by Deb Marlowe
A footman knocked on the open door. “Miss Minett, there’s a gentleman downstairs who wishes to speak to you.”
Was it Giles? Who else could it be? “Please show him into the drawing room.”
Rushing to her dressing table, she studied her face. She was a mess. She pinched her cheeks hard in hopes of making them pinker than her eyes. He’d know she’d been crying. He’d guess she was crying over him.
When she left her room, anger built with each step. He’d better not be there to apologize again. She couldn’t tolerate his wavering ways any longer. If he didn’t propose this time she was done with him.
She marched into the drawing room.
Giles slowly spun on his heels. “Miss Minett, you look…lovely.”
Liar. “How nice of you to call.” If you’ve come to make polite conversation you’d better leave now.
He took a hesitant step her way.
“Please, sit down.” She motioned to a chair and took one herself.
Giles remained standing, studying the paintings on the wall. Or the wallpaper. He looked anywhere but at her.
Tabby wanted to scream. “Did you wish to look for the landscape again?” Her voice was tight, harsh.
“No. I came because—that is…I don’t know how this is done. I have treated you abysmally. If you want me to go away, I shall, but I’m hoping you’ll let me stay. I want us to remain friends. More than friends. I wish—would you…?”
She rolled her eyes and huffed out a breath. “Are you asking me to join you at Gunther’s, or to marry you? I’m not certain which, but I don’t believe you’d have this much difficulty offering me an ice cream.” This wasn’t the romantic moment Mother had told her to expect.
“The second. Unless you’d prefer the ice cream. I came in my curricle so we could do either.”
Tabby rose and walked directly to him, but stopped short of touching him. “As it happens, I love ice cream. It’s one of my favorite joys in life. But at this moment, it’s not what I would prefer.”
He smiled, ducking his head. Then he straightened, threw back his shoulders and swallowed visibly.
The poor man.
“Miss Minett—Tabby, it would bring me great joy if you’d consider being my wife.”
“Consider it? Wouldn’t you prefer I agree to it?” Her lips pulled back on one side and she shook her head. “Lord Giles, I would love nothing more than to be your wife, to spend the rest of my days at your side.”
He exhaled, his shoulders losing some tension.
“However,” she continued, her voice as stern as she could make it without laughing, “If you ever disappear after kissing me, you shall be banished to sleep in the servants’ quarters. If you run every time the Duke of Danby enters a room, you might be sleeping with the hounds. I want a husband, and I want you. But only if you’re strong enough to show everyone how you feel about me.”
“I’m such a fool. I’ve treated you abysmally.”
“You’ve said that. Those aren’t the words I’m waiting for.” She continued to stare him down, in spite of the height distance between them.
Giles grinned, happiness finally reaching his face. “You are an unusual lady. One I’d be honored to call my wife. Miss Tabitha Minett, will you marry me?”
Now she closed the distance between them, letting her fingers tuck behind the lapels of his dark green coat. “Yes, I will marry you, Giles. Quickly, before you have time to escape again.”
“I won’t ever abandon you again.” He toyed with one of her red curls. “I hurt you deeply, didn’t I? Can you ever forgive me?”
“I have forgiven you. I’m here to hear what you came to say. And I’m very pleased you came to your senses.”
“So am I.” Giles lowered his head, cupping the back of her neck as he captured her mouth. His kiss was passionate and restrained, loving and demanding. Her hands burned against his chest, where his heart hammered as hard as hers.
When he drew back, she felt empty, bereft of something she couldn’t describe. “I must speak to your father.”
“And your own. Do you dare speak to Danby, or will you allow him to hear it from others?”
“Part of me wants to confront him and show him I don’t have to bow to his bidding, but I think I’ve fallen into his real trap.” His eyes widened and he pressed a finger against her lips. “I meant to say I believe his plan was for me to find a wife on my own account.”
Tabby giggled with the knowledge she had.
“What aren’t you telling me?”
She laughed a bit louder. “I’m not sure if you’ll be angrier with Danby, or your sister and me.”
He lifted an eyebrow and waited for her to continue.
“Danby arranged for Lady Marjory to pretend to be enamored of you. She’s quite a lovely woman when not playing the part of overbearing, marriage-hungry miss.”
“You and Barbara both knew this?” His voice rose in pitch. “And you didn’t think to tell me?”
She frowned. “Would you have continued to attend the assemblies you were invited to? Would you have gotten to know me well enough to know how perfectly we suit each other?”
He smiled, his eyes narrowing. “I’ve been the victim of my uncle, my sister and my beloved.”
“Beloved? I don’t recall hearing you claim that emotion.”
“I told you I wasn’t sure how to do this. I love you, Tabby. Truly and deeply. I can’t say when it happened, or how much later I realized it, but it’s true. I shall say it to you every day. I love you.”
“And I love you, my dear man.” She rose on her toes to kiss him. “I believe you own me a few ‘I love yous’ for the days between when you realized it and when you finally said it.”
He planted a brief peck on the corner of her mouth. “I love you.” Another kiss. “I love you…”
Epilogue
Tabby knelt beside Mama and brushed a cobweb from her face. “If we haven’t found it by now, I don’t think we will.”
Mama sat back on her heels. “I always wished for you to use that piece of lace on your bridal gown. We could put it on a handkerchief if you prefer. My mother gave it to me to ensure a marriage as happy as hers was. I want the same for you.”
Hugging her mother, Tabby rested her head on Mama’s shoulder. “I believe I shall have the happiest of marriages. Giles is a wonderful man, if slow to recognize his own feelings.” She laughed and rose to look in another trunk.
Pulling away a draped cloth, Tabby coughed at the cloud of dust she created. Then she noticed what the cloth had hidden. Old frames containing old paintings. Her hand trembled as she reached for the first.
They were all landscapes. There was no way to be certain if any was what Giles’ grandmother sought. Still, she continued to flip through them.
The last painting had a crystal blue pond surrounded by green hills, and a willow tree. She lifted it and moved toward the single window.
“What do you have?”
“A painting. Giles and Barbara’s grandmother claimed one had been left behind when she moved out of this house.”
“Is that the one?”
“I’m not certain.” The artist’s signature was scrawled in the lower right corner. She couldn’t make out the words, but the initial letters were J, C, and P.
Jean Claude Pinot?
“Mama, would you be horribly upset if I took this to the dowager duchess to see if this is the painting she sought?”
“I recommend changing your gown before you go, and straighten your hair. You look a fright. Tell Meg to accompany you.”
Freshly dressed and coiffed, Tabby carried the painting out of her house.
Meg scurried behind. “Miss, I must carry that for you.”
“No. I can’t let it out of my hands. I’m so afraid of the painting being damaged.”
When they reached the corner of her street, she spotted Giles at the very moment he saw her. “You’ll never guess what I found.”
He trotted up to her. “Is it the landsc
ape?”
“I don’t know.” She removed the cloth and handed it to him.
He studied the painting, then squinted at the signature. “It does look like our pond. Let’s take this to Grandmother directly.
As they continued on, he turned over the painting. “This backing doesn’t appear to have been disturbed. I fear my grandmother remembered incorrectly.”
“It doesn’t matter. If this is the painting she sought, just having it should be enough to please her.”
The dowager duchess sat in the morning room, still in her day dress. She smoothed the fabric on her lap when she saw Tabby enter. “What a pleasure. I didn’t expect company this morning.”
Giles carried the painting to her. “We found something we think you might have been looking for.”
She sat up, more alert. She reached out with shaking hands and took it from Giles, holding it toward the light. “This is the one.” Gently, she ran her fingertips over the artist’s name. “Jean Claude. My Jean Claude.”
Tabby gave Giles a questioning frown.
He shook his head, equally confused. Jean Claude wasn’t the man she married.
Heaving a sigh, the duchess turned over the painting and picked at the corner of the paper backing the canvas. Tearing it free, she reached beneath it and pulled out some folded papers. She clutched the bundle to her heart. Her eyes welled with tears.
“Are you unwell?” Giles asked.
“No, merely missing what might have been.” She looked at the couple, realizing what their arrival together must mean. She wiped the corner of her eyes. “Are we to expect a wedding?”
“Please don’t say anything yet. I have to speak to our fathers.”
His grandmother nodded. “I assumed it would happen when I heard Danby was in town. That meddling old fool.”
Giles glanced at Tabby again. “Has he always played the matchmaker?”
“Please, sit down. I imagine it’s time to share some history. There’s no one it could hurt now with your grandfather gone, but I’d prefer you keep the news to yourself.”
“Of course, Grandmother.”
“I probably told you Jean Claude was hired to paint my portrait. That involved hours of sitting for him, with occasional breaks for me to relax. We talked during those breaks. By the time he’d finished my portrait, we were quite fond of each other. He painted my sisters, and in his free time he painted the pond.”
She looked at the letters in her lap, sighing. “We met often at the pond. Alone. I received my first kiss there. By the time he’d painted all the portraits he’d been hired to do, I was heartbroken that he was to leave. Jean Claude did the right thing. Our father was dead by that time, so Jean Claude asked Danby for permission to marry me. Danby refused outright. No sister of his would be allowed to marry an artist. An artist! What an embarrassment that would be to the Danby title.”
Her voice grew husky. “He chose your grandfather to be my husband. Now, understand Stapleton was a good man, and he loved me. I loved him as much as I was capable. But a piece of my heart remains with Jean Claude.”
Tabby rushed to the woman’s side and knelt. “I’m so sorry for you. I know the heartbreak of believing you cannot marry the man you love.” She looked pointedly at Giles.
He picked up the painting his grandmother has set aside. “I’ll ask Linwood to have someone hang this in your bedchamber. Would that be all right?”
The dowager duchess smiled. “I would appreciate that.”
He offered a hand up to Tabby. “I should return you home before your father refuses to let me see you again.”
His grandmother looked up from the letter she was reading. “Do not let anyone stand between you and love. You deserve your happiness.”
As Giles and Tabby strolled home with Meg, the maid keeping a proper distance behind, Tabby laughed softly. “All this time I believed you and your family made too much of a little bit of meddling. The Duke of Danby has gone much too far. How many other members of your family have suffered through marriages without love?”
“There’s no way to know. Many likely grew to love each other. Some were like Wickham and Ellie, and fell in love in spite of Danby’s interference.”
“Just as we did.” Tabby sighed, and Giles patted her hand where it rested on his arm.
“Just think how close we came to not marrying.”
She stopped suddenly. “And who was responsible for that? You can’t put all the blame onto Danby’s shoulders.”
He shook his head. “I was at fault. I will claim it all. I was confused. Frightened. I didn’t know how to react to what I felt in my heart.”
“I forgive you your slowness, since you finally came around to announcing your feelings.”
“I’m grateful for your forgiveness.” He led her on down the road. “Oh, by the way, I love you. I haven’t said it today.”
“No, you didn’t. Once we are married, I believe I would like to hear that twice a day. At the very least.”
“Willful girl!”
She rested her head on his shoulder before realizing they were on the street where anyone could see. She straightened her posture. “In case you hadn’t realized it, I love you, too. And I promise to remind you of that every day.”
Uncaring who saw them, she allowed Giles to kiss her, then sighed and continued to walk home. If it was possible to float away with happiness, Giles would need to tie a rope to her ankle, because she believed this feeling would never end.
In fact, she was certain of it. She would love Giles for every moment of every day of the rest of their lives.
About Aileen Fish
“USA Today Bestselling Author Aileen Fish is an avid quilter and auto racing fan who finds there aren't enough hours in a day/week/lifetime to stay up with her "to do" list. There is always another quilt or story begging to steal away attention from the others. When she has a spare moment she enjoys spending time with her two daughters and their families. Her books include The Bridgethorpe Brides series and the Small Town Sweethearts series.
She also writes steamy romance under the pen-name Ari Thatcher.”
Connect With Aileen
@AileenFish
AileenFish
www.AileenFish.com
Also by Aileen Fish
The Bridgethorpe Brides
His Impassioned Proposal
The Incorrigible Mr. Lumley
Charming the Vicar’s Daughter
Her Impetuous Rakehell
One Last Season
Captivated By the Wallflower
Chasing Lord Mystery
Captain Lumley’s Angel
The Captain Takes a Bride
Lily George
Chapter 1
April 16, 1817
11 Lincoln’s Inn Fields, London
Miss Laura Stephens raised her hand to grasp at the doorknocker, but then took a step backward, drawing in a deep breath. If only she could stop trembling all over. This was no way to present oneself to a potential employer like Captain Carew. If his housekeeper suspected that she was a mere slip of a girl seeking her first position, well, then, she might not get the job.
She caught a glimpse of her reflection in the sidelight of the door. Her blue eyes had darkened to the point of blackness, a telltale sign of her fear. The depth of color was in stark contrast to her pale countenance. She looked as wretched as she felt, and if the tables were turned, she would not hire such a timid, cowering creature. For how could a green girl, afraid of her own shadow, possibly become a good governess?
Enough was enough. She tugged her gray bonnet more tightly over her hair. Laura Stephens had no friends, and no relations, and her livelihood depended on this position. So she must get it.
She squared her shoulders, took a deep breath, and knocked.
Silence.
Laura glanced around. Surely this was the right address? She squinted at the scrap of foolscap her teacher had given her. Number Eleven, Lincoln’s Inn Fields. This imposing stone townho
use must surely be the right place. Miss Pickard had told her the house was blond stone with a black door.
She knocked again.
Footsteps sounded from within, echoing strangely as though their owner were walking through some sort of tunnel. This must be either the housekeeper or the butler. Laura composed herself, breathing deeply, and folded her hands to still their trembling.
The massive door flung open and a tall, broad-shouldered man not much older than herself reached out, grasping her hands. “Good Lord, come in. I thought for certain you’d come through the back entrance.”
Laura gasped as she flew over the threshold, the power of the young man’s grip still holding her tightly. “I beg your pardon,” she managed. “I had no idea. Miss Pickard gave very strict instructions to come around to the black door.”
“Well, there’s nothing that can be done about it now.” The young man loosened his hold on her, staring down at her with deep blue eyes. “So, what’s your name? They told me they would be sending around an applicant, but neglected to tell me who she might be.”
She disentangled herself from his grasp and faced him squarely. What an odd, impertinent butler he was. Based upon her limited experience, a butler should be old, grey-haired, and fearfully correct. “Yes, I believe the housekeeper is waiting for me. I am Miss Stephens, here to interview for the governess position.”
“I haven’t a housekeeper.” He shrugged. “Do you have a first name, Miss Stephens?”
“Laura.” She stared at the young man before her, who must be no more than a few years older than she. If he had servants, then he must be someone of importance in the house. She must assert herself if she was to win his approval, and with it, this opportunity. She fixed him with a steady gaze. “And you are?” There, she managed to be brief and precise, hopefully conveying that she was the kind of governess who would tolerate no nonsense from her charge.
