She glanced at her husband. Having run her hands over his broad, powerful shoulders and muscular arms, she could easily imagine Blackthorne being capable of that sort of ferocity.
Except, the current duke had nothing to fight except mold and decay.
Blackthorne smoothed a hand along the top of the footboard as he said, “This is the master suite.” His hand trailed off as he crossed to a door and opened it. “This will be your room.”
Josie was careful not to brush against her husband, as she crossed into the bedroom connected to his, but she wasn’t quite successful. She bit back a gasp when her breasts brushed against his chest as she squeezed past him. She stepped farther into the room, determined to ignore her body’s sensual response to even that slight touch.
She forced her breathing to slow as she surveyed her bed, which was surely fit for a queen, although no famous one had apparently slept there. The counterpane was emerald green to match the moth-eaten green velvet curtains trimmed in gold fringe.
“There is a lock on this door,” he said as he crossed into her room and pulled the door between the two rooms closed.
Josie could see a skeleton key in the lock. He pulled it free and crossed to hand it to her. She drew the inference from the tone of his voice and the distaste with which he handed her the key, that the door might have been locked in the days when his mother and father had occupied these rooms.
She closed her hand around the key, took a deep breath, and said, “How long ago did you lose your mother?”
“I was ten.”
That was about the same time Blackthorne had said he’d left the Abbey as a boy. Josie waited for an explanation of how his mother had died, but it didn’t come. So she asked, “What happened?”
“She disappeared.”
Josie hadn’t been expecting that. “What do you mean?”
“I mean one day she was here, and the next day she was gone.”
“Gone where?”
“Your guess is as good as mine. My mother wasn’t a happy woman. My parents fought often and loudly. My father didn’t trust her to be faithful, so he kept her immured in the Abbey. But he was often gone. She detested being left by herself so much of the time, but there was no possibility of divorce. After the twins were born, she drank too much and slept the days away. I imagine she finally got her fill of the situation—and us—and left.”
Josie heard the underlying pain in his admission. She couldn’t imagine how any mother could leave her children behind, no matter how difficult the marriage. Her parents had been happy together, so she had nothing with which to compare the awful relationship her husband had described.
“So your mother may still be alive?”
He shrugged. “Anything is possible.” He crossed to stare out the window through a small space where no ivy blocked the view. “When my father died—he overdosed on laudanum—I hoped she might contact me. But she never did.”
He turned back to face her and continued, “Even if she isn’t dead, nothing remains of her now but memories of shouting matches and shattered wine goblets that I’d rather forget.”
Josie crossed to him and slid her arms around his waist, laying her cheek against his chest and holding him close. It took a moment before she felt his arms close around her.
“I’m so sorry, Marcus. So very sorry.”
Josie understood a little better why her husband might have left his nephews to languish. He certainly hadn’t learned from his own parents how to nurture a growing child. Maybe she could do some good before she left. Maybe she could teach the duke how to express the love for his nephews he’d insisted he felt.
And if the duke does love them? Should I leave them in his care when I return to my family?
What if something came up as soon as she was gone, and he abandoned them again?
Josie couldn’t bear to think of the two boys alone and unhappy, but she had family of her own she ached to see. She caught her lower lip in her teeth, as she struggled with the difficult choices ahead of her, and realized she was putting the cart before the horse. The first thing to do was reunite the boys with their uncle and see how he behaved with them.
It suddenly dawned on her that, even if she somehow managed to get the duke and his nephews together, she had another problem.
How could she keep her prior relationship with the boys a secret? Realistically, it was impossible. Spencer might be willing and able to keep a secret. But Clay would surely slip.
So where does that leave me?
Josie released a breath of air she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. When the boys came, she would tell Blackthorne the truth about herself. She would also tell him why she didn’t trust him to take care of Spencer and Clay. She would explain, in a way he could understand, why they would be far better off living with her.
What if he doesn’t really love them, but refuses to let me take them away with me?
Josie suddenly became aware of Blackthorne’s steady gaze, curiosity clear on his face, and realized she must have been silent—lost in her thoughts—for quite some time. As she looked into his piercing blue eyes, she decided that, in the end, she had no choice. If Blackthorne didn’t love his nephews, and he balked at letting her take them with her when she left, she would simply have to steal them.
AFTER HER EXPERIENCE with Mrs. Pettibone, Josie was determined to find a housekeeper for Blackthorne Abbey who loved children and could stand to have them underfoot, since she hoped to have Spencer and Clay living with her soon. She’d been speaking with candidates for three hours and hadn’t yet found the right person for the job.
Then Miss Harriet Carpenter stepped into the sitting room.
Josie figured the young woman was only a few years older than she was herself. Miss Carpenter’s plain, navy-blue princess sheath, which was of good quality, but worn, her perfect posture, her frayed gloves, the tinge of pink in her alabaster cheeks, and her worried, dove-gray eyes suggested that she was more used to doing the questioning than to being questioned. Josie looked at the information she’d been given and realized Miss Carpenter had applied without references.
“Please be seated, Miss Carpenter,” Josie said, gesturing to a tattered brocade wing chair across from the claw-footed sofa on which she sat.
The newest applicant settled herself on the edge of the chair, her hands folded in her lap. Before Josie could ask the first question, Miss Carpenter said, “I know I’m young for this job, but I’ve managed a household in the past, Your Grace, and I promise I will work hard to please you.”
She bit her lip to keep herself from saying more, and Josie could see it was taking a great deal of effort for the young woman not to fidget. She was tempted to hire Miss Carpenter on the spot, because she saw a great deal of herself in the woman sitting across from her. But she’d been desperately hoping to find a housekeeper who had more experience than she did in managing such a huge estate.
“Where have you worked in the past?” she asked.
The tinge of pink in Miss Carpenter’s cheeks became a rosy flush. “I managed my father’s manor before…” She stopped and glanced out the window, swallowing hard before she turned back to Josie and said, “Before I was forced to leave.”
She didn’t explain the circumstances that had “forced” her to leave, but Josie could easily imagine what might have happened. Miss Carpenter’s father had likely died, leaving her without means. English law distributed all property to the closest male relative, and it was entirely possible that whichever male had inherited her father’s estate had not been willing to support her.
“As you can see,” Josie said, gesturing toward the dilapidated furnishings in the room, “everything here needs a great deal of work.”
“I’m used to hard work, Your Grace.”
“How would you feel about having children underfoot?”
Miss Carpenter sent a pointed look toward Josie’s waist. “Are you…”
Josie settled a hand over her womb. “I’m not
expecting.” Although there was still the possibility that Blackthorne’s seed had taken root. “The duke has two nephews, six and eight, who may be—who will be—coming to live here shortly.” Somehow she was determined to get them here.
“I love children. I grew up with three younger sisters and had the care of them all my life. My greatest sorrow is that I had to abandon them when I left home.”
Josie felt her sympathy, and empathy, for Miss Carpenter growing as she learned more about the young woman’s situation. She, too, had left family behind. “Where are your sisters now?”
“They live with an aunt, Your Grace.”
Not our aunt. Just an aunt. Were her siblings related to the aunt, but not her? Or had the aunt sent her out to earn her own living? Josie wondered if Miss Carpenter dreamed, as she had for years, of being reunited with her family someday.
“You’re hired.”
The look of astonishment on Miss Carpenter’s face made Josie smile.
“I am?” The young woman blinked quickly to hide what might have been tears and added, “Your Grace?”
Josie rose and crossed the room. By the time she got there, Miss Carpenter was on her feet and composed again. “I think the first thing we have to do is dispose of all this formality. Please call me Josie. May I call you Harriet?”
“Of course, Your Grace.”
“Of course, Josie.”
Miss Carpenter’s smile reached her gray eyes, which crinkled at the corners. “Of course, Josie. Please call me Harriet.”
Josie felt a sudden qualm at what the duke would think when he saw how young, and arguably inexperienced, their new housekeeper was. Not to mention the fact that Miss Carpenter came without references.
He’ll think his duchess is a fool. That she isn’t responsible enough to be put in charge of such an important decision. That she allowed her emotions to take over, rather than using reason to make her choice.
Josie gritted her teeth. It didn’t matter what Blackthorne thought. What was important was to create a safe, happy home for Spencer and Clay, which made Miss Carpenter a perfect addition to the duke’s household.
“Where would you like me to start?” her new housekeeper asked.
Josie chewed her lower lip while she thought, uncertain exactly where to put Harriet to work, and then had a brilliant idea. “You can finish up these interviews.” Josie counted off on her fingers the different kinds of help she needed. “With luck you can find us a good cook, a few maids, some footmen, a gardener, and whoever else you think might be necessary to help us put the house and grounds in order.”
“Wouldn’t you rather choose those people yourself?” Harriet asked hesitantly.
“If you’ve managed a household in the past, you’re one step ahead of me,” Josie admitted.
“Very well,” Harriet said. “What about a steward? And someone to manage the stables?”
“I believe the duke will be selecting people for those positions.” But she wasn’t sure. “I’ll check with him and let you know.”
The first thing Josie did was go to her room and change out of the dress she’d put on to impress the help. There was work to be done, and she was itching to start. She wrapped a scarf around her hair, much as she’d done when she was a maid-of-all-work, and put on the apron she’d brought from the kitchen to cover the simplest dress she now owned.
Then she went to work in the duke’s bedroom, where there was no chance she’d be seen by the stream of prospective servants being interviewed by her new housekeeper. It was enormously satisfying to see the gleam appear on tables and chests as she wiped away decades of dust.
Once she’d cleaned Blackthorne’s room, she headed back into her own. It looked considerably lighter than it had when she’d changed her clothes just a short while ago. Then she realized the reason why. One of the windows was now completely clear of ivy. Harriet really was a wonder, she thought, if she’d already put a gardener to work.
When she went to the window to observe the man, it wasn’t a gardener standing on the ladder perched three stories high against the Abbey wall.
It was her husband.
Josie turned and ran down the stairs, passing a startled young woman with a broom in her hands, who barely had time to curtsy before Josie was past her and out the front door. She nearly ran into the ladder that had been set up across the main entrance. She stepped around the ladder, at which point a spray of ivy landed on her head. She jerked sideways, more startled than hurt, then ducked out of the way of another falling sprig, shading her eyes against the glare of the sun, as she confirmed what she’d seen through the upstairs window. The Duke of Blackthorne was, indeed, trimming the ivy away from her bedroom window.
She resisted the urge to shout at him, fearing he might lose his balance. Speaking in as normal a voice as she could muster in her winded condition, she called up to him, “Isn’t that a job for our new gardener?”
“Do we have one?” He focused his gaze on her, and a quizzical look appeared on his face.
She reached up to brush aside a strand of hair being whipped across her face by the wind and realized she was still wearing a scarf on her head and an apron over her dress.
He’d taken off his jacket, opened his shirt at the throat, rolled up his sleeves to reveal strong forearms, and was holding a large pair of garden shears, which made her feel a little better about her own attire.
“We’ll surely have someone to do this sort of work by tomorrow,” she replied.
He shot her a boyish grin. “I didn’t think this could wait. I want you to see the sun rise in the morning. I presume we’ll have maids by tomorrow as well, but judging by that scarf on your head and that apron you’re wearing, you seem to have made yourself busy cleaning.”
“I was just an ordinary person the day before yesterday,” she pointed out. “On the other hand, I didn’t think dukes indulged in manual labor.” She realized she’d discounted her wealth in that statement. Heiresses probably didn’t spend a lot of their time cleaning. But he didn’t seem to have noticed her gaffe.
Blackthorne started down the ladder, and she took a step back to give him room, once he reached the ground. His shirt was damp with sweat, and she was aware of a not-unpleasant masculine odor as he dropped the shears on the tall grass beside the stone walk. “I wasn’t complaining,” he said as he tugged the scarf off her head and let it swing from his hand. “But I can’t guarantee the neighbors won’t be appalled by my new duchess’s appearance.”
“You’re the one up a ladder half undressed, for anyone passing by to see.”
He grinned, and she felt her stomach do a strange flip-flop. Unconsciously, she took another step back, as though to escape some web that threatened to entangle her.
“They expect outrageous behavior from me.”
“Why is that?” she asked, aware that she was having trouble catching her breath.
He reached out and tucked a flying curl behind her ear, his knuckles lingering as they brushed her cheek. In a low, quiet voice he said, “We Blackthornes are known to be a scurrilous lot.”
“It would have been nice to know that before I married you.”
He laughed and tweaked her nose, then tossed her the scarf, which she caught in the air, as he bent to retrieve the shears. “I’d better get back to work. Call me when you have some food on the table.”
Josie stared at his broad back, followed by his buttocks and thighs, as he headed back up the ladder, then realized what she was doing and hurried back inside.
JOSIE COULDN’T BELIEVE she was married to the man sitting to her right at the head of the dining table. The duke had dressed for supper, and it was hard to believe that this arresting man, in his formal attire, was the same one who’d spent the day in a blousy white shirt and tight-fitting pants cutting ivy from the windows.
She felt unaccountably nervous and searched for something she could say to break the silence that had fallen between them, as they waited for dessert to be served. She finally ca
me up with, “Harriet is a wonder.”
“Oh?” Blackthorne replied. “Miss Carpenter, you mean?”
He hadn’t criticized Josie for putting herself on a first-name basis with the housekeeper, but he’d refused to call Harriet anything other than Miss Carpenter. Josie continued determinedly, “Harriet found the cook who made this wonderful meal.”
Blackthorne merely lifted a dark brow, which was the same reaction he’d had when he’d first been introduced to their new housekeeper. Josie had been relieved to see that Harriet’s chin remained up when she’d met the duke, although the young woman hadn’t been able to control the blush that rose on her cheeks. “I know she’s young,” Josie said, feeling the need to defend her choice, even though the duke hadn’t attacked it.
“She’s a veritable babe in the woods,” the duke agreed sardonically.
“I like her.”
“That’s important,” the duke conceded.
“Yes, it is.” Josie wanted to argue, but Blackthorne wasn’t giving her much of an opening. She’d been feeling increasingly on edge the closer they got to the end of the meal, which was to say, the closer they got to bedtime. Would he escort her to her bedroom door? Would he kiss her good night? Would he ask if he could join her? If he did, what would she say? She was tempted to say yes. Oh, how she was tempted!
“What are your plans tomorrow?” Blackthorne asked.
“There are dozens of things in the house that require my attention. Did you have something else in mind?”
“I’d like to show you the estate and perhaps visit a few of our neighbors. Can you ride?”
She wasn’t as comfortable on horseback as her twin sisters, but as a child, Josie had always enjoyed riding. “That sounds wonderful. And yes, I can ride. Do we have horses?”
“I had a few mounts transported here by train. They arrived late this afternoon.”
“Good.” Josie was about to ask which neighbors he planned to visit, when the newest footman set a bowl in front of the duke. “It’s a trifle,” she said. “I’d never heard of such a thing before I arrived in England. I didn’t know what you liked, but I thought—”
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