“He did?”
Jeffrey nodded. “So, I take it that she was a stubborn and headstrong lady, with more heart than she could know what to do with.” He kissed her again. As always, Barbara surrendered completely to his lips on hers, sighing silently when he broke away. “What happened to her?”
Barbara took in a shaky breath. “She got sick,” she said with a shrug. “It started with a cough. We thought nothing of it, her least of all. Any time anyone expressed concern about it she would wave us off for being ridiculous. ‘It was just a cold,’ she said. But as time went on it just…never went away. It got worse and worse. Father finally convinced her to see a physician but…she must have known it was serious already. She refused to be told what was wrong. She would take whatever medicines were given to her, but she forbade anyone to tell her what they were for. She was afraid. We all knew she was consumptive, but the word was never spoken. It still isn’t.”
She was staring down at her hand in his. The back of his hand was covered with splotches of pale, shining scar tissue, but his hand was strong, squeezing hers. Beneath the scars, he was solid, powerful, and dependable. She could share these hidden parts of her heart with him, now. She unburdened herself without fear that he would shush her or tell her not to speak of it.
“She fought until the bitter end to act like nothing was wrong. I’ll never forget her, the night she died, propped up with pillows in the drawing room playing cards. She kept dropping them and she needed father’s help to add up the numbers. Even when she had so little time left, we still never said anything about it.”
“She didn’t want her loved ones to suffer with her,” he said. “She loved you very much, I’m sure.”
Barbara sniffed again, and Jeffrey reached his arm around her, pulling her against his chest. Nuzzling her nose against his shirt, she wept quietly for a while. All the time, he gently rubbed her back.
“I may be like her,” she said after a time, straightening up and wiping her cheeks with her hands. “But I never want to suffer in silence as she did. I can’t be brave like that.”
“You won’t, my love,” he promised. “You’ll have me, and I’ll help you through everything, from now on. Any time you are afraid, or in pain, I will comfort you. Always.”
She could have started weeping again, but she fought against it, clearing her throat and drying her eyes.
“I’m sorry. How silly of me. It’s just, with my siblings coming home…the last time we were all together was mother’s funeral.”
“Don’t be sorry. I understand.”
“I really am happy,” she said, smiling at him before leaning forward to kiss his scarred cheek. “Rapturously happy.”
“Good,” he said.
Barbara smoothed her hair, feeling silly for crying over something that happened so long ago. She swallowed thickly.
“To tell the truth,” he said. “I have also been thinking of my departed parent. I could use some paternal advice these days,” he chuckled.
“You can borrow my father, if you like,” she chuckled, repeating his earlier offer.
He laughed warmly. “I may take you up on that. That night when my mother and I came to dinner, your father took me aside while you and mother went to look at the aviary.”
“I’ve meant to ask you what he said to you,” Barbara interjected.
“Oh, he said a few things. The main point being that he knew what was happening between you and I and that if I went about wasting your time or breaking your heart, I’d be hearing from him.”
“Oh Heavens,” Barbara sighed, chuckling. “I’m sorry.”
Jeffrey shook his head, smiling, “No, these are just the sorts of things a man likes to hear from his lover’s father. But at the same time, perhaps it is just a quirk of his speech, but he kept calling me son. It’s ridiculous but being referred to as such touched me more than I would have expected.”
A thrill went through Barbara’s blood at hearing that, even at that dinner which had been so chilly and awkward between them, he had thought of her as his lover. The term had such a strange heat to it.
“What happened to your father?” she asked softly.
He scoffed. “He was always Sir to me. I never once saw him without his waistcoat buttoned. He was everything a patriarch is meant to be, upright and regimented, formal and somewhat cold. Still, he showed his affection in his own way. From the time I could walk he treated me as a man and expected me to behave as one. Even after the accident…” he glanced at Barbara furtively. The fire was still an off-limits topic, but occasionally he skirted close to it, always glancing sideways at her when he did. As if to warn her against prying, but to let him come around to it in his own time.
“He would never so much as entertain the idea that my infirmity might hinder my trajectory toward becoming as powerful and successful as he was, or more so. It was an accident that got him in the end. He was thrown from his horse and crushed his neck and shoulder. It was some time before anyone passed him on the road, and it was already infected by then. Within the week, he was gone.”
“That’s dreadful,” Barbara whispered.
Jeffrey shrugged. “It was quick. I can’t remember him ever being sick before that week, never laid up in bed, never in pain. I’d rather go as he did than linger on in ever-increasing infirmity.”
“I suppose,” she said.
Silence rushed between them. Jeffrey was looking down, seemingly deep in thought.
“At least when my mother died, I had Papa to grieve with me,” she said after a time. “I take it your mother was not there for you in that way after the passing of your father?”
“What makes you think that?” he asked, though he didn’t deny it.
“You two don’t seem to like each other much,” she said, treading close to another forbidden topic. “Did that begin after your father?”
“No,” he said, shifting his weight as though he had grown uncomfortable all of a sudden. “No, Father’s death changed nothing between Mother and me. It’s always been like this.”
“Always?”
“You pry into subjects that are better left undisturbed,” he said coolly. When he glanced back at her, there was something cold about his expression. It was a look that, weeks ago, would have frightened her. It reminded her of that day when she had gone to his townhouse uninvited, when he had made her blood run cold with fear of having angered him.
Things were different now.
“You’re my husband. Or you will be. I want to know everything about you. You said that you would always be there for me, no matter what I was going through. I want to do the same.”
“Talking about a thing doesn’t improve it, Barbara.”
“Just as my mother being honest about her illness wouldn’t have saved her. Still, I wish every day that I could have had one true conversation with her before she died.”
He shook his head, pressing his lips together, but he did not answer.
“I told you that my father never saw my injuries as an excuse for me to not achieve what I was meant to. Mother didn’t see it that way. After the fire…it became clear with time that she wished I had died, rather than be marked like this for the rest of my life.”
“Oh Jeffrey, that’s a terrible thing to say about your mother.”
“It’s a terrible thing for a mother to think about her son!” he snapped.
Barbara gasped, jolting backwards slightly as his sudden harshness of tone. He recovered instantly, reaching out to touch her face and draw her back toward him.
“I didn’t mean to snap, darling. I’m sorry. You see why it’s better not to speak of any of this? You love me despite the fire. That’s all that matters now.”
She nodded silently. She wanted to ask about the fire. She wanted to know exactly what had happened. She wanted to tell him about what had happened when she was a child, and the nightmares that had followed her throughout her life ever since then. If only they could talk about fire, both in his life and hers,
she thought then they would truly be as one.
But not then. Not that afternoon. It would have to wait.
Chapter 29
The arrival of Barbara’s siblings was bittersweet. The morning was foggy and damp as she and her father went out to the front steps to greet her eldest sister, who was the last to arrive. Harry and Jane had gotten there the day before, and had settled easily back into old routines at the Delistown Manor. Catherine was the one sibling who had married well according to society. She was a Duchess now. But when she emerged from the well-appointed carriage that rolled up to the house, her father greeted her with “Cate, darling.”
Catherine hugged their father, then turned to Barbara, clutching her shoulders. Barbara smiled sedately.
“Now, little sister, news of your growing up has been shocking indeed. In my mind, you’ve remained the little girl with dirty stockings and leaves in her hair.”
Barbara’s smile turned chagrined. Harry and Jane had each said much the same thing. It was hard not to feel a little bit bitter. Being the baby of the family had been all right when everyone was home, but as her siblings had left home one at a time, it had begun to feel as though she were being left behind, left to pick up the pieces of their father’s broken heart all by herself.
Of course, her siblings would never admit to such thinking aloud, but it seemed to Barbara that the family had seen it as a foregone conclusion that she herself would never marry. She had always been the messy one with a too-sharp tongue. She wasn’t elegant like Catherine or charming like Jane. She’d always been the boyish one. Surely no man would ever really want her.
Well, I’ve proved them wrong now.
Gathering in the drawing room, Barbara sat on the pianoforte bench. Since it had just been herself and her father for so long, the room was no longer accustomed to having so many people in it. The room bustled with noise, as her siblings all vied for their father’s attention, talking about their lives and joking with each other as if no time had passed at all.
Barbara smoothed her skirt over her knees, looking across the room, feeling oddly detached. Her siblings were all so grown up now. As she had so many times in her childhood, she felt like the odd, little, forgotten sheep of the family.
Later that evening, Jeffrey arrived with his mother for dinner, and that feeling vanished like morning fog. He smiled at her, striding across the room to her side, locking his arm with hers and drawing her near to kiss the top of her forehead. She wished then that everyone else would disappear. As much as she had looked forward to being reunited with her family, she only ever wanted to be alone with Jeffrey.
Even before being introduced to anyone else in the room, even before acknowledging that there even was anyone else in the room, he had claimed her as his own. The sense of belonging was a soothing balm after such a disorienting afternoon with her family.
Oh blast this family dinner. I’d much rather spend my time in Jeffrey’s lap with his hands on my…
Barbara’s lustful train of thought was cut off by Harry being the first to stride forward. Barbara’s only brother, the second-born of the family, had made his fortune in coal and caused a stir in society when he married the daughter of a poor tenant farmer. He looked Jeffrey over with a cool eye, taking in the scars and the somewhat challenging set of Jeffrey’s jaw.
Barbara’s father made the introductions, stumbling a bit over the formality of titles and courtesies.
“So, you’re the gentleman who has finally succeeded in catching our baby sister’s eye,” Harry said, narrowing his eyes at Jeffrey.
Jane stepped between them, laughing. “Do forgive my brother. He did the same thing when he met my husband. We are all so pleased to meet you.”
Jane was the second youngest child. She and Barbara had once been close, but Barbara had heard less and less often from her sister ever since she had given birth to twins. The twins were at home, then, but she had brought with her the newest addition to her family. He was a tow-headed five-year-old by the name of Michael who, as she had explained upon her arrival, had been having nightmares and simply couldn’t bear to be separated from his mother, even if only for a few days. Michael spent most of his time hiding behind his mother’s legs.
“Well, sister. Your husband was a poet, of all the ridiculous things.”
Jane rolled her eyes. “He’s a novelist. How many times must I tell you? And anyway, Captain Pemberton is an Earl, so you can unsquint your eyes at him now, if you please.” She turned back to Jeffrey, “I’m sure he must be perfectly marvelous, in order to have matched up to our Lady Barbara’s exacting standards.”
Barbara blushed, and was saved further embarrassment by her father, who spoke up to announce that dinner was served. As they made their way into the dining hall, Barbara stayed close to Jeffrey’s side.
“I’m sorry about them,” she whispered.
Jeffrey chuckled. “Nonsense. I’m an only child, remember. It’s all rather charming to me.”
The dining hall was lit more brightly than it was when it was just Barbara and her father eating together. A fire crackled merrily behind the head of the table where the Duke settled down. The Dowager Countess sat to his right. Barbara sat at her father’s left side, with Jeffrey next to her. She could reach her hand down between them and grasp his, if she wanted to. Despite her nerves about this meeting of families, she could sense his nearness and her body warmed, the familiar tingle down her back at the sound of his voice comforting her.
The first course went smoothly enough. Barbara’s siblings and the Dowager Countess mainly controlled the conversation. Barbara had forgotten how raucous it could get with her whole family together, and it was an energy that Jeffrey’s mother seemed to thrive in.
For her part, Barbara was happy to quietly sip her soup while sneakily reaching for Jeffrey’s hand under the table. He rested his hand on her knee softly, comforting and exciting her in turns.
It was an odd thought. Weeks ago, she would have given anything for a rowdy dinner with her siblings again. But now, all she really wanted was to sneak away with Jeffrey. In such a short period of time, he had become closer to her than anyone else in the world.
After the soup, the main course was served, and the conversation died down a bit as everyone dug in to the roasted lamb and greens. The relative quiet was broken, however, by the small voice of Michael, who was seated in his mother’s lap as she ate.
“Captain Pemberton, how did you get those scars?” the little boy asked in his small voice.
A horrified silence fell over the table.
“Michael!” Jane hissed at her son.
“But he’s scary, mama,” the child continued, undaunted and utterly unaware of the impropriety of his question.
“He isn’t scary, Michael,” Jane continued, panic rising in her voice. She looked up at Jeffrey. “I’m terribly sorry. He’s just a child, he doesn’t know.”
“Oh, don’t apologize,” the Dowager Countess broke in. “I’m sure my son would be happy to tell the story.”
Barbara’s heart had dropped into her stomach. Looking at Jeffrey even in the warm light of the fire and many candles, it was plain that the color had drained from his face. His hand trembled on her knee and he pulled it away.
“Mother—”
“Oh, come now. We’d all like to hear of your heroism.”
Barbara’s eyes darted from her horrified husband-to-be to the Dowager Countess in surprise. “Heroism?” she asked, before she could stop herself.
The Dowager Countess cocked her head to the side, her gray ringlet tumbling over her shoulder. “Why, have you not told her?” she asked her son.
Jeffrey’s knuckles were white as he balled his hands into fists on either side of his plate.
“No. I hadn’t, actually.”
“How absurd!” the Dowager Countess exclaimed. “Why should she not know of your finest hour?”
Jeffrey’s expression as he looked across was unreadable, even for Barbara. A muscle in hi
s jaw flexed and every muscle in his body seemed pulled tight. She thought that he might rise from the table and just walk out.
But then, he relaxed his hands. His shoulders dropped slightly. “You’re right, Mother.” He cleared his throat and looked across at the little boy. “Well, Michael. I got these scars when I was seventeen.”
As he began to tell the story, Barbara held her breath. Part of her was furious with everyone for pushing him into sharing what he did not wish to share, but she was also curious. She didn’t bother with hiding her affection for him now, reaching for his hand on top of the table. He grasped it and squeezed.
“I was a newly minted member of the Royal Navy then, but I was back in town to visit my family before leaving on my first mission to sea. One day, I was idling about town, when I noticed that an old building at the end of a street seemed to have black smoke rising from it. Curious, I walked nearer to it. I wasn’t terribly concerned, knowing the building to be abandoned, but then I heard a girl crying from one of the upper windows.”
A Seductive Lady For The Scarred Earl (Steamy Regency Romance) Page 20
