Say Yes to the Duke

by Kieran Kramer

  The old woman gave a gusty sigh. “Perhaps a princess is borrowing them. If that’s the case, she’d best bring them back. Do you know if there’s a ball tonight?”

  “Yes,” Janice said. “I believe there is a ball.”

  The old lady stretched out her other hand, which was completely bare. Ah. She simply wanted someone to hold it. Janice took it and felt a great tenderness toward her. Her nerves disappeared. The duchess was only someone who wanted love and attention. Janice could manage that easily.

  “Where are the festivities to take place?” the dowager asked impatiently, even as she clung to Janice’s hand as if she never wanted to let go.

  “Down the street.” Janice was surprised how easily she was able to lie. But the dowager was like a little girl in this state, even if she was rather haughty, too. Janice wanted to please her. “There’ll be loads of women in bright gowns. And the men will look quite elegant, I should imagine. Flowers will spill from every window, and the chandeliers will blaze with candles.”

  “What address?”

  “Somewhere on Half Moon.” Janice smiled just thinking of the lovely residential street.

  The dowager frowned. “Must be Lord and Lady Foster, then. He’s entirely too cocky, and she—well, she’s a watering pot, cries at the least little thing. No wonder he has no patience with her.” She released a gusty sigh. “I knew I could trust you to tell me all the goings-on.”

  “Of course,” murmured Janice.

  The dowager lifted an enormous handkerchief to her nose with her free hand and sneezed.

  “Bless you.” Janice saw the nurse pause in her housekeeping for a moment, then return to folding a cloth with a sure, steady motion.

  The dowager fisted her handkerchief and leaned toward Janice as if seeing her for the first time. “You’re Lady Janice, are you not?” Her eyes were softer now, even friendly.

  “Yes, Your Majesty.”

  “Your Majesty?” The duchess gave an indulgent little laugh and waved her free hand. “You must be travel weary, my dear. I’m merely the Dowager Duchess of Halsey. Not the Queen.”

  Oh, dear. This wasn’t going to be easy. Janice caught the nurse’s eye—the woman shrugged and continued about her business.

  “I’m sorry, Your Grace.” Janice wondered how long the dowager’s moment of clarity would last. “Of course. My mistake.”

  “It’s all right.” She eyed Janice kindly. “I had my secretary write you. Would you like to know why?”

  “I did wonder. But I was very glad, Your—Your Grace.”

  A fond smile passed over the old woman’s face. “Your mother used to sew for me. She made me a gown, and you were there when it was being fitted. You held up a scrap of velvet cut from the same cloth and said that someday you’d be a duchess, too. You said no one ever made fun of duchesses nor pounded on their door for the rent. I never forgot that. Your mother was terribly embarrassed. You were a pale little thing sitting in a corner with a book. I almost didn’t see you.”

  Janice blushed. “I wish I could remember. I must have been very young.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” said the dowager. “I remembered. I kept track of your mother. She made me a good many more gowns, and I referred all my friends to her until she became quite the thing among seamstresses. She deserved the business—her talent is remarkable—but in my mind’s eye, I always saw you, the little girl who wanted to be a duchess.”

  “Your Grace.” Janice blinked back tears. “How very kind of you to help my mother so.”

  “And I was so happy to see her meet her marquess. I knew that would make you a lady. Lady Janice. No longer the little shopgirl.”

  “No, I no longer am.” Janice swallowed the lump in her throat. In a very odd way, the duchess had contributed to Janice’s mother’s success … and even to her meeting Daddy. Life was certainly funny.

  The dowager sneezed again into her giant handkerchief.

  Janice blinked. “I’m sorry you’ve a cold.”

  But when the old lady looked up, her eyes were different. They were narrowed once more. “Enough of colds,” she said in the same superior tone she’d employed when Janice had first entered the room. “There’s something you must do for England, young lady.”

  She was being the Queen again!

  “Really?” Janice wasn’t so taken aback this time. In fact, it was rather exciting talking to the dowager—illness aside, of course. She was a challenge, to be certain, but terribly interesting. “What’s that, Your Majesty? Aside from finding the crown jewels?”

  The duchess threw a suspicious glance at the nurse, then crooked a finger at Janice.

  Janice came closer.

  “I have a mission for you,” the dowager whispered in her ear. “You’re a girl after my own heart.”

  Janice laid a hand on her heart, which was thumping wildly. “Me?”

  “Yes, you.”

  “But why do you say so? You don’t even know my name.”

  “You’ve got a look in your eye,” the dowager whispered again. “You’re clever; I can tell. And I see the same sense of frustration in you that was in me at your age. You’re a competitive spirit denied a chance to shine, all because you’re too frightened to speak up.”

  “How can you see all that? We’ve only just met.”

  “I’m the Queen,” said the duchess in a patronizing voice. “Do you think I don’t know my own subjects? Halsey, for example, needs a wife in the worst way.”

  “I-I suppose he does,” Janice said low, “as he’s a duke.”

  “Indeed,” said the dowager, “but not just any wife.” She poked Janice in the shoulder. “You.”

  Chapter Seven

  “Oh, no, Your Majesty,” Janice told the Dowager Duchess of Halsey. “I’m not suited to be a duchess.”

  “Of course you are.” The woman who thought she was the Queen curled her fists in her lap. “He needs a wife who’ll make the most of her power. That’s why you’ll suit him well.”

  “I don’t want power,” Janice said. “I want to read and take long walks and be with my family. I don’t need power.”

  “Certainly you do,” said Her Majesty. “And there’s only one way to win the Duke of Halsey.”

  “Perhaps you should tell Lady Opal and Lady Rose. Or Miss Branson.” Janice almost giggled at the thought of one of them becoming the next Duchess of Halsey, but she decided that would be churlish of her.

  “Absolutely not,” said the dowager. “This is a state secret, and only I know it. Whoever I divulge it to will win Halsey, no matter what she looks like. No matter how big a dowry she has, or whether she’s even from a good family. None of those things will matter.”

  “I see,” Janice replied uncertainly. The conversation was getting to be more interesting—and nerve-wracking—by the second. “But you needn’t bother telling me the secret. I can’t marry him. I need to love the man I marry. And I don’t even know Halsey. Not to mention that he’s a duke and I’m—I’m simply a girl who’s had two Seasons and didn’t take.”

  “Pah,” said the dowager with a wicked gleam in her eye. “He’ll want you, all right, once I tell you what to do.”

  “No, thank you.” Janice stood up. “Really. You’re too kind. But I’m here in Surrey to see you, Your Majesty.”

  “Of course you are.” The old woman grabbed her wrist and held it tight. “And to hide from all those London gossips who’ll relish seeing you on the shelf. But are you going to let this opportunity slip through your fingers? It’s time for you to shine.” She leaned forward. “I know it must frustrate you no end that you’re not more influential.”

  Janice’s hand flew to her heart. “Why would you say that, Your Majesty?”

  The dowager slapped her coverlet. “An astute monarch always recognizes hidden ambition.”

  Janice sighed. “I’m not ambitious.”

  “Ridiculous.” The dowager curled her lip in scorn. “What’s wrong with you? You’re young! You should be reaching
for the stars, child, not simpering in fear that you’ll offend someone.” She thrust out her shriveled chin. “I don’t believe you. You’re lying to me and to yourself.”

  “But there are rules, Your Majesty, and a girl in my position must adhere to them.”

  “Proper is as proper does. It only takes you so far. Life is short. You must live it while you can.”

  “I appreciate the sentiment—”

  “Oh, leave my sight.” The dowager flung her hand out. “I’ve no patience for flatterers. If you insist on becoming a spinster, suit yourself. But in your dotage, you’ll remember this day. You’ll remember that you could have become a duchess, and you threw the opportunity away.”

  Janice opened her mouth to speak, but she was so astonished by the vehemence of the dowager’s words and the shock of her actual proposal that she didn’t know what to say.

  The old woman grabbed her handkerchief and sneezed again. “This blasted sneezing. I can’t seem to rid myself of it.” She paused and looked indignantly over the lacy edge. “I blame Parliament.”

  “Your Majesty,” Janice said softly, “please don’t upset yourself.”

  The old woman continued muttering as she leaned back against her pillows and closed her eyes, but within thirty seconds she began to snore.

  Janice bit her lower lip. She was confused, yet at the same time it was really quite simple. The dowager duchess had two distinct facets to her identity, one real and one imagined. And the Queen in her wanted Janice to marry the Duke of Halsey!

  “How long has she been like this?” Janice asked the nurse.

  “For years-s-s-s, they say.” The nurse had a gap between her teeth and whistled on her s’s. ‘I’ve been with her only since she moved here from the dower house last year.”

  “That explains why she hasn’t been in Town. Does it happen often, her switching back and forth like that … between the Queen and the dowager?”

  “Many times-s-s-s a day.”

  Goodness, that whistle was quite pronounced.

  “As you can s-s-s-see,” the nurse went on, and Janice tried not to wince, “it happens every time she s-s-s-sneezes.”

  “That’s the oddest thing. Has a doctor been in to see her?”

  “Of course. He recommends rest and s-s-s-seclusion.”

  Janice was glad a physician had attended upon the old lady, after all, but something felt terribly wrong about his advice. “How can seclusion help anyone?” She watched the sleeping duchess. “It’s all very sad.”

  “It might be, but it ain’t my business.” The nurse shrugged.

  “You don’t seem to care about her.” Anger made Janice bold.

  “I’m not supposed to care,” the woman replied in a huff.

  “Of course you are. She’s your charge. She’s obviously in need of affection and understanding.”

  “That’s-s-s-s not what I’m paid for,” the nurse said. “I’m paid to keep her room clean, to feed her, and make sure she’s bathed and properly dress-s-s-sed.”

  The whistles were going a mile a minute at the moment.

  “Those are all very important things,” Janice said. “But there’s more an invalid needs than that.”

  “You heard her—she doesn’t think she’s an invalid. She wants out of here. But where can she go, s-s-s-speaking the way she does?”

  Irony of ironies that a whistling nurse said that. “Don’t you ever allow her to walk in the gardens?”

  The woman shook her head. “She never leaves this room. Doctor’s orders.”

  “That’s reprehensible. I’m going to talk to the duke about that.”

  “Good luck. His Grace believes the doctor is right. He doesn’t want her hurting herself.”

  “I still intend to speak with him,” Janice said. “And what about Her Grace’s secretary? Does he have a role here? Who mailed the note to my mother in London?”

  “Her secretary”—the woman gave a short laugh—“is the fishmonger who comes once a week. She pays him to mail things out for her.”

  “He comes up here?”

  “Her Grace insists that he does. She tells the duke she wants to discuss fishing with him, and His Grace allows it but only because Her Grace creates a fuss. She likes to remind him that fishing is a favorite family pastime, that his own father—her son Russell—used to love it, he and his big brother, Everett, both. Supposedly, they’d spend hours a day in a rowboat on the estate pond. She waxes on about it to the fishmonger, and he just nods, then mails her correspondence out. But it’s none of my business. No, it’s not.”

  “I never thought I’d say this”—Janice advanced to within a foot of the nurse—“but in this instance I’m glad that you believe so. Because that’s how she got a letter to me. What’s your name?”

  “Martha. Mrs. Martha Poole.”

  “Well, Mrs. Poole, if you can’t tell me at this very moment that you’ll show more heart to this woman, then I’ll go to the duke immediately and call for your replacement. Furthermore, if you can’t drum up even one iota of affection for Her Grace, I expect you to pretend that you can. And you’d better be a very good actress. Is that understood?”

  The woman’s eyes widened. “Who are you to talk to me this way?”

  “I’m Lady Janice Sherwood, as you know very well.”

  Mrs. Poole glowered. “All right.”

  Janice put every bit of cool threat she could into the look she sent the nurse at that moment. She’d seen Mama use the same expression when they were poor and up against the tough nuts who comprised London’s rough population. She’d also seen Mama use it as the marchioness—with unruly servants, rude guests, and her own brood of six children.

  “My lady,” Mrs. Poole tacked on to the end of her sentence as if it physically pained her to do so.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Poole,” Janice said in a pleasant tone. “Carry on.”

  * * *

  It took her another minute to return to her room, where Isobel was waiting with a freshly pressed gown for dinner.

  “But you must clean up first, my lady,” the maid said.

  “Of course.” Janice sat on the edge of her bed, her knees weak. She couldn’t believe how naturally it had come to her to defend the duchess, but it had. Mama would be proud, she knew. “I haven’t had a moment’s rest, Izzy, since I arrived.”

  “Have you not? Tell me all about going to the stables, my lady. I’ve been enjoying my tea and some delicious biscuits while I put away your things.”

  “I’m glad for you.” Janice told her all about the puppies, Oscar’s fainting, and Mr. Callahan’s reviving the ailing pup.

  “That man saved a puppy?” Izzy asked.

  That man being the same one who’d kissed Janice mercilessly in the falling snow that afternoon. “Yes, he did.” She blushed thinking about how for a few heady moments she’d responded to his passionate ministrations with equal ardor.

  “Oh, my lady”—Isobel crushed one of Janice’s gowns to her chest—“are you all right? Just talking about him makes me shiver.” She paused. “But somehow in a good way.” She gave a little giggle and hung the gown in an armoire.

  “Really, Izzy.” Janice pretended to be shocked, but she wasn’t. She understood, unfortunately, her maid’s reaction to the man.

  Isobel strode to the small dressing table and began to arrange Janice’s combs in a neat line. “What are you going to do about him? Especially now that he’s saved a puppy? I’d be lost, I would. Don’t you crave—?”

  “That’s enough.” Janice stood and approached the dressing table. She bent low over it to see her reflection in the looking glass. Did she have hidden ambition? Was she so frustrated at being invisible that an ill old woman could tell? “I’ll grant you that it was good of him to save a puppy. But—”

  The maid’s expression turned bright. “Wouldn’t it be wonderful if the duke kissed you the way he kissed you?”

  Janice held on to her patience. “It would be enlightening,” she admitted. “But I must
ask you not to tell anyone that I kissed a groom. Promise me?” She handed her a brush.

  Isobel patted the dressing-table seat, and Janice sat down. For a few seconds, the maid worked to restore Janice’s hair to a semblance of order. “I’d never reveal your secret, my lady. Never. Not even to my mum. Or my three sisters. Or my grandmother, although up until now I’ve told her everything. Polly, too, the upstairs maid in London. As well as Jude, my childhood friend whose father tamed tigers. I don’t see him often, but when I do, we tell each other everything.”

  “Did you leave anyone out?” Janice said warily to Isobel’s reflection.

  “No, my lady.”

  Janice chuckled. “I’m glad I can count on you.”

  Isobel lifted a casual shoulder and added a pin to the back of Janice’s coiffure. “He was the most handsome groom I’ve ever seen in my life. I think I’ll have to go out to the stables to look at him again—while I visit the puppies, of course.”

  “We should be done speaking of him—”

  “Yes, but I think he might even be the most handsome man I’ve ever seen in my life, too,” Isobel gushed. “The duke is one to admire, as well, but you can’t imagine him moving boulders. Mr. Callahan could, I’m sure. I’d like to see him chop wood, too. Wouldn’t you?”

  “No, Izzy,” Janice said evenly. “I would not like to see him chop wood.”

  Which was a lie. She most certainly would. And if she looked out her bedchamber window long enough, she just might see him at work. The stable block’s south side faced the house, and already she couldn’t help wanting to peek out whenever she could to catch a glimpse of him walking to and fro.

  Isobel bit her lip and stepped back from the dressing table. “Sorry, my lady. I don’t mean to dwell on him.”

  Guilt made Janice sigh as she pinched her cheeks to add some color. “It’s all right. I know how easy it is to lose one’s head over a man. I’ve done so once before, and it wasn’t at all comfortable when it ended. So I try not to find myself in that position again.”

  Stupid Finn. Thank God he was long gone.

  “But that was ages ago, wasn’t it, my lady?”