Timeless Passion: 10 Historical Romances To Savor

by Rue Allyn

  Of course he had noticed the changes. He had probably been more aware of them than his mother had.

  Her voice became quieter and he assumed she had bent again to her handwork. “If her family will allow it, I want Jessica to be my ward.”

  “I doubt the Queen will consent. She is little older than Jessica herself.”

  “Then, you must petition to be her guardian. Victoria will do it for you, particularly if you mention it to Peel and soften him beforehand. Robert admired your father. As prime minister, he has Victoria’s ear.”

  “On what am I to base this petition?”

  “You owe this girl your life. You want to provide for her future out of appreciation for her help during your crisis.”

  “What will people think, Mother? That I could not have found my way home without the help of a slip of a girl?”

  “If they do, they will be correct. You might have happened upon the same ruffians, or worse. With neither your sight nor a weapon, it would have been easy for them to finish the job and eliminate a witness who could send them to the gallows.”

  “Yes, well, I might not have been as easily dispatched as that.”

  “Do you believe they would have armed you and called out their positions to allow you to attack them?”

  He snorted at her speculation. She made his argument sound ridiculous.

  “Then what will you do with her, assuming the petition is approved?” he said, bringing her back to her request.

  “We will employ a tutor to polish her musical skills, a duenna to teach her to entertain, to walk properly, to speak on subjects popular in Court, to eat and drink at table. Then we shall present her.”

  He gave another snort. His eyesight was beginning to blur and, disappointed, he wanted to summon Jessica, but he did not interrupt his mother. Besides, he was warming to the idea.

  “Mrs. Freebinder loves fashioning clothes and hats for her,” the dowager continued. “She finds Jessica a charming subject. My modiste in London will be overjoyed. Lattimore and his friends will appreciate having such a delectable young woman enter their realm.”

  Suddenly, Devlin had a new thought. “You will offer Jessica to the likes of Lattie and Marcus Hardwick and Peter Fry? Mother, have a thought. A girl like Jessica could not endure an evening with any of those buffoons; much less agree to marry one.”

  “Marcus and Peter both are in line to inherit titles. Hardwick will be a marquis and inherit nice estates.”

  “Jessica is not interested in presiding over grand estates.”

  “No? How do you know that?”

  “Because I know her and what she considers of value.”

  “The fact you still consider her a child is indication enough that you know very little about her, indeed.”

  “What, exactly, is this depth of her I do not know?”

  “Devlin, Jessica is a lovely, lovely young woman. She is eighteen years old, elderly for an unmarried girl from a village.”

  “She has had opportunities at wedlock.”

  “That would be exactly what marriage to a villager would be for Jessica, with her sensibilities. Wedlock would be cruel punishment. She is a winsome child. Like you, I do not want to see her broken by the drudgery of life in a place like Welter with a man like that Lout person.”

  His sight almost completely gone, Devlin wheeled and took two strides toward his mother, stopping beside her chair. “What do you know of John Lout?”

  “I’ve overheard the servants. Just as we think them sometimes invisible, they are not always aware that I am present. Some of the girls live in fear of a John Lout in their futures. Others find him attractive with animalistic appeal. Jessica refuses to speak of him, as if she is resigned to the inevitability of marrying him.”

  The dowager’s voice took on an edge. “Devlin, I simply cannot allow that beautiful child to fall into that brute’s filthy hands.”

  Filthy hands? A brute with dirty hands? That probably described most men in the countryside, yet that was Devlin’s impression of the man who had delivered the blows that knocked him out of his saddle that night. The harsher beating had come after Devlin was on the ground, from a gentleman’s boots, and hands beneath fine leather gloves.

  Wouldn’t that be irony, for Jessica’s intended to have caused the injuries that resulted in Devlin’s fortuitous meeting with his Nightingale?

  He gave a short, mirthless laugh. “How much would be required of me in providing the cocoon for this caterpillar whilst she transforms into a butterfly?”

  Lady Anne clapped her hands and he heard a subdued wheeze of pleasure. “You will need to pay for everything, of course.”

  “Of course.”

  “When she is properly schooled and introduced, you will need to squire her to parties and balls and the theater and serve as her chaperone.”

  “A blind man? You jest. Perhaps you can have Lattimore play the lady’s sponsor and guard dog.”

  “No, Devlin. I have other plans for Lattimore’s role.”

  “What might those plans be, dear Mamma?”

  “He is only a little older than Jessica.”

  “Twenty-five to her eighteen. Seven years.”

  “She is more mature and far more responsible than he. If we can arrange the match, she could influence him toward improvement.”

  “They are not a match, Mother. She is too … ”

  “What, Devlin? She is too what?”

  “If you are set on marrying them, why the trouble and expense of introducing her?”

  “Because Lattie would balk if I paired them directly. He must be encouraged into this. He must see other men admire her and offer for her before he realizes what a treasure she is, one living within his own family. Please, Devlin, say you will help me.”

  “What of John Lout? Will he allow you to disregard him?”

  “Yes, well, that is another thing you might manage.”

  “Must I keep reminding you, Mother, I am blind. It hardly seems fair to make so many demands of your sightless son in order to arrange an agreeable match for your sighted one.”

  “I know, dear, it seems insensitive, but you may benefit from all of this too.”

  Somehow, he didn’t see how he was going to benefit from paying for everything, coaxing his dunderheaded brother into a marriage Lattimore did not want, and losing his Nightingale in the bargain.

  When had he begun thinking of the girl as his Nightingale?

  Of course, neither he nor his mother had considered Jessica’s opinion. She was a practical soul. He doubted she would object if the proposition were presented well.

  Lady Anne rang for Patterson who immediately opened the door to the study.

  “Yes, Your Grace.”

  The dowager hesitated, but Devlin had no intention of initiating her plan.

  “Patterson, please ask Jessica to join us here.”

  The girl arrived breathless moments later, her face the color of a ripe peach. She stopped just inside the door and dropped a quick curtsy.

  In spite of not being able to see her, Devlin swallowed a smile, as the scent of hay wafted into the room. He pictured her by her sounds — her noisy entry, the staccato steps which stopped abruptly, the rustle of her skirts as she curtsied, and the breathless, “Yes, Your Grace, you wanted to see me?”

  “My dear, Devlin and I have been speaking of your future. We have come to agreement and would like your impression of our thoughts.”

  He heard Jessica turn to him. “Is this your idea, Dev … er, Your Grace?”

  He tried to look severe, his arms folded over his chest as if he had final say over her destiny, which he knew he had not. He would never impose his will upon her, no matter how concerned he might be, and, he conceded, he was concerned.

  “I cannot take credit, Nightingale. The dowager has concocted a scheme and I have agreed to help. It is of considerable importance to her. I ask only that you hear her out.”

  She rustled again, obviously turning attention back to
the dowager, who began in low, dulcet tones. “Come sit beside me, child.”

  He heard the rustle of skirts settling before his mother began to speak.

  As if addressing someone she loved, the dowager outlined her plan. Jessica listened without interruption until the conclusion.

  “I have given my word to John Lout, Your Grace,” Jessica said, and Devlin heard regret in her voice. From their earlier conversations, he understood that Jessica had no intention of marrying Lout, so why use him as an excuse?

  “Yes, well Devlin mentioned that. I wondered if we invited Mr. Lout here to see the advantages available to you as my ward … ”

  “I doubt that, ma’am. You see John has a habit of knowing and doing what is best for himself. He has little concern for the needs or wants of others, including his own mum and dad.”

  Devlin felt compelled to interject a thought. “Mother, you may recall that, historically, surnames come from occupations, physical attributes, or behavior. The name Lout might have been assigned to the man’s ancestors due to certain familial traits.”

  The dowager duchess was quiet for several ticks of the clock before she advanced another thought.

  “Do you suppose a sum of money might make him release you from your promise?”

  Jessica’s thin laugh had a bittersweet timbre. “I suppose it would, Your Grace, but he is sly enough to recognize an advantage. He will overprice the goods and rob you, if he can.”

  Rob her? Devlin’s thoughts raced. He wondered if the robbery Jessica anticipated might not be the first John Lout had perpetrated upon the Miracles.

  “Devlin,” his mother said, “will you negotiate this matter?”

  “Aye, I will, but only if I am accompanied by armed and trusted eyes.”

  “Bear and how many others?”

  He allowed an easy laugh, an attempt to quell the concern in her voice. “Bear and I, even in my current state, probably can manage the negotiations.”

  “I prefer that you take two or three others along. I have lost one son contesting over a woman. I don’t intend to make that two. Speaking of which, perhaps I should send another messenger to town for Lattimore. I cannot imagine what is delaying him. We may be in town before he arrives.”

  “I am sure important matters of state are holding him.”

  The dowager’s face twisted at his sarcasm. “Or a pretty face. I wish I had produced one daughter to populate our homes with giggling girls eager to gain her brothers’ attention.”

  Devlin smiled at Jessica. “You see, Nightingale, my mother is determined you be the daughter she has coveted all these years.”

  “Am I also to be the sister you have always wanted?”

  His smile faded. Receptive to the idea of a daughter for his mother, he had never wanted a sister. Women seemed more difficult to command.

  Considering her question, he realized his feelings for Jessica were not fraternal. What were his feelings toward his Nightingale? Seeking an apt definition for their relationship, he became restless. He supposed his unease indicated he had need of a woman. It had been some time. Perhaps he should arrange to see the winsome Lady Elaine.

  No.

  While Elaine had once satisfied his desires, a man eventually required more.

  Mercedes, then, with her beautiful face and voluptuous hips, widowed twice, rich in her own right, and certainly one of his ardent admirers. She seemed determined to be a duchess, having advanced by stages, first marrying a viscount, and then an earl in her prior nuptials. Her desire for a ducal title was flagrant.

  No, thoughts of Mercedes no longer appealed. Maybe it was not a woman’s company he needed.

  As he pondered, he heard the rustle of skirts. The two women in the room were moving. He caught Jessica’s scent. According to the blended fragrances, she had been at the stables and the rose garden. Oh how he would love to pull her into his lap and study in detail her myriad bouquets.

  His body stiffened with desire.

  He did need a woman, but why did his body not respond to thoughts of other women, and then rouse with the scents of this child? She was not a child, of course. She was eighteen and of an age to marry.

  He and his mother agreed in thinking Jessica should not wed John Lout. Their views differed about Jessica being a bride for Lattimore. She would suit, but Lattie was a rake and a gambler and interested in his baser appetites. Besides that, he would probably take a commission in the Queen’s navy, a profession particularly hard on a waiting wife, producing and rearing children by herself, confined to her home for months, even years at a time.

  Devlin did not consider Lattie too old for her. She needed a mature man, to provide a stable home, a steadying hand for her whimsical kindnesses, a man who was patient and affectionate.

  Chapter Ten

  An excited hum developed as the staff scurried about preparing to transport the family to London. Anticipation accelerated in the predawn darkness as the travelers loaded onto the conveyances.

  As they rode in the covered brougham, Lady Anne and Jessica sat comfortably side by side facing Devlin. The duchess filled the air with details and reviews of individual dressmakers and milliners.

  She rattled off ideas regarding styles she expected to set trends in the coming season. Jessica assumed Lady Anne was speaking of clothes for herself, amazed that one woman needed so much — three or four riding habits, a dozen ball gowns, morning frocks, dresses for afternoon teas, either entertaining at home or going out.

  Listening to his mother describe the various lords and ladies, their foibles and reputations, and Jessica’s frequent questions, Devlin felt a dark premonition.

  Earlier, satisfied that his sight was returning, he had felt buoyant, pleased at traveling to town with two such delightful companions. Beyond his private darkness, all seemed well, yet as they drew closer to London, the inexplicable foreboding grew heavier.

  As morning stretched into early afternoon, the convoy — the ducal coach and a second carrying household staff, followed by a wagon filled with luggage and foodstuffs from their country larder — finally stopped for luncheon from a huge hamper.

  Thoughts of sautéed quail and accompanying fruits and breads had tantalized the ladies for what seemed like hours before Devlin finally ordered the stop.

  They had just escaped the confines of the coach and were strolling about, stretching, when Bear appeared at Devlin’s side.

  “Could I have a moment of yer time, Yer Grace?”

  “Certainly, Bear. Will you have a drink or a bite of luncheon first?”

  “Nay, my lord. I need to speak privately with you.” He glanced at the women and dropped his voice to a growl. “I’m needing your advice on the rigging.”

  Bear led the puzzled duke toward the front of the coach and, as a ruse, guided his hands to the straps. “There’s a man following us, Yer Grace.”

  “Has he been with us long?”

  “Ever since we left Shiller’s Green. I directed Figg’s attention to him.”

  “What do you think he’s about?”

  “Donno’ as I could speculate about that, Yer Grace, but no need for you to worry about you or your ma. That’s what I’m doing here.”

  “And will you protect Jessica Blair as well?”

  “Nay, my lord. I only got two eyes and they’re already taken.”

  “I see what you mean.” Devlin ran his fingers along the straps. “Well, then, I suppose it falls to me to watch after the fair Jessica. Is that how you see it, Bear?”

  The man stared at the duke. “Not to put too fine a point on it, Yer Grace, but it looks a heavy task to keep what you might call a proper watch on the lady when your eyes don’t see nothing at all.”

  “It does present a challenge, but what else can I do? You will keep the fellow off of me and I will pass the favor along by keeping him away from Jessica.”

  Bear cleared his throat. The girl would come under his protection now, whether she deserved it, or not.

  Less than three h
ours after that conversation, Bear’s new burden grew weighty.

  Late in the afternoon, Devlin signaled the driver to pull to the side of the road to allow the passengers to stretch and refresh themselves. After the two outriders ranging ahead determined a likely spot to accommodate the ladies’ needs, Jessica and Lady Anne retired into a thicket for privacy. When they had finished, the dowager returned to the carriage, but Jessica saw the iridescent flutter of a bluebird and wandered hoping to glimpse the elusive prize.

  She heard a rustle in the underbrush, but before she could turn, a huge, calloused hand clamped over her mouth as a matching arm caught her about the waist and lifted her high so her kicking feet met only air.

  “Hush up, my love,” a familiar voice hissed. She grew still. There were better ways to deal with John Lout than a physical struggle.

  “Oh, John, thank heaven it’s you. I was frightened nearly to death.”

  The arm locked at her waist relaxed and he lowered her feet again to the ground. “Ah, Jess, I am relieved to hear yer glad it’s me. Is the old duke treating you badly, then?”

  She set a warm smile on her face. “No, John, the duke thinks of me as a pet.”

  “People are saying coarse things about you and this duke fella’. They say you warm his bed at night.”

  “As I told you, he has never suggested intimacy.” This statement was not altogether true, if one counted Devlin’s teasing.

  John’s voice lowered a third. “I would kill him if he did. I might go so mad as to kill you, too, before I got meself under control.”

  “What if he offered to pay for the privilege, John, more than the hundred he already promised for my care and company? What would you say then?”

  Lout rubbed his chin and his eyes narrowed. “I’m a reasonable man, Jess. Has he offered money for the favor?”

  “No. He hasn’t.”

  “Will he, do you think?”

  She shrugged; disheartened that even John could draw the correct conclusion. “No.” She looked toward the coach. “I need to return before anyone realizes I am gone.”