Beatrice stared quizzically. "Madame?"
The old woman shrugged. "Don't look at it as if you were turned away. You turned him away, the arrogant bastard. Good riddance, I'd say. Someone better suited to you will come along. Trust me. A woman my age knows."
"Thank you, madame."
"Please, it's Daphne to you."
Beatrice smiled just a little.
The dowager waved her knife at Jillian. "Now, what of you, granddaughter? Are you pleased with the turn of events? My grandson is handsome and wealthy. He's quite a catch for a girl from a family like yours."
Jillian scooped a small bit of the pie onto her plate and pushed the serving dish toward Beatrice. She knew she should have been offended by the woman's reference to her family, but she wasn't. "In all honesty, ma—Daphne, I am not."
"Good. I like honesty in a woman. Most females aren't honest. That's why I've never had much use for them. Now tell me, why don't you want to marry my grandson? You'd make handsome children, males and females, you know."
Jillian reached for the bread. "I had someone else in mind to wed."
"You were betrothed?"
"No." She looked at the dowager, who was chewing heartily on a fresh bit of bread. "My father doesn't approve, but I love him."
Daphne sighed. "Pity." Then her voice changed to one of practicality again. "But I agree with your sister. She's a wise girl. Perceptive. I may even find her a husband myself." She pointed with her knife. "You and Duncan are as well suited as peas in a pod." She grinned, showing remarkably perfect teeth for a woman her age. "That or flint and steel." She nodded, buttering her bread. "I approve. I approve wholeheartedly of the union. You have my permission to wed. Should my grandson grace us with his presence, I'll give him my blessing as well."
Jillian set down her knife. "But you don't understand. I don't want to marry him."
The dowager grimaced. "You think I wanted to marry Duncan's grandfather? Good heavens!" She made a sound like a horse. "I had a simpleton cousin chosen. We'd already shared kisses. We were certain we were madly in love."
Jillian knew she blushed; she could feel the warmth in her cheeks. She and her dear Jacob had exchanged kisses in the church courtyard just last May Day.
The dowager shrugged. "But my father knew better. The earl, God rest his soul, knew better. I despised my husband at first, but I came to care for him a great deal . . ." She smiled the smile of a woman who had truly loved. "With all my heart." She reached for the serving platter of egg and sausage again. "And you will come to love Duncan in time. Trust me."
Jillian folded her napkin on her lap, unsure of what to say. Of course she couldn't come to love the Earl of Cleaves. She was in love with Jacob. But it seemed pointless to argue. Instead, Jillian chose to change the subject. She reached for a bowl of fresh chopped fruit. "Your garden is so beautiful that I'm surprised by the state of the house." There. The dowager wanted honesty? Honest she would be. "The staircase is dangerous. I fear you might injure yourself."
"Oh, blather! You think I walk up those steps to my apartment myself?" She hooked her thumb, which sparkled with a ruby ring. "What do you think I have Charlie here for? The boy carries me."
Jillian must have had such a ridiculous look on her face for the dowager began to laugh. She reached out with one wrinkled, bejeweled hand and covered Jillian's hand with hers. "I was teasing, sweet. You don't think I would waste such a fine young man's strength on such nonsense, do you?" She released Jillian's hand and pushed the bread toward her. "Eat, child, you're thin. It will take a great deal of energy to manage your husband."
"Do you mind if I ask why the house hasn't been cared for?"
"Not in the least." She wiped the corners of her mouth with a white damask napkin. "It's Algernon." She leaned forward, lowering her voice. "The boy always was a niggard."
"He's withheld funds to repair the family estate?" Jillian was shocked.
Daphne shrugged. "It hasn't mattered much, dear. I have my garden and my footmen. An old woman such as myself has little need for furnished salons."
Jillian dropped her napkin onto the table. "Well, Duncan now has control of the family funds, does he not?"
The dowager sipped coffee. "I suppose he does, doesn't he?"
Jillian pushed her chair away from the garden table. "Then he needs to make amends." She rose. "It's not right that a woman of your rank should be living in the ruins of that house. Duncan will—"
"Duncan will what?" came a deep, masculine voice as Duncan appeared on the stone pathway between two great boxwoods.
Five
Jillian took half a step back. God's teeth, she hadn't expected him to appear through the bushes! "G—good morning, sir," she stammered. "W—we were just having breakfast with your grandmother."
"And speaking of me when I wasn't here to defend myself. Typical female," he intoned sarcastically. He nodded to Beatrice and then walked over to his grandmother. "Good morning."
Daphne chuckled. "Same to you."
He turned to address Jillian. "Would you walk with me in the garden, dear? I'd like to speak with you."
Jillian touched her head, stalling for time. Her talk was bold when Duncan was nowhere to be seen, but now that he was here, she wasn't certain just how brave she was. She didn't want to walk alone in the garden with him. She wanted to stay here with the women where she felt safe. "My hat, sir. The sun is strong. I'll just run up—"
Duncan took her arm, giving her no choice in the matter. "Come, come, we won't be long. I promise you I'll not permit the sun to harm your delicate skin."
"Grandmother." He nodded again. "Beatrice."
Beatrice gave him a half smile, nodding in return, and then Duncan led Jillian off down the garden path he'd come.
The two walked side by side for a good distance, down the winding stone path, past a tiny waterfall, through the trees and flowering shrubs. Duncan did not, however, release her arm, and Jillian was all too conscious of his touch.
Only after they were out earshot of Beatrice and the dowager did Duncan finally speak. "I don't appreciate you talking about me behind my back," he stated flatly. "You and I are going to be man and wife. We'll be a contingent—you and I against the world, Jillian. I'll have no backstabbing by my spouse. I thought you of better breeding than that. Smarter, too."
"I wasn't talking about you."
"I heard my name. It was your voice."
Jillian stopped on the path, pulling her arm from his. It was too difficult to speak to him while touching him. Now that they stood a safe distance apart, she could think more clearly. "We were talking about the house. You ought to be ashamed, letting your grandmother live like this."
He raised his voice. "What are you talking about?"
"Don't shout at me!"
He lowered his voice a few decibels. "My grandmother wants for nothing. She has her servants, her exotic organgery. These gardens are as beautiful as any I've seen in the world."
"They are beautiful, but I'm talking about the house."
"The house?" He looked at her with the one eye she could see. He shrugged. "So it's in need of a little plaster, a dab of paint."
"A little plaster! The blessed house is falling down around her!"
"You understand the previous situation. Cousin Algernon had both the title and the monies until they were granted to me. He's been living here these years and caring for our grandmother. It is he who has let the house deteriorate."
"Fine." She dropped her hands to her hips, made angry by the thought that Algernon had neglected the house so. She couldn't help but wonder if the dowager had been neglected in the same manner. "But now you have the money. It's your duty to restore your family home—"
"All right."
"—What must people think? Have you no sense of honor? Don't you want to see your grandmother well cared for at her age? It's dangerous for her to live like this. The stairs are cracked; there's plaster falling from the ceiling, there's—"
"I said all
right." He was smiling at her now, the corner of his mouth that she could see was turned up.
Jillian ceased her prattle, realizing she'd overdone it again. "What did you say?"
He was still smiling as he reached out and caught a stray lock of hair that curled at her temple. "I said, all right, Jilly. The house does need repairs, and I have been remiss in not beginning the work immediately. I simply haven't had time to deal with the matter. I'm a very busy man."
Jillian held her breath as his hand brushed her cheek.
"So, you deal with it," he went on. "Hire the workers. Have done what you see fit. Atar will escort you wherever you need to go. He's here to be of assistance to you when I don't need him. Send the bills to my goldsmith."
Jillian stared at Duncan. He had let his hand fall to his side, but her face still felt warm where he'd touched her. It had been an innocent enough gesture, and yet it had seemed so sensual to her . . . perhaps because they were strangers.
"You want me—" She touched her chest lightly. "—to oversee the repairs of your family's estate?"
"You are going to be the head of my home, as my wife, are you not? I assume you have been trained in such matters." He lifted his hand in a bored gesture. "So take care of it."
Now she was truly perplexed. "You want me to spend your money? Without your prior approval?"
"I just gave you my approval."
"But there's a great deal of work to be done—more than you might realize. It could be costly."
"Now that my father's estates have been returned to me, I've more than enough money for my tobacco plantation in the Colonies. I can certainly spare a few hundred pounds so that my grandmother and wife can live more comfortably."
Jillian smiled at him, the irritation she had felt only a moment before dissipating. "You're not what you seem to be, are you?" she asked softly. She watched his face change, wishing she could see what it was that he hid beneath his scarf. Today it was blue.
"I don't know what you speak of."
She took a step closer to him, her hand itching to touch the veil. Would he let her lift it? "You're loud and demanding. You try to push people away from you, and yet . . . yet your heart is kind."
"Female nonsense," he scoffed. But when she took a step closer, he didn't back away. He seemed to be as intrigued by her as she was by him.
Jillian raised her hand. "Could I see?" she asked him. "What's behind the veil?"
He touched the veil himself, shying from her. "No. Why would you want to?"
"It can't be so horrible."
"You don't know what horrible is, Jilly. You're too young, too sweet, too innocent."
"You think I'm a child."
"In some ways, you are."
"But not so much a child that you don't want to wed and bed me."
The smile appeared again. "Touché."
She raised her hand again, and he stepped back. "You're being absurd," she accused, letting her hand fall. "You expect me to marry you not knowing what you look like."
"Perhaps."
She chuckled. "And in our bed?" Of course she had no intention of sharing a bed with the man, because she had no intention of marrying him; but she couldn't resist asking. "Do you intend to wear that ridiculous thing to bed as well?"
"Perhaps."
Jillian shook her head. "You want me to be afraid of you, don't you? Well, I'm not. If you want to scare me, you'll have to try a different tack." She turned on her heels and started back up the path the way they had come. "I'll start work on the house immediately," she called over her shoulder. "I'll have to take your coach into the city, of course. I hope you can manage on horseback."
"Wait, I'm not done with you!" he shouted after her. "I've invited a friend to sup with us tonight. I'll expect you at nine in the dining parlor."
Jillian waved over her head in acknowledgment as she turned the corner, pleased with herself on how she had managed the Colonial Devil. Just as she disappeared from his sight, she heard him mutter to himself, "Chit . . ."
Jillian smiled.
Jillian spent a busy day finding men to begin the initial work on the house. She was so occupied with making appointments for the following days that she barely had time to think of Duncan. It wasn't until she returned to her apartments in the early evening that she finally had a moment to contemplate her encounter with him that morning.
She sat on a low stool before the mirror while Beatrice stood behind her, dressing her hair for supper. "Tell me something," Jillian said thoughtfully. "Do you think he's handsome, the earl, I mean?"
Beatrice's forehead crinkled. "Handsome? With that veil that covers his face?"
"Forget the veil." Jillian closed her eyes. "Imagine how he looks without it."
"One of the chambermaids told me only this afternoon that he was terribly burned as a child. The servants say those are the scars he hides."
Jillian opened her eyes, frowning.
"Remember Lucy Madden, Mother's cousin from Yorkshire?" Bea continued. "She wore a veil after she had the smallpox."
"A man can't get the pox on only one side of his face." Jillian folded her arms in her lap. "It must be something else."
Beatrice pulled a thick hank of curly hair off Jillian's shoulders and began to pin it high on the back of her head. She held silver pins in her mouth so that her speech was garbled. "Father said there was rumor at Court that he had been captured by Indians in the American Colonies. That's where he was all those years he was missing. Maybe they burned him."
"We don't even know if that's true, the Indian tale. All we know is that he and his family disappeared and that they were killed, all but Duncan. It could have been a shipwreck, or the plague, for all we know."
Beatrice stuck the last pin into Jillian's coiffure with satisfaction. "So ask him, sister. A woman has a right to know her husband's background before she weds him."
Jillian leapt up, her petticoat bunched in her fists. "I told you earlier, I'm not marrying him."
Beatrice stood back to admire her sister in her handsome forest-green gown and sparkling emerald earbobs. "You certainly act like you're going to marry him. Ordering him about. Spending his money. Making changes in the house."
"The dowager deserves better care. The house is in need of the work; and if he's not going to do it, I shall." She reached out to touch a purple flowering branch left in a vase beside her bed. "I assure you, I have no intentions of becoming the Countess of Cleaves. The repairs are but a way to occupy my time until Jacob can come for me." She took the fan her sister offered and started for the door.
"Jacob!" Beatrice hissed, following Jillian. "Father forbade you to contact him! You're the earl's betrothed now! No decent woman would approach a man after her betrothal agreement had been signed."
"Jacob doesn't know where I am. I have to send him a message. He'll be worried sick when I haven't written."
Beatrice picked up her basket of stitching. Though she'd been invited to dine, she'd begged out, pleading a headache, and would remain alone in the apartments the remainder of the evening. "I'll have no part of such deceit, I warn you, Jilly. I'll not be a messenger for such illicit behavior."
Jillian stopped at the door, swinging around so that her abundant petticoats swirled at her feet. "You're not being terribly supportive."
"You should marry the earl." Beatrice crossed her arms with such conviction that it startled Jillian.
"You didn't want to marry him after you saw him, why should I?"
"I'd have married him if Father had bid me to." Beatrice let her gaze drift to the floor. "If his lordship had wanted me."
"Oh, Bea." Jillian's voice softened as she came toward her sister. "I'm sorry that this has turned into such a spoiled brew, truly I am. But I'll find you a husband; I swear I will. Jacob and I will run away and be married, and then you can come with me."
"Such talk is nonsense. You'll marry the earl just as Father has arranged." Beatrice gave her sister a push toward the door. "And you'll be happy wit
h him, I'll wager, scars and all. The two of you are cut from the same cloth, even the dowager says so."
"That's a ridiculous notion!" Jillian swung open the door. "Don't wait up for me. I imagine I'll be late."
"Good night," Beatrice said softly. "You look lovely tonight, sister. I'm certain you'll charm him."
Jillian wrinkled her nose at her sister as she swept out of the bedchamber, thinking such a statement unworthy of a reply.
"Ah, you must be Duncan's betrothed."
Jillian had barely reached the salon door when a stout fellow in his mid-thirties wearing a rich burgundy coat and breeches approached her. He gave a low whistle. "But you're a gnashing beauty."
Jillian lifted her petticoats in a curtsy. "I fear you have the unfair advantage, sir. You know me, yet I don't know you."
The man bowed formally. "That scoundrel, Duncan. I suspect he didn't tell you of me for fear you and I would run off and be wed before he could make it to the dining table. I'm Will Galloway. Your servant, madame." He took her hand, making an event of kissing it.
"Jillian Hollingsworth. Your servant, sir."
"I don't know where Duncan is. He ordered me to be prompt, and now he's not here." Will swung an arm gracefully. "So, the pox on him." He took her hand and led her into the salon. "I'd rather talk with you than grump head, anyway. You're a plain sight prettier, and more even tempered, I'll wager."
"Don't be so certain of that," came Duncan's voice as he appeared out of the darkness of the hallway.
"Duncan! I was hoping the lady would agree to elope with me before you made it to supper. Now you've dashed my plans to hell and back."
Jillian couldn't help but laugh at Will Galloway's easy banter. He, for one, seemed unintimidated by the earl.
Duncan brushed past his friend, removing Jillian's arm from Will's and wrapping it around his own. "A drink before we dine?"
"Yes, thank you." She threw an apologetic smile in his direction. "White Rhenish, if you please, sir."
Will followed them into the salon. "Duncan, don't tell me you're so impressed by that new title of yours that you insist your betrothed call you sir."
My Savage Lord (Hidden Identity) Page 5