Strathmere's Bride

by Jacqueline Navin

  Chloe closed her eyes and sighed impatiently. “Oui, oui, you were kissing. Now go on, what did he do?”

  “He was very angry. He threatened to dismiss us if he ever saw us doing such a thing and…”

  Mary’s voice trailed off as her eyes took on a distant glaze. Her mouth fell open and began to work, as if she were desperately attempting to communicate but found herself unable. Instead, she lifted a trembling hand to point at the gate. Chloe turned, knowing the impossible was somehow true. Knowing he would be standing there.

  And, of course, he was. Equally predictable, he was frowning severely.

  Chloe stood. “Go, Mary,” she said under her breath. Louder, she said, “Thank you, Mary. Go directly to Cook with my answer that, yes, we shall be late to tea as the children need to wash.”

  His coal eyes flickered to the children, and he visibly winced at the dirt-smudged pair. Mary scampered off, and Chloe stood alone against the duke.

  “Miss Chloe—” he began, grinding out the words through gritted teeth.

  “Yes, I know.” She sighed fatalistically. “I shall tidy up the children and meet you in the library directly for my dressing-down.”

  * * *

  He was waiting, standing in front of the hearth and staring at the portrait over the mantel. It was of some long-ago Hunt, Chloe had no idea whom. He looked quite serious, with a long, angular face and a straight mouth set in a sober expression that was most severe. Although the present duke was far more handsome than his ancestor, was younger and possessed softer features, Chloe would wager a month’s wages the man with his back to her wore a look on his face that matched the dour visage in the painting.

  Jareth turned, and she saw she was correct. She blew out a long breath and mentally braced herself.

  His tone was quiet. “Please have a seat, Miss Chloe.”

  “Yes, your grace.”

  If ever there was a time to play the docile servant, it was now. She sat and clasped her hands on her lap, but her back was so straight it didn’t touch the carved back of the chair at all. Her breath hitched, catching in her throat. She made herself look up, not down at the nervous fingers squeezing one another among the folds of her dress.

  His dark eyes were on her, inscrutable, intense. She met his gaze head-on, though it took everything in her to do it.

  “About today—” She bit off her explanation when he held up a well-manicured hand. The long, tapered fingers were sun-browned, she noticed in a moment of surreal awareness, and very strong looking. Hands used to hard work, not the hands of a duke.

  When he spoke, his voice was so controlled and quiet, she had to strain to hear it. “Did I perhaps not make myself clear when we last spoke regarding the children’s outings?”

  “No.”

  He gave a slight incline of his head. “Did I not indicate to you that I wished the children to stay indoors today?”

  “Yes, you did, your grace.”

  “And is there any time, any time whatsoever, when I would approve the children—” his jaw worked as he visibly struggled with the next words “‘—wallowing in the dirt?”

  She tried a weak smile that turned into something more akin to a grimace. “No.” To her horror, her voice squeaked.

  “Thank you, Miss Chloe, for I feared that perhaps my sanity was failing me. I knew I had specified in clear language what my wishes were regarding Rebeccah and Sarah’s excursions out-of-doors—what they were to be, when and how they were to be conducted. I was even given to understand you were m compliance with these wishes.”

  She knew she should sit quietly and wait him out, but she couldn’t help herself. “Your grace, if I may—”

  “No!” he thundered, his eyes blazing as he brought his left hand slashing through the air. Chloe sat back with a little squeak.

  He seemed no less surprised than she. He angled his head down and away from her, peering intently at some point on the Aubusson carpet to his left, or perhaps beyond it, until he could speak again. “No, Miss Chloe, you may not.”

  “I only wished to apologize.”

  He gave her a hard stare. “And should I expect you mean that, or is this another of your convenient shows of capitulation meant to appease me, which, I have learned, are as sincere as crocodile tears?”

  “I am no liar, monsieur.” It was said with dignity.

  “I am glad to know it. I would like to hear an explanation.”

  “What do you wish me to explain?”

  “I want to know why you disregarded my wishes and took the children outside and allowed them to roll in filth like common waifs in the streets of London?”

  Her mouth opened and the words spilled out before her brain even registered the impulse. “Did you never enjoy the play of children less noble than yourself?”

  It was unconscionable, really, to use the snippet of gossip Mary had related so relentlessly against him, but the way it stymied him brought a thrill to her heart, and it drowned out the pangs of her conscience.

  When he was silent, she asked again, “Did you never play as the commoners do? Or was it always lofty pursuits? Geometry and finance and classical literature?”

  “I fail to understand,” he said at last, “how this questioning of me relates to your giving me an explanation. Please address the topic, Miss Chloe, and avoid straying into one of your delightful tangents, which always seem to conveniently divert attention from the matter at hand.”

  He was lending no quarter. “I merely wished to know if you could understand the intention behind what I admit was my disobedience. I did go deliberately against your wishes. I regret that. I have no real explanation except that I think having the children indoors all day in such fine weather as this, with winter fast approaching, is criminal. I believe they need diversion, especially at this time in their lives.”

  “And I have stated that they need stringent routine, to bring structure and security to this particularly difficult time.”

  “With all respect, your grace, I do not know how you would be aware of what Rebeccah and Sarah need. You know them not at all.”

  “This is a conversation we have had before. They are children. And they are the children of a duke. They need instruction and discipline. That is final, mademoiselle.”

  Quietly, wearily, she said, “No, your grace, they do not.”

  “I trust I am in a better position to determine what my nieces’ needs are than you.”

  “No, your grace, you are not. I know them. You do not. I am very sorry for the message. It gives me no pleasure to tell you that you have no idea what is best for those two little girls. It is a harsh truth, but there it is.”

  “And I suppose you are well versed in child rearing. What philosophies do you espouse, Miss Chloe, that advocate thorough soaking in storms and then allowing children to grovel in muck?”

  “Water dries, sir. And dirt is washed off. Within moments, voilà, one is ‘good as new.’ But the heart, that is what matters, not so much the skin. If building castles in the dirt brings the children joy, what harm is there in it? Would you have them tied to their nursery, allowed out like animals to be exercised when their owner deems?”

  “Mademoiselle, please do not insult me.”

  “Then what philosophies do you, your grace, espouse?” She was becoming impassioned, her resolution to remain calm and unflustered giving way under the pressure of the emotions building inside her. “Do you believe children should be kept on a tight rein as your brother was, never allowed…”

  She stopped when she saw his face, not understanding at first what she had said. When she realized, she pressed her hand over her mouth.

  His tone was flat. “I believe that is all for today, Miss Chloe. You are relieved of your duties with the children until further notice.”

  As intense as her regret was a moment ago, it faded quickly in the face of her righteous anger. “If you will dismiss me, do it now. It is what your mother has wished from the start. She tried to get Charles to do it, but B
ethany wouldn’t allow it. Now she has your ear, and she will use it to get her way. I wonder if these are your thoughts at all, or merely her bidding.”

  His eyes widened for a moment before he turned away sharply, presenting his profile. “That is all, Miss Chloe. I have dismissed you.”

  “Then I am to leave?”

  His head snapped around to her. “I did not mean for you to leave for good. Believe me, when I send you packing, you will know it.”

  “Then you intend me to go! Why wait?”

  He took a step toward her. It was almost threatening, and some insane instinct made her take a step forward, too, until they were only inches apart.

  She had to tip her head up at him, but she met his glare head-on.

  “You ought to tread very carefully here, Miss Chloe.”

  “Why, sir? Why? To keep this precious job? Do you think I need it so much, or that I even want it? My father can well afford me to return home. Do not forget, your grace, that my bloodlines are blue enough that my first cousin was deemed worthy to be the Duchess of Strathmere. And I come from no line of paupers, I assure you. So, why should I take care when I wish for nothing more than for you to do the very thing that you want so desperately to do?” She bared her teeth in a flash of a smile. “We are both trapped, non? I wish to leave, but cannot. You wish to send me away, but you cannot do it. The children, your grace. We think of them and can do nothing of what we wish.”

  His breath was fanning her cheek. He was panting a little, and his breath was warm, almost as real as a touch. It distracted her. As she watched him, his eyes moved over her face, losing their intensity, and something began to grow, to come alive in the air between them. Within moments, it filled her nerves with leaden tensions, but she had no name for the dense atmosphere that arose suddenly between them.

  “How right you are,” he said, and there was a distant, whimsical quality to the words. “Trapped. The two of us, in our separate prisons. How aptly put.”

  Insanity reigned, registering the absurd notion that there was raw pain behind that statement. It raged, making Chloe want to reach out her hands and touch His Perfectness, who sometimes let her see that he wasn’t so perfect, so all knowing, so heartless.

  God, what was this feeling stealing her mind from her? Her chest burned, her arms ached with the effort to keep them still and off the duke’s exalted person.

  “Please leave me, Miss Chloe. I will be visiting the nursery for afternoon tea tomorrow. I will expect to see you there.”

  “Then I am not relieved of my duties, your grace?”

  He closed his eyes and shook his head once. “A rash statement. You saw through it immediately, did you not? No. I am not sending you away from the children. It would be detrimental to them to toy with separating them from you. And I have seen, firsthand, how irreplaceable you are. Much to my regret.”

  He was referring to the night he had come to the nursery while she was quieting Rebeccah. Remembering how he had seen her in such a state of dishabille, she blushed and turned away.

  “But do not mistake me, Miss Chloe. Push me too far, and I will do it. Not for the thrill of power, not for the need to prevail, not for spite. Understand that it will cause me great anguish, but I will not allow you to damage those girls with inappropriate behaviors.”

  “I understand,” she said sincerely. “And I am sorry, your grace. I truly am.” The strange tension of earlier had dissipated, leaving her feeling empty. “I do not think what I did was wrong. However, I apologize for disobeying you. It shall not happen again.”

  He didn’t say anything. The silence stretched on, and she felt awkward. Then, she remembered she had been dismissed some time ago. “Very well, then, good day.”

  She turned toward the door, took a few steps, then stopped. “I am particularly sorry for the unforgivable thing I said regarding your brother. That was very wrong of me. I do not know why I did it, but it hurt you and I deeply regret that.”

  She didn’t look at him; she didn’t dare. She waited a few heartbeats before continuing on her way, almost running up to her room before the tears fell.

  Ridiculous to let the disastrous interview disturb her so. She never cried—at least almost never. She had cried when her mother died, and she cried when that terrible accident took the lives of Bethany and Charles. Grief was something she could understand. What she couldn’t fathom, as she threw herself on the counterpane once she reached her little room off the nursery, was why she was crying now.

  Chapter Eight

  He came to tea the next day, just as he promised he would.

  It was a horribly awkward affair, filled with gaping silences and strained nerves as the two adults and two children poured tea, stirred in sugar and passed the scones, cucumber sandwiches and biscuits. Rebeccah was clearly afraid of the duke, watching him with wide eyes. She refused to eat or drink any of her sugared tea with generous quantities of cream stirred into it. Sarah, on the other hand, had no such qualms. She stuffed biscuits in her mouth with aplomb and grinned at her uncle, crumbs spattering all over the chair, the table, the floor and her chest. Chloe tried to swipe them away as inconspicuously as she could, but the duke caught her and she gave up, knowing she was not getting anything past his eagle eye.

  She was still aching from yesterday. It was strange, the weak, helpless sensation that weighed on her heart. There was no hope of ever making the duke understand what she felt, and felt so strongly, was best for the children. And the truth was abysmally clear. It was only a matter of time—assuredly not a very long time—until she would be asked to leave.

  She tried to ignore the melancholy pulling at her insides as she nibbled with flagging enthusiasm on a strawberry tartlet while her tea cooled in the china cup.

  “Miss Chloe,” Rebeccah whispered with a furtive glance at her uncle. Chloe was sympathetic to her awe. The duke did, indeed, look large and alien seated at their plain wooden table and chairs in the corner of the nursery.

  “Hmm? Yes, Rebeccah?”

  She looked as if she hardly dared give voice to her request. “May I have a cucumber sandwich, please?”

  “Certainement, ma petite. Your grace, would you please pass the sandwiches?”

  Jareth grabbed the platter and held it out to the child. She shrank back as if it were a plate of fire. Beside her, Sarah munched, oblivious to the swelling tensions.

  “Take the plate from your uncle, Rebeccah,” Chloe said in a reassuring voice. When Rebeccah looked at her, her eyes filled with fright, Chloe nodded and prompted, “Go ahead. It is all right, chérie.”

  Her little hands trembled visibly as she held them out to receive the platter. To Chloe’s great relief, she set it down gently and placed several wedges of sandwich on her plate.

  “Très bien,” Chloe said.

  Sarah looked at the duke and smiled, reaching a chubby hand toward the sandwiches. Smoothly, Chloe picked up one and placed it in her grasp to keep her from rummaging among the neat pile.

  Searching wildly for some—any—topic of conversation to relieve her growing anxiety that the children would do something unmannerly to anger the duke, Chloe struck on an inspiration. “Why do you not tell us of your adventures at sea, your grace? I was given to believe you were in the shipping business. You must have sailed the seas to all manner of exotic destinations.”

  “I was in the shipping business, but I did not sail often.”

  That was all he said. In the silence, he picked up his cup and sipped. His dark eyes seemed fastened to Sarah.

  “But you did go to America, did you not?”

  “Yes, once or twice.”

  She wanted to take the teapot and tap him on the crown of his head for his meager effort. “I am certain the children would love to hear your tales of that fascinating country.”

  “It is always busy, everyone is much too loud, uncouth, and it is dirty.”

  Silence. He still stared at Sarah as she began searching on the floor for a lost piece of bread. Chloe qu
ickly intervened. “No, no, chérie, here is a new one.”

  Sarah was happy with the replacement. Rebeccah munched silently on her sandwiches, her eyes round and alert. Her prolonged quietness was disturbing.

  “Your grace, did you ever meet any of the famed Red Indians while in the American country? I hear they dress in buckskin—whatever that is—and run about constantly, whooping loudly.”

  “Buckskin is a leather made from deer hide,”‘ he explained, lifting his cup to his mouth. “They do whip themselves into a frenzy before battle by issuing eerie war cries, I have heard it said. I never met one myself.” His expression bespoke of no interest in the topic as he sampled a sugared lemon peel.

  “Oh.”

  It was no use trying to engage him in any sort of conversation that would involve the children and therefore allay their fears, at least Rebeccah’s fears. Oddly, Sarah was quite comfortable in the man’s company, though he did nothing but stare at her in a fashion that was so intense, it was almost rude.

  She was about to surrender to silence when a tiny voice asked, “Did you ever see any pirates when you were at sea?”

  Rebeccah had spoken. Chloe glanced anxiously at the duke, hoping against hope that he would not brush off this inquiry as he had the others, that he would understand how vital it was that he respond to the girl’s question with some measure of positivity.

  She was sorely disappointed.

  “There are no pirates, or at least very few these days. Do not believe in those ridiculous stories—”

  “Surely, your grace, you have encountered a brigand or two in your travels,” Chloe said, trying to give him the hint.

  Jareth shook his head and frowned. “I assure you, Miss Chloe, I have never had any such unfortunate altercations. However, had I the occasion to make one such fellow’s unfortunate acquaintance, I should not think I would deem it suitable entertainment for children’s stories.”