“Marianne Shelton was everything I had ever wanted in a woman, in a wife, but I was too stubborn to acknowledge it. It took nearly losing her to bring me to my senses. And then it required a far-fetched and nearly disastrous scheme or two to bring her to hers.” He grinned. “Plus one of my poems.”
Jonathon winced. “You wrote her a poem? And she married you anyway?”
“Difficult to believe, I know.” The duke cast his son a wry glance. “It’s the sentiment that’s important, my boy, much more than the execution.”
“Thank God,” Jonathon murmured.
“Thank God indeed.” His father laughed. “So…” He studied his son. “Who is she?”
Jonathon started guiltily. “Who is who?”
“The woman who has put that look upon your face.”
“I have no look,” Jonathon said staunchly. “And there is no woman.”
“It is of great joy to a father when he realizes that his son does not lie well,” the duke said in a dry manner. “It means he has had little experience in doing so.”
“I may be improving,” Jonathon muttered, then blew a long breath. “It seems I have embroiled myself in an awkward situation. The future of a young woman is at stake.”
His father’s eyes narrowed. “Oh?”
“It’s not as bad as it sounds,” he said quickly. “Well, it is, but it’s not—”
“An indiscretion?”
“No, nothing like that.” Yet, a voice in the back of his head noted. He ignored it. “I have no idea how to describe it, Father. Suffice it to say it is a long, confusing story and it makes me look like something of an idiot, which, in truth, I was. I certainly feel like an idiot.”
“I see,” the duke murmured.
“Which is why I have no choice, really, but to lend her my assistance now. It’s the least I can do.”
“Yes, of course.”
“I feel a sense of obligation, as it were. While it is not entirely my fault that she’s in the position she is in, I did not help matters.”
“That is a problem. And is there a solution?”
“There is always a solution,” Jonathon said with a confidence he did not quite feel, and sipped his champagne. Thus far the solution was to support Fiona and her sisters financially while letting her believe she was supporting herself. It was not a perfect solution, nor was it permanent. There was, of course, a permanent solution.
His gaze again turned to his sister and her husband. “When did you decide to marry her? Mother, that is?”
“When I realized my life was not worth living without her,” the duke said simply. “Marriage was a small enough price to pay to keep her by my side, and indeed, as it turned out, it was not a price at all but rather the greatest gift I have ever had. Still, I suppose doubt is inevitable when one considers a step that will change the course of one’s life.”
“Nicholas hasn’t suffered from such doubts. He’s wanted to marry Lizzie from the moment he saw her again.”
“Ah, but Nicholas lost her once and obviously learned from that loss. Which means he is probably wiser than the rest of us. Few people have the opportunity for a second chance and even fewer are smart enough to grab it. That these two have found one another again speaks of a bond between them that may well last for the rest of their days.” He paused. “Which brings us back to fate. And love.”
“How did he know?” Jonathon huffed in frustration. “How did you know?”
“I wish I could answer that, but I can’t. I have no idea. I only know one minute I was trying to get rid of her and the next I was doing everything in my power to keep her.” The duke considered his son for a long moment. “If you care for this woman—”
“In truth, I don’t know how I feel.” Jonathon shook his head. “She’s amusing and clever and has a great deal of talent and I enjoy her company. More than I expected. But I find her most confusing. Or at least I am most confused when in her presence. It is as though my life is no longer under my direction when I am with her. And I don’t like it one bit.”
“How do you feel when you are not with her?”
“Confused as well. She is like a melody I cannot get out of my head.” Jonathon thought for a moment. “She’s lovely, Father, and I do feel a great deal of desire for her. But…” He shook his head. “There’s more to it than that. I don’t know how to explain it.”
“Love, perhaps?”
“No,” Jonathon said without thinking. “Or rather, I don’t know. I don’t believe I’ve ever been in love, so I’m not sure I would recognize it if I saw it.” His gaze met his father’s. “I could certainly use some advice.”
“From someone older and more experienced and full of sage words of wisdom that will guide you through this dilemma?”
“Yes?”
“That would be your mother,” the duke said wryly. “At least on this topic.”
Jonathon groaned. “I could never talk to Mother about this. If she even suspected I was confused about my feelings for a woman, she’d declare it love, plan a wedding far grander than this one and have me married before I could so much as take a breath.”
His father chuckled. “Indeed she would.”
“Father, I am serious. I don’t know what to do.”
“Very well, for what it’s worth my advice is to do nothing at the moment. Continue the course you’re on with this woman. Either you will realize, as I did, that you cannot live without her and then your path will be clear, or you will discover whatever it is that you’ve felt has passed.”
Jonathon grimaced. “That’s not very sage.”
“I told you your mother would be better at this. However, if you insist…” The duke paused to pull his thoughts together. “All I really know is that lust will get you into all sorts of trouble in this world. But love, love will kill you. Still…” His gaze once again turned to his wife, he smiled in a most satisfied manner and raised his glass in a toast. “It’s a magnificent end and a glorious way to go.”
Hours later, after a lengthy day in which his presence was required far longer than he’d wished, Jonathon at last took his leave and now wandered through his new home. He had arranged to purchase the overly furnished town house from Nicholas, who had owned it for less than two months. Nicholas had bought it only because it was located next door to Lizzie’s house. Its purchase was part of his strategy to work his way back into her affections. Now that they were wed, they saw no need to keep both establishments. They planned to sell Lizzie’s and acquire an entirely different house that did not carry the ghosts of the past along with it. Jonathon was toying with the idea of buying Lizzie’s house as well, simply for the purposes of investment. The properties were in an excellent location.
Of course, it wasn’t as if Jonathon did not already have a house of his own, even if he had been residing of late at Effington House. But his residence was still under repair and had been for months, thanks to an untimely accident this past summer, a fire, the origin of which was still unclear.
The house had been in the possession of Cavendish while Jonathon was at the Effington estate in the country. Jonathon still did not know the exact details, only that it involved Cavendish and an actress. The mention of a parrot was made as well, although at that point in his friend’s explanation Jonathon had decided he preferred not to hear anything more. It was enough that Cavendish was funding the repairs, as slow as they were, and Jonathon had learned a valuable lesson about loaning his home to anyone whose own house was under repair because of an incident of flooding, the details of which were, again, not clear. Things seemed to happen around Cavendish, usually including a combination of women and spirits and culminating in the occasional life-threatening disaster.
Regardless of the events leading up to his purchase, Jonathon was not at all displeased. He had rather liked the place from the moment he’d stepped in the door, although liked might not be as appropriate a word as fascinated. And tonight, lit by gaslight with strange looming shadows and the odd occasio
nal creak caused by the footstep of a servant or the settling of ancient timbers, it was even more intriguing.
Jonathon paused in the doorway of the parlor and glanced around. This room and nearly every other one in the house was quite simply stuffed with furniture and curiosities. The previous owner was a bit of an eccentric and had apparently never encountered an oddity he did not feel the need to purchase. He had sold the house and all its contents to Nicholas at an exorbitant price, which Nicholas then passed on to Jonathon without profit, given that they were to be related.
In the parlor alone there were at least two sofas and three times that many chairs, plus tables, clocks, statues and any number of items whose actual purpose was in question, with scarcely a free inch of space to be found anywhere. It was perhaps the most bizarre place Jonathon had ever seen. In spite of that or, more probably, because of it, he…well, he liked it.
The only empty spaces in the room were where pieces of Nicholas’s antique Chinese porcelain had been placed. The extensive collection was now packed in crates and stacked in the front entry. Jonathon had told Nicholas he needn’t worry about his pottery and there was no need for haste in removing it from the premises, but Nicholas had insisted on having it safely crated nonetheless. Perhaps in fear that that Cavendish might arrive for an unexpected and possibly ill-fated stay.
Jonathon chuckled at the thought and crossed the foyer, skirting around the crates, to the library, although to call it a library in the sense of a place to house books was an insult to a true library. The libraries at the Effington residences were spacious and well ordered and lined with books elegantly positioned on floor-to-ceiling shelves. This library was a den of happy chaos with stuffed heads of large animals staring from the walls. Suits of armor ready for battle were propped in the corners. Here were bronze statues, unidentified antiquities and ancient pieces of painted pottery haphazardly crammed into any available space, nearly obscuring shelves of disordered books that formed a vague background to the pandemonium that was, in this house, the library.
He stepped into the room under the crossed spears of two larger-than-life Nubian statues. He liked them as well.
A throat cleared behind him.
“Yes, Edwards?” Jonathon glanced over his shoulder at his—or rather, Nicholas’s—butler.
Edwards, as well as the rest of the staff, was on loan to Jonathon until such time as they could be incorporated into Nicholas and Lizzie’s new household. Jonathon was most grateful, as much of his previous staff had been hired—pirated, really—by Cavendish’s mother, a most determined lady. God knows what had happened to her own servants. In his darker moments, Jonathon questioned the accidental nature of the fire.
“Do you require anything else this evening, my lord?” Edwards said.
“No, Edwards.” Jonathon nodded. “You may retire if you wish.”
“Thank you, my lord.” A faint note of gratitude sounded in the butler’s voice. It had probably been an exceptionally long day for him as well.
“Before you go, I must confess I am curious as to, well”—Jonathon gestured at the room—“all this. What do you think of it?”
“It’s…unusual, sir.”
Jonathon nodded at a hat stand fabricated from antlers. “Unusual is something of an understatement. Come, now, Edwards, what do you really think?”
“Very well, my lord.” Edwards thought for a moment. “I have visited museums that did not house collections as extensive.”
“As have I.” Jonathon grinned. “I gather you were not employed by the previous owner of the house, then?”
“No, sir. I was hired by Sir Nicholas,” Edwards said coolly. “There was no staff when he purchased the residence. The house had been maintained but unused for a number of years, as the previous owner preferred to reside in the country.”
“Do you know anything about him, Edwards? The previous owner, that is. Was he a world traveler? An explorer of some sort?”
“I believe he was simply very wealthy with questionable taste, sir.”
Jonathon laughed. “I like it, though. It’s interesting. One could explore within the confines of this room, let alone this house, for a very long time and never see everything. It’s an adventurous sort of place.”
“Lady Langley’s children, or rather I should say Lady Collingsworth’s children, did seem to enjoy it.” The tiniest hint of a smile tugged at the corners of Edwards’s lips and Jonathon realized the man was not your usual sort of butler. And wondered as well if, in the best spirit of Lady Cavendish, Jonathon might not be above a bit of servant piracy himself.
“I can see why my nephews would like it. I daresay any boy worth his salt would love it here.” Jonathon glanced around with satisfaction, feeling not unlike a small boy himself. “It’s a place where boys can be boys.”
“Boys of any age, my lord?” Edwards said mildly.
“Probably.” Jonathon laughed. “You must admit, the surroundings are decidedly male in nature and appeal.”
“It is my understanding that the previous owner, a Lord Halstrom, I believe, was advanced in age and widowed for many years.”
“There is certainly a lack of female influence. There’s not a hint of anything remotely feminine anywhere in sight.” Jonathon chuckled. “This may well be the natural habitat of a man with no obligations to the sensibilities of a woman.”
“Indeed,” Edwards murmured. “If that is all for this evening, then, my lord?”
“Yes, of course. Good evening, Edwards.”
The butler nodded and took his leave. Jonathon made his way through what was little more than a cleared pathway leading farther into the room and ending at a large desk inlaid with mother-of-pearl and intricately carved with dragons and other fanciful beasts in a Chinese style. The top of the desk was bare, in stark contrast to every other surface in the room, only because Nicholas had used this desk from which to run his considerable business interests.
Jonathon settled in the chair behind the desk. Everything here suited him in an odd sort of way, appealed to a sense of exotic adventure, perhaps, that he wasn’t aware he had. This was where he would finish the writing for Fiona’s Book—or rather A Fair Surrender. It shouldn’t take him more than a day or two, really. He simply needed to concentrate on the task at hand without the distraction of a lingering scent of spring or brilliant green eyes or a smile that twisted his soul. Certainly here he could focus on what he needed to do without interruption. Here there would be no tempting, fiery-haired goddesses with immoral offers on their lovely lips and something he was almost afraid to name in their eyes.
No, this would be the perfect place to work, alone and with his own muse, who, in his mind, had never looked the least bit like Fiona Fairchild. Although at the moment he couldn’t remember what his muse did look like, because whenever he attempted to conjure her up the only face that appeared was Fiona’s. Damn the woman anyway. Best not to think of muses or goddesses or anything other than the task at hand: an erotic literary accompaniment to drawings of a suggestive, if artistic, nature. He groaned to himself. Certainly that would keep his thoughts from dwelling on Fiona only if he were long dead and buried.
He flattened his hands on the desk and drew a deep breath. Surely he could keep his baser instincts at bay. He was a man of accomplishment, after all. His success in investment ventures had not come easy, but had been achieved nonetheless. He’d been well trained in the responsibilities of his position as his father’s heir and no one questioned his abilities to assume the dukedom when that time came. His writing might not have been published as of yet, but he had no intention of abandoning the effort. Determination and perseverance were part of his very nature. He could certainly finish the story once he set his mind to it.
He would begin first thing in the morning and continue to write until A Fair Surrender was completed. The quicker he finished, the sooner he could get a sample of the book produced to show to Fiona. Then it was simply a matter of leading her to believe subscriptions w
ere pouring in and the book would be a great success. Within a week or two he could present her with a bank draft, an amount substantial but not so large as to trigger any suspicion on her part. That would alleviate her need to wed anyone in a hasty manner, especially Whatshisname, should he ever appear. She could take her time and eventually find a husband to her liking. It really shouldn’t be difficult, given her looks and family and inheritance. The oddest twinge struck him at just how easy it might well be for Fiona to find a suitable husband and he disregarded it. In no time at all any obligation Jonathon might have to Fiona would be alleviated and she, and her sisters, would be off his hands entirely and he could go on with his life unimpeded.
I simply wished to get her off my hands and out of my life.
His father’s words echoed in his head and he pushed them aside. This was entirely different. His parents had been destined for one another, fated to be together.
Jonathon and Fiona. It sounds…right. As if it were meant to be.
Complete and utter nonsense.
As you are not yet married, it does indeed seem like destiny or providence or something of that nature.
The height of absurdity.
Because I am perfect for you.
And what if she was? He scoffed. It scarcely mattered at the moment. He would not be forced into marriage with Fiona or anyone else because of an agreement made while under the mistaken belief that he was the victim of a hoax. Perhaps someday when he was ready to marry…
What if she was taken by then?
He ignored the question and ignored as well the heavy weight that settled in his stomach at the thought. He might well lose her forever, not that he truly had her to lose. The problem was he didn’t know what he wanted when it came to Fiona. And until he could answer that, it was best to carry on with his plan. If nothing else, it would provide time for him to understand his own feelings. And wasn’t that what both his father and Judith had advised him to do?
This house was the ideal setting in which to get on with it without the distractions that arose whenever females of any type were about. As he and Edwards had agreed, this was a distinctly masculine domicile. The place spoke of collections, of acquisitions, chosen only for their value or their curious natures or their unique appearance rather than frivolous reasons. There was nothing of an emotional nature here. It could well indeed have been a museum.
Let It Be Love Page 19
