Strathmere's Bride

by Jacqueline Navin

  The sound of footfalls behind him caught his attention He had purposefully, and with admirable restraint, stayed away from the area of the garden where Chloe usually took her strolls, although he doubted even that indomitable soul would venture out on a miserable nıght such as this. Apparently, he had been wrong, but Chloe ever surprised him, he reflected.

  The fog played tricks sometimes, throwing off perception and muting noises so one’s judgment could never be trusted, but it sounded as if someone were approaching along the path from the back of the house.

  He shrugged off the notion after a while when nothing materialized and no further footfalls came. He set about to unfasten the lens to keep it safe for transporting the telescope indoors. He slipped it in his pocket and hunkered down to disassemble the tripod upon which the casing stood.

  There! The sound again. He knew he was not mistaken this time. Straightening, he turned, just as a large presence appeared in front of him. It was shrouded in the fog, but still distinguishable as the figure of a man dressed in dark clothing.

  “Gerald?”

  The blow caught him completely unawares. It struck him on the side of the head and felled him to his knees.

  He stayed crouched until his brain could clear. Another blow, this one a kick, hit him m the ribs and he collapsed onto the ground.

  He couldn’t see, though he could sense the threatening presence hovering over him. His reflexes kicked in and he sprang forward, ignoring the pain, and wrapped his arms about the man’s knees, toppling him to the lawn.

  “Blimey!” the man yelled.

  Jareth crawled upward, capturing a beefy fist in his two hands. The fingers were like sausages, curled like a claw as he bent them backward, the dull sheen of worn silver circling one of them. He pressed on, ignoring the cry of pain, until he heard the snap of the wrist. The man roared and brought his other fist down on Jareth’s head and the world went blank.

  It had been a mistake to venture out tonight, Chloe concluded, retracing her steps back to the house. The darkness seemed to tighten around her, and sound took on eerie, even threatening proportion.

  There were strange noises just a moment ago, like someone behind her. She had even thought she had heard the sounds of a struggle close by. Quickening her steps, she heard a male voice swear. Twice. Then a scuffle, a grunt, a thump.

  She wanted to run, but her legs seemed frozen. She listened, her heartbeat thundering in her ears. Footfalls receding told her someone was running away.

  Suddenly desperate for the safety of the house, she took three long strides before her toes jammed up against an obstruction on the path. She pitched forward. It was not to the ground she fell, but upon a person. Peering closely, she found that person, upon whom she now lay, was the duke. His eyes were closed and he seemed to be unconscious.

  “Your grace! Your grace!” Grasping his broad shoulders, she shook him. He groaned, rolled his head from side to side, and then his eyes opened to slits for a moment before he winced and shut them again.

  She cradled his face in her hands, shaking it back and forth. “Jareth, wake up, s’il vous plaît.”

  When he spoke, his voice was scratchy. “Either I’ve died and am at this moment reaping my just rewards, or I am dreaming, for I am under the distinct impression that Miss Chloe Pesserat is lying atop my person.”

  Relief and anger mingled, and stiffened Chloe’s spine. “I was going to ask if you were well, but it is obvious that thick skull of yours is impenetrable.”

  He opened his eyes and smiled. “As delightful as this interlude is, I must ask if you would mind rising. I suffered a few blows and am, at this present time, unfortunately too uncomfortable to enjoy this…proximity.”

  Chloe dug her elbows into his chest and heaved herself back onto her heels. Jareth hitched in a short, pained breath at this inconsideration, but said nothing.

  “Are you well enough to stand?” Chloe asked grudgingly, still angry but concerned, as well.

  “Yes, yes.” He moved slowly, however, coming first to his knees and pausing, testing his strength before standing.

  Pity displaced her annoyance enough for her to offer, “Here, lean on me.”

  “No, I am fine.” He stepped away as if scalded when her fingers brushed his arm.

  He was again The Duke, and he needed nothing from her.

  He looked back at her, seeming penitent at his rash behavior. “It bruises a man’s pride, I suppose, to be found lying helplessly on the ground by the woman…by a woman.”

  The sting of a rabid blush still singed her ears, but she smiled. “We should hurry inside. Whoever struck you may return.”

  “Yes,” he agreed. He stepped slowly, careful with his abused body. When they had gone into the empty parlor by way of the French doors, Chloe offered to call for someone to help him.

  “I just need to sit,” Jareth said. He eased back into a chair, choosing one wit the thickest cushions. “Could you light a taper? They are over by the table by the…yes, there. In the drawer to the right you will find…good.”

  The scant light seemed thin and weak in the gloom, but it was better than the dark. Chloe lit a second candle and a third, and the gentle glow softened the room.

  “I had best not be bleeding,” he said, touching his fingers to the wound on the side of his head. “My mother will be inconsolable if I stain her furniture.”

  “Let me see,” she said, peering closely at his face. After a moment, she pronounced him sound. “No blood. Do you think anything is broken?”

  “Nothing but bruises, I believe. It was a brutal assault, but brief.”

  “Why would someone attack you?” she asked.

  He shrugged. “I have no idea. A thief, I should think. I shall have someone summon the sheriff, but tomorrow will be soon enough. No doubt the cur who attacked me is halfway to York by the midnight.”

  “A thief? Dó you really believe that was who it was?”

  “What else? No doubt skulking about in hopes of finding a way inside. I am sure the fellow never thought to encounter anyone out there on a night such as this. No one sane would, you know.” He gave her a rueful smile, as if acknowledging their twin perversities in daring the outing.

  She wasn’t all that ready to believe his neat little explanation. What’s more, she wasn’t certain he did, either.

  But what else could it have been? “I suppose so.”

  “There,” he said with a nod. They looked at each other for a moment until he glanced away, tucking his chin down into his chest, but not down far enough to hide the smile toying with the corners of his mouth.

  “What are you laughing at?” she asked, feeling defensive.

  “Nothing. Not a thing, Miss Chloe. Perhaps you should summon a footman or something if you cannot locate Frederick.”

  “I will summon whoever you wish, after you tell me what is so funny.”

  “It is nothing, truly. I…I am just tired.” He tried to look innocent, but she was having none of it.

  She was not about to allow him to get away with that. “Your grace—”

  “You called me Jareth in the garden.”

  The words took her aback. She stopped and swallowed. “Oh. Did I? I suppose I did. I didn’t realize what I was saying, I was so overcome at the time.”

  “Do not apologize, please,” he said. His tone was distant, thoughtful. “It has been months since I heard my name spoken. Can you imagine that?”

  The fact of this sobered her. “No. I cannot.” Realizing she had gotten diverted, she started. “And do not change the subject. You are laughing at me because I fell on you, aren’t you?”

  He held his hands up in front of him as if to ward her off. “Admittedly it was rather amusing, yes, to awaken to find you…”

  “Enough! You insult me by intimating that you were either having a nightmare or had expired and found yourself in…well, Hades, and now you laugh at me. I was terrified, I shall have you know. How awful of you to make sport of me.”

&nb
sp; “No less frightened than I, I can assure you, if it does not lessen your opinion of me for me to admit it. As for my first words upon awakening to find the two of us in such an interesting position—think on my exact words, mademoiselle.” He paused, giving her a meaningful look. “I chose them with care.”

  Chloe considered this, thawing when she recalled that he had, indeed, said only that he had thought himself either dreaming or reaping his just rewards. He had said nothing about either alternative being pleasant or unpleasant.

  So, was he hinting that finding her atop him had been more of a heavenly than a hellish discovery?

  The rational part of her brain began to refute this, backing away from it as gingerly as one would a bear reared up on its hind legs with its claws displayed. But her heart would not be stayed. It pounded against her ribs, swelling with the promise that he…

  What? Wanted her?

  Even if he did, she was worldly enough to know exactly what it was he wanted. She herself had seen the woman who would be his bride, and soon. If he wanted her, Chloe, at all—if this belief were not a mere delusion of her own desperate desire—it was certainly with no intentions of honor.

  How pathetic that even in light of this, the possibility that he wanted her at all made her stomach tighten with excitement.

  “I shall go fetch that footman now,” she said, and turned on her heel.

  Unfortunately, the footman she selected felt the need to summon Frederick, the butler, who in turn felt it his duty to send a maid upstairs to inform the dowager duchess of the night’s events. She came rushing downstairs in a state of barely controlled panic, demanding to have the doctor and the sheriff fetched, and exhibiting other varieties of hysterics.

  Chloe was rather surprised Jareth handled her fuss with a firm hand, insisting he was fine and needed no physician and that the matter could wait until the morrow to be reported to the authorities. Disgruntled, the duchess subsided for a moment until she remembered Chloe. “What were you doing out-of-doors?” she snapped.

  “I walk in the evenings sometimes.”

  “Cease such activities at once. It is obviously unsafe, and you must not encourage the criminal element by irresponsible behavior.”

  Jareth cut in, his voice sharp. “I hardly think Miss Chloe’s behavior is at issue here, Mother. She has done nothing wrong.”

  The duchess glared at Chloe, as if to communicate that she wasn’t at all certain this was true. “Calm yourself, Strathmere. You have had a trying evening. Your judgment, therefore, can hardly be sound in regard to this matter.”

  “I was attacked in the garden, it is true, but the evening did not even begin to be trying until just now.”

  Chloe’s jaw dropped; the duchess’s tightened. Without another word, the older woman swept toward the door in a dramatic and elaborate exit. In the wake of it, there was a protracted silence.

  “Well,” Jareth said at last, slapping his thighs and speaking to the room at large. “That did not go well. Perhaps I should go ahead and retire before something really catastrophic happens.” To Chloe, he confided, “It has not been a good day.”

  He rose very slowly, muttered the word, “Stiff,” as a sort of explanation for his labored movements, and made his way to the door.

  The following morning, the sheriff was summoned and Chloe was asked to give her version of the events. This she did calmly, her demeanor betraying none of the pulse-quickening excitement she felt when recalling certain details. The sheriff was a pleasant man who stuck to business and nodded thoughtfully as she told her story.

  “Thieves,” he pronounced. “The duke agrees. Let me ask you, Miss Pesserat, did you see anything about the man that might aid us in identifying him?”

  “No, monsieur.”

  “No type of jewelry or anything of that sort?”

  “Nothing,” Chloe replied with a shrug.

  Pushing his liver-spotted face closer, the sheriff asked, “A ring? Did you see a ring?”

  “I did not.”

  “Then I must thank you for your cooperation, Miss Pesserat.” He seemed pleased with her, smiling with approval. “You have held up well considering the circumstances. Most ladies, well, I imagine they would have fainted dead away, and where would the poor duke be then, I ask you?”

  Chloe winced at the implication that since she was of good, sturdy stock, that of the commoner and not a lady of substantive breeding, she was not delicate enough to be subject to the vapors. Not that she wished to be silly, but the indirect insult rankled.

  As she exited the room, Chloe tried to calm herself. Her father had always taught her to keep one’s temper, one had only to breathe deeply and seek to focus one’s attention on another matter.

  In her case, another matter sought her. On her way to the stairs, she was waylaid by Gerald.

  “Ho, Miss Pesserat!” he called, trotting up behind her. Chloe turned. “Ah, I see the good sheriff is busy gathering clues. Picked your brain, has he?”

  “He merely asked me to relate the facts,” she replied. She didn’t particularly like Gerald, but after her initial aversion she had come to view him as harmless. He was no threat. Indeed, he had made it a point to be friendly, which was a welcome change from the rancor with which she had met at Strathmere thus far.

  “Any theories on who the culprit could be?” he inquired.

  “A thief, it is believed.”

  He nodded sagely. “The rascals are everywhere.”

  “If you will excuse me, I am already late.”

  “One more moment, if you please. I wanted to tell you that I have spoken to my aunt on behalf of the children with regard to the matter of the kitten.” Puffing up his chest, he pronounced, “It was not easy, but I have gotten her to agree.”

  Chloe was truly delighted with this news. “Really? Mon Dieu, but this is wonderful. The children shall be so happy. Thank you, sir.”

  “I thought perhaps we could go together, the four of us, to pick out the new pet. What do you say?”

  “Oh, monsieur, the kittens are too young to be separated from their mother just yet. It will be several weeks before one can be taken.”

  He was visibly disappointed. “Drat. I was rather fond of my good deed and am impatient to see its reward. I hate to be kept waiting.”

  Chloe giggled. “The children shall find it impossible, as well. No doubt they will pester me a thousand times a day with wanting to know if it is time yet to bring it home.”

  “I was under the impression that the little one doesn’t speak.”

  “Sarah. Yes, it is true, but she makes her will known in other ways. Strongly.”

  “Ah, I see.”

  A new voice cut in. “What do you see, Gerald?”

  They turned to find Jareth standing only a few feet from them. He had his arms crossed over his chest, and his expression looked as if he had just caught them pilfering wine from the cellars.

  “We were speaking about the children,” Gerald explained.

  “I was not aware that you were interested in the children.”

  He pinned his cousin with his icy stare. His dark eyes had gone cold and hard and his angular face set in stern lines. She felt a tremor of response snake up her spine, touching off a slow burn in the pit of her stomach. For all his severity, he looked so handsome just now, she felt the strength drain out of her knees.

  Gerald merely chuckled, as if Jareth’s comment pleased him somehow, and excused himself.

  “I see you are up and about, your grace,” Chloe said. “Your injuries do not trouble you?”

  “I have many troubles, mademoiselle, but other than a little stiffness and some bruising, my physical health is not one of them.”

  “Excellent.”

  “What were you and my cousin talking about?”

  “He has received your mother’s permission for the children to keep a pet kitten.”

  Jareth snorted. “He was always able to charm her. I believe he could procure her permission for his horse to be
stabled in the front parlor if he put his mind to it.” He peered more closely at her. “See to it he doesn’t turn your head with his idle ways.”

  Chloe drew herself into a rigid posture. “Certainement.”

  He nodded, apparently satisfied, and waved his hand at her. “You may go.”

  Oh, how she wanted to slap his smug face when he was like this, The Duke, through and through. She did not, of course, nor did she say anything to the imperious dismissal. However, she did allow a touch of insolence to color her movements as she turned and headed up the stairs.

  Jareth watched her go, his mood darkening, if that were possible. The swing of her hips was deliberate, he was sure, but not to entice. It was meant to convey insouciance.

  The minx should straighten her manners if she were wise, because he was not in a mood to be trifled with. After being set upon last night, he had had a fitful night’s sleep, his mind besieged with all manner of images of that infernally irritating woman stretched out on top of him and conversing with him as easily as if they had been seated at dinner. Then this morning, immediately after his meeting with the sheriff, he had been informed that one of his servants had behaved in a manner unbecoming to her position, and he had had to dismiss her.

  But by far, coming upon Gerald and Chloe was the most distressing thing yet. This puzzled him, for while he was not fond of Gerald, he could certainly find no fault in his showing kindness to Chloe. Except that Gerald often delighted in stirring up trouble.

  With a bit of surprise, Jareth realized he was jealous of Gerald. Gerald still had his freedom. Freedom to come to Strathmere if he wished, or to winter in Rome or Florence or the south of France. Freedom to while away his days hunting in the forests, his greatest love.

  Freedom to pursue an upper servant, for example, an enchanting, exasperating, invigorating sprite with a French accent and a smile to light up the heavens more beautifully than any constellation.