“I know,” said Isobel with a smirk. She enjoyed bustling about the room in the mornings. At the moment, she was brushing down Janice’s coat again. “You’re looking extra bright eyed and rosy cheeked this morning. Could you be coming down with something?”
“No. I’m fine. Really.”
“At least tell me if there was an astonishing development last night.”
“There was.” Janice smiled. “Mr. Callahan named the last puppy.”
“Is that all?” Isobel laughed softly and raised her eyebrow. “It sounds like a poor excuse he invented to get you over there.”
“No. That wasn’t it at all.” Janice blushed.
“See?”
“No,” she repeated firmly. “There was another reason—a very important one.”
And she told Isobel about the journal.
The maid set aside the brush. “If that don’t beat all. The groom’s mother was a lady’s maid for Her Grace and she was mistreated?”
“Apparently.” Janice put her finger to her mouth.
“Sorry,” Isobel whispered.
“We need to keep it a secret for the time being. You can help me look for the journal.”
“It would be my pleasure.” Isobel grinned. “But if it’s thirty years old, where would it be?”
“All I can think is that it might be on a shelf somewhere with other books.”
“I’ll search every one in the housekeeping office near the kitchens as soon as I get you ready.”
“Good,” said Janice. “And I’ll look in the duke’s library. If he walks in, or anyone else does, it will be easy enough to tell them I’m an avid bibliophile.”
“Of course. Whatever that means, it sounds grand.” Isobel went back to bustling. “What if there are books in the attics? How could we find out?”
“Good point. I’ll ask the housekeeper. I’ll tell her my hobby is seeking out vintage ones.”
“Perfect. We can’t also forget to look in every escritoire in the house.”
“That would involve going into rooms we’re not supposed to be in.” Janice was a little worried about that.
“Leave it to me.” Isobel was insistent. “I can be furtive when I care to.”
With her bright ginger hair, Janice somehow doubted that. “We’ll split them up,” she said. “If I’m caught, I’ll say I was looking for a spare quill.”
“And I’ll say I was looking for a spare quill for you.” The maid giggled.
Janice bit her lip, then said, “But if Emily hid her journal, she probably wouldn’t have put it on a shelf. Or an escritoire.”
“True”—Isobel’s brow furrowed—“but if it were ever found by a maid or footman, no doubt they’d have slipped it onto a shelf or in a drawer somewhere.”
“Right.” Janice had a busy day ahead of her. Looking for the journal would mean she’d have little time to think about Luke Callahan, and that was likely a good thing. What could come of her involvement with him? “We’ll hope for the best. And if we don’t find it in any of those places, we’ll think about other spots.”
“It would help to know what room she slept in,” said Isobel.
“But how to ask those sorts of questions without stirring people’s curiosity?” Janice sighed.
“You do something else at the same time that interests them more,” said Isobel. “They’ll answer you, but they’ll be focused on the other thing. I learned that from the animal trainers, too.”
“Do you have an example?”
“Yes. While you ask the tiger to sit, you wave a bit of beef about on a stick, and he sits without a problem because he really wants that meat.”
“Good God, how am I supposed to apply that to this situation?”
“I don’t know, my lady,” Isobel said serenely.
She enjoyed stirring Janice up, without a doubt.
* * *
A half hour later, Janice indulged in a large breakfast. She had such an appetite!
Mrs. Friday was there before her. “You’re looking well this morning.”
“Thank you.” Janice swathed more butter on her toast. “As are you.”
Mrs. Friday was so beautiful she would look good in a flour sack.
“Thank you,” Janice’s new friend said, “but I must say that color becomes you particularly well.” Janice was wearing a periwinkle blue muslin. “Either that, or it’s the country air that’s brought a bloom to your cheeks. And your lips are a lovely cherry red.”
Goodness. She was the second person to have mentioned that. Janice couldn’t help thinking that perhaps what she’d done last night with Luke Callahan had altered her appearance for the better.
It would be her secret.
And it was the most delicious one she’d ever kept.
Miss Branson, Lady Opal, and Lady Rose joined them.
“The butler tells me that the duke’s in the stables greeting a new guest,” Miss Branson said. “A baronet called Sir Milo. He’s a runt of a man, but he knows horses. Other than that, I don’t know what the duke sees in him.”
Janice didn’t know what His Grace saw in his friends Lord Rowntree or Lord Yarrow, either. She wiped her mouth with her serviette and stood. “I’m going to visit the dowager now.” After that, she’d look for the journal, and of course she had to go see those puppies.
And Luke Callahan.
Mrs. Friday stood as well. “I’m off to prepare the noon meal with Cook. I’m to stir the sauces.”
“I’d like to go with you,” said Lady Opal. “I’m curious about the culinary arts.”
“What are you talking about, Opal?” said Rose over her shirred eggs. “We both cooked for our parents when they were alive. You’re an excellent cook.”
Lady Opal turned red. “Yes, but—but that wasn’t culinary. I want to learn something new and exciting from a duke’s chef.”
“Don’t ever call Cook a chef,” said Mrs. Friday with a chuckle. “She’s proud of being plain old Cook.”
“I like the sound of her,” said Miss Branson. “She doesn’t put on airs.”
“Isn’t that what you want to do here?” Lady Opal was still agitated. “Align yourself with a duke so you can go back to America a duchess?”
“Hell, no,” said Miss Branson. “I’m never going to marry. I just want to have adventures. And boy, am I having them.” She chuckled. “English gentlemen are amusing, I must say, with their big talk and little—”
“Shut up.” Lady Opal made a face at her.
Miss Branson frowned back. “Why are you two here? Do you really think a duke is going to marry a spinster with no money and no prospects from some small village? And even if he did, what would happen to the other sister? One of you is gonna lose, either way.”
Lady Rose’s face scrunched up. “You’re rude, Miss Branson.”
“And you’re a squatter,” she said. “At least I’m paying my way here. Room and board.”
“Y-you are?” asked Janice.
“Sure,” said Miss Branson. “His Grace might be rich, but he’s got a fondness for gambling, among other things.” She lofted a brow.
“What other things?” Janice asked her.
“Nothing, I’m sure,” Mrs. Friday said quietly, fingering her modest neckline.
Miss Branson grinned at the chaperone. “I’m sorry, but I find this entire setup entertaining. Now you’ve arrived, and Lady Janice, too. How many more unmarried women are going to play house here?”
“Lady Janice and I are not here to play house.” Mrs. Friday’s beautiful lips were white. “She’s visiting the dowager, and I’m her chaperone. Everything is entirely proper, and while we’re in residence, it shall remain that way.”
Janice was genuinely touched by how protective the young widow was of her. She felt guilty, too, after what she’d done last night. But she’d do it again.
In a heartbeat.
Beneath her lacy drawers, Janice was a wanton.
On that bench, Mr. Callahan had brought her to a hei
ght of pleasure she’d never known. Even now the memory caused a sharp, pleasurable tingle to descend from her belly to the heart of her femininity.
Oh, yes, she would most definitely do it again, as wicked of her as it was to indulge in. From the beginning, Mr. Callahan had been impossible to resist. And now she didn’t even want to try.
Though you must.
It was Mama’s voice she heard. Mama, who knew that Janice was too full of common sense to let what happened to Marcia happen to her—now that she’d been warned. Only a fool would ignore a good warning.
Janice swallowed and tried to think about the dowager and not Luke Callahan’s thighs spread on that bench in the tack room last night, and his fingers, how well they’d played with her … making her completely forget all the proprieties that Mama so treasured.
Lady Rose stood. “I want to go with you, Lady Janice.” Her voice was thinner than usual.
“I’d love to have all of you come,” she said, “but this time I’m going alone—to prepare Her Grace for more visitors.”
That was true, but she also wanted to check in with the dowager about their little secret. She had no idea if the elderly lady remembered sharing it with her. After all, she’d been the Queen when she had.
When Janice arrived in the dowager’s bedchamber a few moments later, she was pleased to see that the old lady’s cheeks were a rosy hue and her eyes bright.
The curtains were pulled back, and that bright snow light filled the room. The nurse was stitching a pillow in a small chair, and this time when Janice said hello the servant did more than grunt. She actually said, “Good morning, my lady.”
Janice was also pleased to see that the dowager was being herself and not the Queen. “Good morning, Your Grace.” She sat next to her and held her withered hand.
“Good morning, Lady Janice.” The duchess bestowed a kindly smile upon her. “I hope you’re enjoying your stay.”
“Yes, Your Grace. In the one day I’ve been here, I’ve enjoyed myself very much.”
“Excellent. What do you think of Halsey?”
“He’s imposing.” Janice chuckled. “I think most dukes are.”
“Yes, they are.” The dowager laughed. “My own duke—Liam, I was privileged to call him—was very much that way. We produced two boys, a bossy one like my husband—that would be Russell. And a sensitive one like me: Everett, the heir.”
“But I’m sure you loved them both equally well.” Janice sent her an encouraging smile. It was obvious the dowager wanted to talk. “I know that all six siblings in my family are vastly different, but none of us is loved any less than the others.”
“That’s because love can’t be measured.” The duchess’s smile faded, and her eyes clouded with a tinge of sadness. “It was such a shock when I lost them both—Liam first, and then Everett, one nearly after the other.”
“I’m so sorry.” Janice gave her hand a little squeeze.
The dowager sighed. “In the midst of crisis, Russell stepped in beautifully. I suppose I wasn’t grateful enough that he did. I was too immersed in my own grief to thank him properly.”
“I’m sure he understood.”
The dowager shook her head. “I don’t know if he did. He had a terrible temper. Perhaps it was his own grief, but after Liam and Everett died, he changed. He was unkind to me. And indifferent when I was ill.” She swallowed hard.
Janice noticed. “Please don’t upset yourself, Your Grace,” she begged her gently.
“I brought you here to tell you this,” the old woman replied, “before I die.”
“Your Grace”—Janice shook her head—“please don’t speak that way.”
“It’s all right.” The dowager sighed. “Everyone must go someday. But each of us has a story, don’t we?”
“Yes, indeed.”
“And those stories should be told.” The duchess seemed more content. “And you, Lady Janice, are the person I want to tell my story to. There was something in your eyes that day—when you were a little girl. Even then I saw that you had a sensitive soul, like Everett. If I’d had a daughter, I would have wanted her to have your eyes and your grace. Every time I went to your mother for fittings, I always looked for you.”
“My goodness, Your Grace. That’s such a lovely compliment. Thank you.” Janice was overwhelmed again. And so touched.
“As for Russell,” the dowager continued, “the boy I knew wasn’t there anymore. He’d been replaced by an equally strong-willed man. But the man lacked a heart that I was sure the boy had.”
“Sometimes people change because of their circumstances,” Janice offered as explanation. “I’m sorry that happened to Russell.”
“I am, too.” The duchess gave another weary sigh.
The nurse stood up and sent a warning look to Janice.
She understood.
“Your Grace,” she began softly, “I’m privileged to hear your story. But perhaps you should rest for a bit.”
“I think you’re right.” The dowager’s smile was weak. “These memories agitate me so. And sometimes they disappear—I disappear—and I get confused. So very confused.”
“I understand.” Without asking, Janice leaned over and kissed her cheek. “You’re a dear lady. I’m so glad you invited me to stay.” She was humbled by the woman’s kind interest in her. “And about that special strategy you shared with me, I’d like to thank you.” She leaned in closer so Mrs. Poole couldn’t hear. “Saying no has been … liberating in a way. It’s hard to explain.”
“Whatever are you talking about?” The dowager’s eyes registered real confusion.
Janice scratched her temple and smiled. “Nothing, really.” Somehow she thought that the dowager had known what the Queen was doing—but apparently not.
In less than a few seconds, the dowager fell into a light doze.
“I’ll come back, of course,” Janice told the nurse.
“Just not at three o’clock. That’s when His Grace visits.”
“All right. What does he do if she’s asleep?”
“He simply sits with her.”
“That’s so kind of him.” Janice was surprised somehow to hear how devoted he was.
“He’s a good man,” replied Mrs. Poole.
He must be, Janice thought as she made her way to the main wing of the house. He really must.
Chapter Fifteen
All morning long, the wind blew and the snow fell. Janice’s conversation with the dowager had made her rather sad. So she’d wrapped herself up and gone to the stables, presumably to check on the puppies and Oscar. Poor man, he had no idea how feeble the residents of Halsey House supposed him to be.
Of course, she was hoping to see Mr. Callahan as much as she was the puppies and Oscar.
No, more.
She felt guilty about that fact when she pulled open the door to the stables and stepped inside, comforted by the familiar smell of horse and hay and the warmth that pervaded the space. Esmeralda was her delightful, wagging self. Her babies, their eyes closed tight, had each managed to roll and scoot at least a foot from their mother. Aaron, the junior groom, and Oscar laughed with Janice over their antics.
“Where’s Mr. Callahan?” she asked outright. The question wouldn’t draw attention, she was sure, as he was the person who’d found Esmeralda in the first place and arranged her bed.
“He’s in Bramblewood,” said Oscar. “Stranded with Sir Milo, who refused to be stranded here. He said it wasn’t as interesting a place to be as the pub there. So he asked His Grace if he could take Luke to serve as both valet and groom.”
“Oh.” Janice tried not to be disappointed. But she was, terribly. “When is he coming back?”
“When Sir Milo sends him,” said Aaron. “It could be a few days.”
“I see.” Janice’s heart sank. But perhaps it was a good thing. She needed to forget about the groom.
She must.
What was she doing seeking him out, other than torturing herself?
> Back in the drawing room at Halsey House, she was determined to read—hoping she’d forget about him—while sitting next to Mrs. Friday, who was working on her sampler. It was a verse about love, and at the bottom the assiduous chaperone had stitched her late husband’s name entwined with her own.
But gazing at it made Janice remember that the night before she and Luke Callahan had been entwined, too, in their own way.
So she focused on watching the duke, Lord Rowntree, and Lord Yarrow play cards. The other women, who always seemed to be bickering, lingered behind them, making nuisances of themselves by looking over the men’s shoulders and making supposedly cryptic comments about the hands the men had been dealt.
“That’s quite enough interference, ladies,” Halsey eventually said to them in a clipped voice. “Find something else to do.”
The women pouted about their dismissal but sat at another table together and began to play whist. A few blessedly quiet moments passed—although for Janice they dragged because she was desperate to see Mr. Callahan—and then the clock on the mantel chimed.
It was half past two.
“That’s enough.” The duke threw down his cards. “We’ve played too long.”
“But you’re ruining this hand,” Lord Yarrow protested.
“You’ll live,” said His Grace. “We’re not playing for high stakes anyway.”
“Not today, maybe, but it’s bad form—,” Lord Yarrow began.
Lord Rowntree sent him a threatening look.
“Lady Janice,” His Grace called to her, “if I might have a word!”
She noted that his tone was warm, much warmer than it had been to her yesterday or today, to the other women. Not only that, the look he threw her was charming, attentive. He was, in fact, a new man toward her—but he was the same intimidating duke to everyone else.
She was thrilled that her strategy of saying no was working so well.
“Your Grace?” She refused to say the word yes to him—ever.
“Would you like to take that tour now—the one you missed yesterday, of the conservatory and the portrait gallery?”
“No, thank you.” She was actually at a particularly enjoyable part of her book, but it would be unkind to use that as an excuse.
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