“How will you?” Mama asked him.
“I illustrate them.” He walked to his shelf and took down a book. It was the same one he’d shown Janice.
“He does beautiful drawings,” Janice explained.
They crowded round to see the sketches. Mama was especially taken with one variety that he no longer had in the stove house.
“It died,” he said. “Sometimes you do everything you can, but we’re not in their native habitats, so often, they don’t thrive. It makes the ones that survive all the more precious.”
“Yes,” said Mama.
“I do have some other pictures of that variety,” he said. “And I know exactly what notebook it’s in.”
They waited patiently while he brought back another. When he flipped through the pages and they oohed and aahed over his pictures, Janice couldn’t help noticing that it was an accounting book. The pages on the right had numbers on them. He wrote only on the pages on the left.
“Why do you have this accounting book?” she asked him.
“I scrounge about for paper.” He chuckled. “My mother taught me never to waste a thing. Whenever His Grace’s secretary finishes with one, he copies it over into a fancier book for the duke’s review and gives the old books to me. Occasionally, I’ll buy a new one, but most of these are used.”
Janice’s heart thudded hard against her rib cage. “Does—does anyone else give you half-used notebooks?”
“Hm-m-m … not really. Although the dowager did once, and the vicar at Bramblewood had a brand-new one he gave me out of the kindness of his heart. On the dowager’s behalf, I’d given him an orchid for the church and a picture of one for his mother.”
“How kind of you,” said Mama. “The duke is fortunate to have you in his employ.”
“I’m going to sketch a special orchid for you,” he told her shyly.
Mama had won over another man without even trying. She always did.
But Janice couldn’t care at the moment. No, her heart was pounding so fast, her hand trembled when she laid it on the gardener’s forearm. “Did you burn the notebook the dowager gave you?”
“Of course not,” he said proudly. “I never do.” He looked at Mama again as if she understood him best. “And Her Grace came in here raving like the Queen, the poor old thing, demanding it go straight into the bowels of the oven. I waited until she left and popped it on the shelf with the others.”
Marcia and Cynthia exchanged shocked glances.
“Find it, please, sir.” Janice knew she sounded shrill. “I need that notebook!”
“All right,” the gardener said slowly. “I’ll get it right now.”
Janice let out a little sob.
“What is it?” Mama took her arm and squeezed it. “You’re scaring me.”
“Yes,” Marcia said, her eyes registering alarm. “Janice, you’re white as a ghost.”
“And you’re on the verge of tears.” Cynthia was always one to point out the obvious.
“Can I get you some water?” asked Mama.
“No, thank you.” Janice inhaled a breath. “I’ll explain in a moment. First—”
The gardener was already upon them with a pale blue notebook. “Here it is, my lady.”
“Thank you,” Janice whispered, and took it with trembling hands. “It never occurred to me to ask you if you had it—the dowager said it had been destroyed, and she was so convincing, I never dreamed you wouldn’t have followed through.”
“The Good Lord likes us to use things up, don’t He? So I wasn’t disobeying, exactly.” The gardener scratched his head. “All right, I was, but don’t go telling the dowager.” He chuckled. “Her Majesty might chop off my head.”
Her sisters looked to Janice to explain, but she’d no time. She’d do so later. As she flipped through the notebook, her fingers shook more and more. A woman’s scrawl filled every page of the first half. The second contained sketches of orchids. “I need a moment, please, everyone. And then I promise to explain oh, so much. I know you’re worried, but please bear with me.”
“Take what time you need,” Mama said.
Quietly her family moved away with the gardener.
Passages in the notebook leapt out at Janice as she progressed, forming a basic story.
It was shocking. Terrible. And the courage of Emily March so moving that Janice found herself crying.
But the most shocking part of all?
Learning that Luke—her Luke—was the rightful Duke of Halsey. Now not only were her fingers trembling; she began to shake all over.
“Mama!” was all she said before they were upon her. A black curtain fell before her eyes, and she fainted.
* * *
When she awoke, Cynthia held her in her arms.
“I caught you,” her little sister said with a sparkle in her eye. “You fell onto Mama’s shoulder and then sort of went backward and I was there.”
Janice felt awful, but she had to smile. “Good for you. Thank you, dear.”
Marcia was already at Janice’s side with a cup of water from the gardener’s own pitcher. Janice took a sip and felt instantly better.
Mama took her hand. “Darling, what happened? What’s inside that notebook that’s upset you so?”
“Oh, no.” Janice’s eyes flew wide open, and she sat up. “Where is it? I need to hold it all the way back to Halsey House.”
“I’ve got it.” Marcia reassured her with a smile. “And I’ll hold it for you. I promise.”
“Good.” Janice exhaled a shaky breath. “You won’t believe how important it is. I’ll explain in the carriage.”
* * *
Of all the ridiculous moments of his life, this one had to be the most extreme, thought Luke.
Grayson—damn his filthy soul—demanded that Luke be the groom to accompany the men on their perusal of the estate on horseback.
“You’ll come with us,” Grayson ordered that morning.
Luke should have quit right then and there. His cousin was taking a great deal of spiteful glee in exposing Luke to the pain of losing the woman he wanted. Now the farce at the gazebo made so much more sense—Grayson had found out the evening previous about Luke and Janice.
Nothing was keeping Luke here anymore. The notebook was destroyed. His only hope now was to go to every church in each corner of the kingdom and look at their registries to see if his parents’ marriage had been documented. He’d already searched all the parishes within a three hours’ ride of Halsey House, but there were hundreds more to check.
It would take him at least a year, probably more.
And meanwhile, Sister Brigid and her orphanage would have to keep Grayson at bay as best they could. Luke hoped that his cousin’s fervor to find his uncle’s missing child would wane as the mantle of duke weighed heavier upon his shoulders—if it ever did.
In a man with integrity, it would.
Luke ignored the inner voice that reminded him that if he was ever able to prove his own ducal rights he’d take the money and run, leaving all ducal responsibilities behind in the hands of solicitors, accountants, and managers.
But that’s different, he thought. I’m not able to do the job.
He had no real education. He had no experience in the glittering world in which a duke moved. Indeed, it would be laughable—a true farce—to expect him to take the reins of power.
Anyone in his path should go running and screaming away if he was ever deluded enough to believe he could honestly be the next Duke of Halsey with any measure of success.
“Groom!” Grayson called now.
They were approaching one of the estate farms.
Luke wished he could feel a burning hatred of the man, but all that was in him was disgust and annoyance. Grayson was like a sticky piece of tar stuck to one’s shoe.
“Yes, Your Grace?” he answered politely enough.
“Lead the way over this ditch,” Grayson said. “It’s spongy from all the snow.”
The implication was
that Grayson didn’t want to face any unexpected holes in the ground. His prize horses were too valuable to lose one to a broken leg. Luke did as he was asked, carefully walking his horse across the sunken area—the ground was firmer than he expected—and everyone followed behind.
He’d come on this little expedition for one reason only: He wanted to get to know the men in Janice’s family a little better before he left her for good. He couldn’t do so with a clear conscience if she was returning to the protection of selfish bastards or absent-minded fools.
He was almost sure they must be all right before he’d even met them, because Janice obviously loved them a great deal. And he was nearly certain they were satisfactory replacements for his protection upon first observing them in the stable block.
But a little extra reassurance wouldn’t hurt. And what he’d found was that he outright liked them: the marquess; his son-in-law, Lord Chadwick; and the marquess’s two sons Lord Peter and Lord Robert.
Luke grew more convinced, as the ride progressed, that Janice would be—if not happy without him—at least well taken care of. He could trust these men to cajole her into rejoining their world and making a good life for herself among her own kind, supported by the bosom of her family.
While Luke remained in the saddle, the others alighted from the horses and met a tenant farmer in his field to discuss some improvements he was making. Lord Chadwick—the one his brothers-in-law called Duncan, seemed particularly interested in the conversation. Indeed, he and the farmer got so deep into it, the others wandered off. Lord Peter and Lord Robert went back to their horses to admire them. And Lord Brady and Grayson stood off to the side, talking. But it was actually Grayson doing all the talking. Lord Brady appeared to be listening intently.
Lord Brady’s wary stance set off alarms in Luke’s head. They were discussing Janice. He was sure of it. At this very moment, Grayson was making an offer for Janice and Lord Brady was being a cautious father, as he should be.
Luke felt almost dizzy and clung to the pommel of his saddle. Slowly, carefully, he exhaled a shaky breath. Don’t get soft, the old mantra came back to him for the millionth time. Get ahold of yourself.
But it wasn’t working. His heart slammed against his ribs. Sweat clung to the shirt inside his coat, which felt heavy and too hot.
Lord Robert approached, almost shyly. “Some of the fellows in the stables told us you were a prize knuckle boxer. Is that so?”
Luke nodded. “It is.”
His visitor asked him another question, but Luke was distracted. He couldn’t stop looking at Grayson and the respectful way Lord Brady was nodding in response to his words.
No!, everything in Luke shouted. No!
“What was that you said?” he asked Lord Robert.
The young man chuckled. “I asked your name.”
Finally, Luke looked down to him, into those lighthearted eyes. He saw a boy who was almost a man. Lord Robert hadn’t quite grown into his skin—the same way Aaron hadn’t.
But Luke was nearly thirty.
By now, he should have become a man.
But he wasn’t. Not yet.
He’d thought he was, yes. For many years now, he’d been the tough boxer, the soldier in the trenches, and the man in the stables his workmates called upon to lift the heaviest equipment.
But he wasn’t fully a man.
He hadn’t claimed his name. He’d only learned it a short while ago from Sister Brigid, and he thought he hadn’t needed it. He was a wanderer, after all. But he’d not only been drifting through the world—he’d been running away from standing up for who he was and what he believed. He’d given himself no real power beyond his fists.
They’d only served to protect him from his own self-doubt.
Doubt that he could truly help the nuns in the way they needed help—from a person of authority willing to speak up on their behalf, not a midnight visitor who left them money on their doorstep on the same day each year and then fled until the following year.
Doubt that he could be of any help to Aaron, a boy only looking for some decent guidance and some hope.
And doubt that Luke could win the love of a good woman. He had never even considered it—
Not until Janice came along.
The enormity of this revelation—that he was frightened, that he believed himself unworthy of happiness—was tempered by the knowledge that she’d told him just that in the cellar.
She’d pitied him. She’d seen straight through to his heart and recognized who he really was—a man on the run from life.
And she’d loved him all the same.
“Are you all right?” Lord Robert squinted up at him.
“I’m fine.” He slid off his horse. “And my name’s Luke.”
Really, Lucius Seymour Peter George Hildebrand. Not that Lord Robert needed to know such a long name—yet.
Luke began to walk toward Lord Brady and Grayson.
Lord Robert trotted after him. “Would you mind giving me a boxing lesson? When we get back to the stables?”
“I’ll be glad to,” Luke allowed him to catch up, and they walked side by side. “Only if you remember this—most boxing matches aren’t about fighting at all. They’re about defending your body and your pride. But if you don’t have anything to be proud about—nothing deep inside you that you’re willing to fight for—what’s the point in defending yourself? You might as well let them break your nose.”
He’d be sure to tell Aaron that—and, while he was at it, give the boy a hug. A real one. And he’d tell Aaron that he wanted him to consider Luke his father—or older brother. Whatever he preferred. For now, Luke slapped Lord Robert on his side with the back of his hand. Boys liked that kind of rough treatment, too.
The young man grabbed at his waist too late and laughed. “You have a point there.”
“I bloody well do,” said Luke.
Now Lord Brady was talking. Grayson’s brow furrowed, and he began to speak again. Lord Brady crossed his arms and nodded gravely.
“Wait,” said Lord Robert. “I don’t think we should join them. They’re probably discussing Janice.”
“Yes, you wait here,” Luke said.
Lord Robert stopped. “But Luke!” he called. “I really don’t think—”
Luke ignored the boy’s protest and continued on.
Grayson called out to him, “Don’t interrupt us, groom. Get back to the horses!”
Lord Brady watched Luke with interest.
Luke didn’t break his stride. “I’m not going anywhere until I talk to the marquess.”
“How dare you?” Grayson put his hands on his hips. His expression was aggressive, to say the least. “Get the hell away from here before I fire you, you bastard.”
“I quit anyway.” Luke came up to the two of them and stood his ground as only a practiced boxer could. He put every ounce of intimidation he could into his own stance.
Lord Brady’s face took on a new, hard-edged quality. Gone was the affable gentleman entirely. “I don’t know what’s happening here—”
“I can tell you right now,” Grayson said. “This man seduced your daughter.”
Before Luke knew it, Lord Brady had Luke’s lapels in his brawny fists. “What’s His Grace talking about?” He gave Luke a hard shake.
But before Luke could answer, Grayson said, “I offered for her anyway. In fact, thanks to me, the disgrace will go untold. So I think you should reconsider, Brady. Your daughter may have said she didn’t want me, but does she really know any better? She’s in the throes of calf love. She can’t see straight—thanks to this scoundrel. I suspected she’d tell you to turn down my offer. It’s why I brought him along today, so I could point him out to you.”
From the look of him, Lord Brady was ready to throttle Luke to within an inch of his life. “Is any of this true? By God, if you’ve hurt her—”
Luke heard shouting behind him, the stomp of running feet. Within seconds, he felt the others at his back. He was in
for a serious beating if things didn’t go his way. Even he couldn’t stave off five grown men and a boy.
Make that four men. Lord Chadwick quietly asked the farmer to depart. “Family matter,” he said.
“Of course,” answered the farmer.
Luke waited a few seconds for the man to go, then said, “I ask that you hear me out, Lord Brady.”
The older man’s eyes smoldered with banked fury. “That’s not a good sign. No, indeed, it’s not.” His Irish brogue was stronger than it had been earlier at the stable block.
“Listen to him, Father,” Peter said. “Every man deserves a chance to defend himself.”
Lord Brady still held to Luke’s jacket. “But you don’t know the crime he’s accused of,” he chastised his son. “I’m ready to rip him from limb to limb.”
“I can guess,” Peter said coolly. “Even so, you know it’s only fair to give him a chance to speak.”
Lord Brady pushed Luke away. “All right, then.” He waved a belligerent hand at Luke. “Commence explaining.” He looked at Robert. “Get out of here, scamp.”
“But Father, I’m nearly a man,” Robert protested. “Let me stay.”
“Yes, let him,” said Lord Chadwick. “He needs to learn what it means to be a proper man.”
“Do I have no authority here?” Lord Brady shouted. “Do my own sons challenge me?” He glared round the collection of males behind Luke. He could only imagine the extent of their dismay—the marquess was fierce when he was angry, like an Irish chieftain chastising his wayward foot soldiers.
“I’ll go then, Father,” said Robert, sounding disappointed. “But I like Luke. I don’t believe he’s done anything wrong.”
Luke was touched by the young man’s faith in him. He didn’t deserve it, however. He’d done his share of wrong, and he was willing to own up to it.
“Aw, stay,” Lord Brady said to his youngest with a scowl.
“Thank you, Father.” Lord Robert’s voice cracked. “But if you all think to gang up on Luke, it’s only fair he have a man on his side. That would be I.”
“And I’m lucky for your support, Lord Robert,” said Luke without looking back at him.
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