessica as he whispered.
“I’m going to kill the bastards.” He glanced around. “The big one first, that one they call Bear. Once he’s gone, the rest’ll fall easy — the fancy old dame and that strutting peacock of a duke, too.”
Jessica did not want John to see her fear at the threat.
“Killing an old gentle woman and a blind man would take little skill, John Lout. Those would be the acts of a coward, not behavior of a man I could marry.”
She lowered her eyes and adjusted her posture to make her appeal seem more feminine. Easing closer, she placed her fingers gently on one of the forearms he had crossed in front of him. They stood a moment before a smile twitched his lips. She had been waiting for a sign she had retaken control of things, including her temper. Only then did she allow her eyes to engage his.
“I could not endure if you killed either of them, John. If you committed such a heinous act, it would be better if you murdered me as well. The disappointment of knowing you had slain such gentle, harmless creatures would shatter the tender regard I have for you.”
“If I swear not to kill ’em, will ye vow here and now to be my wife?”
She started to speak, but he eyed her suspiciously. “I have pledged it a hundred times, Jess, but you never did. Not once. What I’m saying is, if I let their dainty highnesses go, will ye give yer word we’ll wed before Michaelmas?”
Jessica stared at his quivering jowls. His face was ruddy and puffy from heavy drinking the night before, the distortion emphasizing his bulbous nose and low forehead. Promise to wed him? And do it before September was ended? So soon as that?
An image of Devlin superimposed itself over John’s face — the duke’s well-defined jaw, his straight nose and high forehead over Lout’s pudginess.
She visualized Devlin’s full lips outlined by the manicured mustache and the narrow beard that emphasized the sensuality of the man’s mouth. She could almost hear the coaxing tones he used addressing his mother or her. She got goose flesh recalling the warmth of his hands. She rejoiced in the memories of his impeccable manners and gentle ways, even when he dissolved into those — now infrequent — fits of temper.
When John was under stress, he became abusive, using any means available, weapons or fists, to annihilate obstacles, particularly a weaker foe.
Devlin utilized his wits to quell a challenge more often than he used his considerable physical skills. It was another of his most admirable qualities.
Could she lie in her marriage bed with John, free of the mental images of Devlin Miracle?
As she contemplated John’s suggestion, he drew a knife from his belt and thumbed its well-honed edge. It was the same weapon he used to skin and butcher game. Slowly, he raised his gaze to hers. She saw his intentions. With a word, she could prevent the spilling of noble blood.
John was sly. He and his ruffians would give no warning. Devlin’s beloved friend Bear would be their first victim. A wise choice, she supposed. Felling Bear first would make it easier to finish the rest of the duke’s party. Devlin would be dead before the ruffians could harm his mother.
Michaelmas was weeks away. Devlin might recover his sight before that. If not, surely he would grow tired of their arrangement before then, pay her the five hundred pounds and send her away.
Unlike the nobility, Jessica had no qualms about going back on an extorted promise.
When she was free of her obligation to Devlin, she would take her share of the money, leave the agreed sums for Brandon and John, arrange for her mother, warn Bear of Lout’s threat, and run. She would never dishonor a pledge made voluntarily, but an oath given under threat was different.
She would turn her coops and livestock over to Penny, her friend, and the other Anderson children. They would care for and reap the benefits of her birds.
If Devlin had not recovered and sent her away before then, she would explain her dilemma and, with his permission, leave him to his mother and his servants and his life of ease.
Brandon and their mother and even the scullery at Maxwell Manor would have to manage without her. She could vanish with a clear conscience, change her name and become a governess. She could adopt the surname Nightingale. That had a familiar ring.
“What’s it to be, lass?” John said, interrupting her thoughts. “Do I kill this mob and take you wi’ me now, or do we postpone the spilling a’ noble blood this day, wish ’em well, and let ’em live on to their happy dotage? It’s yers to say.”
She straightened to her full height and raised her chin. “Yes. All right. Michaelmas it is. September twenty-ninth will be our wedding day.”
He eyed her suspiciously. “If ye try to squirm outta’ it, no matter how sound yer reason, his honor the duke and his mum die. I’m just making sure we both understand the terms o’ this here agreement.”
When she didn’t respond, he raised his voice.
“I’m trying to assure meself things between us are clear, Jess. Are they, then? Clear?”
She looked down at her silk shoes designed to fit her feet, far more delicate and comfortable than the cast-off boots John provided. “Yes.”
Lout sheathed his blade, puckered his lips and bent from the waist, tilting his lumbering hulk closer. Jessica stepped quickly aside and rounded the corner of the tavern, putting herself again in full view of the duke’s people readying the team, loading the coach, and preparing their departure.
John trailed her. As she passed the tavern door, Bear stepped out, placing his considerable bulk between Jessica and John. The two men stood eye to eye, taking one another’s measure. Although they were of comparable heft, Bear, taller and more mature, exhibited hard, tested muscle while John, not quite so tall, looked heavier and notably softer.
Bear glowered at Jessica, then at her companion before setting inquisitive, perhaps sympathetic eyes again on the girl. “His Grace asks if yer ready to continue the journey.” His gaze followed as hers shifted to John and back. Bear’s stare narrowed and fixed on the other man as if visually daring him to speak.
Lout remained silent, but offered a smarmy victorious grin and did not flinch as he returned the stare.
With another glance at John, Jessica flicked her tongue over her bottom lip. “Yes, thank you, Bear. You may tell His Grace I am well ready to be away from this place.”
When neither Bear nor Lout moved, nor yielded their visual lock, Jessica attempted to initiate dialogue between them. “Bear, this is John Lout, a friend of my brother’s, from Welter. John, this is the Duke of Fornay’s most trusted friend … �
��
“Friend, is it?” Lout glowered insolently at the older man. “Slave, more like. Nobility don’t have friends. Don’t need ’em. They hire what bodies they want around ’em. Don’t have to put up with giving something a’ themselves to get something in return like the rest of us.”
Bear’s eyes narrowed and John thrust his chin forward, mutely daring the older man to dispute his words.
Unexpectedly, Bear opened his great cavern of a mouth and roared; a sound so loud it rattled the inn’s great oaken door.
Jessica started and John staggered, obviously taken aback. Bear studied Lout another long moment as blue twinkled in the deep-set cavities of his weathered old eyes.
“Come along, Miss. We’d best be going.” Glancing back, he grinned again at Lout and, taking Jessica’s elbow, turned her toward the carriage. “You can show His Grace yerself ye’r truly ready.”
She heard John curse as he wheeled to join his men.
Chapter Eleven
“Your sight will return, or it won’t,” Dr. Emmanuel Connor said rather philosophically while Devlin rebuttoned his shirt. “There’s nothing I can do to make it happen. No therapy. No medicine. No surgery. Your heart is strong. You’re a hearty specimen. Rest. Stay fit and well fed and avoid aggravations for a time and we’ll see if Mother Nature will help. Indulge in pleasant pastimes. Spend your days with people whose company you enjoy.” He paused, and then lowered his voice. “I don’t know that I would enjoy myself too much with the ladies for a time, if you get my meaning, what with the strain involved in that particular pursuit.”
“I understand. Thank you for your reassurance.”
“As to those glimpses of light and shadow you’re experiencing, I find that very encouraging. Even if you weren’t to regain your full ability to see, those wee peeks indicate the parts work. No doubt, some of your vision will be restored. If you will take proper rest, your attitude and stamina will do more for you than any physician can.”
Dr. Conner turned to put away his stethoscope, and then looked back at Devlin. “Entertain healthy thoughts. Laugh. Laugh out loud as often as you can. A cheerful heart makes a healthier man.”
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