by Jane Goodger
“Most of you are already gone, and with you marrying in just a few months, it’d just be me and the horses left here.”
She gave the mare a pat, then stepped away to stand by him, her back to the closed gate. “Is that why you’re leaving?” She gave him a slight smile. “Because you’ve been lonely?”
Charlie cleared his throat and wished he could stop the telling blush that stained his cheeks. “No, milady. There’s opportunity for a man in America. My uncle lives there, owns a house, has a good position. If I stay here, I’ll never own anything but the clothes on my back.”
“Is that so important? Owning something?”
“I suppose it is when you don’t own a thing.”
She grinned. “Except the clothes on your back.” She suddenly wrapped her arms around herself as if she were cold. “Sometimes I wish nothing would change. We all had so much fun when we were children, did we not?”
“We did,” he said. Yes, it had been fun, at least more fun than digging horseshit out of stalls or shaving hooves. Even though all the Dunford children were kind, he was never truly one of them, nor did he expect to be. When they all went riding out, he would trail behind with a picnic hamper strapped to the horse, always a servant. When he was younger, he never questioned his role, never resented it. Now, he did. Now, when he knew he could be something more, when he thought of the possibility that someday someone might call him sir, those memories burned in his gut, only serving to remind him again and again that he was less. It was all made worse knowing that, as head groom, he shouldn’t have the thoughts he had about the young lady of the house. He shouldn’t spend nights awake thinking about what it would be like to make love to her, having all-too-vivid dreams of making love to her, waking up hard and aching and feeling like a fool.
His father had worried about him, about all the time he spent with the Dunford children. They’d all come back to the stable, smiling and laughing, and he’d be left behind to take off the horses’ gear, to wipe them down, to feed and water them. To clean up the piss and shit. He remembered one day when he was about sixteen, and they’d all been out, riding and jumping. Lady Rose hadn’t been with them that day, and the brothers had taken off their clothes and jumped into the small lake on the north end of the property. He’d stayed dressed, looking at that cool water with longing. But he’d known it wouldn’t have been right for him to join them. They hadn’t even asked. That was the first time it struck him: they were not his friends, they were his employers. Though they were kind and polite, he meant no more to them than the horses they rode.
He’d ridden back to the stables silently that day, not bothering to join in with the brothers’ banter. They returned, thanked him, and off they went to the house to enjoy their evening. And he went to work, alone and sullen.
“I wondered when it was going to start botherin’ you,” his father said, coming up next to him. Hell, Charlie had felt like crying, but he’d just nodded. It was only salt in the wound to find himself in love with Lady Rose. It didn’t matter how many times he told himself of the foolishness of it, the futility, the idiocy. He loved her and he supposed a part of him always would, even when he was in the States and getting on with his life.
Just then Moonrise nickered loudly and kicked at her belly, making Charlie laugh. “She’s likely wondering what that thing is inside her causing her discomfort and moving about.”
“Poor thing. I wish there was some way to let her know all will be well. It will, will it not?”
Charlie allowed himself to look at her and was slightly relieved she was staring at the mare, her expression filled with worry. Her shawl fell from one shoulder, leaving it bare and allowing him to glimpse the gentle, smooth top of one breast. He immediately looked away, angry with himself for looking at her that way, for debasing her with his lust. And he did lust after her, nearly as much as he loved her.
“I’ve no indication of any difficulty,” he said, his eyes on the horse. Good God, what if she had turned at that moment and seen him ogling her.
“That’s good.” She yawned. “Goodness, I am tired. I will try to come to the stables tomorrow, but we’ve a busy day planned. His Grace and I are picnicking and later we’re having a small concert. But please do send word when the foal is delivered. I wish I could be here all day tomorrow, but alas, I have my duties.”
“I will certainly send a message to the house when she safely delivers her foal,” Charlie said.
“Thank you. Good night, Charlie. Or rather, good morning.” She let out a light laugh and Charlie watched as she left the stall and walked toward the house in the early morning light.
Chapter 2
“My dear, you hardly need a chaperone.”
“Grandmama always cautions about such outings. She says it gives a man permission to do things he oughtn’t, that a man alone with a young lady cannot control his, um, base urges.” Rose’s cheeks flushed and her mother laughed.
“I’m certain His Grace will be able to spend an hour or two alone with you on a fine summer’s day without losing his head,” her mother said. “And if he should try to steal a kiss or two, it’s perfectly acceptable. But only a kiss or two, young lady. It is up to a lady to call a halt to any unwanted advances, though I hardly think His Grace will give you any reason on that account. He’s a gentleman of the finest ilk.”
Rose nodded, but her stomach was a jumble of nerves. She honestly didn’t even think the duke would try to steal a kiss, but she also had no wish to be alone with him. She was such a nervous ninny when she was with him, and having another person there would give her a great deal of comfort. In less than three months, she would be alone with him every day, so she supposed she should get used to his company. “We have so little in common, Mother. What shall we talk about?”
“Not about Moonrise,” her mother said sternly.
“And not about politics or science or traveling, either. Did you know His Grace has no wish to travel, when it is something I longed to do when I married? I thought a wedding trip to the continent would be wonderful, but he is solidly against it.”
Her mother patted her shoulder. “Every marriage has compromises, dear. And as for conversation, ask His Grace about Mount Carlyle. Every man loves to talk about his home, the improvements he’s made and the ones he’s planning. It shall be your home, after all, and your curiosity would be a natural thing and a good topic of discussion.”
Rose smiled, grateful her mother had given her such wonderful advice. “Thank you, Mother. That is perfect.”
“I’d rather not discuss my plans for Mount Carlyle,” His Grace said, his tone brooking no argument. “Discussions of architecture and construction are tedious, and I’m quite certain you wouldn’t understand at any rate.”
They’d decided to picnic by the lake, a fair distance from the house, which meant an interminable amount of time to try to come up with something they could discuss. The path to the lake was lovely, and since it was a warm day, quite pleasant. Weather was always a safe topic of conversation, Rose supposed.
“I’m so glad the weather cooperated with us so we might enjoy our picnic, Your Grace.”
The duke looked about as if just noticing what a fine day it was. “Indeed.”
“I thought last night was lovely, did you not?”
Weston walked five paces before answering. “It was a middling affair, though I did want to discuss something with you. I’ve found it’s best to air grievances quickly.”
Rose looked up at him, mildly surprised. “You have a grievance, Your Grace?”
“Indeed I do. It’s about your behavior last evening. I do realize you are young.” He gave her a tight smile, his eyes sweeping quickly down her form. “But when you are my wife, I would appreciate it if your attention was on me, not young swains.”
Rose stopped, and the duke stopped as well, facing her. “Whatever do you mean?” She thought back on the evening, on her “behavior,” and could not think of a single incidence where she hadn’t
acted like any other woman in the room. She did dance with men other than His Grace, but then she was expected to.
“You are a natural flirt. Men can misinterpret such a”—he paused and looked at her again, his eyes coldly assessing her—“talent. While I enjoy your charming personality, I would hate to think that other men might take your charm as invitation.”
Rose’s cheeks flamed, and not from humiliation, but from anger. “Sir, I’m certain you misinterpreted what you saw. I hardly know how to flirt, and I certainly would never behave in a manner that would invite unwanted attention.”
His Grace chuckled, but there was little humor in his expression. “Now I’ve made you angry. You must not be.”
“I am not angry,” Rose said, and tried to calm her ire. “Simply taken aback.”
His Grace turned and began walking down the path again, and Rose followed, staring at his back with more than a bit of dismay. She knew it was good to spend time with the man before they married, but she worried that the more she got to know him, the less she liked him. That would never do.
“Your Grace, I do wish to please you,” she said, not wanting their argument to ruin their day.
He stopped again in the path and turned, slowly, to look at her. “Do you?” he asked softly, his eyes again drifting down her body and making Rose uncomfortable. “I should like to have a wife who wants to please me.”
Rose was horrified that he’d once again misinterpreted her. She was young and terribly naive, but she knew when a man looked at a woman the way the duke was looking at her that he was thinking carnal thoughts. Worse, His Grace thought she was thinking carnal thoughts.
“Of course I do,” Rose said, not knowing another way to respond. The way he was looking at her made her skin crawl.
“My last wife, God rest her soul, was a timid creature. She didn’t care for the benefits of marriage,” he said, putting telling emphasis on the word benefits. “She was quite young when we married, as are you. I should not like another timid wife.”
Rose was quite certain her cheeks had never burned so brightly. He saw and laughed. “So innocent,” he said, lifting one hand and touching her cheek, and she willed herself not to move away. “I find it quite charming. Innocence. But only in small amounts.” He dropped his hand and studied her, his hooded gaze resting on her chest for so long, Rose had the urge to cover herself, but she forced herself to look at his face, not wanting to be timid.
“Yes, you will do nicely. See?” He looked down, and Rose was horrified to see he’d taken himself out. His . . . thing . . . fully erect, jutted obscenely from his trousers.
“Sir!”
“You have made me hard, my dear. And now you must take care of it.”
“We . . . we are not yet married. It . . . this is improper, Your Grace.” She swallowed, unable to again look at the large red thing protruding from his pants.
He laughed again, and Rose wanted to slap him. “You’ll be a virgin on your wedding night. Have no worry. But I need release now and you will accommodate me. You will please me, Rose.” He placed one hand hard behind her neck; the other held his man thing, stroking obscenely.
“Please, Your Grace.” Rose tried to pull away, but his crushing grip on her neck made it impossible.
“Yes, please Your Grace,” he said, chuckling. He pressed on her neck, hurting her, squeezing with one beefy hand as he pushed her downward. “Get on your knees, my dear, and put me in your mouth.”
Chapter 3
Thus the first rule for a graceful manner is unselfish consideration of others.
—From The Ladies’ Book of Etiquette, and Manual of Politeness
“I hear those American girls love a man with an accent,” Bucky said, jostling Charlie as they stood just outside the stables. Bucky was all of eighteen and, having lost his virginity just one week ago to one of the chambermaids, his thoughts were solidly on one subject. “Get ’em tipsy and they’ll do whatever you want.” He made an obscene gesture, and Charlie laughed because Bucky was a harmless bloke who didn’t mean a thing he said. The youth was so smitten with that little maid, he’d already begun thinking of marriage.
“I’ll be working too hard to have time for a girl,” Charlie said. “At least at first. That’s the thing in America; work hard and you make more money. Here, you work hard and it’s always the same. Doesn’t matter if you work hard or dawdle around all day like you, a man still gets paid.”
“You have to find a girl, Charlie,” Bucky said, ignoring the insult, his eyes going wide. “Or are you going to be too busy mooning about a certain lady.”
“Sod off, Bucky,” Charlie said lightly. Harry had a big mouth. He’d confided in him a few months back after pulling down one too many whiskeys and sorely regretted it. Everyone knew he was a fool for Lady Rose now, even this young whelp.
As an apology, Bucky pulled out a flask and held it out to Charlie. “Sure, why not,” Charlie said, grabbing the flask, taking a small swig and handing it back to Bucky. He didn’t want to drink too much, not with Moonrise about to foal.
“Oh, shite,” Bucky said, his eyes wide as he pulled the flask down and quickly put the cork back in. “Company.”
Charlie followed Bucky’s gaze to see Lady Rose hurrying toward the stables, her cheeks flushed from the exertion of walking so fast. She looked . . . hell, she looked like she was running from a swarm of spiders. Behind her, the duke walked toward the house, and Charlie’s eyes went from the duke to Lady Rose, sensing something was wrong.
“Hello, boys,” she said as she neared them. She held out her hand and Bucky reluctantly handed over his flask. “Thank you.” Then to Charlie’s surprise, she pulled the cork, took a long pull, swished it about and spat onto the ground before taking another pull and swallowing it. As if she’d done nothing stunning, she corked the flask and handed it back to Bucky, who stood there mutely, gaping at her. Charlie watched silently, noting with growing alarm that she was shaking, that putting that cork back in the flask was far more difficult for her than it should have been.
“Bucky, go check on the horses in the pasture.”
“But . . .”
“Now, Bucky,” Charlie said as he watched Lady Rose walk into the stable and head toward Moonrise.
Bucky walked away, mumbling beneath his breath, but Charlie ignored him. Something was wrong. Something had happened. A lover’s quarrel? He looked to where the duke walked, now a small figure stepping up the shallow stairs to the veranda. When he reached the top, he turned and looked toward the stables, and something in Charlie’s gut churned.
He walked into the stable and saw her standing outside Moonrise’s stall, clutching the railing. She was trembling visibly and he realized when he reached her that the odd clacking noise he could hear was her teeth chattering—even though the day was quite warm.
“Are you quite well, my lady?” Charlie asked, looking at her intently.
She took a short, audible breath, then turned to him and smiled. “Of course,” she said, smoothing down her skirts. Charlie’s eyes followed the motion, noting the grass stains by her knees. His gaze immediately went to her face, but she looked away, training her eyes on the mare. “How is Moonrise?”
He studied Lady Rose a long moment more, finally deciding to not press further. It wasn’t his place, and if she didn’t want to tell him what was troubling her, he certainly couldn’t force her to tell him. “You’ll have a foal by tomorrow morning.”
She smiled, then leaned her chin on the hands that rested on the gate. It was such a familiar sight, to see her like that. How many times had he been working on a horse, trimming hooves or grooming one, only to look up and see her just like that, silently watching what he did?
“Then I’ll see you in the morning, Charlie.”
He turned sharply to her, for he could have sworn her voice broke, as if she was crying—or trying not to. But she only smiled and turned away before he could determine whether there were tears in her eyes. “My lady,” he called as
she walked away.
But she simply waved her hand without turning, calling out, “Tomorrow, Charlie. Take care of her for me.” It wasn’t until she reached the outside that she turned and smiled. “I’m counting on you.” Then she spun around and walked quickly to the house.
Rose spent a near sleepless night, trying not to think about what had happened with the duke but finding it impossible. She was set to walk out with the duke again and the thought of being alone with him was making her physically ill. He was to be her husband and she couldn’t even bear to be alone with him. What would it be like when they were man and wife?
When she was dressed, she headed immediately to her mother’s room. She hadn’t any idea what she would say, but she could not go on without telling her mother of her doubts. She could never tell her what had happened. It was mortifying and humiliating, but she decided she could tell her mother she was having grave doubts about the duke and about the wedding. Three months had seemed like forever not two days ago; now it seemed as if she were teetering on the last step and would fall into marriage in a blink of time.
She knocked on her mother’s door and entered to find her mother sitting before her vanity, her maid putting the final touches on her hair.
“Don’t you look lovely, dear,” her mother said, rising and walking over to her to adjust one sleeve. “His Grace will be here in less than an hour, but you do appear to be ready.”
“Mother, I would like to talk to you about the duke.” Rose darted a look at Peggy, her mother’s maid.
“You may go, Peggy, thank you.”
Her maid gave a quick curtsy before leaving, closing the door quietly behind her. When she had gone, Rose blurted out, “I think I’ve made a terrible mistake.”
Her mother laughed and waved a dismissive hand. “Wedding jitters. We’ve all had them.”
