“Your Grace?” the driver called, that much needed reminder that they were not, in fact, alone. And that his driver had very nearly ended them on a muddied country road.
“By God, Hickley,” he thundered. “There had better be a goddamn highwayman with a gun pointed at you to—”
“Sheep, Your Grace.”
Graham yanked back the velvet curtains. More than fifty of the creatures bleated loudly as they picked their way slowly over the old Roman road. A long stream of curses that would have shocked a weaker woman left his lips.
It would appear they were stuck.
They were to be stuck here, then.
Fate was a cruel master with a vicious sense of humor that would not quit where she and Graham were concerned.
Leaning around him, Rowena glanced over his shoulder to the enormous herd blocking the road. “Sheep, indeed,” she said under her breath.
The driver pulled the door open, spilling sunlight into the conveyance. “Aye, Your Grace. We’ll not be going anywhere, any time soon.” By Graham’s darkening expression, he was as pleased as Rowena with the sudden change of their circumstances. At least they were of a like opinion on that matter.
“How long?” Graham’s terse question raised a grin from the older servant.
“If I knew such details, I’d not have lost a heavy purse to the old innkeeper last evening.”
While Graham and his driver proceeded to discuss the remaining course of the journey, Rowena squinted and stared out into the bright morning sunlight at the lush green earth slick with yesterday’s rains. Hickley and Graham’s voices grew distant as a memory trickled forward of her and Graham as they’d sat atop the stone wall around her family’s modest cottage.
A sad smile played on her lips. When her mother married the vicar of the Duke of Hampstead’s parish, Rowena, for the first time had left London and found a home in the countryside. Every aspect of the green meadows and blue skies had fascinated her. She’d traipsed through the hills, exploring everything and anything. It had been one of those joyful summer afternoons laying within a field of bluebells that two boys, Graham and Jack, and come upon her. They’d become the first friends she’d ever known. One of those boys would ultimately become her lover and sweetheart.
How many times had they lain on their backs in the sunlight, picking shapes out of the clouds, and when the night sky rolled in, searching for shooting stars on which to wish? In the end, it had all been taken from her. She looked over at Graham. This perplexing man who alternated from gently inquiring about her past one moment to surly stranger the next. Her smile fell as melancholy swept her.
The driver’s high-pitched squeal slashed into her useless self-regret. “Gah.” He darted away, so quickly the cap tumbled from his head. The older servant abandoned that garment as four more sheep idled over to inspect the offending hat.
Her lips twitched, and she cupped her hands around her mouth. “They are not dangerous,” she reassured the servant. Generally docile, they spent most of their days eating, and when they weren’t eating, they spent the remainder of their days grazing... and sleeping.
“You’re the only girl I know who’d prefer a sheep to a dog or cat.”
“And you know so many girls, Graham Linford?”
“Only one who matters.”
Her skin pricked with the heat of his gaze. Did he remember that moment of long ago? Or had he relegated her to the same place he had all the women who’d warmed his bed? She gripped the strings of her reticule in a painful hold. Yet if she hadn’t mattered to him in even some small way, why should he show such vitriol when speaking of the husband she had fabricated for her security? Carefully avoiding his gaze, she gave thanks as Hickley dashed back and retrieved his cap.
“Well?” Graham urged his servant.
The older man jammed his cap back on. “I suspect we’ll be here a couple of hours, at least, Your Grace.” He spoke with an air of finality. “Though there really is no saying...” That reminder hung ominous in the conveyance.
Again, pushing back the curtain, Rowena shielded the sun from her eyes and attended the large flock, grazing in the middle of the road. Of course, a gentleman and a servant who’d not had experience with sheep and other livestock would not think of shepherding those creatures. She fixed on the sheep. Moving livestock was far easier than sitting here with Graham, having the bandages ripped from old, never fully healed wounds. A duke and his driver could sit here and wait for a flock to pass. She, however, had little intention of waiting until more than fifty creatures decided to graze in some other field. After all, it was one thing to be forced to take up residence in Graham’s house for the whole of a year. His townhouse was surely one of those massive, sprawling homes where he would have little interactions with a servant in his employ. It was, however, quite another thing to be in the confines of this suddenly cramped conveyance, delving back into those days he’d returned from war when she’d been a relatively new employee at Mrs. Belden’s. Missing him. Loving him. Desperately needing distance, Rowena grabbed her small woolen sack and shoved the door open. Stepping down, her heels immediately sank into the thick mud, soaking her ankles.
Yanking first one boot from the dense earth, she took an awkward, lurching step forward. Her bag dangled and twisted in a back and forth half-circle as she waded through the sea of sheep. They dispersed in opposite directions.
Graham fell into step beside her.
She gasped and slapped her bag against her chest. How did a man so broadly powerful move with such stealth? His driver moved forward with all the enthusiasm of one marching to the guillotine, and Rowena gave thanks for his company. Company that would spare her from any further explosive discussions of the past.
“There is no need,” Graham assured the older servant, stopping the man quickly in his muddied tracks. “Mrs. Bryant and I are quite adept at tending sheep.” Her heart tripled its beat. Why must he be so amiable with servants and his staff? That contradictory sentiment so at odds with the man who’d reared him, and the final letter he’d given her. Then the significance of his words registered.
He remembered.
For his seeming aloofness and his absolute lack of regard and loyalty all these years, he’d recalled those innocent exchanges of long ago.
After the servant had wandered back to the carriage, Graham shifted his piercing focus back to her. “Tell me, Rowena,” he said, his baritone hushed. “are you still skilled with livestock?” There was a faintly teasing quality to that inquiry that startled her. As an all-powerful duke, she’d believed him incapable of that sentiment. His father certainly hadn’t possessed anything but a requisite ducal coldness.
“It was two sheep,” she murmured, brushing her palm along the soft, downy back of one sheep. Hope and Faith. Silly names, given by a silly girl. Her hand curled involuntarily. Startled, the ewe bolted sideways. Yet Graham remembered her beloved sheep. Remembered that she’d been hopelessly enchanted by those two south down sheep in her family’s paddock. Why should he, a man who’d not given another thought to her after he’d left, recall that? And yet, talk of livestock and shepherding a flock of sheep was far safer than any mention of her earlier admission... and their past.
He clapped his hands, and a handful of the docile creatures wove a path to the edge of the lake.
Unabashedly, she studied him as he shepherded the flock, deepening her consternation. “You don’t strike me as a gentleman who would take to driving sheep through a muddied road, Your Grace.” It was a scandalous act that the late duke would have sooner lopped off his hands than take part in. He would have required the driver, regardless of that man’s fear, see to the task before ever muddying his boots and hands.
Not bothering to look at her, Graham patted the top of a fawn-colored ewe, and the creature bolted off. “I fought soldiers over the Continent,” he said dryly. “Sheep certainly do not scare me, Rowena.” Rowena, not Mrs. Bryant. How easily he commanded her name, and yet, in this instance, even with
the past a dark barrier between them—it felt right.
She paused in the middle of the road to look at him. The sheep parted around her and continued their slow grazing path forward. “I did not presume you’d be afraid of them. I thought it would be beneath you.” Just as I was. Nay, just as I will always be.
Graham looked up from his task. The sunlight heightened those flecks of gold dancing in his eyes. “I became a duke, not a pompous bastard.” He followed that with a wink that sent her belly flip-flopping. That slight intentional twitch of his dark lashes marked him more man than aloof nobleman.
She gave silent thanks when he abandoned his teasing and resumed his efforts. While she worked, Rowena, from the corner of her eye, took in his every step. Periodically, he’d brush his hand gently over a nearby sheep and those notoriously skittish creatures lingered for an additional stroke. It was a tangible reminder of the ease he had always been in possession of with her, and any man, woman, or child of any station or status.
Not another word was said as they worked silently together side-by-side to clear the sheep.
They continued herding the flock, making a path for the carriage to pass. And for any passerby who might have happened upon them, they may as well have been any married couple. He, with his jacket since removed and his shirtsleeves rolled up, and she with her cloak and jacket tossed aside. Her throat convulsed as a longing she’d thought not only dead but safely buried stirred in her breast. For that was what she’d wanted not only for herself... but for them. A life together. She’d been so blasted naïve she’d not acknowledged that her past would always have been a barrier between them. That whether he’d been born a duke’s first, second, or fifteenth son, she would have never been a suitable wife for him. Now, if she returned with him she risked not only the agony of resurfacing old memories but the peril of her past being discovered.
Then what will I be? What became of such a woman, then? Nothing that was proper.
While she wrestled with unwanted regrets and old aches, he strode forward, quietly clapping his hands and dispersing the flock. Rowena moved along more slowly behind him, guiding away the stragglers hovering on the roadside. Until, at last, the road was cleared. Pressing her hands to her lower back, she arched the muscles, stiff from two days’ traveling and now their efforts in the fields.
“You’ve done it, Your Grace,” the driver called from the distance, lifting his joined hands together in salute. He pulled the door open and waited.
Graham mopped his damp brow with the back of his forearm. “I must attribute the credit to Mrs. Bryant,” he returned.
The driver’s reply was lost to her as she lingered her gaze on that open door. Even in the distance, the sun gleamed brightly off the lion crest emblazoned on the black lacquer carriage. That same seal etched on the note written by Graham’s father... and then, when he’d ascended to the role, Graham himself. That gold mark of his wealth and power, a reminder of who she was and all the reasons she could not serve on his staff. Nay, did not want to serve on his staff. Somewhere between the reality that had slammed into her and him joining her in the field, she’d accepted the folly in working for him. She had worked so hard to become the dragon, and with every argument... every slight grin or caress or embrace, he was singlehandedly tearing that away.
As Graham shrugged into his jacket, Rowena wandered over to the small boulder she’d rested her belongings on and picked up her cloak. Draping it over her arm, she reached for her bag.
“Rowena,” Graham, began quietly, and there was no hint of the earlier camaraderie with the servant thirty paces away. “We should—”
“I should not come with you, Graham.” He abruptly stopped. “With my...” She grimaced. “...Past, it is not a place I should be.” It was the safest excuse to give him. One that neither revealed the weakening effect he still had on her nor made mention her shameful past. “Your charge deserves a more respectable companion.” Her secrets would always be a threat that lurked. And yet... why did it feel like the reason she gave him was one of the grandest lies she’d ever told?
“Of course you can,” he said gruffly, starting back for the carriage. His tone and dismissal indicating he considered the matter at an end.
Why must he be so tenacious in this? He was one of the most powerful men in all of England... Why should he not find another? “I have no place chaperoning your ward,” she persisted. “You know that. I am asking you to let me return to my post and resume my life.” Please. Because then she could forget how he’d always caused a dangerous fluttering in her belly and a more perilous one within her heart.
“Do not be foolish,” he said brusquely, the cool veneer of duke back in place. A muscle twitched at the corner of his eye. “I know no such thing.” He closed the distance between them; his rapid movements kicking up gravel. “It hardly matters to me that”—her heart knocked hard against her ribcage—“you’re illegitimate.” He didn’t know. That much was clear in the absence of those words. “I’d not judge Miss Hickenbottom for her parentage, and I never did you.”
Rowena worked her gaze over his face. “Why, Graham? Why, of all the women you can hire would you ask me—?”
“Because you are the best—”
“Bah, the best,” she interrupted, waving a hand about. Why did he truly want her there? Was it to mock her? “You are a duke,” she said with an achingly painful laugh. “Dukes hire the finest, nobly connected individuals.” He opened his mouth. “And do not tell me it is because your ward is a bastard. No one would dare refuse your employment.”
Just as I had been unable to. The words rang as clear as if they’d been hurled at him.
The muscles of his face briefly contorted. Did he feel guilt? Good. He should, for forcing either of them to feel anything again. “The nobles without heavy pockets send their daughters to finishing schools. The instructors who work there are respectable women, but not noble ones, who are down on their luck.”
“Is that what you were? Down on your luck?” At the harsh quality to his deep baritone, her insides knotted.
Rowena’s body burned ten degrees warmer. She wasn’t the self-pitying sort. That useless sentiment had gotten her nothing through the years, and she’d resolved to never give over to it. “Do not sidestep what I’m saying.”
“And do not disparage yourself,” he said somberly, and she jerked.
“I’m not.” Only the protestation felt weak to her own ears.
Graham gathered her hands, and gave a slight squeeze forcing her eyes to his. “You look at yourself, Rowena, and see nothing more than your parentage. You see your birthright and find yourself wanting because of it.” Damn him for being in this instance more than a faintly mocking nobleman.
What did he know about what it was to go through life an outcast because of circumstances of one’s birth? “Not me,” she gritted out. “Society would find me wanting should they know.” She wrenched her hands free. It was and would always be the way of their world.
“You are far more worthy than any other woman, regardless of station,” he continued, relentless. “Do not decline the position for that reason.”
She damned the quickening of her heart. For just now, he was the same young man she’d confided partial truths to, who’d not judged her, then... and who didn’t judge her now. What fool did he take her for?
Graham sighed, and looked past her shoulder for a long while before speaking. “If you wish to return to Mrs. Belden’s, I will order the carriage around and seek a new woman for the post.”
She started. He would do that?
Noblemen had proven themselves singularly focused on their own wishes and desires. His offer defied everything she knew of those powerful peers—himself included in that mix—until now.
He offered her everything she’d wanted since he’d reentered her life. So why did the prospect of returning to Mrs. Belden’s leave her hollow inside? “It would be for the best,” she said hollowly. Were those words for her benefit? Or his?
/> Graham gave a curt nod and glanced about, settling his gaze on those sheep they’d worked together to clear from the path.
Rowena fiddled with her drawstring bag. Those letters she’d carried for the whole of her adult life practically burned a hole through the worn fabric. Go. He’s offered me freedom. Take that gift.
She started when he settled a large hand briefly upon her shoulder in a fleeting contact. “We were once friends.” They’d been so very much more than that. He shifted his gaze to hers. Those green depths wiser and older than they’d been—eyes befitting a man who battled demons now. “I do not expect we can ever go back to... the way we once were, and I understand you moved on with your life long ago.”
Moved on. Bitterness stung her throat like acid. He spoke as though the decision had been hers, when the truth is since she’d drawn her first breath, she’d been without any power—any power except for that which she’d shaped for herself at Mrs. Belden’s.
Again, life had taught her a healthy wariness. “What do you want?” she asked guardedly.
“You can leave, if you wish. Return.” And never see me. That hung unspoken, as loud as if he’d shouted it into the barren countryside. Yes. That was what she wanted. Didn’t she? “I have no right to ask you for any favor.” But he’d ask it anyway. “Miss Hickenbottom has not...” He sighed. “She’s not had an easy time of it.” A rake’s by-blow, it would only become worse once she entered Society’s unkind fold.
I was that girl he speaks of. As a small child whispered about when she’d visited Hyde Park with her mother. And then as a young girl with a mother who’d married, Rowena had found herself on the outskirts of even her own family. She felt a weakening and fought it. Damn him. Damn him for making this not about him, or her, but another person—one treated with the same unkindness she herself had known.
“I ask that you meet her,” Graham compelled. “If you enter my household and decide you no longer want the post, you are free to leave, with a two-thousand-pound severance.”
Schooling the Duke (The Heart of a Scandal, #1) Page 12
