by Regina Scott
That was the truth. The lady had fingered her silver fork as if weighing its worth, and he’d noticed her examining his mother’s porcelain figurines as if determining how much they might bring at auction. While she had gushed over the girls, her effusions rang hollow, and her conversation to him had revealed nothing more of her character. He could not shake the feeling that in offering for her he would be buying himself a bride.
His mother appeared at the breakfast table much earlier than her usual wont, dressed in a sky blue, narrow-skirted wool gown, hair elaborately curled, and paper in hand.
“Is there something particular you hope to accomplish today, Mother?” he asked as Parsons poured him his second cup of tea.
She smoothed the paper on the linen tablecloth as she sat. “We must discuss your options. I took a moment to compose my thoughts.”
And had recorded the composition, it seemed. “Indeed.”
If she heard the lack of interest in his tone, she did not show it, gaze fixed on the notes she had made. “I was impressed by Lady Elspeth’s decorum,” she said, nodding to Parsons as he lay a piece of buttered toast on her plate. “She listened more than she spoke, which is always a congenial trait.”
“For those who speak a great deal,” he countered, setting down his cup. “I keep imagining us sitting across the table from each other and having nothing to say, for days or weeks.”
“Hm, yes, well.” His mother consulted the paper as Parsons arranged pots of jam and honey in easy reach. “Lady Lilith seemed devoted to her mother. A devoted daughter-in-law would be quite pleasant.”
For his mother. “She refused to look me in the eye,” Alaric said with a shake of his head. “I was under the impression I was somehow beneath her.”
His mother made a face. “Fine. Lady Fredericka, then. She was far more forthright.”
“And expected me to agree with every one of her opinions.”
His mother threw up her hands. “Well, if you want a wife who speaks her mind at the least provocation and enjoys a good argument, you might as well marry Mrs. Kimball.”
Parsons gasped and turned the noise into a cough before composing himself.
“Parsons,” Alaric said, “I find myself hungering for some of that pickled asparagus Cook provided last night at dinner. I don’t suppose there’s any left.”
Parsons drew himself to attention. “I shall endeavor to enquire, Your Grace.” He strutted from the room.
Alaric turned to his mother. “You’re right. I should marry Jane Kimball, but we both know that’s impossible.”
She reached for her cup, and he was surprised to see her hand shaking as she lifted it. “Nonsense. Nothing is impossible for a duke.”
Alaric leaned back, unwilling to accept so quick a response. “I cannot imagine you introducing her to your friends. ‘Lady Gossipful, please meet my daughter-in-law, our governess. Her first husband was a dashing cavalry officer. Alaric can never compare of course, but she was glad to marry up in the world.’”
His mother colored. “I most certainly wouldn’t go out of my way to disclose her background. And I would set you against a cavalry officer, no matter how dashing, any day of the week.”
He inclined his head. “Kind of you, Mother.”
She idly tapped her spoon against the side of the cup, head cocked as if thinking the matter over. “But it isn’t entirely beyond the pale, you know. Remember Lord Killibridge? He married the woman who had been his nanny when he was a lad.” She shuddered.
He knew what his father would say. Lord Killibridge was an upstart, a fellow so newly elevated to the title he had no idea of the gravity and responsibility of his position. Alaric had been trained otherwise.
“I have no intention of marrying any of the staff,” he assured her. “If I followed my own inclinations, I wouldn’t marry at all.”
His mother straightened. “You must marry, Wey. Your father and grandfather worked too hard to see our lands given to some stranger or worse, the Crown. I will allow that the ladies last night were not up to the standards I would normally hold for a daughter-in-law. I will endeavor to do better next time.”
He hid his own shudder. “As you wish, Mother. But you cannot force me to marry.”
“No.” She sounded sincerely saddened by the fact. “And I do want you to be happy this time. I can see that Evangeline was the wrong wife for you, but I cannot entirely regret the marriage for it gave me three wonderful granddaughters.”
“Yes, it did.” He thought, he hoped, that she might leave it at that and returned his gaze to his cup. The amber liquid had never looked less appealing.
“If you decide on Jane Kimball,” his mother said, rising to take her leave, “then I will simply have to accustom myself to the idea, and so will the rest of Society. I hope you’ll consider that.”
How could he fail to consider it? For a moment, he felt as if she were reinforcements, charging over the hill to save his regiment from certain doom. Yet would Society truly accept Jane as a duchess?
The question kept nagging at him as he went to the library after breakfast to review the reports Willard had provided on needs around the island this spring. He had never been fond of the Social whirl, so if some of the high sticklers snubbed him for his wife’s humble beginnings, he’d shed no tear. But Jane did not deserve the condescension and condemnation she’d likely receive. And if he and Jane were not welcomed in Society, wouldn’t he have isolated her more surely than locking her in the schoolroom? Could she be happy in such a life?
And what of the girls? Would they be treated poorly for his choice?
“The morning post, Your Grace,” Parsons announced, moving into the library with a silver salver balanced on one gloved hand. “And Mr. Willard sends word that the river is starting to rise.”
A chill went through him, but he accepted the notes from his butler and dismissed the man. Sitting back at the desk, he thumbed through the stack. The thick vellum of invitations from mothers who wanted a duke for their daughters, the pressed sheets with Julian’s hand on some matter concerning the estates. One stood out—the writing canted and crooked, as if written in a hurry and with great emotion. The missive was battered, as if it had traveled far. He took his penknife and broke the seal.
Dear Duke of Wey, I understand from Mr. Mayes that you have questions about our former governess, Mrs. Jane Kimball.
He started, gaze darting to the signature at the bottom of the note. Colonel Travers’s wife was writing to him. Julian must have reached her at last. He returned to the top of the note to read the rest.
I can only tell you that I thought her a fine model for my daughter until I discovered her in my husband’s arms.
The chill he’d felt earlier spread through his body.
Jane Kimball is nothing but an adventuress, out to trap any man who makes the mistake of wandering too close. I discharged her without recommendation, and I suggest you do the same. It is never wise to succor a viper in one’s bosom. Sincerely, Mrs. Grace Travers.
The letter fell to the desk as if his fingers had gone numb. He rather thought his heart had suffered the same fate. Jane, an adventuress? It couldn’t be.
She had joined his household under suspicious circumstances, something inside him whispered. Insisted on dealing only with him. Allowed herself to be alone with him on numerous occasions. Wormed her way into his daughters’ hearts.
And his.
He rose from the desk, to go where, he wasn’t sure. He clasped his hands behind his back, paced in and out among the maze of bookshelves. The wisdom of ages surrounded him—with tomes by philosophers who understood the workings of the mind, poets who delved into matters of the heart. None would tell him what he most longed to know. Could he trust Jane?
Of course he could.
He was used to relying on reports, recommendations, the insights of others. Julian had cautioned him against her. Miss Thorn refused to answer questions. Now Mrs. Travers insisted she was no good. He knew what his fat
her would have done—discharged her immediately, voice imperious and face merciless.
He would never be his father.
For once, he was thankful for that. Had he followed his father’s advice and viewed everyone with suspicion, he would never have come to know Jane. And that would have been a great loss. Jane was encouraging, positive, honest to a fault. She brooked no response that wasn’t in the girls’ best interests. She had helped his daughters to learn, to grow. Even his mother had mellowed in her company if she could suggest accepting a governess as a daughter-in-law.
Besides, if Jane was hunting money or a title, she had had him dead to rights. He’d kissed her. She could have demanded income for her silence, even that he marry her. Instead, she had helped him think through options, suggested that they pretend it had never happened. She could not have allowed such an opportunity to pass if she was an adventuress.
It only followed, then, that Mrs. Travers was slandering Jane’s good name. The question was, why?
Chapter Twenty
The rain lashed the windows as Jane made her way down to the library the evening after the dinner party. It was Larissa’s turn to join her, and the girl moved at a stately pace that was no doubt considered ladylike. Jane tried to match her, for all she’d have preferred to pick up her skirts and move. After all, she might as well pretend she knew how to be a lady.
Alaric was standing at the window, hands clasped behind his back, apparently staring at the rain as the grey day faded into a stormy night. He turned as Parsons announced them.
“Good evening, Larissa, Mrs. Kimball. Please, sit down.”
So formal. Was something wrong? Jane took her customary spot, while Larissa perched daintily beside her in the other chair as if concerned the leather seat would swallow her.
“Did you enjoy meeting everyone last night, Larissa?” he asked as he seated himself behind the big desk. Once more the top was cluttered by papers, as if they’d interrupted him in deep study of some important matter.
Larissa folded her hands in the lap of her muslin gown. “Oh, yes, Father. Everyone was very kind and congenial. I hope I have the opportunity to further their acquaintances.”
Very prettily said, but part of Jane still hurt for the girl. It was the wish of a matron, not a girl years away from her first Season. Was it truly what Larissa wanted, or was she merely saying what she thought her father expected?
“I’m not sure when we’ll have the pleasure of their company again,” Alaric said.
“Of course,” Larissa said. “The Season will be starting in earnest after Easter. They will all want to go to London. Will we be going up to London too?”
She sounded so wistful. For once, Jane could commiserate. She’d enjoyed London far more than she’d thought possible. She made herself study the closest section of bookshelves, squinting as she tried to make out the titles on the fine leather spines.
“I may need to go to London to attend Parliament,” Alaric said. “But only a day here or there. No need to uproot you and your sisters.”
Jane turned in time to see Larissa slump in her seat.
“And how are your studies going?” Alaric said as if he had not just doused her hopes.
Larissa rallied and went on in some detail about the Maestro’s singing lessons, her proficiency at watercolor. Jane interjected where she could to include riding, mathematics, and history, as well as her sisters’ accomplishments.
Finally, Alaric leaned back. “I’m glad to hear things are going so well. Please give my regards to your sisters, Larissa. Now, return upstairs, if you would. I’d like to discuss some matters with Mrs. Kimball privately.”
Jane looked at him askance, but his calm, pleasant demeanor betrayed nothing.
Larissa climbed slowly to her feet. “But you require a chaperone.”
“Mr. Parsons will be here to make sure matters do not get out of hand.”
The butler nodded with entirely too much conviction.
Still Larissa held her ground. “It’s not right. You said we would come with her. You said you wouldn’t kiss her again.”
Parsons started so badly Jane thought he might fall off his feet.
“Larissa Mary Elizabeth Augustine,” Alaric said in a voice that would have made Jane quake. “I asked you to leave. Go to the schoolroom. Now.”
Larissa turned and ran.
“Make sure she reaches the schoolroom,” Alaric told Parsons. “Then return here immediately.”
With a wary look to Jane, the butler hurried from the room.
“So, are you sacking me or kissing me?” Jane asked.
He shook his head. “Neither. But this is not a discussion Larissa should be privy to. I had a letter today from Mrs. Travers. I imagine you can guess the contents.”
She could, and she suddenly understood why he was so distant. “I’m a scheming, wanton woman, and you should send me packing.”
“A fair summation.”
And what was she to say? He’d only just recovered from suspecting her because of Miss Thorn’s behavior. This letter had to reinforce his concerns. Yet how could she counter it? It was her word against that of the hero of the Peninsula.
As if he saw the fears crowding her, he leaned across the desk. “I don’t believe a word of it, Jane.”
Relief left her shaking in the seat. “Thank you.”
He inclined his head, straightening. “I would, however, like to hear what really happened.”
Jane licked her lips, straightening. “Even if it does no one credit?”
“Even so.”
She sighed. There was nothing for it now. “Very well. The colonel returned from the field to recuperate. He’d taken a ball in the thigh, and I imagine it hurt a great deal. He’d imbibed alcohol to deaden the pain, and in that state decided a widow like me must be lonely for a man’s company. He came to my room, pushed his way inside, and tried to offer me his services. When I refused, he attempted to convince me of his skills. I used a maneuver Jimmy taught me to incapacitate him. Then I called the footmen and ordered them to take him to his room. I had my things packed, resignation letter in hand, when Mrs. Travers came to order me from the house. He’d spun a fine tale, you see. It seems I seduced him. Why, I have no idea. He would have made a wretched lover and a pinch-penny one at that.”
He shook his head. “I’m sorry, Jane. Your first employer attempted liberties, and I succeeded in them. What a poor opinion you must have of gentlemen.”
“I hold a true gentleman in highest esteem,” she assured him. “It’s the scoundrels who try to take advantage of those they fancy are weaker that get my back up. Colonel Travers acted like a scoundrel. You didn’t.”
“I’m afraid I cannot see the difference.”
He sounded so disgusted with himself. “And that proves my point. I imagine Colonel Travers was sorry that he was caught. You’re sorry because you feel you broke a rule. You and your oldest daughter seem inordinately fond of rules.”
He spread his hands. “Rules are important. I was taught they are the fabric on which our lives are woven.”
She been taught the same thing. Funny how it had never stuck.
“I’ll grant you they have their place,” she allowed. “And some are more inviable than others. Taking someone’s life for profit is always wrong but telling a mother her red-faced screaming baby is beautiful should never be considered a lie.”
That won a smile from him.
“Besides,” Jane said, “I don’t know any rule against two unmarried adults agreeing to share a kiss. You’ll notice I didn’t try my maneuver on you.”
“For which I must be grateful,” he said. His smile quickly faded. “Thank you for your candor, Jane. I’ll let you return to your duties.”
Duty. He held that concept so high. His care of the estate was a duty, his interaction with his daughters a duty. Commendable, of course. But what of joy? Of love?
Jane rose to her feet, heart pounding in her ears. She’d done outrageous things in
her life—elope to be married, travel half the world living in nothing better than a tent, order cavalry officers about, agree to be governess to a duke’s children. Some had denigrated her for it, scoffed that she never was and never would be a true lady. What she was about to do was the most outrageous yet. Her father and mother would despair of her. Jimmy, dear Jimmy, would have cheered her on.
“I’m beginning to see my only real duty as caring for this family,” she said. “I know you’re in the market for a wife. Why not me?”
~~~
Jane Kimball, asking to be his wife? Joy leaped inside Alaric, forcing him to his feet. It was on the tip of his tongue to agree when Parsons hurried back in.
“Sorry, Your Grace. Lady Larissa went straight to the duchess, and it took a little finesse to set things right.” He glared at Jane as if it were entirely her fault.
His world crashed down around him. The river was rising. His precious lock was about to be tested. His daughters needed a mother, his title an heir. It didn’t matter what he wanted, what he needed, who he knew would make him happy. He had duties, obligations. They would always have to come first.
“Thank you, Parsons,” he said. “And thank you, Mrs. Kimball, for your kind offer. I will never forget it. But I fear I must decline. Duty, you know.”
Her face, always so open and friendly, shut, and he nearly reached out to her. As if she knew his thoughts, she stepped back, away from him. “Of course, Your Grace. I won’t trouble you further.” She turned and walked out, head high and steps steady. Never let your enemy glimpse your pain, his father would have said. His Grace would have been proud of her.
He drew in a breath. “That will be all, Parsons.”
His butler inclined his head and followed Jane from the room.
Alaric sat heavily on the chair, stared at the papers awaiting his attention. Requests from tenants, a demand from Mr. Harden to evict a trespasser from his lands, bills due to come before the House of Lords, correspondence on any number of matters. Duties. Requirements. Expectations. With a sweep of his arm, he scattered them. They fluttered to the floor, where they lay abandoned, just like his dreams.
