“Oh-h!” Her Grace breathed.
The fragile exclamation made Janice’s eyes fill. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” said the dowager. “Oh, yes.”
Janice smiled over at Mrs. Poole, who sank into her chair, her eyes blinking. “You did it,” she whispered, clearly as moved by the dowager’s delight as Janice was.
“The duchess did it,” Janice said back to the nurse.
The next half hour passed almost as if in a dream. Mrs. Friday came in to join them, having heard about Janice’s bold move in the kitchens. She listened with great sympathy to Janice’s story about running into the duke in the other room. And she was equally ecstatic about the dowager’s presence in her very own bedchamber from long ago.
From her perch at the window, the dowager didn’t sneeze once. And she even nibbled at another biscuit. Words for her were few, but anyone could see in her eyes how happy she was, how content.
Janice remembered that she’d like to ask her about Emily March, Mr. Callahan’s mother, but she was afraid that would be too much, too soon.
“Her Grace needs to be moved from that awful, stifling bedchamber and put in here,” she said out of the duchess’s hearing. “And when the weather is fine, perhaps she could go outside on this side of the house. And who knows? Maybe someday she could bear to look out the windows in the sitting room or even enter the gardens.”
“Yes,” said Mrs. Friday. “I hope that day comes.”
Janice turned to the nurse. “Do you agree, Mrs. Poole, that the duchess should be moved?”
The nurse halted her teacup before her lips. “What I say doesn’t matter.”
“Of course it does,” said Janice. “You’re a capable nurse. I’d like your opinion.”
Mrs. Poole put her cup on its saucer. “I’m beginning to see your point, Lady Janice, about the dowager’s bedchamber being very limiting. If Her Grace is moved to this wing … I’d be happy to come, too, if the duke permits it.”
“Would you?” Janice asked softly.
The nurse nodded. Her eyes were still guarded, but there was something else there, too—
It looked very much like hope.
And not just for the dowager. It would be good for Mrs. Poole to be in this wing, as well.
“Very good.” Janice passed round the plate of biscuits. Out of the debacle of the last hour, she’d reached a perfect moment. She’d done something.
She was living—out here in the country. She wasn’t hiding at all, as she thought she would. As she’d wanted to.
And it was the most splendid feeling.
When the footmen came to assist them with the dowager’s return to her bedchamber, Janice knew that she’d have another hurtle to face when she recommended to the duke that his grandmother should be moved permanently to the main wing. Janice wasn’t mistress of Halsey House. She’d need the housekeeper’s and the maids’ cooperation in preparing the new bedchamber, and surely none of them would give it without their master’s approval.
“Choose your battles,” Daddy always said.
So she’d get His Grace used to his grandmother’s visits to her old bedchamber at first. Janice intended them to be daily.
With the footmen in the room, it was as if they were a small traveling party preparing for a long journey—which it was, actually. The dowager seemed to enjoy the attention as one of the young men adjusted her lap quilt.
“You look lovely, Your Grace,” he said.
Janice liked him. He had friendly eyes.
“Thank you, lad.” The dowager beamed at him.
The other footman was cheeky, asking Her Grace which of them was the more handsome.
“You’re both handsome,” she replied softly.
Janice and Mrs. Friday exchanged pleased glances. The dowager was alert yet calm. And most definitely improved in spirits from when Janice had last seen her.
With the cheeky footman pushing the chair, they’d just begun to wend their way down the corridor when the duke appeared.
Janice’s pulse picked up. She was nervous around him, she knew. But should she be anymore? The no she’d told him about the dowager had had nothing to do with trying to win him. That no was all about trying to do the right thing for Her Grace. Yes, she’d made a hash of things, to some extent. But look at the duchess now!
Janice couldn’t regret her decision.
She held her head up high. And for the first time since she’d arrived, she felt as if she had something to offer, so much so that she began to believe her game of saying no—as much as she’d learned from it—was unworthy of her.
She’d say no if she really felt like it. And she’d say yes when she wanted to, as well.
She’d win the Duke of Halsey on her terms—or not at all.
Mr. Callahan’s the one you want, her own thoughts betrayed her. But she knew full well she couldn’t have him. He was a groom. She was a lady. Was she going to be an adult about it?
Or wallow?
She had no choice.
The knowledge pierced her heart.
But she couldn’t wallow. Members of the House of Brady didn’t.
“Hello, Your Grace,” she said purposefully. “Will you be accompanying us upstairs?”
“No,” he said. “In fact, I’d like a word with you, Lady Janice.”
“Oh … I see.” What about? He looked so serious. She had to swallow her panic again. There was nothing easy about the duke. She must always be ready for him.
But she was ready, that new inner voice reminded her. She’d already done wonders standing up to him. No one else had. That should say something, shouldn’t it? It also said something about him that in the end he’d chosen to be reasonable about his grandmother’s visit to the sitting room. Janice must give him credit for that.
“Mrs. Friday, of course, can join us.” The duke looked at Mrs. Poole. “I trust you can see Her Grace safely back to her room with the footmen assisting you.”
“Yes, Your Grace,” Mrs. Poole said quietly.
Mrs. Friday exchanged a glance with Janice. The widow, too, appeared slightly concerned.
“Shall we return to the sitting room?” the duke asked Janice.
“Yes.” She felt such relief at saying what she really wanted to say.
The duke didn’t appear to notice the change—yet. He had a rather brooding expression on his face. When he opened the door and allowed the women to pass ahead of him, Janice got the feeling that he was feeling genuine stress. He was silent, his back straighter than ever. But in his eyes she glimpsed the slightest amount of indecision, which was unlike him.
She didn’t know what to do, so she sat down on an inviting but overly firm gold silk sofa. Mrs. Friday sat next to her. The duke shut the door behind him and came and sat opposite, on a plush burgundy velvet chair. A low table strewn with books separated them.
“Well,” he began briskly, “I simply want to let you know that I’m writing your parents, Lady Janice. As soon as the roads clear, I’ll post the letter.”
Janice felt her face blanch. Beside her, Mrs. Friday shifted her weight on the spartan cushion.
“But Your Grace.” Janice curled her hands in her lap. “I don’t want to leave. I know today was a bit of a shock. But it was such a success. The dowager is happy. Please don’t send me away.”
And she wasn’t even asking to stay because she wanted to hide. The truth was, she wanted to be here. For the dowager. Because she enjoyed Mrs. Friday’s friendship, the puppies, and Esmeralda. There was the beautiful winter landscape and of course—
Luke Callahan.
The man she must forget … but couldn’t seem to manage to, however hard she tried not to wallow but to put on a brave face, to make her parents proud.
The duke rested his palms on his thighs and leaned forward. “I’m not trying to send you away.”
“You’re not?” Janice’s throat felt tremendously dry.
“No.” He leaned back into a plump pillow. “I
want to marry you.” His cool, ducal gaze never faltered.
Janice blinked several times. “Excuse me?”
“I’ve made my decision.” He crossed one leg over the other. “You’re to be my duchess.”
Janice simply stared at him. She must be fatigued. Or something. There was no way that the duke was proposing to her.
“My goodness,” said Mrs. Friday softly, and put her arm around Janice’s shoulders. “This is wonderful news.”
“This isn’t the official proposal, of course. I’ll do that in private.” Halsey glanced at Mrs. Friday.
“Of course.” The chaperone smiled back at him.
“That audience won’t occur until your parents arrive,” he told Janice. “We’ll plan our engagement ball while your mother’s here.”
“Ball?”
“Yes, a ball.” His tone suggested that she should know such things happened when one got engaged.
And perhaps she should.
“Meanwhile,” he said, “I’ll select a ring from among my grandmother’s.”
“It all sounds quite splendid,” Mrs. Friday assured him. “Congratulations, Your Grace.”
Janice didn’t know what to say. She was still in shock. And she was terribly glad that Mrs. Friday hadn’t congratulated her—because she was far from being ready to be toasted, acknowledged, cheered, or feted in any way, shape, or form.
“Lady Janice?” the duke asked. “Are you all right?”
No, she wasn’t all right. She wasn’t nearly all right. And part of her not being all right was wondering why she wasn’t: Should she be the happiest woman on earth at the moment?
She cleared her throat. “Forgive me, but I feel a bit … a bit overwhelmed.”
It was a raging understatement.
Mrs. Friday squeezed Janice’s shoulder, which did help her focus. At least a quarter of her brain did. But another quarter of her mind envisioned her running to the stable block right now, screaming, Luke! Luke Callahan! Where are you? And yet another quarter was reading in her bedchamber on Grosvenor Square while Isobel prattled on unheeded about one thing or the other. And the last quarter was curled up in the straw with Esmeralda and her puppies—just being with them while they were cozy, happy, their tiny pink mouths and wriggling bodies the most adorable things Janice had ever seen.
But she forced herself to focus on that first quarter—the one still in the sitting room, planted on an unforgiving sofa and facing a duke.
“Your Grace,” she asked, “might I ask what inspired you to offer for me so quickly?”
“There was nothing quick about this.” He leaned back on the sofa and crossed one leg over the other.
“How can you say so?” Janice asked. “I only just arrived.”
“I’ve waited years to make this decision,” he said. “No woman, and I’ve met many, has ever inspired me to offer my hand in marriage—until I met you. You’re the duchess I’ve been seeking, Lady Janice.”
He stood in his impeccably tailored clothes and looked down at her, that one brown, wavy lock of hair nearly but not quite in his eye.
Janice stood as well and felt frumpy by comparison. She was sweaty from trying to carry that Bath chair. And wrinkled from pressing on the rungs on the ladder in the library while she opened any book that had no title on the binding as she searched for a journal that had belonged to Emily March.
“I’m gratified by the offer, Your Grace.” She truly was. “But you speak as if it’s assumed I’ll say yes when you do propose. The truth is”—she clasped her hands in front of her bodice—“I need more time to think about this.”
She could see in the flicker of his gaze that once more she’d surprised him.
“I see,” he said. “Are you suggesting I delay writing your parents?”
The moment was so awkward that she knew when she got back to her room she’d need Isobel to brush her hair a long while.
“Yes, Your Grace.” She’d need more tea, too. Several cups, with extra sugar. “I’d appreciate a few days to consider it.”
She wondered what Mrs. Friday thought. Was the good lady shocked that Janice hadn’t immediately said yes? She knew Ladies Opal and Rose—the women without options—would think her completely mad.
Even she was astonished that she wasn’t agreeing right away to the duke’s offer. It would solve all her woes to become the Duchess of Halsey—all but one.
She couldn’t love him.
Because she was most definitely preoccupied with someone else, a man she couldn’t have. No one ever said, If you fall in love, it might as well be with a groom, did they?
Which was why when His Grace lifted her hand and kissed it, she prayed that she could fall in love with a duke.
And soon.
Chapter Eighteen
Luke was in a very bad mood. He’d spent the last thirty-six hours in Bramblewood with a small rat by the name of Sir Milo, a man Luke wanted to pummel for spreading a vile rumor about Lady Janice that Luke knew wasn’t true. As hot as Lady Janice’s kisses had been, however sensual her nature, she was an innocent. He’d known from the very first kiss they’d shared. He’d needed no proof two nights ago when she’d joined him in the tack room. And he’d never received it, as he’d chosen to go lightly. It had obviously been her first time being pleasured so intimately by a man.
Even if the rumor had been true, his regard for her wouldn’t have changed. He knew how skilled scoundrels were at seducing young women. There were many virgins in his past whom he could have taken advantage of himself but hadn’t.
He was furious that he’d been forced to leave the estate without getting word to Lady Janice of Grayson’s plan to seduce her. While Luke tended to Sir Milo’s drunken self the previous afternoon, he’d made plans to escape the village and go back that night to the estate while Sir Milo slept—and return to Bramblewood in the morning. But instead, Luke had spent the night cleaning up the shambles Sir Milo had made of the taproom owned by a good-hearted couple who knew Luke well. He couldn’t abandon them. And by morning Sir Milo was up and about, his head aching, and he began his drinking once more.
Finally, finally, the man had fallen into a drunken slumber this evening, and Luke was able to make his escape.
All the way back, he had to hope that Janice had relied on his earlier warnings about Grayson, as well as her own wits. The idea of that scum making eyes at her—pulling out her chair, leaning close, complimenting her hair—made Luke physically ill. At this point, he didn’t even care if she’d been able to find the journal. It was more important that he knew she was safe.
And without a doubt, as soon as the roads cleared she must depart Halsey House.
He hated to think of her leaving.
So he simply wouldn’t.
It was slow going in the snow. But after forty-five minutes Luke found himself on the drive to Halsey House, the stable block off to the right. He looked at the moon and guessed it was somewhere close to midnight.
Was Lady Janice awake? And if so, what was she doing?
For that matter, what was Grayson doing?
Luke prayed that they were separated by many rooms, floors, and doors—doors that could lock Grayson out and Lady Janice in.
In the stable block Luke said hello to the last man awake and told him to go to bed. He’d close everything down for the night. And then as swiftly as he could, he lit the lantern and set it in the south window.
It had been a very long day.
But now … now he must speak to Lady Janice.
Be awake, he thought. Look out your window.
She came more swiftly than he thought possible. Was she already dressed in her coat and boots and sitting at her bedchamber window waiting for his signal? She practically flew through the door, without a bonnet, too. Her hair swung in that braid, and her boots and the bottom half of her coat were splattered with snow and even a bit of mud. The path between the house and the stables had been well traveled, so it was wearing down to the icy earth.
“It did seem a stretch.” He wouldn’t let himself be pulled in by her obvious dismay at his absence.
He picked up the lantern, and they both immediately began to walk back toward Esmeralda and the puppies.
“How was everything here?” he asked.
Janice pushed her hair back. “Eventful. And you?”
“Endless.” Because he couldn’t see her, that was why.
They stopped outside the stall, and he hung up the lantern as he had before. The puppies were even more active, and Esmeralda, poor thing, was having a fine time of it trying to keep up with them.
Lady Janice leaned her arms on the gate and laughed. “Oh, it’s so good to see them.”
“Didn’t you today?”
She shook her head. “No, actually. I spent some time looking for the journal. By the way”—she looked up at him—“I confided in my maid. She might appear eccentric, but she’s quite trustworthy, and she may be able to look some places I can’t. Plus, she can talk to the other servants.”
“I sincerely hope she’ll be more subtle with them than she appeared to be in your carriage.”
“She will.” The lady seemed quite sure on that point. “But back to my busy day—after I looked on every bookshelf in the duke’s library, to no avail, I visited the dowager. She was channeling the Queen, and when she’s like that she doesn’t seem to know who anyone is. Later, she reverted to the dowager’s friendly self, but I felt it was too soon to speak to her about your mother. I realize you’re giving me only this week to find it. But I need to tread carefully.”
Her nearness was making it very hard to focus again. “You seem more quiet than usual. That is, you’re speaking as much as you ever do, which is quite a lot.” She made a disparaging face at him. “But was there more to your eventful day than what you’ve revealed so far?”
She sighed. “Yes, actually.”
She told him the story about taking Her Grace to the sitting room and the drama that ensued afterward—at least the part about how the duke had told Janice to turn around and take the dowager back to her bedchamber.
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