Strathmere's Bride

by Jacqueline Navin

  He laid his hand on the knob of the scarred oak door to the dining room and was about to turn it when he stopped and whirled and shouted to the disbanding servants. “No! Go after him!”

  They were confused for a moment at this change of orders. Jareth roared, “Get him, now!”

  Snapping out of their befuddlement, they charged out of the house in a thunder of footsteps.

  Jareth stood in the midst of the hall, his heart banging wildly against his ribs. The ring. It hadn’t registered at first. When the man had been struggling with his footman, it had caught the light from the chandelier and flashed for an instant.

  The man who attacked him in the garden had a ring.

  He gathered his composure quickly, mindful of his houseful of guests. When he entered the dining room moments later, he did so with an easy stride and a reassuring smile.

  “Strathmere, what m heavens was that all about?” his mother demanded from her seat. She looked at him as if he were personally responsible for the interruption.

  Everyone was just sitting there, waiting for his explanation. His eyes touched Chloe’s, noting her concern and her wise stare, which always seemed to see too much.

  “Some drunkard who wished to make complaint about his wages. It seemed Garfledger Tavern has raised their prices, and he wants a similar increase to help keep him flush.”

  This sparked a chorus of knowing grumbles among his guests. Dissatisfied tenants were a familiar nuisance among the wealthy landowners. The conversation took off from there as the first course was served.

  Chloe was in the garden, lost in thought.

  The luncheon earlier that day had been an abysmal failure as far as she was concerned.

  The duchess had been in her element, gloating over her granddaughters in a way that set Chloe’s teeth on edge. The woman didn’t see or speak to them for weeks, sometimes months on end, yet she played the doting grand-mère when others were looking on to applaud the girls’ adorableness and excellent manners.

  That, at least, had gone well. The girls had behaved beautifully. Even Rebeccah had been charming and polite. The frequent glances to her uncle told Chloe that the girl was interested in his approval, and perhaps it was the desire for his admiration that kept her normally exuberant behavior in check.

  Lady and Lord Rathford were particularly taken with the children, insisting that Jareth and his mother bring them with them the next time they visited Rathford Manor.

  They had all gaped at Chloe when she interrupted their plans. “I am sorry, that will be impossible. The children do not like travel.”

  Lady Rathford had looked at her as if she were an insect. A particularly horrible one. “Young lady, I believe the children shall manage nicely. The appointments on the ducal coach are excellent and comfortable in the extreme.”

  “They mustn’t ride in the ducal coach,” Chloe stated, looking to Jareth. Surely he understood the significance of this.

  “I have a small pony trap that they might find amusing,” he said.

  “I do not think—”

  He had cut her off. “It will be good for the children to have an outing.”

  “But—”

  “Miss Pesserat,” the duchess had intervened. Her tone was as brittle as a crusting of ice. “My son and I are perfectly aware of the circumstances under which the children’s fears have been formed, but the physician was quite specific upon his last visit. There has been no improvement.”

  Casting a nervous look at her charges, Chloe had said urgently, “Your grace, please!”

  The duchess waved off the plea. Of course, the children’s feelings were not to be considered. Her granddaughters barely existed to her, only in a functional way, and then only occasionally.

  Chloe saw Rebeccah’s sharp eyes taking everything in, her brow creased in worry.

  That was when Helena roused herself to contribute. “I shall ride over, and the duke and I can take them with us. It shall be fun. You girls would enjoy that, wouldn’t you? We shall sing songs and play similes. Have you ever played? It is a word game, and…” The sentence trailed off. Chloe presumed she had just recollected that Sarah did not speak.

  Abruptly, skillfully, Helena had turned to Jareth. “What do you think, your grace?”

  He had been distracted throughout the meal—ever since that tenant had appeared at the door—so the question caught him off guard. “What? Yes, yes, certainly, a fine idea. I would appreciate your coming with us. Perhaps a short outing at first.”

  Helena smiled. “Excellent idea. Then it is settled.”

  Chloe had lowered her eyes to her plate, deciding to take up the matter with Jareth later, in private.

  What a disaster that had been…

  A rustle roused her out of her musing, bringing Chloe back to the present. She looked up to see Mary just sitting down beside her.

  “What—” she began, squelching the exclamation at Mary’s signal. Giving a nervous glance to the windows, she drew Chloe up and dragged her behind a hedge.

  “What are you doing here? Oh, it is so good to see you!”

  “Chloe, I had to come to tell you, the most wonderful thing has happened,” Mary gushed.

  “Tell me everything. What is this wonderful news?”

  “I am to be married. Oh, Chloe, it was so exciting. I went home, you see, and was terrified of what my da would do to me, but as it happened, he had heard stones of the old dowager, and when I told him I was dismissed for talking to a groom with no improper behavior involved, well, he actually took my side.”

  “What a happy surprise.”

  “I’ll say, but it still left me in a fix. I worked at Strathmere for three years, and to find another position without a letter from so long an employer is almost impossible.”

  “Oh,” Chloe said, “I never thought about that. But what has all of this to do with your getting married?”

  “So, there I was, with no future, although I had my family on my side, when who shows up at my parents’ door with a fistful of wild roses but Daniel.”

  “Oh, Mary! How wonderful!”

  “Oh, it was. It is. He and I went for a drive, with my baby sister as chaperon, of course. And when we returned back to the house, he spoke to my father, and the two of them came back in grinning like a pair of mischievous boys, and my da says to my ma, ‘Break out the cider, Annie, our daughter’s getting married!’ and then Daniel got down on his knees, right there in front of everyone, and he asked me to become his wife.”

  Chloe clasped her friend to her, squealing her excitement.

  Mary continued, “I wanted to come back and let you know. You always were so kind to me and I heard how you gave the duke the devil on my behalf. Thank you for that, and for being such a good friend.”

  “We shall always be friends,” Chloe answered. “I am so pleased at your news.”

  “I am very happy, Chloe. It couldn’t have turned out better.” Giving Chloe a long look, Mary asked, “And how are things at Strathmere? The duke?”

  “The duke is an ass!” Chloe declared. She picked some leaves off a nearby evergreen and began to shred them. “I am out here freezing to death to cool my head. We had another disagreement.”

  “Come and tell me,” Mary said, leading her over to a bench.

  “I shall never understand him, never! He says he wishes to be friends, that he values me, and then he dismisses my warnings.” Sighing, she started from the beginning. “There was a formal luncheon today and the children and I were invited. It was suggested that Lady Helena and the duke take the children on an outing and I knew at once that it was a disastrous idea. I couldn’t argue my case in front of the duchess and all those strangers, so I went in to see him when everyone had gone.”

  “What did he say?” Mary gasped. “He didn’t sack you, too, did he?”

  “Non, non, nothing like that. He said…he said some rather unkind things.” She wouldn’t— couldn’t—describe how Jareth had told her he thought she was pressing her advantag
e, being opportunistic with the admissions he had made to her about his regard for her. His parting words were, “I will not allow you to interfere with my relationship with Helena.” Chloe kept those to herself, as well.

  What she did tell her friend was that he had chastised her soundly and refused to be dissuaded. Mary was full of sympathy and vehement denouncements of the duke’s good sense. “Anyone should realize those children have a mortal fear of horses.”

  Chloe countered, “He makes a good argument that the children have made no progress, they have been too sheltered. Perhaps I have been lax in challenging them to confront their fears.”

  “But, Chloe, they are babies!”

  “Oui, my friend, this I know.” She bent her head back, working the tensions from her neck. “I cannot allow him to harm them. I must show him that these things must be done gently, slowly. This outing with the Lady Helena must never take place. The duke is wrong, and he must be made to see it.”

  Mary gave a short, humorless laugh. “Chloe, haven’t you realized by now that the Duke of Strathmere is never wrong?”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Jareth stood ın the midst of disaster and wondered how he could have been so wrong.

  Helena was muddied from her knees down trying to get the little brown being huddled in the mire to stand on her own two feet. The dirt-encrusted creature was no fickle gnome or wicked fairy, but Sarah, who had firmly plopped herself down in the mud and refused to stand no matter what he or Helena did.

  As for himself, he held a bawling Rebeccah, whose screeches were piercing his eardrums. Helena was saying something to him—this he knew because he saw her mouth moving—but he could hear nothing over the plaintive wailing from the five-year-old.

  Unceremoniously shoving her head against his chest to muffle her cries, he shouted, “What did you say?”

  “I said here comes Miss Pesserat. Perhaps she could help.”

  Jareth turned to see Chloe was indeed on her way, striding with that unearthly walk of hers, arms swinging and her legs stretching out in a long, brisk gait. No ladylike minced steps for her. He watched her, caught in an unwitting moment of admiration until he took note of her face.

  Oh, Lord.

  She didn’t speak a word, however. Coming up to him, she yanked Rebeccah out of his arms and into hers ın a single movement. The child stopped her weeping immediately and wrapped her arms so tightly about Chloe’s neck, Jareth was surprised she could still breathe. Then they went to Sarah, who clamored up to her governess’s other hip like a monkey straight out of the Dark Continent. Thus encumbered, Chloe turned and strode up to the house without saying a thing.

  Her silence, however, had spoken eloquently of her feelings.

  He and Helena exchanged looks like guilty children. Then she stood upright, as regal and poised as if she been dressed in silk and surrounded by admirers. “I am sorry, your grace. It was my idea that started this entire procedure. I should never have suggested it.”

  Jareth was struck with how extraordinarily submissive she was. It came to him that she was always like this. He could condemn her for being purple, and she wouldn’t say a word in defense of herself.

  Where was the fire? Where was her passion?

  She gazed at him with a placid face and he was filled, all of a sudden, with an enormous sense of disgust at such subservience.

  “It is entirely my fault, Helena. Think no more of it.”

  The nursery was quiet when he entered a few hours later. Quiet and empty. He looked about, but saw no one in the large playroom. He crept into the children’s bedchamber and saw the two clean, peaceful girls asleep. Across the playroom, Chloe’s door was ajar, her bedroom empty.

  He felt restless. He wanted to speak to her, though he had no idea what he wanted to say.

  He knew how she loved to walk in her garden— strange that he thought of it as Chloe’s garden—but he doubted even she would brave the chill in the air tonight. She would be coming to bed soon, he reasoned, and he settled down in the great oak rocker.

  He looked about him. He liked it up here. The ghostly memories of the past had faded, leaving his mind clear to see the room as it was now, filled with the belongings of two little girls. Two precious little girls to whom he owed a debt after today’s debacle.

  What had made him dismiss Chloe out of hand when she had protested his taking the children in the pony trap—had it been simply pride? He’d like not to think so. If it were true, then he’d be no better than his mother, and he detested her unfeeling arrogance.

  He had been preoccupied, he remembered now. The man with the ring. His men hadn’t been able to find him, though they had searched for hours. What had the man wanted, and was he the same man who had cuffed him in the fog?

  Those questions had been uppermost in his mind when Chloe had made her argument, and he hadn’t listened. He still didn’t have his answers about the mysterious man, and he had committed a grave error. He would talk to Chloe, to make it right. He wouldn’t rest until he had.

  The rocker was comfortable. He crossed his arms over his chest and tucked in his chin, telling himself he would just close his eyes for a moment. Surely Chloe would be up shortly.

  He had no way of knowing how long he slept. He was awakened by agonizing shrieks. Coming out of the chair before his eyelids were fully raised, he looked about wildly, disoriented. Then he saw her, a tiny figure in her nightgown, racing about the nursery and wailing her loudest.

  Of course. Rebeccah’s night terrors.

  Running to the doorway, he leaned out, keeping a watchful eye on his distressed niece. Drawing in a deep, long breath, he roared, “Chloe!”

  The cold air should have driven her inside long ago. Indeed, her toes were frozen and her hands and nose had gone numb, but she refused to go indoors.

  Indoors where it was warm. But the nursery was making her feel trapped and isolated tonight, and the rest of the house was as foreign to her as this land was, as different and cold as this clime in comparison to the mild winters and carefree summers of her youth. Besides, she had much to occupy her mind, so much so that she barely noticed her discomfort in the deep winter night.

  Another letter from Papa had come. In it, he spoke more openly about his affection for Madame Duvier. She was happy for him. Papa was in love, it seemed. She thought of Mary and how gallant Daniel had come to her rescue with his beautiful proposal.

  Love was all around her, but love was not for her.

  A particularly depressing fate, since she had realized only a few days ago that she was in love with Jareth.

  She didn’t want to be. She wanted it to be simple attraction, a fleeting infatuation, maybe even fullfledged desire, but love…oh, no. Love was a disaster.

  A sound drifted to her, floating on the chill air like a puff of breath. It was faint and indistinct. Chloe listened for a moment. Upon hearing nothing more, she wandered farther into her garden, wrapped up tightly in her thick woolen cloak and her miserable thoughts.

  The duke had chosen his course. He admitted his affection for her, his desire. He acknowledged he didn’t love the woman he would make his wife. He had looked at her until she thought his blazing dark eyes would singe her flesh, but he would never be hers, never break out of that stifling chrysalis of duty and responsibility. He was a prisoner of his title, a servant of his birth, and he would never again be free to take her in his arms and speak to her of his heart.

  Another sound reached her, a lower sound. Like a man’s voice. It was very far away. She looked out to the trees beyond the garden wall.

  She thought of the drunken tenant who had come to the house during the luncheon party. Could it be him again, come to make some trouble in the night? Perhaps it wasn’t wise for her to be so far from the house.

  The sounds increased in volume as she neared the mansion. Increased, as well, was her curiosity, and concern as she realized they were actually coming from the house. And then the truth dawned on her— Rebeccah!

 
“Mon Dieu,” she swore, wondering how she could have been so thoughtless to have forgotten. She broke into a run, flinging open the door off the pantry and leaving it swinging in her wake, banging alternately between the door frame and the wall. The sound was like a drumbeat. It faded behind her as she took the back stairs two at a time all the way up to the third floor.

  Had she been thinking, she would have realized that the sounds had ceased almost as soon as she entered the house. All had been quiet for the several minutes it took her to get up to the nursery. Therefore, when she burst across the threshold into the playroom, she was utterly shocked by what she found.

  Jareth was there. In her chair, the large oak rocker. On his lap lay Rebeccah, curled up nice and tight and looking as content as a cat after a feast. While all of this was positively amazing, what was truly extraordinary was the simple fact that Rebeccah’s eyes were open.

  The child had never been awakened from her night terrors before. The doctor had warned it would produce a trauma so great, she might never recover from it.

  Yet here she was, looking at Chloe and smiling. “Hello, Miss Chloe,” she said in a sleepy voice.

  Chloe looked at Jareth. He was pale, his hair almost standing on end, but he had the most beautifully serene look on his face. “Hello, Chloe.”

  Inane as it seemed, Chloe replied, “Hello, Jareth. Hello, Rebeccah.”

  Jareth tilted his head to peer into the face of the little girl. “Are you ready for bed now?”

  “Yes, Uncle.”

  Chloe’s mouth hung open as Jareth swung the child up in his arms and carried her to her bed. She was still standing in that same position when he returned a few moments later.

  “Come,” he said to her, holding out his hands. Dumbly, Chloe stepped forward and allowed him to lead her to the window to stand in the square of moonlight puddling on the wooden floor.

  “Where were you? I had the whole staff looking for you.” His words were not harsh, but a soft, elegant whisper. His hand still held hers.

  “I was in my garden,” she answered, not noticing her slip. “I did not hear her cries until just now.”