Willoughby 01 - Something About Her

by Jeannie Ruesch

  They didn’t make him suddenly want something he couldn’t define. Something he didn’t want to define.

  He moved forward, only to stop when a very pregnant woman walked out of the door.

  “Now Lady Blythe, why didn’t you wake me? Just let me fall asleep at the table. What a hostess I am,” the woman said with a laugh. She held out her arms. “Here let me take Anna.”

  Blythe brushed lightly at the towhead of the child and shook her head. “She’ll wake up soon enough. And you needed the sleep. Having babies is hard work.” She smiled. “Or so my mother always told me.”

  Michael frowned, annoyed with Blythe, however irrational it was, for not being easy to identify and dismiss.

  Michael cleared his throat to get her attention.

  Both women turned to him, surprise in their widened eyes.

  “Your Grace,” Blythe said, “what are you doing here?”

  “I came to look for you.”

  “Have you not seen enough of me in the last four days?” A small smile softened the edge of her words. The child in her arms stirred slightly, and Blythe gently rubbed a hand down her back.

  The child woke up with a startled cry, took one look up at Michael and began to cry in earnest.

  “Here, let me take Anna.” The woman reached forward to pluck the baby out of Blythe’s arms. “Thank you for taking care of her.”

  Blythe smiled and handed the child to her. “It was my pleasure, Mabel.”

  The woman smiled back. “You always manage to lull her to sleep with your stories.”

  “It could mean that I bore her to sleep.”

  Mabel laughed. “Now you know that’s not true.”

  This was a regular occurrence? Michael wished that just once, Blythe would adhere to the predictable pattern he expected of her. It was deucedly difficult to look upon her as a conniving schemer when she did something so…nice.

  He offered a hand to help her up. She stared at it for a moment before accepting it.

  “So you decided to be a gentleman today?” she said with a small smile.

  “As opposed to the times I…have not been?”

  Blythe laughed. “The very first time I saw you, I was in a similar position. Come now, it was not so long ago. Surely you haven’t forgotten.” She stood and smoothed out her skirt. “You said you came to look for me? What do you need?”

  Right that minute, Michael couldn’t answer that. “I thought you could give me a tour of the village.”

  “You came to the village so I could give you a tour of the village?”

  At a scramble of noise behind him, Michael glanced back as Lord Merewood descended the steps on the ladder and landed on the ground.

  “All fixed.”

  Michael’s confusion must have showed, because Merewood continued, “Arthur here needed some help on his rooftop. He fell off and sprained an ankle while trying to fix the roof last week. So I wanted to make sure it was repaired. It’s the first on my list today. I’ll be helping George next.” He motioned at the cottage across the narrow dirt road. “If you are looking for a tour of Rosemead, Duke, I am happy to offer it to you when I return from helping George. If you’d like to remain here and have tea with the women, that is.”

  Michael narrowed his eyes at the note of challenge he heard in Merewood’s tone.

  Michael turned toward Blythe, and she met his gaze with a questioning glance, one eyebrow raised as if to suggest he wouldn’t dare dirty his hands.

  “I think I can manage helping you.” And if Blythe were right across the way having tea, then Michael would know if she suddenly left to meet someone.

  Blythe’s mouth twitched up at the corners, but she seemed to suppress the smile. She turned toward Mabel. “Think you can stay awake for tea now?” she teased.

  Mabel laughed. “I have a new letter from my sister in London to share. Good gossip always keeps me awake.”

  “I hope she includes more about the footman’s romance with the maid.” Blythe threw a glance in Michael’s direction before heading toward the front of the house again.

  Michael held back a self-satisfied snort. He’d prove to Merewood that he wasn’t an ineffectual idiot and keep an eye on her at the same time.

  Chapter Eleven

  “His Grace is quite handsome.”

  Blythe turned at Mabel’s innocent comment and laughed at the not-so-innocent look of interest on her face. “I suppose one might think so.”

  Mabel turned to ladle hot water from the pot atop the open fire into a tea kettle. “If one were female and breathing.”

  “Now, Mabel, you are a happily married woman with a child on the way,” she teased. “Shame on you.”

  “Now, go on with you. I think he’s quite handsome for you. I’m perfectly content with my Arthur.” She patted her equally rounded belly. “It won’t be long now.”

  Mabel turned to the cupboard to pull down two glasses, but they were a little out of her reach.

  “Here, allow me,” Blythe insisted and hurried around the table to the cupboard. She stood on her toes and reached for two small tea cups. Setting them on the table, she turned back to Mabel. “Are you hoping for a boy or a girl?”

  Mabel nodded toward the open doorway leading to other rooms, where her daughter slept. “We have ourselves a fine little girl. I’d like a boy, one with Arthur’s smile. Although he’d likely end up with Arthur’s stubbornness as well.” She sighed happily. “But I’ll settle for a healthy babe.”

  Blythe looked at Mabel’s full tummy and inklings of envy came over her. Mabel fairly glowed with her pregnancy; she had never seemed happier. Blythe found herself wishing, somewhere deep within her heart, to know what it felt like to carry a child. To carry the child of the man you loved.

  “That one seemed fairly sweet on you.” Mabel reached for an old teapot and placed it on a shelf above the fire to warm it.

  Blythe blinked. “What one?”

  “His Grace.” She pulled a tin out of a cupboard and measured an amount of tea out.

  “He is not the slightest bit sweet on me.” Why did everyone keep saying that?

  Mabel laughed. “Oh, Blythe, he is so. That one is trouble, I imagine.”

  Blythe watched as Mabel removed the warmed teapot and dropped the tea leaves into it. “I had a husband made of trouble, I don’t need another.”

  Mabel scowled. “Not to disrespect the dead, but that Mr. Ashton was a bad man.” She dumped ladles of boiling water into the teapot until it filled, then set the teapot aside to steep. “I saw it right away.”

  It pricked at her pride to know that her friend had seen through Thomas and she hadn’t. “Why didn’t you tell me what you thought?”

  “You were in love. There was naught I could have said to make a whit of difference with that. I could have told you he ate young children lightly toasted with jam for breakfast, and you’d not have believed me.”

  Blythe smiled slightly. “You are probably right.”

  Mabel placed the teapot and cups on a tray, and placed it over to the table. “Oh!” she cried, her hand going immediately to her belly.

  Blythe took a step closer. “Are you all right?”

  “Oh, it kicked me. It’s such a surprise when it does that.” She giggled, almost like a little girl. “There it is again!”

  Blythe stared at the belly in fascination. She could see the slight jiggle, as if something poked at it. A child moving around inside, connected to you in a way no one else ever would be. Gracious, how she wished she could experience that.

  “Would you like to feel it?” Mabel asked softly.

  Blythe caught her breath. “Truly? It…would be all right?”

  Mabel nodded. “Here.” She reached out for Blythe’s hand, and Blythe took a step closer and let Mabel guide her hand to the lower part of her belly. It was smooth, solid and warm to the touch. But nothing moved.

  “I don’t feel-” She gasped. She felt a tiny fluttering under her fingers. And then slightly stronger,
the fluttering pushed against her hand. “Oh, my goodness.” Her eyes wide, she met her friend’s excited gaze. “It’s wonderful, Mabel.”

  Mabel reached down and grabbed her hand to squeeze it. “You should have a babe. Or ten. You’re so good with them.” She grinned. “I imagine that handsome duke would oblige.”

  “Stop that,” Blythe said with a half-laugh. “And besides, I am perfectly happy just as things are.”

  “You know that I know you’re lying?”

  Blythe made a face at her. “You’re supposed to pretend I’m not. Isn’t that what friends do?”

  “Ye can’t choose who you love, Blythe. Don’t blame yourself for what went wrong with Thomas. It wasn’t your fault. He deceived you. He lied to ye.” Mabel poured tea into one of the cups. “And don’t you pass up that delicious man out there.”

  “Delicious?” Blythe hid a smile behind her cup. He was definitely that.

  “I’m pregnant, not blind.”

  ****

  Michael’s head had begun to pound in time with the hammer Merewood relentlessly banged against the wooden frame of the house.

  He’d always considered himself intelligent, useful…purposeful even. He had a seat in the House of Lords. He’d turned his family’s dismal accounts into a wealth ten times what it had been before.

  He glanced over at Merewood, who bent over a slate of wood, intent on hammering in the nails along the bottom. It was the last length of wood needed to replace part of a wall that had rotted with time.

  He didn’t much care for the feelings of…well, what was he feeling anyway? Besides utter irritation at the woman who’d gotten under his skin. If he hadn’t been forced to look for her, he’d never have gotten into this situation. And then he wouldn’t be here, making a bloody ass out of himself.

  Why did he need to know how to build a wall anyway?

  He strained his neck a little to peer back at Arthur and Mabel’s cottage just across the way, as he’d done every five minutes since walking over here with Merewood. It was past three o’clock now, and he was not about to let Blythe sneak out of sight. No, she sat right on the front porch, a child in her arms, talking with Mabel. He hadn’t missed the furtive glances she had sent his way, or the many obvious ones Mabel had sent. He knew he was being discussed.

  He just wished he knew what they said.

  George, the elderly man who lived in the cottage being repaired, came to a slow stop at Michael’s side. His craggy, lined face followed the direction of Michael’s gaze. “She’s a beauty.”

  Michael squared his shoulders. “Who is?” He turned to continue his task and realized there was nothing left to do.

  George stared at him with knowing eyes. “She’s a Lady to the very depths of her soul, and she’s seen enough heartache for one so young.”

  Irritation needled him. Why did everyone seem to feel the need to warn him not to hurt the conniving, young beauty? Had she snowed them so completely?

  “Heartache?” he echoed casually.

  “Aye. That Ashton fellow was no good.” Feminine laughter floated toward them, and George threw a fond glance at Blythe and Mabel. “His leaving was the best thing he could have done for her.”

  Michael’s heart pumped harder. “His leaving?”

  “She was so happy on her wedding day, too,” George added with a frown. “It was such a shame to be abandoned like that. She was just a young girl in love.”

  Michael’s mind reeled. Her wedding day? Thomas had left her on their wedding day? But the reports Keenan offered said his wife had been with him until two months prior.

  It didn’t add up.

  “At least he didn’t leave her with a babe,” George added with a nod for good measure. “Of course—” he leaned in closer, and whispered, “‘tis said he left not an hour past saying his vows, so I don’t see how he could have.”

  “Where did he go?” Michael asked.

  “Don’t rightly know. All I know is he left her here with a broken heart. And sweet Lady she is, she still came to visit the children every week, twice at times.”

  The hammering stopped, and Michael looked back as Merewood headed toward them. George ambled off toward his house, and Merewood stopped when he stood next to Michael.

  “Tire your ears, did he?” Merewood asked casually, yet there was nothing casual about the man.

  “He likes to talk.”

  “He’s a bigger gossip than most of the women in this village. Always knows everything and never keeps it to himself.”

  “Just…heresay then?” Michael couldn’t resist asking. “Not a word to be believed?”

  “Actually, I’ve never known him to be wrong.”

  Another wave of laughter touched Michael’s ears. She looked so happy, so comfortable on the little cottage porch, a babe in her lap and a villager to gossip with.

  “Time to call it a day, I believe,” Merewood interrupted.

  Michael nodded in agreement, though his mind whirled in a dozen different directions.

  George’s comments about Blythe didn’t fit what he believed.

  Nothing about her did.

  Chapter Twelve

  “I think he fancies her.”

  At her sister’s words, Blythe closed her eyes, standing steps away from the open doorway to the sun room where her sisters were.

  “Do you think he wants to marry her?” Georgiana’s youthful voice sounded wistful.

  “Then we’d have a duke in our family. I could have a fabulous season. If we ever left for London, that is.”

  Blythe leaned back against the wall. She didn’t think the Duke fancied her. At times, she would have actually said he didn’t even like her much. But her stomach did a tiny flip, anyway.

  If he did….

  “Do you think he would make her happy again?” Lily’s voice was gentle, as always.

  Blythe smiled and opened her eyes. Lily worried for everyone. She was so silent most often, sitting on the sidelines writing in her books and journals, most people failed to see how very much she noticed.

  “He’s a Duke. How could he not make her happy?” Cordelia asked in a haughty tone no sixteen year old should have acquired yet. “He could make her a Duchess, and nothing could be better.”

  “Do you think he…” Georgiana giggled, “…loves her?”

  Blythe gasped, and heat rose to her face. This was inappropriate for them to be gossiping. And inexcusable for her to be listening.

  And yet…she strained a little closer to hear the response.

  “Did you tire on your way to the sun room and need a rest?”

  Blythe’s stomach lurched at the familiar, amused tone. She looked up at the Duke, standing a few steps down the hallway.

  Oh good heavens, how much had he heard?

  She bit her lip. If she spoke, her sisters would know she was eavesdropping. If she didn’t—

  “I think he does.” Lily’s words followed by a heartfelt sigh floated into the hallway.

  Oh dear. Blythe pushed herself from the wall and hurried toward the Duke. She had to get him out of there before he heard more.

  “Dukes do not feel love. They simply make acceptable choices for brides, and Blythe is perfectly acceptable.” Cordelia’s strong, full tone carried out to their ears.

  Blythe slowed her step, and met the duke’s wry amusement.

  “Your Grace—”

  “Michael,” he corrected, as he did every time she tried to maintain a proper formality between them.

  No time to quibble. “Michael, perhaps you might join me for a walk in the garden?” She kept her voice intentionally low, so her sisters would not hear.

  “I’d be delighted,” he said. “In just a moment.” He took steps past her toward the sun room.

  She whirled around. “Now!” Not two seconds later, she heard the patter of feet as her sisters came to stand in the doorway.

  “Your Grace.” Cordelia raised in eyebrow. “Blythe. Imagine finding you two here.”

  “Y
es, imagine that,” the duke said just soft enough for Blythe to hear.

  Blythe refused to look at him. “I was just…”

  “Eavesdropping, I believe is the word,” the duke interrupted, obviously highly amused. “And I cannot blame her, as your conversation was quite fascinating.”

  “It is perfectly polite to discuss a future brother-in-law,” Cordelia said.

  “Yet I have not proposed, and it is not polite in the least to decide aloud that ‘dukes do not feel love.’ In fact, I find it rather…” he paused, “insulting.”

  “Your Grace, perhaps we might take that walk now?” She forced a light-hearted tone. She might have doubts about his affections, but she had none about her own. They were firmly affixed on his handsome head.

  “Blythe?”

  She snapped her gaze to his. “I’m sorry…what did you say?”

  “I said I would be happy to take a walk with you.”

  She shook her head. “No, I just remembered…I have…something to do. I beg your pardon. Please excuse me.”

  She clutched her skirts in her fists and ran up the stairs, not stopping to look back or even to breathe. After gaining entry to her room, she slammed the door shut. For good measure, she turned the never-used lock to lock herself in.

  She took a deep breath. A locked door stood between her and the object of her affection.

  So she had developed feelings. It was nothing. Minor, really. Inconsequential.

  She took a few steps into the room and sank on her bed. The realization sank in her stomach like a lead weight.

  It wasn’t minor at all.

  And wasn’t that simply the worst choice she could have made.

  ****

  Michael stood at the closed door, debating whether or not to knock.

  All he needed to ensure was that she didn’t leave the grounds without him. If she were locked in this room, then he could leave. He had a stack of correspondence his solicitor had forwarded to him, including a letter from Keenan.

  And yet, here he stood.

  He rapped his fingers on the door. No answer.

  With an irritated sigh, he knocked harder. “Blythe? It’s Michael.”

  “Do go away, please.”