Say Yes to the Duke

by Kieran Kramer

  The dowager’s forehead furrowed. “Yes,” she said, “I-I do, don’t I? You mean Grayson, of course. He was such a sweet little boy. I remember when his mother was alive. She was a darling girl, and I’m sorry to say she wasn’t here long. He was ten when she died of the influenza—but she loved him. Oh, how she did.”

  “I’m so glad he knew a mother’s love,” whispered Janice, and wondered how Grayson could have gone so wrong.

  The dowager sighed. “Russell never remarried, and I always wished that he had.” She sucked in a breath. “Little Grayson needed a mother. I tried to move back in here to be that mother figure to him, but Russell wouldn’t let me. I begged him. I even offered to take Grayson to the dower house, but Russell said no. And so … I failed my grandson. It was the greatest opportunity of my life, to nurture that boy. But Russell won. He seemed to delight in keeping Grayson and me apart.”

  Her eyes were filled with such remorse, Janice leaned over and embraced her as best she could with all the pillows surrounding her. Her heart broke at the little sob the duchess emitted. “You can’t have failed him, Your Grace, if he loves you so much that he comes to see you every day at three o’clock.”

  Janice took a moment to wipe the one tear that clung to the dowager’s paper-thin cheek with the lacy handkerchief she always had in her lap.

  “His mother died at three o’clock,” the duchess said. “And he was there at her bedside when she did. The doctor told everyone to keep him away. But he was as strong willed as his father. He sneaked in to be with her. Russell was nowhere near, of course. He was out carousing.”

  “Poor Grayson,” Janice murmured. She hated him. Truly hated him. But she somehow couldn’t help feeling sorry for the little boy he’d been.

  The dowager dabbed at her eyes with her handkerchief. “I think he comes to see me at three because I’m a link to her. I should have taken her place when she died, and I didn’t. I’m not sure if he’s here every day to punish me for neglecting him—or if he needs me still.”

  “People are complicated,” Janice said. “Perhaps it’s both. Have you told him how hard you fought for him?”

  “Yes, but he doesn’t seem to believe me.”

  “Why not latch on to the positive then? Let’s assume he craves your interest in him. What do you talk about when he’s here?”

  “I-I pretend to sleep most of the time.” The duchess blushed. “My guilt is so deep, and his scorn so great. He tries not to show it, but I see it in his mouth, how it’s never soft and relaxed. And in his eyes. They’re full of smoldering anger.”

  Janice knew exactly what the dowager was talking about.

  “Other times,” the dowager said, “I simply don’t remember his visits at all.”

  Those must have been the times she channeled the Queen, Janice realized. And the ambitious, Machiavellian Queen was very fond of Halsey—she’d wanted to see him married, after all, and told Janice the secret to winning him. Maybe the Queen and Grayson had discussed that very thing and the dowager simply wasn’t aware of that.

  “I have an idea,” said Janice. “Speak to him about what kind of qualities you valued in your own husband. And remind him of all the hopes you have for him as my future husband. I could use the help, Your Grace.” She smiled wryly.

  “I like that idea,” said the dowager. “My husband was a very good man and a wonderful husband. Grayson should know more about him.”

  Janice was glad to see her smile. “On a new subject, I have to tell you—your orchids at the dower house are lovely.”

  “Oh, yes. I’m obsessed with them.”

  “I know you’d like to see them again.”

  The dowager nodded. “Will I ever?”

  “Yes.” Janice smiled. “You will. We’re going to start slowly. First, we’ll move you downstairs to your old bedchamber here at Halsey House, the one you shared with your duke.”

  “Really? I’ll get to see the seasons change.” The dowager couldn’t look any happier.

  “After a while, we’ll start moving you around to other parts of the house—the library, the drawing room, and the conservatory.”

  The dowager’s eyes lit up.

  “And then,” Janice said, “on your next birthday, which I understand is in June, we’ll take you to the stove house again. How does that sound?”

  “Perfect,” said the dowager. “A little bit at a time.”

  “Exactly,” said Janice.

  “Because I can’t—I can’t go too fast. No, if I do, I forget things.” She grabbed Janice’s arm. “I-I don’t want to forget about my grandson. I want to see him.”

  She sounded so distressed!

  “It’s all right, Your Grace. I won’t let you forget him. And you will see him, many times.”

  The dowager’s nose puckered up, and then she sneezed into her handkerchief. Janice held her breath while she dabbed at her nose and opened her eyes. The Queen looked back at her with her usual scornful expression.

  “Good afternoon, Your Majesty,” Janice said with a smile. “How can I help you?”

  The old lady scowled. “You’ve won Halsey, have you not?”

  Janice nodded.

  “Very good.”

  “But I-I wish I hadn’t, quite frankly.”

  The Queen drew in her chin. “How can you say that?”

  Janice hesitated. “He’s … he’s wicked, I’m afraid.” She felt the Queen should know, but she hoped speaking honestly wouldn’t upset her too much.

  The Queen merely swatted her with her handkerchief. The spirited lady reveled in conflict, after all. “He’s cut from his father’s cloth, you idiot. What do you expect?”

  “No,” Janice said, “you’ve told him that he’s like his father, but he doesn’t have to be. Next time he comes up here, I demand you tell him to improve his behavior. You let him know that it’s not all right to act like his father. Or I’ll … I’ll stage a coup.”

  “You wouldn’t.”

  “Oh, yes, I would.”

  The Queen sat quietly for a few moments, and Janice could swear she was scheming.

  “What do you know of Halsey’s father?”

  “Russell?” Janice shrugged. “Not much. Just that he wasn’t a good husband. And he wouldn’t let you see his son—”

  “Who said that?” The Queen leaned toward her in a threatening manner.

  “A little bird told me.” Janice backed away an inch. “You know how that goes.” She waved a hand. “At Court, there’s always a tattle.”

  “Yes.” The Queen curled her lip. “It makes me ill.”

  “Why do you ask what I know about Russell?” Janice queried her.

  The Queen gave a short laugh. “I don’t like state secrets to get out. That’s why. So if I find this little bird of whom you speak, he or she will have to answer to me.”

  “Is there a secret about Russell?” Janice asked her.

  “Is this a joke?” The Queen stared at her. “Do you think that if there were, I’d share it with you? Don’t you know intrigue is carried out behind closed doors? You’d make a terrible spy.”

  “But we are behind a closed door, Your Majesty. And I’m to marry Halsey. Shouldn’t I know everything there is to know about His Grace’s family?”

  The Queen bit her lower lip. “No. No one shall know.”

  Janice sighed. “All right then. But may I ask you a question?”

  The Queen cackled. “I don’t have to answer it.”

  “Very well.” Janice cleared her throat. “Do you know someone named Emily March?”

  “Why, you wily thing.” The Queen’s eyes narrowed, and then she looked over Janice’s head to Mrs. Poole, who was conveniently snoring in her chair. “How much must I pay you for your silence?” she whispered to Janice.

  She gulped. “Nothing, Your Majesty. I-I’m a loyal subject. But can’t we at least discuss the … the situation involving Miss March?”

  “I’ve nothing to add to the subject.” The would-be monarch sounded m
uch more sober than her usual self. “It’s a pity. A vast pity.”

  “What is, Your Majesty?”

  “That he’s missing.” She twisted her handkerchief. “But it must remain that way. I know what’s best. Don’t question me.”

  “But who’s missing?” Janice wished she had a handkerchief to twist, too.

  “Him.” The Queen lofted one magnificent brow.

  “Do you mean Russell?”

  “No. Russell died. Nincompoop.”

  Janice brushed off the insult. Somehow this story involved Luke’s mother, and she must get to the bottom of it. “Perhaps you mean Liam.”

  The Queen shook her head sadly. “He was a good subject. One of my best.” She got a naughty look in her eyes. “He was a man’s man, and he knew how to make a woman feel like a woman.”

  “I see.” Janice bit back a smile. She felt the same way about Luke. He’d made her feel adored. The memory of his caresses—his face as he looked at her—made her shift in her chair.

  “You know what I’m talking about, don’t you?” the Queen asked archly. “You have a lover.”

  “Had one,” said Janice. “Yes.”

  “But it wasn’t Halsey.”

  Janice shook her head. “Sorry.”

  Her Majesty shrugged. “It’s the story of most marriages in the ton.”

  Janice tried to focus again. “Let’s get back to the person who’s missing. Are you possibly referring to Everett?”

  “No. Not Everett.” The Queen winced and put a hand on her heart. “Oh, dear Everett. I miss him, too.”

  There were traces of the dowager in the Queen, and Janice felt sorry for her. “Then who, Your Majesty? Who else is missing?”

  “The boy,” she said plainly. “But he must stay gone. Halsey needs his position. And as you’re marrying him”—she wagged a finger at Janice—“you’d do well to help him keep it. So, ss-s-sh-h-h.” She put her fingers to her mouth and made a gesture as if she were turning a key in a lock.

  Janice’s head was dizzy with this new revelation. There was a boy. Missing. Perhaps the dowager meant Halsey. But did she mean someone else? Could Emily and Luke’s story be tied into this one?

  “Do you know where the boy is?” Janice asked her.

  “You ask too many questions.” The Queen looked down her nose at her. “Go away now. Don’t you know when an audience is over?”

  Chapter Twenty-five

  It had been the week from hell. He loved her. Deuce it all, Luke loved Janice. He’d figured it out on that debacle of a sleigh ride back to Halsey House, in the middle of enduring Grayson’s stupid posturing as he presented her with what looked like a dog collar to claim her as his own.

  Apart from the fact that Luke’s beloved apparently didn’t know him anymore, had embraced her new role as Grayson’s fiancée, and had made no effort to contact him about his mother’s missing journal, the low point had come when Aaron and Oscar carried the puppies and Esmeralda to the house. Luke was disgusted with himself for feeling a huge jolt of pain when he saw Esmeralda’s furry head peering back at him over Aaron’s shoulder. Oscar carried away the basket of puppies.

  Luke cursed, rolled up his sleeves, and punched a bag of oats for an entire hour. That dog and her pups reminded him of Janice. He’d miss them. He missed her. He missed how she chatted with him about little things. How she watched him speak as if what he had to say mattered. And he missed running his hands down her bare back and tugging her close.

  He was a fool. Every night he put the lantern in the window.

  But she never came.

  And each time he extinguished that lantern, he realized it was getting harder to be the solitary man he knew he should be. With her gone, he was back to keeping to himself, except when he taught the other lads to knuckle box, which he admitted to himself now he thoroughly enjoyed.

  Outside of that, he found himself hoping for some conversation. A joke here. A chat there. But everyone was so used to his silence, they didn’t speak to him much.

  With Janice gone, each day was routine to the point of utter dullness. He almost wished there were more drunken baronets to look after—well, no, that wasn’t very kind of him. But he could stand to see the two peers again—the prig, Rowntree, and the dunce, Yarrow, who’d left in a hurry the same day they’d made that excursion to the dower house. At least when they were here, Luke could make fun of them behind their backs with the other stablemen.

  The female houseguests had gone as well. The roads were passable but difficult, so Lady Janice told them to take their time before they left. But according to Aaron, Miss Branson had said Americans waited for nothing and were afraid of nothing, so they’d ventured forth, too. Janice, Mrs. Friday, and Isobel had waved them off with handkerchiefs and smiles and wishes for good luck.

  And in the stable block nothing of any significance was happening: no new stallions, and foaling season wasn’t for a while. Aaron and some other stable hands were inspired by Luke’s frustration and, along with him, punched bags of oats every night to build up their stamina while Oscar sat back and watched. He’d knuckle boxed himself as a young man and had his own tips to offer to the boys.

  The only noticeable change of pace occurred when the snow melted enough that the vicar, of all people, came to visit Halsey House. Luke caught a glimpse of Lady Janice on the front steps, there to greet the esteemed visitor. And Luke remembered the day he’d cleaned those front steps for her.

  How things could change in less than a fortnight!

  “The vicar’s never been here before,” Aaron said over a juicy drumstick at their dinner. “What the devil is going on?”

  “Watch it with the language.” Luke drank his glass of ale in one giant swallow.

  Aaron made a face. “You tell me to watch my language, when you’ve been cursing like a sailor all week?”

  “Do as I say, not as I do.”

  “Not only that, you’ve been drinking more lately,” Aaron accused him. “Watch out yourself—it’ll ruin your flat belly.”

  “Are you telling me what to do?” Luke gave him his most lethal stare.

  Aaron’s eyes widened, and he jumped up from the table. “No-o-o,” he said. “Not me!”

  He ran away before Luke could grab him by the tail of his shirt and put him in a headlock right there.

  Out of reach, Aaron said, “Don’t forget the meeting downstairs about the special visit coming up.”

  “A meeting?” Luke asked. “Who’s coming this time? The King?”

  “No.” Aaron chuckled at his ignorance. “The Marquess and Marchioness of Brady are arriving two days from now.”

  Luke hid his dismay. “So soon?” He looked at Oscar.

  “The mail coach started up again,” Oscar said, “slightly slower than usual because of the roads. His Grace just heard back this afternoon.”

  Aaron’s cheeks were two bright red circles of excitement. “The butler said he heard from the secretary that Lord Brady’s withholding his consent until he meets with the duke in person and speaks to his daughter. And he’s bringing almost his entire family.”

  “Good Lord, there are a lot of them, aren’t there?” Luke looked to Oscar.

  “Indeed, there are.”

  “So we all have to make a tremendous impression.” Aaron grinned. “That’s why we’re to have the meeting.”

  Oscar shook his head. “It won’t sit well with the marquess and marchioness that Halsey gave Lady Janice that fine ruby necklace already.”

  It didn’t sit well with Luke, either. Not that anyone cared.

  When Aaron went downstairs, Oscar and Luke were the only two left at the table. The older man tipped back in his chair and threw his own drumstick on his plate. “You like her, don’t you?”

  “Who?” Luke said, and couldn’t help feeling testy.

  “Oh, you know who. Lady Janice. You’re always asking about her. In subtle ways.”

  “And you never tell me anything.” Luke crossed his arms and looked out
the window at the patches of brown appearing all over the meadow.

  “It’s my way of trying to get you thinking of other things, lad,” Oscar said. “But you have good taste. Highfalutin taste.” He chuckled.

  Luke looked back at him. “This isn’t helping.”

  The driver shrugged. “A long time ago, I was in love with Lady Brady.”

  “Lady Brady?”

  “See? You know how impossible that would be.”

  “If you think I need reminding that I can’t have Lady Janice—”

  “No, you’re a clever man. But let me tell you my story. When I saw Lady Brady the first time, in her sewing shop, she was a sweet little miss with a smile that made you thank God to be alive. I fell hard. Right along with Lord Brady.” Oscar shook his head and chuckled. “Just because we’re workingmen doesn’t mean we don’t have hearts.”

  “Did Lord Brady know?”

  “Of course he did! He patted me on the back and said he understood. And he wasn’t at all cocky about it. He truly felt sorry for me, because he loved her, too, and he said that he didn’t know how he’d live if she didn’t love him back.” Oscar was silent, remembering. A flash of pain on his face told Luke that this story was no idle tale. “He gave me forty pounds that Christmas. A whole two years’ wages. And he offered me unfettered access to his favorite fishing cottage at Ballybrook for life.”

  “You were lucky.”

  Oscar laughed. “And then he told me I was a dirty old man. Lady Brady was a good twenty years younger than I.”

  “You are a dirty old man.” A grin slipped out, and Luke leaned forward. “So do you have any advice? And by the way, don’t say a word. I’m appalled at myself for letting this happen. I never thought it would.”

  “Don’t be so surprised.” Oscar took his measure. “You’re a red-blooded man. Just move on. Build a life for yourself. I did, and it’s a good one.”

  “You’re not married,” Luke noted.

  Oscar lifted a shoulder and let it drop. “I was never the marrying type. My love for Lady Brady wasn’t as true as Lord Brady’s. I came to see it was more an infatuation. Even had I been her equal in station, I never would have pursued her. I like my freedom.”