by Holly Bush
“I’m busy, Burroughs,” Blake said and waved the papers.
Anthony slammed the door shut and marched to Blake’s desk. “Look at it another time, Sanders.”
“What do you want?” Blake asked.
“What happened last night?”
Blake stared. “Other than my making a fool of myself in a crowded ballroom, I wouldn’t know. It stands out singularly.”
“Between you and Miss Finch,” Anthony said.
“Miss Finch, is it now, Anthony? Last week it was the ever-interesting Gertrude.” Blake picked up his quill and dipped ink. “Nothing happened.”
“You are sure then you had nothing to do with her booking passage next week back to America? There would be no reason for her to run home, would there, Blake?” Anthony asked.
Gertrude was leaving. Blake stared at his desk. “Not that I know of.”
“I know you waited up for her. Drunk and angry about Fawcett,” Anthony continued.
“Poor taste, I’d say, to send your host packing, not to arrive home until the middle of the night.”
Anthony leaned over the desk. “Tell me nothing happened between Miss Finch and you that would make her scurry across the ocean weeks early.”
Blake recognized the anger and impatience in Anthony’s words. He had heard the low growling tone before but never had been its subject. “I kissed her.”
Anthony stood straight. “Is that all?”
“I may have been a bit forward,” Blake added.
Anthony crossed his arms over his chest. “How forward?”
Blake tilted his head.
“Elizabeth is convinced this has something to do with you. My wife is rarely wrong. Perhaps you need to speak to Miss Finch.”
“Another apology,” Blake harrumphed. “Gertrude will not be swayed by me.”
“Swayed or not, Sanders, you will apologize.”
“Fine,” Blake said as he stood. “Fine. I will find her.”
Blake found Gertrude in the library, engrossed in a book. He hesitated to disturb her. The sun poured in the window behind her and cast a halo about her hair. He knew why she was leaving. It was for the best. The distance of an ocean between them would certainly cool his ardor. Her image would fade from his mind. The memory of his hand on her breast would diminish. His life would be returned to him. Blake would march on, tending his estates and indulge himself with a new mistress. He would be dignified to all those around him and prove to them all he was still the Duke of Wexford. All would be right. As it had been.
* * *
Gert spent a sleepless night. She held her pillow to her chest and stared out at the night landscape until the sun lit the sky wondering if Sanders had spoken of her longing or his? The man who kissed her was battling himself. Was his shock and wonder as profound as hers? Did he lie awake at night convincing himself there was nothing between them simply because there shouldn’t be? Did he allow himself dreams of what it would be like as she did, only to curse himself later?
He’s married, Gert said to herself as she closed the book in her lap. Still married. Would it matter if he weren’t still legally bound? Would she ever matter to a man such as him? A Duke accustomed to freedom in all things. Used to having his own way? She recalled young women she had spoken to in the States, bound by law and love to a man who treated them poorly. If he were free to ask and did, would she walk away? Could she? She had scolded herself for her weakness and decided at that moment to leave for home and not test her resolve.
And there he stood in the doorway. The cause of her discomfort, confusion, and to be truthful, heartache. Beautiful was not a word that came to mind for Gert when she thought of men. But that was the only word she could use to describe him. Arrogant, high-handed, self-centered – those may describe the man, but the face was without question the handsomest one she had ever seen. Dark, expertly cut hair, piercing blue eyes and a long, straight nose over sensual, wide lips. He walked to her and seated himself across from her. He knew.
“Anthony tells me you are leaving us.”
“Yes, I am. I’m homesick and have booked passage to sail next week,” Gert replied.
He nodded and studied his folded hands. “Does this have anything to do with last night?”
He was so cool and detached. She laughed as if light-hearted. “Hardly, Sanders. I am old enough to understand men’s natures.” Gert looked at him square in the eye, as Uncle Fred had told her to do when a lie was the only solution. “It meant nothing to me.”
“I told Anthony that very thing. A few kisses hardly bind us together,” he said.
“And you are still married. We both understand a casual flirtation,” Gert said. “You have commitments as I do.”
“Absolutely right, Miss Finch,” he said. “You will be coming to the house party with us this weekend, won’t you?”
“I don’t know,” Gert answered. “I doubt it.”
“Do come. Morgan keeps magnificent stables.” Sanders rose, and Gert opened her book to page one.
* * *
“Won’t you tell me, Gertrude? This sudden change of plans. It’s not something Anthony or I have said or done, is it?” Elizabeth asked.
Gert turned from the window of her bedroom and smiled. “Absolutely not. You both have been wonderful.”
“Is it a matter of the heart?”
“No,” Gert replied.
“But it does have to do with Blake, doesn’t it?” Elizabeth asked.
Gert straightened the dress the maid had laid out for her to wear to dinner. “You’re like a dog with a bone, Elizabeth. Can’t seem to let it drop.”
“I’m sorry, Gertrude. It’s just that I’ve had few friends in my life. In a very short time I’ve come to believe I could tell you anything. I feel badly you don’t feel the same,” Elizabeth said.
Gert sat down on the bed. “I’ve no women friends to speak of. Other than you.”
Elizabeth tilted her head. “I thought you were close to the other women of your cause. You travel with them.”
“We’re friendly, I suppose. But they’re so single-minded. Everything is the cause.” Gert turned to Elizabeth. “I never wanted that. Oh, I believe strongly in what I’m doing, but …”
Elizabeth waited. “But what?”
“Do you remember the things I told Melinda in the carriage coming here? All the things she should consider? They’re not her dreams. They’re mine. A handsome man to sweep me off my feet. Adventures and new sights to see with him by my side. A confidant. Someone to listen to my inner most dreams and fears,” Gert said.
“A lover as well?”
Gert laughed. “I suppose. Unmarried women aren’t allowed to think about those things.”
“I did,” Elizabeth said with a smile.
Gert tilted her head. “How naughty of you, Cousin.”
“From the first time Anthony kissed me, I could think of nothing else.”
Gert smiled resignedly. She had been doing the same. Her day, her very existence was consumed with Blake Sanders. But he would be no partner to share confidences or dreams. No cohort to explore the vast wilderness or grand cities in the States. The Duke of Wexford consumed those around him. Gobbled them up along with their hopes and spit them out in accordance with English society. He had ruled too long to change. His wife didn’t stand up to him. She ran away to salvation. What was left of the woman to leave her children whom she obviously loved and loved her? But Gert would not deny the passion Blake’s kisses evoked.
“I know what you mean,” Gert said.
“You and Blake seem to set each other afire. The sparks are visible to all,” Elizabeth said. “That’s it, isn’t it?”
Gert went to the window. She nodded.
“You’re afraid.”
“Afraid of Blake Sanders? Hardly.”
Elizabeth shook her head. “No, Gertrude. I don’t mean you’re afraid of Blake. I mean you’re afraid of yourself.”
“That’s nonsense,” Gert said.
Gert’s mouth opened and drew shut. “I’ve had so little sense of me. Of what I am. If I loved him I’d never find out. I would be like everyone else in his life. Used for his own purposes and discarded.”
“If you speak of Ann, you should know why she married him. For the same purpose he did. To satisfy family and ensure her sons a title. William would be fourth in line to her father’s title if she hadn’t married someone with their own,” Elizabeth said.
Gert sat down on the bed and pulled her legs under her. “That’s so cruel. To plan out children’s lives before they’re born.”
“May be cruel, as you say, but it’s all they know. I could care less. It’s certainly nicer to have servants and a grand home, but I’d live with Anthony in a hovel if I had to,” Elizabeth said with a shrug.
“I think you would,” Gert said and laughed. “I can’t see you as a wash woman, though.”
“I can hardly imagine that. But it’s true, still. Would you live anywhere, do anything, to be with the man you loved?”
“I don’t think I’d care for a hovel, either,” Gert said. “And I love the ranch and the wide open spaces of the West.”
“Or a manor in London? Would you live in England to be with the man you loved?” Elizabeth asked.
“And give up everything I’ve ever dreamed of? I don’t know,” Gert said. “This is silly talk, besides. Blake Sanders does not love me. And I don’t love him.”
“Love is compromise, Gertrude.”
“Probably true if the man you love, loves you. And if he is as willing to compromise as well,” Gert replied. But Gert could not imagine Blake Sanders bending to anyone’s will. Even for love.
* * *
Blake had not expected a rejection from Gertrude Finch to hurt. But it did. He had not expected her casual tone to make him swallow a ball of pain lodged in his throat. But that was what had happened as he spoke to her in the library. He had spent the latter part of the day in front of the fire in his study.
“Did you speak to Miss Finch?” Anthony asked over brandy when he joined Blake for drinks before supper.
“Yes.”
“Well?”
Blake turned in his seat and faced his friend. “She has prior commitments.”
“And nothing you did or said caused it?” Anthony continued.
Blake stood to pace. “She said it was a casual flirtation.” He ran his hands through his hair and stared away. How could she call what passed between their lips, casual? She was an innocent, granted, but certainly she felt it as he had. Each kiss touching some long forgotten, stored away wish for a connection that transcended sex. He paled at his own thoughts. What connection is necessary past sex, he wondered?
“I’m glad it had nothing to do with you, Blake.” Anthony smiled. “I know the kisses meant little to you, but I feared with our Gertrude, untried, she may have felt otherwise.” Blake turned to stare at him. “I feel much better knowing she doesn’t care for you.”
Those words cut like a knife. Like a sword had severed a limb and his lifeblood gushed out. Blake picked up his drink and threw its contents back with a vengeance. “Would it have been such a shock to think she might care about me?”
Anthony stared. “Would take a strong constitution to care about you.”
Blake slouched and stuck his hands in his pockets. “Why’s that?”
“You don’t know, do you?” Anthony asked. “For God’s sake, man, look at your life. Married to a beautiful, kind woman and in another’s bed before Melinda’s birth. Tread about your home and town like you’re the bloody king. And can’t wait to marry your children off to the same fate. There’s more to life than your title.”
“It’s all I know.”
“And therein lies the rub, old man,” Anthony said. “Although I will admit when you and Miss Finch are together, you seem different.”
“I suppose so. I can’t recall ever kissing a woman in front of servants and my children before. Nearly a stranger.”
Anthony stared at his glass. “Exactly.”
“What do you mean ‘exactly’,” Blake said.
William opened the door to the study. “Father. Supper is to be served shortly. The ladies want you and Uncle Anthony to escort them.”
“I thought you meant to join us, William,” Anthony said. “Too young for brandy, but you’re old enough to sit with the men before dinner.”
William’s eyes widened. “Sorry, Uncle Anthony. I meant to, but Miss Finch was telling me about the States. I didn’t realize the time.”
“What was she telling you?” Anthony asked.
William nearly ran to a chair to sit down. “About everything. The mountains and the cities and the wide-open places. Her uncle’s ranch and fur trappers from Canada and the Indians that live nearby. About …”
“Enough,” Blake growled. “Enough of the States. Don’t you know the first immigrants there were mostly convicts and religious fanatics? They’re all descended from that mix.”
William’s face fell. “Miss Finch was telling me about the Conestoga wagon trains going west. Their leaders sound courageous to me.”
“No need to tamp the boy’s enthusiasm, Blake,” Anthony said. “We used to dream about faraway places when we were his age.”
Blake turned away, and William regaled Anthony with Gertrude’s stories. He half-listened and followed them to the sitting room where the ladies awaited. Once seated in the dining room, William begged Gertrude to continue.
“I don’t think everyone wants to hear my tales, William,” she said with a laugh.
“I want to hear,” Melinda said. “Do go on.”
“The Pony Express, you were telling me about the Pony Express,” William said.
Gertrude described the country in great detail, from rivers to deserts and the men and women she had met and heard of that settled there. Of danger, tragedy, triumph and bravery and of breath-taking sunsets. Streets filled with the wealthy, the poor, merchant and farmer alike. All at the table seemed mesmerized but Blake.
“I’ve monopolized the conversation too long,” Gertrude said to the protests.
Blake watched his children and even Elizabeth and Anthony hang on her every word. “Miss Finch would like to eat her dinner. She can continue another time.”
Preferably when he wasn’t in the room. It was hard to watch the woman talk about something she so obviously loved and missed. Blake could think of few things in his life that held the same emotion for him. Conversation ceased. Certainly he could find a subject that was near and dear to him. His children.
“Melinda, my dear. What do you think of the young Crawford viscount? Rumor is he may make an offer for you. Fine match considering our situation. I’m very proud,” Blake said with a nod and a lift of his glass.
“He is nice, I suppose,” Melinda sighed.
“Let’s hope you think he is more than nice,” Elizabeth said with a smile. “If you’re to marry him.”
“After all, he will inherit his father’s estate. First son, you know. Fine old family. Other than the one uncle. What mischief did he get himself into, Anthony?” Blake asked.
“I don’t recall,” Anthony said.
“If neither of us remembers, it mustn’t have been too much of a scandal,” Blake said and chuckled. He looked up to the other diners’ stares. “Probably nothing of consequence anyway. Don’t concern yourself, Melinda. It won’t come back on you.”
Melinda shook her head and rolled her eyes. “As if anyone cares but you.”
Blake lay down his silver. “Of course, I care. I wouldn’t have allowed his pursuit if I hadn’t thought him entirely eligible for you. Including long passed relatives linked to well … whatever he did.”
Melinda stared straight ahead. “I’m not marrying him.”
“Maybe this is a discussion for another time,” Elizabeth said.
Melinda t
ook a deep breath. “No. Everyone is here that I care about. Except Mother.”
“What is wrong with the viscount?” Blake asked.
“Nothing,” Melinda replied.
“Then why do you say you won’t marry him?” Blake asked.
Melinda faced him. “I’m not marrying anyone right now. I’ve decided to further my education.”
“What else could you possibly need to know about running a household that your mother has not taught you?” Blake asked.
“Is that all you think me capable of?” Melinda asked.
Blake took a deep breath. “What is it you wish to study? Music? Your needlework?”
“I … I don’t know,” Melinda replied in a low voice.
“Enough of this nonsense. You will marry the viscount,” Blake said and signaled the footman for dessert.
Melinda stared ahead red-faced, angry and embarrassed.
“You have not chosen a field of study, then?” Gertrude asked.
She shook her head. “No, I haven’t. But I shall.”
“My daughter does not need your encouragement, Miss Finch,” Blake said.
“She needs someone’s support,” Gertrude said.
“I will support her to the ends of the earth,” he replied.
“As long as she marries this viscount you’ve chosen,” she countered.
Blake’s hand flew in the air. “Well, of course. It’s what she’s meant to do. What she and William and Donald are born to do. The aristocracy of England won’t survive if the next generation doesn’t fulfill its obligations.”
Gertrude rose from her chair and turned to Blake. “What if it’s not what she wants to do? Did that ever occur to you? What if she doesn’t give a mule’s behind about the next generation of English aristocracy?”
“That, Miss Finch, is unacceptable. Be seated at once,” he growled.
“No.”
Blake stood slowly, hands on the table in front of him. “Sit down, Miss Finch. This conversation is over, and as a guest, one should comply with her host’s wishes.”
Gertrude shook her head around till her hair flew around her face. “No. Maybe I’ll strut around your dining room and flap my arms like a rooster.” She pushed her chair away.
