The room was silent.
“May I ask why you won’t go?” He angled his head, and for a moment again … he was Pan … hot, earthy Pan. His finely tailored clothes did little to disguise his sensual nature.
Oh, dear. She had to think of an excuse fast, and it was most awkward. For him, not you, a small portion of her brain reminded her. She was gaining some authority—true power—and with it came the knowledge that it was often uncomfortable to exercise this power.
“Mrs. Friday is in the middle of a difficult stitch.” Janice ignored the stares of the other guests. “I don’t want to interrupt her.”
Mrs. Friday laughed. “Why, Lady Janice, I’ll be happy to set it aside for now. If I do, will you go?”
She was such a cheerful woman.
“I suppose I will,” said Janice. “There’s a particular portrait that intrigues me.”
“It’s about time,” Miss Branson said under her breath.
“Very good.” The duke didn’t smile, but his mouth angled up the slightest bit.
A few moments later, he showed no signs of resenting Mrs. Friday’s presence as they walked through wide, luxurious corridors to the conservatory, a truly splendid room.
“So much glass!” exclaimed Mrs. Friday.
“And the plants are beautiful.” Janice looked round in wonder. “To be able to walk among them when there’s snow outside is such a gift.”
“I’m glad you think so,” said the duke. “Wait till you see the stove house at the dower house. The orchids are stunning. But they need constant tending. I spend a small fortune maintaining that hobby for Granny.”
“I look forward to touring it.” Janice felt genuinely drawn to him for the first time. “Does Her Grace ever go over to see them?”
“No.” He plucked a bay leaf and put it in his pocket. “She has a Bath chair, but she much prefers to stay in her room. On occasion, I’ll bring her an orchid in a pot.”
“I’m sure she loves that.” Janice thought his carrying an orchid to her was such a special gesture. But she also wondered why he said the dowager preferred to stay in her room. She’d made it very clear to Janice that she didn’t. “Wouldn’t she like to come down here to see the plants?”
“No.” Halsey gave a light shrug. “She gets too agitated. If she tells you otherwise, you mustn’t believe her.”
“Oh.” What he said made sense, but Janice thought it was terribly sad.
So did Mrs. Friday. She had a sheen of tears in her eyes.
“I’m sorry.” Their host raked a hand through his hair and sighed. “Granny’s situation is painful. It isn’t easy for her or for anyone.”
Mrs. Friday bit her lip. “We understand, Your Grace.” She turned to examine an orange tree, no doubt to give him a moment to recover.
“Of course.” Janice turned away, too, to admire the same tree.
There was a moment’s awkward silence.
“But we can cheer her up,” he said.
He was trying so hard, wasn’t he? That did more to win Janice’s approval than anything he’d done yet. She and Mrs. Friday exchanged pitying glances.
“When it stops snowing so hard”—he wore an earnest, serious expression—“we’ll take that sleigh ride over to the dower house, and I’ll let you pick out the perfect bloom for her, my lady. Will you do that?”
“No, thank you, Your Grace.” Janice winced at Mrs. Friday. “I can’t.”
“No?” The duke couldn’t disguise his astonishment.
Without even knowing what Janice was about, Mrs. Friday stepped in. “She only says no because she can’t bear to choose between them, Your Grace.” Her tone was light. “Isn’t that right, Lady Janice?”
“I’m terrible at choosing.” Janice sent her friend a grateful look, then turned to the duke. “I’ll pick out three orchids, Your Grace, and leave the final selection to you.”
“Very well.” But the warmth in his eyes had slightly cooled.
So they’d taken a step backward. Or was it forward? Janice couldn’t be sure. She wished she could go to the dowager right now and speak to her while she was channeling the Queen. Janice wanted to tell Her Majesty that she was having strong second thoughts about her strategy to win her grandson.
But until Janice and her mentor had that conversation, she’d continue saying no to the Duke of Halsey, who from all appearances—ducal quirks aside—was as fine a man as his reputation in London suggested. All he needed was a wife to weed out the hangers-on and to teach him patience.
Janice could do that.
Up in the portrait gallery a few minutes later, she went straight to the portrait of the woman in love. “Who is this woman?” Janice couldn’t help smiling when she saw her. “She’s such a bright light. A wit, I can tell. And she appears to be madly in love. She has a glow about her.”
“She’s my grandmother as a young duchess,” Halsey said.
“Oh,” Janice breathed. “She was remarkable.”
“She was. And is,” he added. “She loved my grandfather very much.”
Mrs. Friday was as fascinated by the painting as Janice was.
They strolled by all the other portraits, and the duke was so entertaining that Janice was completely overwhelmed with this new favorable impression of him.
“Thank you,” she said at the end of the tour. He’d been such a gentleman.
“It was my pleasure.” He gave her a slight bow.
How gratifying, to be bowed to by a duke!
Mrs. Friday descended the wide staircase to the main hall slightly ahead of them. About halfway down, Halsey slowed and Janice slowed with him.
“I just want to tell you,” he said, “that the glow you mentioned in my grandmother…” He paused, seeming to search for the right words.
She waited patiently.
“You have a glow, too,” he said. “I couldn’t help but notice it today. When you walked into the drawing room, no one could look away. Including myself.”
Janice’s face got so hot, she was sure it was red. “Th-thank you, Your Grace,” she murmured, embarrassed at the lavishness of his compliment. Yet it was also extremely kind—
Everything an unmarried young woman wanted to hear from a duke.
She took another few steps. His Grace followed at her side. Future husband, a wicked voice in her head teased her.
But Janice had to wonder: Was he inventing that impression of her? Or did last night’s interlude with Mr. Callahan literally change her appearance?
She recalled Isobel’s words from that morning, as well as Mrs. Friday’s. Surely her rosy cheeks and lips had dimmed by the time she’d entered the drawing room a few hours later. And she’d been in that terrible funk because a groom named Luke Callahan had left the estate.
It was all very confusing—unless she credited the dowager’s secret strategy of saying no for actually working.
Why not?
Mrs. Friday reached the bottom of the stairs and looked up at them expectantly. “I’ve always been a fast walker,” she said with spirit, and laughed.
She was such a delightful person, and she knew just what to say when the moment called for it.
Halsey excused himself when they reached the bottom of the stairs. “It’s time to see my grandmother.” He held on to the banister, prepared to go right back up again.
“Oh, that’s right.” It touched Janice, how thoughtful he was. She still felt very flustered by his remarks on the stairs. “Please send Her Grace my best.”
“I will.” He raised Mrs. Friday’s hand to his mouth and kissed it. Then he did the same for Janice. “I’ll see you both at dinner.” He smiled again.
And when he turned his back and climbed the stairs, Janice and Mrs. Friday exchanged another glance.
He’s wonderful, mouthed Mrs. Friday.
Janice smiled, understanding, and looked up at his retreating back. Fall in love with him, she told herself. Fall in love.
But her heart refused to be stirred.
&nb
sp; Chapter Sixteen
It was the following morning, and until Luke Callahan returned to the estate Janice couldn’t think. She couldn’t eat. She couldn’t sleep or care how well her campaign with the duke was going, although it seemed to be going very well.
One thing she could still do while the groom was gone was continue saying no. And she was getting better at it. As she invented creative answers to avoid blatantly insulting His Grace, she realized she was being like Mama, the queen of saying no.
But until she’d come here to Halsey House, Janice had never noticed this trait in her mother. And come to think of it, Marcia said no very easily, too. It seemed that both Mama and Marcia had very strong opinions and, captivating as they were, they adhered to those personal sentiments.
Perhaps saying no was actually the very essence of their charm!
Janice, on the other hand, had always tried to be agreeable. But what was agreeable, really? How treasured were smiles and nods that came from a person who didn’t know her own feelings—or, if she did, didn’t value them enough to protect them?
Was saying no what she had to learn in the country? Janice was beginning to wonder.…
She spent the entire morning searching for Emily March’s journal on the duke’s library bookshelves, but she came up with nothing. Neither did Isobel. Which meant the escritoires were next, and after that Janice wasn’t certain. She’d have to do some subtle probing of the occupants of the house, starting with the dowager.
When Janice entered her bedchamber, the Queen was presiding over her own version of Court. The throne of pillows behind her supported her tiny body well. “You again,” she drawled, her gaze flinty.
“Yes, Your Majesty.” Janice curtsied. “Good morning.”
The dowager threw out a lazy finger, indicating that Janice might sit in the chair by the bed.
Janice did as she was told. She was dying to tell her that she loved the duchess’s portrait, but she was afraid the comment might confuse her.
“I’ll have a song this morning,” said the old lady. “I haven’t heard one this age.”
“A song?” Janice was somehow surprised.
“Can you not hear me? Or is this willful disobedience on your part? Court’s been rather dull. Get to it.”
Janice was well aware of the presence of the nurse behind her back. “Well, if you don’t have a preference—”
“Stop dillydallying,” snapped the dowager.
“All right.” Janice cleared her throat. “‘Good morning, pretty maid,’” she sang, “‘Where are you going?’”
Her voice started out thin—it had been a long while since she’d sung a note—but as she continued the ballad, which Daddy sang every morning to Mama as he prepared for the day, the notes grew stronger and stronger. And by the middle of it, she was in full voice and her heart was happy—
Especially when she saw that the dowager was well pleased. Her eyes brightened and she seemed to follow hungrily every word Janice sang.
When the last note finally drifted away, Her Majesty sighed long and loud. “Now that’s singing,” she said simply.
Janice smiled. “I’m glad you enjoyed it.” She had, too.
She glanced over her shoulder at Mrs. Poole, who for the first time ever managed to smile in return. It was nothing spectacular—it was barely a curve of her lips—but at least it was better than the grim face she usually presented.
“My grandfather used to s-s-s-sing that,” she said, her whistle particularly pronounced.
“No noise from the minstrels’ gallery,” barked the dowager. “I can’t abide the flute. Such a prissy instrument. Give me a horn any day.”
Janice cast a glance at the nurse. Her face was redder than usual. Of course she’d heard the slight. “I’m so sorry,” Janice murmured.
The nurse turned her very square back on her.
“Your Majesty”—Janice felt terrible for Mrs. Poole—“you must be kinder. You must be terribly unhappy to pick on your caretaker.”
“What do you think? I can’t do any proper ruling from this bed.” The dowager gave a great sigh. “How’s your plan going, by the way? Are you listening to my advice?”
“Yes.” Janice was glad for the change of subject. “And it’s working.”
Her Majesty chuckled. “I knew it would. So, what will be the first thing you do as duchess?”
“I don’t know” Janice’s face heated. “It might not happen. We’re only at the beginning stage of the … the strategy.”
The dowager waved her hand. “It works fast. So prepare yourself. Soon you’ll be a powerful woman.”
“Like you?” Janice asked her.
“I’ve had my moments,” her hostess said smugly, but then her forehead wrinkled. “Although … although I recall not taking advantage of all of them. I should have spoken up. I should have said no. No.” She slapped the coverlet, the creases around her eyes and mouth deepening.
Janice detected a slight tremble of her lips and took her hand. “It’s all right. Please let me sing you another song.”
But the dowager seemed to forget she was there. “I stood by.… I knew what he’d done.”
“Really, Your Majesty. I know a lovely marching song—”
“But I didn’t know what to do,” Her Majesty insisted, not heeding Janice in the least. “I loved him, you see. He was all—he was all I had left.” She lifted her chin and looked off into the distance, the very picture of a noble queen.
Janice felt compelled to take both her hands and give them a squeeze. “Really, Your Majesty, you did everything you could. Please don’t have any regrets.”
“Regrets?” The frail lady made a scornful face. “I can’t afford those. Duty won’t allow it. We must—” She stopped speaking, and after a long second of inhaling and looking generally uncomfortable she reached out for the handkerchief on her lap and sneezed.
Atchoo!
Janice looked back at Mrs. Poole, who was standing and watching. There was a trace of something in her eye—concern, Janice could see. Genuine concern.
“She doesn’t usually talk like this,” the nurse said. “You mustn’t rile her.”
“I’m so sorry.” Guilt made Janice shrink up in her chair.
“I’m fine,” said the patient with a chuckle. Her entire demeanor had changed. She was back to being the sweet elderly Dowager Duchess of Halsey. “Good thing you’re here, Lady Janice. I’m ready to leave this room. No one else will let me. Will you?”
She had a charming twinkle in her eye.
Janice breathed a sigh of relief. Yet she couldn’t be at ease for long. Both the Queen and the dowager wanted to get out of the bedchamber. And in Janice’s heart—no matter how well-intentioned the duke and the doctor were—she believed, too, that some fresh scenery would do the dowager a great deal of good.
But she shouldn’t make that decision. Surely not. It wasn’t her place.
“Let me … let me talk to Mrs. Poole a moment, Your Grace. I’ll be right back.” She smiled—trying her best to be cheerful in spite of her concerns—and stood.
Mrs. Poole looked at her suspiciously as she approached. “My lady, don’t even think about it.”
Janice sighed. “It’s cruel to keep her in here.”
“It’s what His Grace demands. And what the doctor ordered.”
“Who is this doctor?”
“Dr. Nolan.”
“When was the last time he was here?”
“About three months ago.”
“Three months?”
Mrs. Poole nodded.
Janice shook her head. “I’m sorry. I’m taking her out.”
“You will not—”
Janice strode by the nurse to a door she’d never seen Mrs. Poole open and laid her hand on the knob. “You don’t have to help, and I’ll tell His Grace you tried your best to stop me.”
“No one will assist you. No servant here wants to lose his or her job.”
“That’s a shame but understanda
ble. I have my own maid and Mrs. Friday, my chaperone, to lend me aid.” Janice opened the door and looked into a small room that held a cot and a bureau but nothing else. “Where’s Her Grace’s Bath chair?”
“I’m not telling,” said Mrs. Poole from behind her. “And your own maid and chaperone are in the stables. I saw them walking out there myself.”
To see the puppies, of course.
Janice immediately thought of Mr. Callahan and wondered when he’d be back.
“I’ll fetch them then.” Janice shut the door. “And I’ll find that chair. I’ll get Her Grace out of here without you, Mrs. Poole. So there.”
The nurse crossed her arms. “By the time you get your maid and chaperone, the dowager will be asleep again. So you might as well not bother. Besides, I’ll tell His Grace.”
“Fine.” Janice gave a short laugh. “You do that. And when you fall asleep there tonight”—she angled her head at the little room—“you’ll know that you’ve done your duty.”
“Exactly.” The woman’s tone was self-satisfied.
“And when you wake up tomorrow,” Janice reminded her, “you’ll come right back into this bedchamber and sit all day. Just as you always do. You’re as trapped here as the duchess is.”
“No, I’m not.”
“You’re right. You have your own box to retreat to at night.”
Mrs. Poole’s mouth thinned. “There’s nothing wrong with it. At least it’s private.”
“Right. The rest of the servants are crammed into the attics, aren’t they? Poor things. Always seeing each other … laughing, joking, having company. It must be awful. Much better to be in here with nothing to do and no one to speak you except your patient—whom you ignore.”
Mrs. Poole took a deep breath. “You’ve s-s-s-said enough, my lady.”
“I wonder what you’re so afraid of?” Janice cocked her head. “Are you nervous about that whistle? Because once you hear it several times, you don’t notice it anymore.”
“How dare ye speak of that!” A rough accent spilled from the attendant now. “You heard Her Majesty. She don’t like it.”
Janice shook her head. “She’s difficult, isn’t she? But I’ll wager that when she’s herself—the dowager duchess—she’s never said a word about it to you.”
Say Yes to the Duke Page 15
