Timeless Passion: 10 Historical Romances To Savor

by Rue Allyn

  “You need real sleep, Your Grace. It will not do to have two nobles ill in the same house. Go on to your bed now. I will see to the duke. I will summon you if we need assistance.”

  Lady Anne looked relieved for a moment, and then cast a worried glance toward the man sleeping soundly in the bed.

  Jessica guided the dowager from the chair to the door and into the corridor to find Sophie slouched on a bench directly across the way. The girl leaped to her feet and hurried to give assistance.

  Compliant, the dowager shuffled, transferring from Jessica’s arms into Sophie’s, and allowing herself to be escorted to her quarters, several doors down the hall.

  Chapter Five

  “No, no, no, fool.” Nan, the officious upstairs maid, rushed to draw the window covering closed, jerking the cords from Jessica’s hand. The long velvet draperies snapped shut over the sunlight, casting Devlin’s bedchamber back into the pall of night, as well as cutting off the spring breeze that had whispered lightly about the room.

  None too well rested, Jessica flushed at the maid’s high-handed reprimand. Although little respected among the household staff, Nan had the audacity to call Jessica “fool” and attempt to instruct her on matters pertaining to her patient.

  The impudence probably sprang from the household’s confusion about Jessica’s position. Much discussion had not settled the matter of how they should treat the young woman in ragbag clothing who had brought a peer of the realm home.

  Jessica identified with the servants’ dilemma, having no idea how she had obtained such a lofty standing, which is why she did not erupt at Nan’s impertinence.

  Patterson had a different standing, of course. The old retainer had helped rear all three of the Miracle’s sons and treated the two survivors with thinly veiled regard when he agreed with their actions and disdain when they earned his disapproval. Patterson was regarded by the family as a venerable older relative, making him of more consequence than a servant.

  Neither Patterson nor the dowager were present when Nan arrived and began noisily gathering soiled dishes on a tray, and snapping out fresh towels and linens. Jessica held silent until Nan turned her attention to the bed where Devlin had at last fallen asleep. Anticipating, Jessica intercepted the housemaid.

  “That will be all, Nan.”

  The maid squinted as if to challenge the command.

  Jessica raised her brows. “I wouldn’t.” While not threatening in themselves, the words convinced Nan to wait for another time to test this visitor’s authority.

  As soon as Nan clattered out the door, Jessica marched to the window and threw back the velvet draperies. She started as Devlin’s deep baritone boomed in the silent room. “Good for you.”

  Jessica spun. “What?”

  “Don’t let them bluff you, Nightingale. Stand your ground. I will back you, even when you are wrong.”

  She tried to make her voice sound indignant. “Who is going to determine if or when I am wrong?”

  As she intended, the arrogance in her question ignited his deep, throaty chuckle. Her giggling laugh mixed with his, lilting toward the rafters.

  “I am glad you are feeling better, Your Grace. We — that is, your family and I … indeed, the entire household, of course — have all been concerned.”

  “You have been concerned for me, little bird?”

  Jessica stealthily stepped to her right. His open, unbandaged eye did not follow. He could not see. Not yet, anyway.

  “Certainly, Your Grace. I understand from all of this,” she made a sweeping gesture, “that you are an important figure, not only to your family, but to the nation.”

  “Oh, am I?”

  “Well, that’s what everyone here seems to think.”

  “And you, my chirping little bird?”

  “I know too little of politics or politicians to have an opinion, Your Grace.”

  Devlin struggled to prop himself higher on his pillows. Jessica rushed to offer her arm for his use in pulling himself upright while she reached behind to readjust the cushions.

  He wrapped both hands about her arm and adopted a more serious tone. “You are strong, Nightingale, to be as thin as you are.”

  “Yes I am, Your Grace.”

  Steadying himself, leaning on her while bracing one hand on the bed, he used the other to finger the bandage wrapped about his head.

  “Thank goodness,” he said. “I thought I’d lost the ability to open and close my eye. It’s only this infernal wrap. Perhaps the covered eye has regained its sight.”

  Jessica bit her lips together to keep from blurting the truth, certain that he was equally blind in both eyes, at least for the moment.

  Jessica saw nothing to worry about yet. A sightless rich man could look forward to a far better life that a blind beggar. Jessica viewed the duke’s situation as an inconvenience.

  She glanced down on the top of Devlin’s thick blond hair and realized he had grown perfectly still, his face pressed against her upper arm while she continued to hold him upright.

  “Have you fallen asleep, Your Grace?” she whispered.

  He stirred only a little. “You smell of the woods, of fresh air and pine, Nightingale. I was taking advantage of a quiet moment to breathe you. Surely you don’t begrudge me the pleasure of your scent.”

  She shivered. There was something suggestive in the statement and in his manner. “No, Your Grace, of course not.” The tenor of his voice puzzled her. Was he grieving, suspicious that the damage to his eyes might be permanent? Or frightened, perhaps?

  No, not this marvelous man with his great house, vast expanses of land, family and staff to provide his needs and wants whether he could see or not.

  He exhaled as he leaned back against the pillows, but maintained his grip on her arm. When she attempted to withdraw, his fingers tightened. “Stay.”

  “I am not a pet to answer to one-word commands, Your Grace.”

  He puckered and frown lines deepened at both sides of his mouth as his jaws flexed giving him a defiant look. “You will do as I say for as long as you are in this house.”

  She jerked the captive arm free. “Then I shall not remain in this house, Your Grace.”

  Heaving forward, he flailed at air and almost threw himself out of bed in his effort to retrieve her. She started for the door, and then looked back. She did not like seeing that big, beautiful man floundering.

  Soundlessly, she eased back to position herself within easy reach.

  His flailing hand found her shoulder and clamped it.

  “I thought you had left me.” The arrogance was gone from his voice as he lowered it to a whisper. “Nightingale, you must promise not to leave me. Not in this awful darkness.”

  “Is that a command, Your Grace?”

  The stiffness leached from his back and shoulders as he wilted against the pillows. “A request. Please. Stay within my reach. Allow me the use of your eyes until mine are restored.” His face etched with pain, he spoke softly, making her heart ache. “Promise me, Nightingale, that just as you did not abandon me on the road, you will remain with me until this nightmare has passed.”

  “Your Grace, I would stay gladly had I only myself to consider. However, others depend on me. I have responsibilities.”

  His open eye, the color as blue as the deepest sea on a cloudy day, fixed on her, as if he could see. “I will hire someone to take on your other duties.”

  She gave a mirthless chuckle.

  Obviously hearing the derision, he said, “Where are your charges, my child? What are your responsibilities?”

  “I am the sole provider for my widowed mother.”

  “Are you an only child then?”

  “No. I have an older brother and sister, but they are otherwise obligated. I see to our mother: provide her meals and bathe her, change her clothing and her bed, take care of her personal needs, duties no one else cares to perform.”

  He snorted his disdain. “For the right sum of money, I can hire a dozen to tend
your mother’s needs while you remain here.”

  Jessica had never considered hiring anyone else to care for her mother when her own sister and brother refused to share the responsibility.

  “Perhaps, Your Grace, we could hire that same dozen to see after you. The accommodations here are far more compelling than those in my mother’s home.”

  He smiled. “I want you here with me and, because it is my wants I desire to satisfy, I am willing to pay to keep you here. Do we have an agreement?”

  She wanted very much to remain in this grand place with the handsome, doting duke and his mother, yet her conscience gave her little choice. “No, Your Grace, I’m afraid not. Others also depend on me as well.”

  “What others?”

  She was reluctant to say, thinking he might take offense or ridicule her, but he prodded her with his silence.

  “Ten months ago, a fox got into the hen house at Maxwell Manor, where I work in the scullery. Cook ordered the injured hens killed and buried, afraid to serve them at table for fear the fox might have been diseased and infected the birds.”

  “I interceded on their behalf. My work day was over and I volunteered to take the damaged hens and bury the dead ones on my way home.”

  Devlin nodded that he understood the story to this point. Apparently feeling surer of himself, his grip on her arm relaxed. Moving a step closer to the bed, she straightened to her full height, although he maintained a hold on her near forearm.

  The chamber door flew open and Nan rushed in. “Out, out, out,” she hissed. “Get away from the master this moment. Who do you think … ?”

  Devlin’s roar startled both girls.

  “WHO IN THE HELL IS THAT?” His question reverberated off all four walls, the echo bouncing eerily.

  Taken aback, Nan looked at Jessica as if trying to think of a way to blame her for the duke’s outburst. Before either of them spoke, he roared again.

  “I SAY, WHO CAME INTO THIS ROOM AND BEGAN ORDERING PEOPLE ABOUT?” His voice dropped to a shout as he continued. “Jessica, I demand that you tell me who the person is.”

  Jessica answered rather than risk exciting him further.

  “It is Nan, a chambermaid, my lord. I am sure she was merely concerned that I might be pestering you.”

  “Does this Nan person appear to you to possess good sense, or is she addled?”

  Jessica regarded Nan briefly before she answered. “It is difficult to tell, Your Grace, with only appearances on which to judge.”

  “Nan!” He barked the name, making the girl jump again.

  “Your G-Grace?”

  “You are never again to speak out loud in this house within my hearing, is that clear?”

  “Yes, Your Grace.” She began backing toward the door.

  “If there is a fire, send someone else to alert me. Moreover,” he said, increasing his volume and stopping her retreat, “Jessica Blair is my dear friend, the person closest to my heart. You are NEVER to address anyone else in this house in that surly manner, most particularly not Miss Blair. From this moment on, your employment is tentative. Your standing is that of a kitchen cat, tolerated but expendable. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, Your Grace.” Nan didn’t raise her eyes, as she shuffled backward, again retreating toward the door.

  “You remain in this house under a cloud, Nan.” Again his words riveted her in place. “If I hear one complaint of your behavior or speech — even one — you will be discharged with no notice and without references. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, Your Grace.” With that, she turned, stumbled over the threshold, and pulled the door closed behind her. Before the latch snapped into place, however, another figure slipped through and into the room. The dowager tapped her index finger to her lips, indicating she wanted Jessica to keep her presence secret.

  A pall hung upon the chamber, each of the inhabitants seemingly waiting for one of the others to speak.

  Jessica finally stirred the quiet. “You were harsh with the girl, Your Grace.”

  “I did that for you, Nightingale. I want my family and every member of the staff to understand your position here.” His facial expression changed to one she could not read.

  “Exactly what is my position here, Your Grace?”

  He disregarded the question. “I thought a damsel in distress would admire a gentleman who rallied to her defense.”

  This time her laugh was genuine. “I am a scullery maid — in truth, a scullery maid’s assistant — in the manor house of one of your overseers, a man whose position is minute compared to yours. It is wrong for me to be an honored guest in your marvelous home, wrong for me to be here in your bedchamber conversing as if we were equals. Under ordinary circumstances, you would never have occasion to utter a word to me.”

  His rolling laugh interrupted her, at the same time he removed his hand from her forearm.

  Jessica shook her head puzzling. “What was it I said, Your Grace, to cause such good humor?”

  He sputtered attempting to speak, and Jessica couldn’t help smiling as his hilarity infected her as well.

  In a moment, as he became weakened by his attempts to articulate over a sudden fit of coughing, her gentle giggling merged with his. The dowager turned her back, her shoulders quaking with a similar shattering mirth.

  The chamber door flew open and Patterson burst into the room, his face flushed, his mouth set in a decidedly disapproving frown. His gaze swept the room. He looked startled to see the dowager, who, in the throes of silent laughter, again tapped her finger against her lips silencing any acknowledgment of her presence.

  “What has happened?” Patterson asked the room at large. “Is his sight restored? Can he see, in spite of the dire … ?” The words trailed off along with the duke’s boisterous guffaws.

  “Who suggested I might be permanently afflicted?” Booming accusation was back in Devlin’s voice. He again grabbed Jessica’s forearm and his grip tightened. He sneered.

  “Enlighten me, Nightingale. Did the physician tell you or my mother that my sight is permanently gone?”

  She turned to face him squarely. “He did not, Your Grace.” She wanted her response to be vigorous enough to be convincing.

  Devlin’s grip on her arm eased, but only a little. He lifted his face toward hers and his voice hardened, as if daring her to be bold enough to speak the truth. “Exactly what did the physician say, Jessica, and speak the words precisely as you recall them.”

  She looked to the dowager, hoping his mother might intercede. The older woman did not acknowledge Jessica’s glance. The girl had no choice but to do as he asked.

  “He said the loss of your eyesight was a result of the blow on the back of your head where there is a sizable gash.”

  She hesitated wanting to choose her next words carefully, but Devlin became impatient. “What else?”

  “You would be better served to speak directly with him, Your Grace, or with your mother. I believe he discussed details of your condition with her.”

  “You are here. They are not.” He squeezed her arm again.

  Guessing how she might feel in his circumstances, she thought it only fair to enlighten him.

  “He said your eyesight might return in a flash, or it might return slowly, as the damage to the inside of your head heals.”

  “Or?”

  She dropped her voice. “Conceivably, it might not return at all. But, Your Grace,” she hastened to add. “Of the three possibilities, two of them are favorable.”

  He rewarded her remark with a pained smile. “Well said, Nightingale. You have heard that I am something of a gambler, haven’t you?”

  “I have heard that. Yes.”

  “Did you consider that favored pastime when you couched your explanation in terms a gambler might like, the odds two-to-one in his favor?”

  “I did consider it. Yes, Your Grace.”

  There was a long pause, during which the duke appeared to affix his most pleasant, most inscrutable expression. His
face reflected changes as his thoughts tumbled about.

  “And what of you, Nightingale? Are you a gambler?”

  She grinned. “I believe life itself is a gamble, Your Grace.”

  “I want you to wager with me, Nightingale. Will you do it?”

  She tried to decipher his meaning by his expression. Unable to, she responded with a reluctant, “Maybe.”

  “I want your word that you will remain with me until my sight returns.”

  She started to object but he obviously heard her inhalation and raised his open hand, touching her mouth with his fingertips and staying her words.

  “This bet provides a large payoff. There will be a reward of five hundred pounds to you. I will see that you receive the full sum promptly on the day my sight returns. During the intervening time, however, from now until then, your eyes will serve as mine. You will be my companion, give me the benefit, not only of your sight, but your optimism, your exuberance, and your graceless honesty. I need to draw upon them, Nightingale.”

  She glanced across the room at the silent dowager who seemed fascinated, yet content to remain unacknowledged.

  “I am a wealthy man, Jessica Blair, and a generous one. Although I do not know how I appear right now, in these circumstances, I generally am considered an attractive man. Right now, I need someone truthful to evaluate people for me: their movements and expressions, their furtive glances and inner thoughts revealed by a grimace, the glint of an eye, an unexpected smile.”

  “But what about … ?”

  He didn’t allow her to finish. “Your mother is welcome to live here during the time you serve as my eyes.” He hesitated, but not long enough to allow her rebuttal. “Your hens as well. I will have the gamekeeper build stout pens close to the house, so that you may feed and fret over them at your leisure. Or I will send a servant to look after your charges where they are.

  “Think of it. When my sight is restored, your mother will not have suffered, you will be five hundred pounds richer — in addition to the clothes and shoes and any other benefits I may choose to provide during your stay. Your livestock doubtlessly will thrive under my protection. Now, what do you say?”