by Regina Scott
“He didn’t!” Callie piped up. “He was there, at the gates. I saw him. He said it was Mrs. Kimball’s fault.”
Jane cringed. Everyone knew Callie reported exactly what she heard.
“It’s a mistake,” she said, struggling to keep her voice calm as faces hardened against her. “Why would I want anyone to damage a lock meant to keep us all safe?”
Mr. Parsons cut his hand through the air like a knife. “Enough. The lock is immaterial. You willfully endangered the lives of Lady Larissa and her sisters. You have refused to listen to advice and council, disobeyed His Grace and the duchess at every turn. You leave me no choice but to discharge you of your duties and demand that you leave at once.”
“No!” Callie cried. She yanked herself out of Maud’s grip and ran to Jane. “Don’t leave, Mrs. Kimball. I love you!”
“Put me down!” Belle cried, kicking in Percy’s arms. “I love her too.”
Jane gathered Callie close, mind and heart in turmoil. “Don’t worry, sweethearts. Your father will have something to say about this.”
“You continue to forget that I run this household,” Mr. Parsons said. “I’m sure His Grace will side with me when I explain the matter to him. He has known me far longer than he’s known you, and he will not countenance behavior that puts his daughters at risk. Betsy, Maud, return their ladyships to the schoolroom and await further instructions.”
Jane released Callie to an apologetic-looking Maud. Larissa hesitated.
“I didn’t mean for her to leave,” she told Mr. Parsons. “Can’t you just punish her? I’m sure she’ll learn her lesson.”
“I wish I shared that belief,” Mr. Parsons said with a nod to Betsy. The nursery maids and footman hurried the children from the yard.
Jane stood alone, bereft. That was it? She was merely to leave? She felt as if the air had vacated the yard, her lungs.
“Do not bother collecting your things,” Mr. Parsons said as if intent on heaping coals on her head. “They will be forwarded to Miss Thorn. Let’s see if she can find you another position after this.”
Very likely even Fortune would not be so accommodating. Two positions and no references? Jane was clearly damaged goods.
“You’re making a mistake,” Mr. Quayle warned Mr. Parsons as he came out of the stable leading a horse.
The butler drew himself up. “The inside of the house is mine. Your realm is the stable. See that you stay there.” With a look of disgust at Jane, he turned on his heel and strode back into the castle courtyard.
Mr. Quayle grabbed a blanket off the horse and draped it about Jane’s shoulders. “I don’t care what his nibs says. You’re welcome to stay in my stables as long as you like.”
That would be easy. Likely she could appeal to Alaric to override the butler’s edict, but to what purpose? Larissa might never respect her. Mr. Parsons would forever look for opportunities to discharge her. And she would have to watch from the schoolroom while Alaric courted and married someone else.
All her life she’d had to fight—for the right to her own opinions, for a place at Jimmy’s side, for food and water at the crowded campaign camps, for a position of dignity as a widow. Perhaps it was time she stopped fighting.
She pulled the blanket off her shoulders. “Thank you, Mr. Quayle, for everything. I think it best if I go. Might I prevail on you for a carriage to take me off the island? I believe the mail coach to London stops at Walton-on-Thames. I might just be able to catch it.”
~~~
Alaric heaved one last time, and the gates burst open, water rushing down into the channel. The grooms and tenants who had helped him pull the chain by hand straightened, clapping each other on the back.
“That’s done it,” Willard proclaimed.
“Three cheers for His Grace!” someone called, and shouts echoed against the wind.
Alaric inclined his head in thanks as he moved to where the remaining groom stood with arms folded, regarding the pitiful lump of humanity at his feet. Simmons sat hunched, muttering to himself. He’d been on his feet when Alaric had ridden up, looking as if he wanted to lash out at someone. But even he knew the penalty for striking an aristocrat. That hadn’t stopped him from speaking out instead.
“Your father caused this,” he’d said as Alaric had hurried to the gates to inspect the damage. “He turned my father out with no warning. Da and Mum died in the cold, friendless.”
“So you think to return the favor, for everyone on the island?” Alaric had shaken his head. “The important thing now is to get those gates open. We’ll have to compensate for the broken capstan by pulling the chain by hand. If you hope to avoid the noose, I’d put your back into it.”
A look had flickered across the footman’s face, and he had put his hand to his back. “Sorry, Your Grace. I must have injured myself. You’ll have to do it yourself.”
He’d started. Muscles bunching, he’d braced his feet and pulled as hard as he could. The capstan turned. The gates inched open. But not fast enough. The river was already overtopping them, bending them under the pressure. They’d stick, or worst, burst free and spill water onto the shore. Instead of keeping the island from flooding, he’d be dooming the lands across from him as well.
The arrival of the grooms and Willard had saved them all. With them had come many of his tenants—from older men whose grey hair gave testimony to their years of service to young fellows eager to prove themselves. They’d brought Mr. Harden, who Simmons had struck down to keep him from his duty. Together, they had opened the gates. Already the channel was filling, the waters lowering at the western edge of the island. Now they would have to wait to see if it was enough. In the meantime, he remanded Simmons into the care of two of his grooms to be taken to the local jail on charges of vandalism, theft, trespassing, and attempted murder.
“I’m sorry I didn’t recognize the danger sooner, Your Grace,” Willard told him as the grooms rode away. “Like you, I thought perhaps Simmons had refused to leave, but I never thought he’d do something like this. Makes me wonder about the fires this past summer.”
“And the difficulties we kept having at the castle,” Alaric agreed, looking to his horse.
“I’ll stay and make sure the channel keeps filling,” Willard offered. “You go after your girls.”
The others were ready to help as needed. With a nod of thanks, Alaric set out once more.
The ride back to the stables felt endless. He had faith that Jane would locate the girls, but part of him feared to find one or more of them hurt. At the very least they would be cold and frightened. He urged his horse faster.
Mr. Quayle met him as he rode in. “The gates?”
“Open,” he said, swinging down. “The waters are receding. Let’s hope they stay that way. The girls?”
“Safe and in the castle,” he said, following Alaric as he started for the house. “But there’s trouble. Your starch-rumped butler sacked Mrs. Kimball.”
He jerked to a stop. “What?”
Quayle nodded. “Claimed all this was her fault. Nonsense. I agreed it was fine for them to go riding, even Lady Belle. None of us had any idea Simmons was on the loose. She doesn’t deserve to be sent packing.”
“And she won’t be,” Alaric said, striding for the house. “Not while I live.”
Mr. Quayle called after him, but Alaric would not be stopped. Jane had done nothing wrong. He would stake his life on it. If anyone was leaving, it would be Parsons.
He found his daughters with the nursemaids in the schoolroom. They’d changed out of their wet habits and into nightgowns that fluttered about their stockinged feet as they ran to him.
“Father, Father, Mrs. Kimball went away!” Belle cried.
“Mr. Parsons wouldn’t even let her collect her things,” Callie said, face puckering. “She’ll need her nightgown. She was wetter than I was because she walked with Belle while we rode ahead.”
She would have. Jane ever did what was best for her girls.
Laris
sa was white. “I don’t want her leave. She’s not a very good governess, but she cares about us.”
“About all of us,” he assured her. He gathered them close a moment. “Don’t worry, girls. I’ll see that she returns.”
“How?” Callie asked, damp curl brushing his chin. “Betsy said that Mr. Parsons said that she would be lucky to catch the mail coach to London.”
Belle nodded. “Mail coaches go very fast.”
He could go faster. Decatur and some of the other horses might be spent, but Belle’s unicorn could catch the mail coach, rain or no rain. Yet what would he say to Jane? Come back, the girls need you.
Come back, I need you.
Come back, I love you.
“Father?” Callie asked, tugging on his sleeve. “Don’t you want Mrs. Kimball to come back?”
More than anything in the world.
He straightened. “I’ll see what I can do. For now, mind Betsy and Maud.” He strode from the room.
His mother met him on the stair. “I just heard. Are the girls all right?”
“Fine,” he said. “I’m going after Jane. Parsons discharged her.”
She nodded. “Terribly high-handed. I’ll speak to him. What are you going to do?”
“Ride after her. Tell her how much she means to his household.” He drew in a breath and met Her Grace’s gaze. “And Mother, I intend to ask her to marry me.”
He waited for the disappointed look, the resignation to her social ruin. His mother snapped a nod. “Good.”
He reared back. “Good? I was under the impression you would take her only under duress. What of your position in Society?”
She looked down her nose. “Who would dare question that?”
No one seeing her now. “And what of the skills you expect in a good duchess?”
His mother waved a hand. “Skills can be taught. Jane is clever; she’ll learn. What’s more important is she makes the girls happy. She makes you happy. Now, go! Bring home your bride.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Jane sat in the mail coach, squeezed between a massive merchant and a fat farmer, as the carriage raced for London. The space was so tight she could barely move. The air was thick with the smell of sausage someone had eaten for breakfast, the mingled cologne of her seatmates, the lemon verbena perfume of the farmer’s wife across from her. The drumming hooves matched her heartbeat.
She tried to count her blessings. She was safe and relatively warm, thanks to the cramped quarters. Mr. Quayle had loaned her a wool coat and the money for inside passage, so at least she wasn’t riding out in the elements like the few other hardy passengers on the top of the coach.
“Least I can do,” the master of horse had said as he’d put her in the duke’s own carriage for the trip to Walton-on-Thames. “And I’m sure we’ll see each other again so you can return the coat.”
She wasn’t nearly so sure. In fact, the future had never looked bleaker. She was leaving Alaric, the girls, and her heart behind. Even if Miss Thorn found her another situation, she didn’t have the stomach for this business. And yet, what choice did she have? She didn’t possess Patience’s temperament to sit with the sickly, nor any experience to commend her to another sort of work. She was eminently suited to serve as provisioner for the cavalry. A shame her gender prevented her from signing up.
Outside came a yell. The farmer and his wife peered out the window.
“Someone’s trying to catch the coach,” she reported.
The merchant pulled his satchel closer. “Must be a highwayman. He should know better than to try to stop His Majesty’s mail.”
The call came again, louder, and the hair stood up on Jane’s arms. It couldn’t be!
A white-coated horse thundered past, the rider’s greatcoat streaming out behind him like wings, and she caught enough of a glimpse to see the hair sticking up off the horse’s forehead like a horn.
“Stop this coach!” Alaric shouted.
“This is the mail,” the driver shouted back. “We stop for no one.”
“I am the Duke of Wey. Stop, or I’ll see you before the king.”
“Duke of Wey,” the merchant said with a snort. “Duke of no way, more like.”
The farmer’s wife nodded. “What sort of duke rides about in the rain, chasing coaches?”
Hers did.
Jane pressed her hand to her chest, as if she could still the hope rising inside her. He’d come for her, come after her. That had to mean something.
She thought for a moment the coachman would refuse, but then the mighty vehicle slowed, came to a stop. The passengers exchanged glances.
Alaric leaped from the unicorn and wrenched open the door. “Jane Kimball, come out!”
Now they all stared at her.
With an apologetic look, Jane shoved past her seatmates and climbed from the coach. The gentlemen on the top of the carriage gazed down at her, as if expecting some sort of farce to play out. She was a little afraid they were about to get their money’s worth.
“We can’t stop long,” the coachman warned Alaric. “We have a schedule to meet.”
“This will only take a moment,” the duke promised. His hair was blown back from his face, his cheeks red. His eyes gleamed green against the grey of the day. He took Jane’s hand in his.
“Forgive me, Jane, for being blind and stupid. Please come home with me.”
She wanted to kiss him; she wanted to push him back and escape before her heart hurt any more. “It’s impossible. I’m a horrid governess. You must see that.”
“You’re an unusual governess,” he allowed. “But I think you’d make the perfect wife and mother.”
Jane stared at him. That tender smile, the gentle squeeze of her hand said he truly was asking her to marry him. She couldn’t believe it. “Really?”
His smile deepened. “Never doubt a duke.”
Still she hesitated. So much stood against them—Larissa, Her Grace, Parsons and the rest of the staff, Society’s expectations, his need for an heir. Yet surely, if they believed in each other, they could overcome the rest.
“Go on, miss!” the farmer’s wife urged. “Say yes. He’s a duke!”
“More than a duke,” he promised Jane. “I’m the man who loves you.”
Jane bit her lip to keep from crying. She’d never thought to hear those words again, to feel the emotion singing through her. She wrapped her arms about him.
“Yes, Alaric, yes! I will marry you.”
The entire mail coach cheered.
“Best wishes, Your Grace, miss,” the coachman said, gathering the reins. “Give His Majesty my regards.” He saluted them with his whip, then shouted to the horses and started down the road at a high rate of speed. The men on the outside waved their hats at her.
As if he feared she’d change her mind, he held her hand as he positioned Belle’s unicorn for mounting. “You’ll have to ride up with me, and we won’t go as fast returning. This brave beast gave her all.”
She touched the horse’s neck with her free hand. “But what a run. Only a unicorn could do so well.”
The horse blinked her eyes against the rain. It was almost as if she’d winked at Jane.
Alaric put his hands on her waist and lifted her to the saddle. Then he swung up behind her. His arms bracing her, he turned the horse and headed back toward the island.
“We have a lot of people to convince,” she told him, warmth percolating into her from his body so close. “It’s not every governess who marries a duke.”
“No one’s opinion matters but yours and mine.”
Jane shook her head. “Spoken like a duke. What about the girls? What about Her Grace?”
“Callie and Belle adore you. And Mother all but ordered me to bring you back.”
Jane laughed. “Because she didn’t want to go looking for another governess, I warrant.”
“Because she expects me to marry you. She told me so herself.”
“I wish Callie had been there to confir
m it,” Jane muttered.
Now he laughed. “Don’t worry, Jane. I’m a duke. I am allowed to make decisions.”
Jane leaned her head back against his chest, fancying that she could hear his heart beating. “Up until now, your decisions have been entirely about your duty. You’ll pardon me if I find the sudden change suspicious.”
His arms tightened around her. “I admit to selfish reasons for wanting to marry you. I love you, Jane. I want you at my side, not up in a schoolroom far out of reach. But the decision doesn’t just benefit me. It gives the girls a mother who cares about them, who will be engaged in their upbringing, who will make sure they don’t turn into the pretty dolls my mother seems to prefer.”
“You’re right there. You couldn’t keep me out of the schoolroom. I intend to see our girls more than once a day. No offense meant.”
“None taken. You reminded me I have a duty not just as a duke but as a father. I will take a greater part in my daughters’ lives as well.”
Jane cuddled closer, relishing the feel of him around her. “Very well. You’ve made your case. I already agreed to be your bride. There’s just one thing.”
“Name it.”
“You get to win over Larissa.”
~~~
Alaric rode into the courtyard of the castle, head high. He rather felt like a conquering hero, returning the fair princess to her rightful place. He still couldn’t quite believe Jane had agreed to his outrageous request. But, meeting her gaze, he knew he’d made the right decision.
Two footmen came out to greet him. He dismounted and lifted Jane from the saddle. “See that this fine steed receives a good rub down and an apple,” he said to one of his staff, laying a hand on the unicorn’s flank. “She saved my life today.”
The footman’s eyes widened, but he took the reins and led the horse toward the stable yard. Alaric turned to the other. “Gather Mrs. Kimball’s things and move them to the best guest chamber.”
“Oh, Alaric, no,” Jane protested. “That isn’t necessary.”
“My bride has no need to sleep in the servants’ quarters,” he said.
