“Then what are we to do?”
“Keep up what you are doing. Eventually she will outgrow them.” He didn’t seem at all confident in his assurance.
There was a short silence, then the doctor broached the subject Jareth had been waiting for. “Er, your mother has asked my opinion on the possibility of dismissing Miss Pesserat.”
“Yes. And that opinion is?”
“I realize the woman is a trial to both you and your mother, but the children’s attachment makes her a vital part of their lives. I believe it would be quite dire should she be forced away from your nieces, your grace.” He smiled apologetically. “I am so sorry if this news disturbs you.”
The news did disturb him. Sometimes he believed Chloe was the reason why he was so confused. Yet, in contrast, his most lucid moments were in her company. The trouble was, the things that seemed so clear were not the sort of things he should be thinking. Not as the duke, anyway.
“It is the truth, Doctor, which is what I have asked for. I can hardly hold you accountable if it is less than what I would like.”
“Just so. Very sensible, your grace.” He paused. “Your mother tells me you have been under a great deal of strain lately. I am pleased to see that if that is so, it has not affected your judgment.”
“No strain. Only very busy.”
“But you have been a bit short-tempered, would you agree?”
Jareth paused, feeling a subtle shift in the doctor’s interest. He replied carefully. “I believe I have voiced my displeasure on several occasions. I would, however, disagree wholeheartedly that I have been at fault.”
The doctor seemed thoughtful. “Are you in agreement with your mother’s belief that Miss Pesserat should be dismissed as soon as possible?”
Jareth didn’t reply. He didn’t know what he thought about that particular subject anymore.
The doctor continued. “Tell me, do you suffer from migraines? Are you given to periods of despondency or melancholıa? Do you hear any strange noises?”
Jareth’s voice was tight. “Noises?”
“Perhaps voices?”
Gripping the chair arms, Jareth demanded, “What the devil are you talking about, man? Are you accusing me of being insane?”
“No, your grace. Now, see, you are irate at me, suspicious of my motives. This paranoia is bad for the—”
“Paranoia?”
“Can you control your temper, your grace, or are you given often to displays of emotionalism such as this?”
Jareth’s contempt for the doctor made his tone brittle. “Did my mother send you to see to me? If so, you may assure her I am of sound mind, and if she has reservations to this fact, she may take the matter up with me personally. I believe this conversation has gone as far as I wish it to go.” Jareth stood and stalked out the door. He stopped in the cloakroom and wrapped himself in a great wool mantle. As soon as he stepped outside, the cold air hit him like a blow to the face. He headed straight for the lake.
It was frozen, bringing on memories of himself and Charles and some children from the village dashıng and sliding across the smooth surface, chasing one another in a game far too rough for good sport. But they were boys, and it was their way. No one had minded the uncivilized behavior back then.
Standing on the bank, he remembered another day when they were much older. It was late in the spring. The lake was overflowing its banks from the rains, and he and Charles had taken the small boat out that they sometimes stole from the little dock. They had been playing rough. It started with Charles slapping him and calling him a name. It wasn’t out of meanness that he did it, just the irresponsible horseplay that older brothers often perpetrated against their younger, weaker siblings. Jareth had responded predictably and they had wrestled. The boat capsized and they found themselves in the water. This hadn’t alarmed Jareth at first, for they were both of them experienced swimmers. Then he had seen Charles go under. Once. Twice.
The feeling that had gripped him then tightened in his chest even now. Just the memory of those terrorfilled moments closed his throat, making it hard to breathe. He had dragged Charles to the shore. They had stood in each other’s arms, heedless of the impropriety of it, and wept at what had almost just occurred, and Charles began spouting nonsense. Jarvis, who was old even then, had come upon them like that, and he had heard the things Charles had said.
Jareth closed his eyes against those horrid words. Charles hadn’t meant them. Surely he hadn’t.
The wind whipped around him, bringing him back to the present, to the cold and the ice and the snow all about him, under his feet.
He hadn’t understood it then, or even later. As Charles had matured into the responsibilities of his birthright and Jareth had taken his own path away from the family, the memory had mellowed and he told himself it had meant nothing—a moment’s aberration. It had ceased to disturb him.
But he understood now. The despair, the trapped, terrified, empty feeling.
What was worse was that he himself was becoming part of it. Had he not, in full accord with his mother, asked Dr. Esterhaus to come and evaluate the children for the possibility of ridding themselves of Miss Pesserat?
His mother’s intentions he understood. She was a snob, appalled at the brazen disregard that Chloe showed for her position. It all came back to that. The blasted, cursed title.
Here on these shores, one duke had wept in despair because of that title and all that went with it. Now, another communed with him, knowing at last what had been in his brother’s heart all those years ago.
Jareth realized he hadn’t been doing this all along for the sake of his mother. Good God, for all he cared at this point, she could go to the devil.
He had been doing it for Charles. For all his beloved brother had sacrificed, for all he had never been allowed to do, and, yes, for all the guilt he himself had felt in his growing years at not being the one. Perhaps he thought this was his penance, to follow in Charles’s footsteps and bear his pain and die inside and take it just as Charles had had to do.
This realization brought no peace, for his own culpability in the matter remained, but it did bring clarity. The confusion lifted and he knew what it was he—Jareth Hunt, a man who no longer existed to the world but was indeed alive and thriving inside him—believed. Not as the duke. As himself.
Jareth Hunt.
He took in a long breath and looked out over the lake. So many memories, good and bad, poured around him. He smiled, and the peace he had sought finally came because he realized there was something he must do.
He had an apology to deliver.
Chapter Fifteen
When Chloe received a message to meet Jareth in the front parlor, she naturally expected the worst. It was with a heavy heart that she pulled her hair into a neat knot on the top of her head, determined to make a good appearance. It was no use, however. The independent mass of rich brown never behaved. Wisps began to curl about her face, turning her countenance into an alluring picture of some PreRaphaelite nymph, but she wanted to look serious today. This was a serious matter. She firmly believed she would be asked to leave.
Her eyes, wide and pale gray, stared back at her from the mirror and her cheeks were flushed a delicate pink. Both betrayed the feverish anxiety that gripped her. Bette arrived to see to the children, and Chloe turned away from the looking glass. She drew in a trembling breath and left the nursery.
In the parlor, to her great surprise, a silver tea service had been laid out. The duke was standing by a window, looking out over the front lawn. It didn’t seem he had heard her come in. His posture was stiff, his hands clasped behind his back, looking disappointingly, but expectedly, formal. The sun glanced off his chestnut curls and caressed an angular cheek. Chloe swallowed away the rush of pain that surged up at the sight of him.
“You wished to see me, your grace?”
He turned, and to Chloe’s surprise, he smiled at her. He said, “Please come in and have a seat.”
“Merc
i.” She did as he asked.
He took the seat across from her. “May I offer you tea or coffee?”
“Nothing, please.”
He paused, looking at her in a most serious way. Suddenly, Chloe could stand it no longer. “I know what you are going to say,” she blurted. “And I wish you to know I think it is deplorable.”
His eyebrows shot up. “It is?”
“Oui. All the things I said to you before, well, I meant them and I am not sorry for them, even if they are the reason you are dismissing me. I have my pride, sir, and I shall not forsake it for the likes of this family.”
His eyelids drew down into a lazy look. “I had noticed that about you,” he drawled. “The pride, I mean.”
“I feel a person can only distinguish themselves by their good acts, and although I never claimed to be perfect, I do count honesty as one of the traits of which I am most proud. I will not be intimidated, and if your ordered, perfect world cannot tolerate the truth, then I pity you and your mother for the frightened, cowering beings you are.”
“I quite agree.”
“And if you intend to separate me from the children, I can tell you that while the very prospect horrifies me, I have reconciled myself to the fact that there is nothing I can do to—what did you say?”
He was trying not to laugh, she noticed, and her consternation grew. He explained, “I said I agreed with you. About your honesty. It is difficult for others—myself included—to grapple with it at times. It is a heady thing, the truth. Sometimes it is too painful to bear, until we start the lies and realize after a while real suffering is to live a false life.”
Her mouth stayed slightly agape, her brow creased in confusion and she sat perfectly rigid for a good minute or two.
“Will you look at that,” he said at last. “I have rendered Chloe Pesserat speechless.”
Chloe snapped her mouth shut. “I do not understand.”
“That is because I have not explained. In fact, I have not even had an opportunity to say more than a few words.”
She blushed and bit her lip. “I am sorry.”
He nodded and looked away, thoughtful for a moment. “Chloe, may I ask you a question?”
“Yes, of course.”
He seemed to change his mind. “No, let me say it a different way. It may surprise you to learn that I have always admired you, even when I have disagreed with you. I suppose that is what friendship is like—not necessarily thinking the same in all matters but weighing that other opinion because of your high regard for the other person. Do you understand what I am saying?”
“I believe I do.” She said this, but was as confused by his words as if he had spoken them in Greek.
“With my brother, it was different. Though our love for each other was undoubted, it was typical of us to argue over differences and I don’t believe he ever truly accepted the choices that led me into a full life outside of the family.” Bowing his head, he lowered his voice as if the next words were difficult for him to say. “I have come to regard you as a friend, Chloe. I value your opinion, even if I think you are daft at times, and I find myself…” He paused, struggling with the next part. “Wishing to have your good will.”
She was so touched, she didn’t think her voice would serve her. When she could, she said gently, “That you already have.”
“Ah, where is your famous honesty now? Did you not just finish reviling me for a shallow, addlepated idiot whom you abhor?”
“I…I didn’t mean that I thought you were addlepated.” She tried to come to some means with which to convey her jumbled thoughts. His contrite revelation had her undone completely. “I just did not like the things you were doing. They were not you, not the man I had come to know on occasion, when you would allow me to see that side of you. I know you to be caring and try very hard to do the right thing.”
He rose and turned toward the window again. “Yes, that is true, but sometimes it becomes very difficult to know what the right thing is.”
She came to her feet and took a step toward him. “You know in your heart what the right thing is, do you not?”
He looked over his shoulder at her, and his smile was charming. “I would be willing to wager that you have at times wondered if I possessed that particular organ.”
She pressed her lips together and crossed her arms. “I believe you have shown little evidence of it on occasion.” Reconsidering, she amended, “Although I know you have always striven to do what you thought was best.”
“And at those times you accused me of arrogance?”
“Do you make the argument that your word should be unimpeachable?”
“Chloe, why are you quibbling with me? I have asked you here to apologize to you for my past behavior and find you bristling at me within minutes.”
Chloe was shocked. “You…wish to apologize?”
“Yes. I was quite unfair to you. I was not always honest, either, and you deserve better than that from me for the fact of your bravery in always facing the truth.”
Shaking her head to clear it, Chloe let out a small laugh and pressed a hand to her forehead. “I thought I was to be asked to leave.”
“We could never get on without you,” he murmured, turning to face her.
The words touched something in her, a distant hope, a desire held at bay. It must have shone in her eyes as she raised her gaze to his. “You could not?”
He seemed to realize his error. His expression sobered. “I meant for the children, and as we all care deeply about their well-being. All of us need you—for their sake.”
She lowered her gaze, ashamed of what he might have seen in her eyes. The touch of his fingers along her chin made her catch her breath. They were warm and smooth, and tiny shivers of excitement shot forth like sparks from a flint to singe her cheek and sizzle down her neck. “Only for their sake?”
“Sweet Lord, Chloe, are you never satisfied with anything? Do you always need to push me beyond comfort?” His words were harsh but they were spoken in a tone that was almost a caress. “See, I have resolved myself to honesty and already I cannot fulfill it. Do I need you, you wish to know. Yet you already do know, don’t you? With your ridiculous philosophies and your brilliant, rebellious spirit— yes, I need you, you little fool. I need you to be my friend.” He stopped, then dropped his hand. “Anything more is not acceptable. You must realize that.”
“I do,” she managed to say, feeling the weight of his words crushing the tender emotions inside her.
“No, you do not. It is not in your nature to accept limitations. But, Chloe, we are not in France. We cannot ignore who we are. This is England. I am an English duke, the Duke of Strathmere, for God’s sake, controller of one of the largest and most influential duchies in the kingdom. It is an awesome duty. I am not telling you that I have turned my back on what is expected of me, but rather that I am taking charge of it myself. I want you to know that I acknowledge your worth and service to this family, and will not permit you to be ill treated in the future. As for anything beyond that…Chloe, we are of different worlds, you and I. Desire…it is a mistake we cannot afford to make. I told you that before, in the nursery, the night…the night I lost control momentarily. It was wrong of me.”
“You told me it was only a kiss,” she corrected. Bravely, she stared at him even in the face of her humiliation. “And I believe there is no such thing, your gr—”
“No! Will you stop calling me that! Not after all this, not after I’ve told you the things I have. Dear God, cannot one person call me by my given name? If it can’t be you, Chloe, then who will it be to restore me to who I was before?”
She was taken aback. “You wish me to call you Jareth?”
“Not in front of others, of course, and God knows what I am unleashing with this request because you ever push beyond whatever confines are given you, but yes, I would like to hear my name from one person in this house.”
“It would make me very happy to do it,” she said.
&nbs
p; “Now, what was I saying?”
“You were about to tell me that the kiss meant nothing.”
“No, no, no. That is not it at all. Of course the kiss meant something.” Nearly under his breath, he muttered, “God, in some ways it meant everything.” He looked at the ceiling as if searching for aid or inspiration. “What I feel for you, Chloe, is real. I shall not lie to you and make it less. If we were two people in different sorts of lives, well, it would be an utterly different matter. But things are what they are. My life, my circumstances must dictate the choices I make. I am not free to choose.”
“And if you could choose?”
He closed his eyes and angled his head away as if to shield himself from her question. His lips pressed together in a small, thin smile. “There you go again, always pushing, demanding more.” Opening his eyes, he asked, “Do you truly wish me to answer that?”
She did, oh, indeed she did. But she knew he was right. It would be so sweet to hear him say it, but how could she bear it afterward when he had told her in plain terms that he was not going to forsake his duty or in any way compromise what was expected of him?
“You shall marry Lady Helena,” she pronounced in a flat voice.
Her heart shattered into a million pieces when he nodded slowly.
“But you wish us to be friends,” she continued, speaking slowly as if to test the words.
“You have become very important to me, Chloe. I do not wish to lose you completely.”
“I see.” She met his gaze, as difficult as that was. “I understand you. You do not love Helena, but you will marry her in accordance with your mother’s wishes.”
“Not only hers. They are my wishes, as well.”
“How can you wish this, since you admit you do not love her?”
He expelled a long breath. “You are a fanciful creature. Love has little to do with marriage. Lady Helena is an excellent choice of wife for her breeding, her accomplishments, her presence and her nature.”
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