Jackal (Regency Refuge Book 2)
Page 17
He was a praying man, too. She'd learned much of the intimate relationship Rupert shared with the Almighty during his days of fevered delirium. He'd said many things about God through the course of those days, but two had stayed with Juliana more than all the others. Rupert thought of God as a friend… and as his refuge. A woman of her advanced years – or any age for that matter – could do much worse than a man who had a personal relationship with his Creator.
Juliana took a deep breath and inspected the chapel. He might not always say exactly what he thought, and she may spend the rest of her days trying to unravel the complexities of this man, but she would always be able to look to his actions and know his heart. "Have the banns been read?"
Rupert nodded, his eyes masking his thoughts. Had he been uncertain how she'd react? Was he surprised she was being agreeable? She would have plenty of time to ask him later.
Juliana rested her hand in the crook of his elbow. "Well, my husband-to-be, let us go take care of this matter straightaway. No dilly-dallying, now. Girls! Eudora and Eleanor, come along! Mrs. Burnham, step to it!"
Then, with Rupert's cravat still askew, and Juliana's hair barely contained by the pins disturbed in the carriage a short while ago, the two of them marched arm in arm – with a slow gate and the help of a sturdy cane – toward the magnificent future awaiting them.
Epilogue
August 1817
"You did WHAT?" Juliana was certain Rupert's bellow could be heard all the way to London. It was a good thing she knew it was more for show than anything else.
"I told her to invite him for a weekend visit."
"Lucien is not to be trusted."
"I agree, but Eudora adores him."
"I don't want him in my house."
"Why, dear?" Juliana trailed her fingers along Rupert's jawline.
"Because Eudora adores him."
"At least they'll be where we can keep an eye on them."
"You have no idea how easy it is for a man who desires a woman to find places to hide so he can express his desire properly."
"I think you mean improperly."
Rupert glowered at her.
"Besides Eudora's fondness for him, is there any other reason you dislike Lucien? Is there something you're not telling me? Something top-secret, perhaps?"
Rupert mumbled.
"What was that, love?"
"I wish I could tell you he's a treasonous fop, but I can't. He's good at his job, loyal to his country, astute, hardworking."
Juliana flashed a flirtatious smile at her husband. "Ah, so he's a younger version of you, then."
He winced. "Where have I been? You've decided to admire young Lucien? I thought you detested him as much as I do."
"Wedded bliss has softened me up a bit, I think. I want Eudora to be happy, too. If you'd ended up being a horrible husband who made me cry myself to sleep every night, then I'd probably agree with you that they should be kept apart. You, however, had to go and ruin it by being the perfect husband."
He snorted. "Perfect? Can I quote you? Maybe leak it to the society pages?"
She swatted his arm.
Rupert reached out and snagged her hand out of mid-air, pulling with enough force to tumble his wife into his lap. He pulled her in close and kissed her temple. "Eudora doesn't know what Lucien does for a living. I'm not sure which worries me more – that she doesn't know, or that he may someday tell her. Both put her at risk."
Juliana kissed the spot on his neck where his pulse beat out a warm rhythm. "I think Eudora knows more than we realize, and I suspect she's stronger than I've ever admitted. We have to give them a chance to find their own path."
Rupert's arms tightened around her.
"Do you miss it? Living on the edge of adventure?"
She felt, rather than saw, Rupert's smile. "I've discovered the joys of married life far outweigh the uncertainties in that line of work. There's no contest. If I had to choose between sleeping in a flea-bitten inn with nothing but my sword and pistol for company or sharing a soft feather-bed with a precious jewel, I'd pick you every single time."
Juliana sighed with contentment. She hardly remembered what life had been like before Rupert had become a part of it. Then a stray thought flitted through her mind, and she giggled.
"I declare my undying love, and you laugh. You're good for my ego."
"I was thinking."
"Please tell me you weren't thinking you'd rather share your bed with a pistol and a sword."
She loved sitting on his lap. It put her at an advantageous height for kissing. Leaning in, she let her lips rest against his and kissed him as she fought a smile. Lips twitching, he pulled back. A single eyebrow rose as he awaited her explanation.
"I'm rather fond of the way you call me jewel, but you do need to know, I'm not likely to ever call you Jackal. I think the word, and all I can picture is a mangy animal with giant ears and a dirty tail."
"Ah, so you find my ears too small to pull it off." The twitch in his lips gave way to laughter, and she pushed on his chest.
"If you're a jackal, and I'm a jewel, then what shall our children be?"
He captured her lips in another kiss. "When we have children, we shall call them only one thing."
"Hmm," she said, distracted. "And what's that?"
"Perfect."
About the Author
Heather Gray is the author of the Ladies of Larkspur inspirational western romance series, including Mail Order Man, Just Dessert, and Redemption. Other titles include Ten Million Reasons, His Saving Grace, and Nowhere for Christmas – everything from Regency England to modern-day America. Aside from a long-standing love affair with coffee, Heather’s greatest joys are her relationships with her Savior and her family. Years ago, Heather decided she'd rather laugh than yell. This theme is evident in her writing where, through the highs and lows of life, her characters find a way to love God, embrace each day, and laugh out loud right along with her.
Also from Heather Gray
Chapter One
February 1815
Stafford Shire, England
Try as she might, Grace couldn't stop the tears flowing down her cheeks. She was hiding in her father's library, hoping no one would be bold enough to seek her out. Her parents were hosting a house party, and the guests were everywhere. Each person, it seemed, wanted to know everybody else's business.
When she heard the door behind her issue a soft squeak, she knew she'd been found. She kept her back to the door, not wanting the person to see how distressed she was. "Gracie, may I come in?"
It was Thomas! Though they hadn't seen each other much in recent years, he was a childhood friend and, the way she saw it, her one true ally here at this gathering. "As long as you close the door and let no one else enter," she said hoarsely.
She heard the door click again, followed by Thomas's movement through the room. He was soon leaning against her father's desk right beside her, his familiar tall frame, shortly clipped brown hair, and intelligent blue eyes a comfort to her.
"What's wrong? Surely Lady Appleton's ghastly morning gown isn’t enough to bring on tears. Temporary blindness, yes, but not tears."
Grace couldn't help the small chuckle that bubbled up and out of her. Thomas had always known just what to say, no matter her mood. Her father, the Earl of Miltmouth, and Thomas's father had been the best of friends. Thomas and Grace had naturally grown up together. She had seen less of Thomas after his father had passed away and he'd had to take over the running of the estates, but they had managed to remain friends.
"I asked Father if I could have a season in London," she said woefully. Grace, wrapping her arms around her midsection, felt nauseated.
"Ah, I take it he said no. Surely he'll bring you to London for a season soon. I assume he'll want you to marry well." When Grace said nothing in return, Thomas asked, "Am I mistaken?"
"You should have heard the awful things he said to me!" Thomas handed a kerchief to Grace, who wiped at the tears sh
e still couldn't quite get under control. "He told me I'll never find a suitable husband. My mouth is too big, and my smile is too wide. I'm too skinny, and my bosom is too flat. No man will ever want to marry me, and going through the pretense of a season in London will be nothing but a costly embarrassment to the family."
Repeating all the terrible things her father had said to her made Grace cry even harder. Feelings of rejection and disbelief swirled through her. Her father, while at times eccentric, had never before said anything so cruel to her. The kerchief, now sodden, did little good.
That was when she felt Thomas's arms wrap around her in a hug. "It'll work out, Gracie. I don't know why your father would have said such things to you, but you can't let his words get you down. They're not even true. You have a perfectly sized mouth, a delightful smile, and… well, I'm sure everything else is fine, too."
Grace soaked in Thomas's warmth. She sighed into his waistcoat and said, "I appreciate the kind words, Thomas, but you shouldn't be in here alone with me. We both know that."
Thomas, his voice light, said, "It was in here with you or out there with the barracudas. I think I'm safer right where I am."
Grace didn't pull out of his comforting hug as she knew she ought to. Instead she said, "I've spent my whole life in Stafford Shire and have never even been to London before. All I'm asking for is one season. If I wait much longer, I'll be completely on the shelf, and no decent man will even consider marrying me. My father has doomed me to the life of being some man's courtesan!"
"You've been reading the newspaper again, haven't you?" She felt the warm rumble of his chuckle against her cheek. "You shouldn't even know words like that. If your parents knew you were reading those rags, they'd have your hide."
Grace's tears had quieted and were slowly being replaced by hiccups. Just as Thomas began to release her from his friendly hold, the library door opened with a loud bang.
"What the devil is going on in here?" demanded Lady Appleton.
Grace jumped out of Thomas's arms and said, "It's not what you th-ink." The hiccups were gaining momentum. "I was up-set. Thomas found me, and I was crying. He was simply be-ing kind."
The skin on Lady Appleton's florid face jiggled as she shouted, "Not only are you in a room with a man unchaperoned, but you were in an embrace!" Her gown truly was the most awful color. It was somewhere between green and brown, like a plant that had withered and died. To make the ensemble worse, she looked as if she were wearing an entire peacock atop her piled hair.
Seeming to thrive on spectacle, Lady Appleton continued to bombast them with accusation, her voice growing toward a crescendo. "You've been ruined, young lady! There will have to be a wedding at once!" If volume were the stick by which such things were measured, Lady Appleton's screeching voice ensured that Grace would feel maximum shame.
"Th-at wasn't an embrace!"
By this time, several people had gathered in the hallway outside the library door. When Grace's father came on the scene, Thomas spoke directly to him, ignoring Lady Appleton. "I apologize for any misunderstanding. Gracie was crying. She was upset, might I add, by the cruel things you said to her. I'm nothing more than a childhood friend offering a bit of encouragement and reassuring her that her father is not the ogre he appears to be at present."
Grace had never heard Thomas's voice quite like this. The sharp edge of strong metal in it was unmistakable. This voice belonged to the Duke of Stafford, not her childhood friend Thomas.
Grace stared at Thomas and saw for the first time, not the boy she'd considered her chum, but rather the man he had become. His stature was impressive, his closely cropped brown hair stylish. It was his eyes that stunned her into silence, though. They had always been such a lively and cheerful blue, but now… now they glinted cold and steely, showing not a glimmer of warmth.
Lord Miltmouth turned from Thomas to Lady Appleton and demanded, "By all that is good and holy, what on earth is going on here? What are you carrying on about, woman?"
The earl was a tall and imposing man whose black hair had begun to silver at the temples and to whom people normally gave deference. Lady Appleton, however, was no mere mortal. As it turned out, she was a scandalmonger who was nourished with the milk of blather and who thrived on the meat of gossip. She was in her element and would not back down. If anything, her voice grew louder.
Peacock feathers bouncing with each word, she said, "I found your daughter and that… that man there… in an embrace here in this room. Without a chaperone, I might add. Obviously they must be wed at once!" Then she turned on her heel and marched away, leaving a trail of whispered conversation behind her.
Grace looked to her father and said, "We did no-thing wrong."
More than a dozen faces stared at them from the doors of the library. Some reflected pity or shock, while others showed salacious delight. Lord Miltmouth looked back and forth between the two of them and finally said, "It's too late to change anything. With Lady Appleton leading the charge, word will soon reach the outermost territories of the kingdom. I'm afraid there's nothing for it. The two of you will have to be wed."
"F-ather, don't be r-idiculous. I'm n-ot ruined." Blast these hiccups! Surely her father didn't actually think she and Thomas had been doing anything untoward in the library? Didn't he trust she had been raised better than that?
Thomas whirled to face her, and Grace stumbled back when she saw the look in his eyes. Humor, irritation, resignation — she could have handled any of those. The withering arctic look he gave instead chilled her to the core. "You planned this whole thing, didn't you, Grace? All to land yourself a duke. I don't know what happened to you, but you're not the girl I used to know, and you are no one I want for a wife."
"Now listen here, Thomas—" the Earl began but was cut off by the young duke's words.
"You will address me as Your Grace or not at all, is that clear?" Grace's father stared at the younger man, his face flushing. "Do whatever you need to do. I will return in three Sundays, and we will get this farce over with."
Grace watched as Thomas stormed from the room. Her tears of earlier were forgotten and her hiccups finally cured. Gawking at her father, whose face had taken on an ashen pallor, she asked, "What have you done?"
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Table of Contents
Jackal
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Epilogue
About the Author
Also from Heather Gray
Table of Contents
Jackal
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Th
irteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Epilogue
About the Author
Also from Heather Gray