Duke Du Jour

by Petie McCarty

  “You are not Reston,” Bullen said flatly. “I knew it from the first day.”

  Jared took a deep breath. “You are wrong. I am Reston, just not the seventh duke. I am Jared Philip Bartholomew Langley, thirteenth Duke of Reston, and I wish to hell I knew how I got here.”

  Dexter and Bullen gaped at him.

  “What the deuce are you talking about?” Dexter exploded. “There cannot be a thirteenth duke!”

  “There can be and there is. I come from the twenty-first century. And no, I am not crazy.”

  “Bloody hell,” Bullen whispered.

  “Look at my face,” Jared pleaded. “You both thought I was Seven.”

  Dexter and his brother eyed him narrowly.

  “How?” the earl wanted to know.

  Jared took another deep breath.

  In for a penny, in for a pound.

  “I am fairly certain I time-traveled here via a fountain in the herb garden at Haverly. I had gone for a walk—in my own time, er, the future—to clear my head.”

  “Why?” Dexter interrupted. “Were you crazy?”

  “No, I meant just to get my thoughts together. I had just broken off my engagement.”

  “You were dallying with Lady Ariana when you were just engaged?” Bullen roared.

  “In the future!” Jared shot back. “If you two will just let me finish.”

  Bullen snapped his mouth shut. Dexter nodded to go on.

  “My fiancée, Eddy—Edwina—had been cheating on me, so I gave her…What do you call it? Her congé? Disgusted with myself for having asked her to marry me in the first place, I went for a walk and found an overgrown area in the back garden that I could not recall. I spend most of my time in London, you see.”

  “Now that I believe,” Bullen muttered.

  Jared scowled at him, but kept going. “There was a fountain in the garden…”

  He scrubbed a palm down his face, took time to choose his words carefully. This is where they would lock him up in Bedlam—or not. Truth only. These two men could smell a lie at a hundred meters.

  “I am not sure what happened next. I had a raging headache, so I leaned over the fountain to scoop some water over my face and neck. Next thing I knew, the fountain was in an herb garden, and Cook was accusing me of getting drunk and falling in.” He looked at Bullen. “You showed up just minutes later.”

  The two were giving Jared that damnable you-sprouted-a-second-head look that made him want to roar.

  Bullen narrowed his eyes. “You were dressed in those ridiculous clothes, and you were sopping wet, I remember.”

  “That is right! I was!” Jared eyed Dexter pointedly. “Then you showed up, the cart crashed into the fountain, and now I cannot get back to the future.”

  Dexter’s eyes bugged out of his head, and he flew to his feet. “No! No! No! You are not implying that old fountain was magic. That is bollocks, and you know it! There is no such thing as magic.”

  “I wonder what you’d do if you met David Copperfield,” Jared muttered under his breath.

  “What was that?”

  “Nothing. All I am saying is I fell in the fountain and ended up here, so I assume I must fall in the fountain again to get back home.”

  “Like some portal,” Bullen offered.

  “Maybe. But I have to try. If I stay, I could alter the course of history in some way.”

  Dexter sat down hard in the wing chair. “Bloody hell.”

  Jared handed him another scotch and poured another for himself and Bullen. The two sipped quietly for a few minutes, neither saying a word. At least no footmen had been called to haul him off to Bedlam.

  “You were too nice to be my brother,” Bullen said finally.

  “Thank you, I think.”

  “And you cared too much about the tenants.”

  “The stash we found will help them.”

  Bullen nodded.

  “What stash?” Dexter wanted to know.

  “Six had an emergency stash of jewels that Seven never found,” Jared told him.

  “Ah. Have you shared your time-travel secret with Lady Ariana?”

  Jared shook his head. “I only told her I had to go away for a long while and did not know when I might return.”

  “You told her at the cottage in Spitalfields, didn’t you?” Bullen accused.

  Jared nodded.

  “Bloody hell,” Dexter muttered.

  “Could you find something else to say?” Jared groused.

  “Blast and damn! How’s that?”

  “Whatever.”

  “Well, we need to escort Lady Ariana back to Wakefield,” Bullen said quietly. “She said she wanted to go home at least six times tonight.”

  Jared winced.

  “And I told her we would take her tomorrow.”

  There was a knock at the door.

  “Come,” Jared called.

  Bucky stepped in carrying a silver salver with a letter on it. “I apologize, Yer Grace. This missive arrived early this evening, and in all the uproar with yer return, I forgot it.”

  Jared grabbed the envelope and thumbed it open, pulled out the parchment, and read the scrawled lines. The air whooshed out of him as though he had taken a punch. His head began to pound.

  “What is it?” Dexter was on his feet. “You have gone a bit pale.”

  Jared stared at his brother. “It’s from Heddy. Clyde Cromartie showed up three days ago and fixed the fountain.”

  “Shite,” Bullen whispered. “Now you’ll go back.”

  Dexter sat back down. “Bloody hell.”

  ****

  The morning dawned sunny and mild. Too bad Jared’s humor was anything but. He had to go back to Haverly, and he had to tell Ari something before he left, in case he never returned.

  Dexter was already in the mews, busily saddling his own hunter, when Jared walked in. “I sent the stable lads to the kitchen to get a couple baskets of food for our journey.” The earl looked up. “Are you all right? You are looking a bit green this morning.”

  “I didn’t sleep well.”

  Dexter’s brows rose.

  “Fine. I didn’t sleep at all. I shall have to tell Ari good-bye before I go back to Haverly.”

  “Are you that certain the fountain will work?”

  Jared shrugged. “The fountain is how I arrived.”

  Dexter tightened the girth. “So you intend to tell her good-bye and just saunter off. Have I got that right?”

  “I can’t stay, damn you!”

  “Do you love her?”

  “I—” He paced several steps right, then back again. “It doesn’t matter whether I do or not if I have to leave.”

  “You are a deuced fool.”

  Jared stomped into the stall to get Hammer.

  Herford appeared in the stable’s open doors and nodded at Dexter. “Morning, my lord.”

  “Are you coming with us, too?”

  “No, sir. I came here with the information His Grace had requested.”

  Jared walked the big stallion out to the hitching post. “I am here, Herford.”

  “I have the information on Lord Dalton you wanted,” he said in a low voice.

  Jared ignored Dexter’s brows flying up to his hairline. “Yes, what do you have?”

  “The baron is in debt up to his eyeballs with no way out. He was the one what brought Lady Wilder to London last week, so we are also investigating a connection there.”

  Jared smirked. “I doubt you will find one. The man is too dense to be involved in an intricate plot, but best of luck with your search. The debts are enough for me. Send your bill to my solicitor for payment.”

  “Yes, Your Grace. Safe journeys.”

  When the runner had gone, Dexter rounded on him. “You are going back and leaving Ariana behind, but you intend to eliminate your competition for her hand before you go?” he asked, incredulous.

  “Would you have her marry an insolvent bounder?” Jared shot back. “Who has been shagging Lady Wilder and al
l the maids at his estate?”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Servants talk.”

  Dexter opened his mouth and promptly shut it again.

  “I didn’t think so.” Jared grabbed his saddle blanket and threw it on Hammer’s back. Then he swung the saddle atop the blanket, careful to keep busy and not look at Dexter when he added, “I thought maybe you could marry Ariana.”

  Saying the words sent a stabbing pain through his chest, but devil take it, he wanted to be sure Ari had someone good. Someone Jared trusted to look after her when he was gone. No sound came from the other side of the horse, and when he finally glanced over the top of the saddle, damned if he wasn’t getting that detestable you-sprouted-a-second-head look again.

  “Stop that!” he shouted at the earl. “Any look but that one!”

  “What look is that, you idiotic bugger?”

  “The one where I have—” he growled. “Oh, never mind.”

  “I do mind, and I have this strange tendency not to offer marriage to a woman who is in love with someone else,” Dexter snapped.

  “B-but I thought you cared about Ari,” he stumbled.

  “I do. Very much, and I wish I had found her first, but I could not climb into bed at night with a woman who dreams of another.”

  Jared took a step toward him, hands curled into fists. The image of Dexter seducing Ari made him want to take the earl apart. He had not thought that far ahead with his stupid plan, only to the part where someone trustworthy took care of Ari—not slept with her. The pain flaring in his chest almost choked him.

  “I just want her to be well cared for,” he said softly, the words expanding the lump already in his throat.

  “Then stay, damn you!” the earl ordered, without a shred of sympathy.

  Jared looked away. “I can’t.”

  “Then you give up your say in the matter.” Dexter led his horse from the stable without a backward glance.

  The trip to Wakefield seemed interminable to Jared. Dexter only gave him one-word responses and only when forced. Ari ignored him completely, choosing to ride alongside Bullen at the front of their party. Even Harry ignored him, keeping pace next to Ari’s mare Medusa. She had eschewed her aunt’s carriage and had once again donned her stable lad clothes, so she could ride astride in order to “arrive home with all speed.” Only Bullen would speak at any length to Jared, but mostly his brother gave him long sorrowful looks.

  Jared couldn’t decide if the looks were oh, I am going to miss you, brother or how could you be such an imbecile as to return to the future and leave Ariana? Maybe that last thought was all Jared’s own.

  The group rode hard, resting the horses only when necessary, and traveling well past sunset. This time when the group stopped at a posting inn, Ari had her own room, and much to Jared’s consternation, had taken her dinner and her breakfast there as well. He had no chance to get her alone to try to explain what he could. Which was what? That he was a time traveler? She would think he had only dallied with her, knowing he would eventually be going home.

  He thanked God for what must have been the fiftieth time that he had never let their intimacy progress, and every time he did, the stabbing pain resurrected at the left side of his chest. He had no memory to carry back with him of making love to Ari. No memory to last him the rest of his days.

  As the group neared Wakefield Manor, Bullen sidled his horse to the rear to pace alongside Jared’s stallion.

  “You have to tell her, you know,” his brother said grimly.

  “Tell her what precisely? That I am from the future? And have her thinking me daft for the rest of her days?”

  Jared refused to look at him, could not stand that look in his should-be brother’s eyes. God, he would miss him. Not Seven’s brother, Jared’s very own. He had discovered when faced with the surety of his return to the future, he had grown to love Bullen very much. His friend the Earl of Dexter as well. Though he would never tell them so and risk looking like a wuss as well as a nutcase.

  “She deserves the truth,” Bullen pressed, “and you damned well know it.”

  “If she finds out I am a time traveler, she will think I only intended to dally while I was here.”

  “Then convince her. You owe her that much.”

  “She is not speaking to me, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

  “Find a way,” Bullen retorted and spurred his mount back to the front.

  When the group reached Wakefield’s stables, Ari slipped away amongst the cluster of grooms and stable lads who rushed out to get their horses and greet them. She was inside the manor house before Jared could get clear. Harry at least returned to his side, promptly sat down on his boot, and stared up at him.

  Jared took one look at the big black wolfhound’s sorrow-filled eyes only a canine could manage. “Not you, too!”

  Harry whimpered.

  Dexter came up behind him. “You need to tell her. You cannot leave that for Bullen or me to do, you ham-fisted scoundrel.”

  Jared cast his gaze heavenward to seek patience with his response. A secret part of him was happy his friend cared enough to steer him on the right path.

  “Ho there! You’re back!” Wakefield strode toward them, beaming a radiant smile. “Thank you for bringing my daughter safely home.”

  “I have to talk to him first,” Jared muttered to Dexter.

  “Just make certain you do the right thing.”

  Bullen had mounted up again.

  “Where are you off to?” Jared asked him.

  “To Haverly. Been gone too long already.” He gave Jared a pointed do-what-you-were-told look. “I will meet you back there.” After briefly greeting Wakefield, he cantered his gelding down the long drive.

  The earl clapped Jared and Dexter hard on the back. “Got your note last evening, Lord Dexter. So glad you were successful running those highwaymen to ground. But spies, you say?”

  “It is a long story,” Dexter said wearily.

  “One I would love to hear. Let us head to my library. I have just received an excellent case of French brandy we can sample.”

  At Dexter’s raised brows—since there was still a blockade on receiving French goods—Wakefield only coughed and sauntered toward the house.

  “There is something I need to speak to you about right away,” Jared said, keeping pace with Wakefield.

  The old earl stopped dead and turned such a hopeful expression at Jared, he could only stare back.

  Devil take it! He thinks I am going to offer for Ari.

  He felt as though his knees had been knocked from beneath him.

  “Keep moving,” Dexter muttered from Jared’s right side.

  “To the library,” Jared told Wakefield.

  He liked the masculine room right off, hadn’t really paid much attention when he and the others were here after Wakefield’s ball and the assassin’s attempt. Paneled with dark wood, the library had rich burgundy leather wing chairs in two groups, flanked by a matching chaise and a dark gold brocade settee off to the side. A bright fire gave the room a cheerful cozy air. Too bad Jared felt anything but cozy. French doors slightly ajar let in plenty of light and allowed a view of Wakefield’s well-tended gardens. Gardens where Jared and Ariana had strolled. He shook off the thought.

  Wakefield poured brandy in the first glass, and Dexter called to him, “None for me, sir. I must be going. Reston can fill you in on everything.”

  Dexter gave a small salute as he strolled past Jared and whispered, “I detest good-byes.”

  His eyes oddly glistened, and Jared swallowed back the lump in his throat—could only nod. With a clap to Jared’s back, the earl, his real and true friend, was gone.

  Jared felt a sudden spate of panic at being left alone with his monumental task.

  “Well, that was a bit abrupt,” Wakefield said and handed Jared his brandy, “but I suppose he needed to get back to his own estate. So, tell me about these spies.”

  He slugged down his entire port
ion of brandy, waited for the burning to cease, then cleared his throat.

  “That was expensive French brandy, boy, not some pig swill.”

  “Sorry, sir.”

  “Let me get you some more.” Wakefield swiftly poured another healthy tot of brandy into Jared’s glass. “And then I will hear of your adventure.”

  “First, we need to speak of Lord Dolton.”

  “You mean Dalton, don’t you?”

  “Whatever.”

  Wakefield’s brows furrowed. “I had heard he left for London same time as you and Ariana.”

  “Yes.”

  “He is not mixed up with the spies, is he?”

  “We do not believe so. Not yet at any rate. The only thing Dolton is guilty of is colossal stupidity.”

  “Is he?” The earl looked amused rather than worried.

  “I had one of the Bow Street Runners helping us in London check out Dolton and his background.”

  “Why would you do that?”

  “Why would I do that?” Jared’s temper spiked. “Why didn’t you check him out? And for the same reason I did. He wants to marry your daughter.”

  The earl eyed him narrowly, but said nothing.

  “The bounder is in debt up to his eyeballs and two steps from being completely insolvent. He is only after Ariana for her dowry.” Jared caught himself. “Well, that and she is beautiful, of course. The man gambles. A lot. Addicted, I would imagine. He would make a horrid husband for her.”

  Wakefield waved a hand. “I know all that.”

  Jared’s jaw dropped before he thought to stop it.

  “You know he is in debt and a gambler to boot?”

  Wakefield nodded smugly.

  “Then why on earth would you allow him to court your daughter?”

  “To bring you up to scratch, of course.”

  “Me?”

  “Yes, you. Why do you look so surprised?”

  “You were shamming me with Dolton’s courtship? Allowing him—and me—to think he had a chance?”

  Wakefield gave him that detestable smug grin again.

  “What about Ari’s feelings? How dare you play fast and loose with them!”

  The old earl surged to his feet, grin evaporated. “Never! Ari would never have chosen Dalton, but if she had, I would have forced the blackguard to the straight and narrow. My daughter will choose the husband she wants. I will not choose for her like my own wife’s father did.”