The Duke Who Loved Me

by Jane Ashford

  A storm of emotion rose in her, bringing a strong desire to burst into tears. A small gasp, nearly a sob, escaped her. She struggled to suppress it, though she was fairly certain Sarah heard. Cecelia felt an irresistible urge to see James. To be with him, to discover what lay behind that searing kiss. Not to weep on his shoulder! Not again! She wanted to talk to him. She realized that she always wanted to talk to him. Even when they’d been at odds, over the years, she’d looked forward to their conversations. Was there anyone she knew better?

  She would go to Tereford House in the morning and see him, taking advantage of her lax chaperonage. The idea was so comforting that her tears receded. Prince Karl was nothing to her after all. Less than nothing. All might still be well.

  Twelve

  Cecelia slipped through the empty stables behind Tereford House and across the cobbled yard. The back door was unlocked today, so she went in without knocking. She found the kitchen empty, though a fire burned in the hearth, and there were signs of baking under way. Mrs. Gardener was clearly making up for her children’s previous deprivation with a steady supply of pastries. Cecelia was about to pass through to the corridor beyond when she felt a strong sense of being watched.

  She looked around. There was no one here and no sound from the pantry. A vacant silence lay over the chamber. Yet Cecelia was convinced she was being observed. A flicker of movement led her to look up, and there she met the eyes that had alerted her. A very large brindled cat sat on top of a cupboard gazing down at her like a sentry at her post. The animal looked as if it had lived a hard life. It was thin and bore scars. But its steady stare held a marked aura of resolve, as if to say that this cat would succeed at this opportunity for a home. Cecelia nodded in acknowledgment as she started moving again. The cat’s ears swiveled to follow her progress through the kitchen.

  Voices reached Cecelia as she edged along the cluttered corridor beyond. She headed for the room James had been clearing when she was last here, and found it vacant. The sounds came from the one beyond. She followed them and entered another half-emptied chamber.

  James and the whole Gardener family stood around a number of open trunks. Fountains of fabric erupted from them, silks and satins and beautifully embroidered cloth, a cache of clothes from earlier centuries. A miasma of camphor permeated the air. James bent over one trunk, his back to the doorway.

  Jen paraded about in a blue satin gown that was much too large for her. Its hem dragged across the dusty floor like a monarch’s train. “I’m Cinderella,” she said.

  “No I’m Cinderella!” exclaimed Effie. A silken shawl in rainbow colors engulfed her small frame, and she had a feathered turban balanced on her head. It nearly hid her eyes. “You’re a wicked stepsister,” she added.

  “I am not!” replied Jen. “You are!”

  “You’re neither of you wicked,” said their older brother. “You’re princesses getting ready for the king’s ball.” Ned wore a dark-green velvet coat heavily embroidered with gilt flowers. Its full skirts fell to his ankles, and the sleeves hid his hands. He turned them back to free his fingers.

  “You’re getting dirt all over them fine things,” said Mrs. Gardener, who stood a little apart looking anxious.

  “No matter,” said James.

  “The dust will brush out,” said Cecelia.

  James turned so fast that he almost tripped. Then he smiled at her in a way that made Cecelia’s heart pound.

  “I wish gentlemen still wore clothes this fine,” said Ned, fingering the embroidery on his sleeve. “I knew a lady near our old place that did this kind of stitching. She had to wear powerful spectacles. She’d ruined her eyes on the fine bits.”

  “You weren’t supposed to be visiting her,” said Mrs. Gardener.

  “That don’t matter now,” replied Ned.

  His mother threw a nervous look at James. James smiled sunnily back at her.

  Ned opened another trunk. It contained rows of smaller wooden boxes. He opened one of those. “It’s wigs like the old people wore.” The boy lifted out a powdered concoction of waves and whorls and put it on his head. The new frame changed his face into something much more solemn.

  “You look like an ancestral portrait,” said James.

  “Or a high court judge,” said Cecelia.

  They exchanged a smiling look.

  “We need a mirror,” replied Ned.

  “Ned,” said his mother.

  “There’s a small one in my bedchamber,” said James.

  Cecelia noted that he seemed to be thinking of the room as his now, rather than his old chambers. “You must have a full-length glass,” she said to Ned. “There has to be one here somewhere.”

  “Undoubtedly,” said James. “But where?” He gestured at the rest of the house.

  “Look at this ’en, it’s purple.” Jen lifted another wig from one of the smaller boxes. The powder on it did have a violet cast. She raised it and plopped it onto her head, but when she tried to turn and preen, the heavy mound of curls fell off. Powder whoofed out in a circle around her and streaked the satin gown.

  “Jen, be careful!” cried her mother. “You’ve made a mess.”

  The three children crouched as if waiting for an explosion.

  “No matter,” said James again. “Look at this.” He bent over the trunk nearest him and pulled out a long, dark velvet robe, slightly moth-eaten. He put it on over his clothes. The garment fell to his feet in a straight line with wide embroidered lapels turned back at the front edges.

  Cecelia noticed a flat velvet cap in the same trunk and handed it to him. James gave her a wry look, but set it on his head.

  “An ancestor of mine who served Henry the Eighth wore something like this in his portrait,” he said. “I need a large gold chain of office though.”

  “And a sword,” said Jen. “To chop off people’s heads.”

  “What?” James turned to look at the girl.

  “That old king Henry chopped off all his wives’ heads,” she explained. She made a broad cutting gesture.

  “Not all,” said James. “Only two out of six.”

  “Oh well, that’s all right then,” said Cecelia.

  “I didn’t mean…” James began.

  “Look at the stitches here,” said Ned, examining the seam of another coat. “So tiny you can’t hardly see them. That’s good work, that is.”

  “You like clothes, don’t you?” Cecelia asked him.

  Ned dropped the coat and ducked his head as if dodging a blow.

  “He’s interested in all manner of things,” said his mother quickly. “He’s a clever lad. He likes horses, don’t you, Ned.”

  The boy nodded.

  “I can see how clever he is,” Cecelia replied. She hesitated, then decided to try out her idea. “I wonder if you might like to be a tailor?” she asked Ned.

  “That’s a feller who sews?” Ned asked.

  She stared at James, willing him to catch her drift. He held her gaze for a moment, frowning, then gave a quick nod. “A fine tailor helps set fashions,” he said to Ned. “He confers with gentlemen about the latest styles and makes certain they look their best. Someone like Weston or Stultz is highly respected and in great demand.”

  “Hah.” Ned looked interested. “I don’t see how I could ever do that.”

  “You would have to serve an apprenticeship,” answered James. “Work hard and learn for some years, I suppose.”

  “Them costs money,” replied Ned glumly.

  James met Cecelia’s eyes this time, and they held a quick silent conversation, noting that money could be found if it was wanted and that this topic should be set aside until the boy’s mother could be consulted. Glancing at Mrs. Gardener, Cecelia thought that she was at least partly aware of the exchange.

  She was more certain when Mrs. Gardener said, “Enough of this nonsense now.
Tidy up and come see if my pie is finished, as it ought to be.”

  The tidying was a haphazard whirlwind. Effie retained the silken shawl as the children rushed out. Their mother lingered in the doorway. “I ain’t giving them too many sweets,” she said, as if she’d been asked to defend her choices. “Only one time in the day. They’ve never had many treats.”

  “My dear Mrs. Gardener, feed them anything you like,” said James.

  She went out. Cecelia and James were left alone. Cecelia went to look into one of the trunks. “I never dressed up from the attics when I was young,” she said.

  “Neither did I,” replied James.

  She laughed, as he’d hoped she would.

  He gestured at the wild spill of clothing. “And you didn’t have this wealth of materials.”

  “No. Mama wasn’t much interested in fashion.”

  “She always looked well.”

  Cecelia blinked, surprised or touched, he couldn’t tell. “She did. Also Papa was trying to educate me in philosophy. Our amusements tended to be subdued.”

  “Was he? I didn’t know.” James was overjoyed to see her. When she hadn’t visited for a day, he’d nearly left the house and gone to call on her. Another day, and he would have. But she was here now, not so very far from where she’d kissed him. The kiss had not kept her away. They needed to speak of it. And, he very much hoped, do it again. But mainly to get things settled between them.

  “He’d given up by the time we met,” she said. “He said my thoughts jumped about like grasshoppers.” She sniffed. “I was seven years old!”

  “I have always argued that your father’s judgment is flawed. As you know.”

  “So very well.” She glanced at him then away, seeming uncharacteristically shy. “You didn’t have costumes at school?”

  “Not like this.” He ran his hand over the velvet robe.

  “No troops of Eton boys dressed up as their illustrious ancestors?”

  “None.” James took off the robe and cap and replaced them in the trunk. “Grubby boots and skinned knees were more the fashion.”

  She wandered about the room examining the piles of garments. He couldn’t simply sweep her into his arms. Could he? No. Something must be said first. The right words. James felt he had so much to say and so little idea of how to put it.

  “You will have to find a way to curb the children without bringing up bad memories,” said Cecelia. “Otherwise chaos will begin to reign.”

  “Chaos is already monarch here,” he replied. “They fit right in.”

  “But you are trying to bring order.”

  “Am I? Yes, I suppose I am. But a bit of license can’t hurt. And discipline is up to their mother, is it not?”

  At last she met his eyes. “You can’t bear to see them flinch.”

  James could not deny it. “Well, can you? Could anyone?”

  “A good many people, I’m afraid. But not me. You’re right.”

  “Well, we care nothing for those others.”

  The tender look she gave him then nearly destroyed his control. His hand rose of its own accord, reaching for her. How had he failed to see what she meant to him for so long? “Cecelia.”

  “I think Ned could be a fine tailor,” she said.

  “That was a good idea.”

  “I have them now and then.” It was her old teasing tone.

  “I have never said you did not.”

  “What about the time…”

  “Cecelia.” He repeated, moving closer. “I have been thinking about you nearly every moment since we last met.”

  She flushed.

  “I hope that you had also… That you enjoyed it as much as I…” It felt as if the words were actual objects tangling his tongue, which had never happened to him before.

  “I did.”

  The simple phrase loosed all bounds. They moved irresistibly together and into the sort of kiss that had flamed in James’s memory since that day. She was soft and eager in his arms. He was wild with desire. Their bodies strove to melt into one.

  “That is very much enough of that,” said a scandalized voice from the doorway.

  They jumped apart and whirled.

  “Great heavens.”

  “Aunt Valeria!” exclaimed Cecelia. “What are you…? How did you find me?”

  “How?” The plump blond woman looked exasperated. “I followed you, Cecelia. Which was not at all difficult to do. Your absences have been noticed by the servants, you know. And although the staff revere you, your maid thought it best to mention them to me. Rightly so.” She let out an irritated breath.

  Cecelia glanced at James. “I didn’t see…”

  “Of course you did not see me,” interrupted her aunt. “I took care that you should not. That is how I lost track of you when you ducked into the alleyway behind this extraordinary house. Ducked into the alleyway, Cecelia! Do you hear the impropriety of that phrase? Does it have any effect on you? I found my way back and inside, lingering in the…disorder across the hallway to make my observations.”

  “Miss Vainsmede,” began James.

  She held up an admonitory hand, walked into the room, and turned in a circle, surveying the jumbled clothing before facing Cecelia again. “I have always trusted you to show good judgment,” she continued. “I thought you were an intelligent, level-headed girl. And so I have never been a strict chaperone. But this is too much. Slipping off secretly to meet Tereford! Clandestine embraces.” She looked around again. “Unacceptable. As well as inexplicable. It’s not as if he is Romeo and you Juliet. He can call on you at home.”

  “Miss Vainsmede,” James tried again. A rat flashed past the open doorway; a large fierce-looking cat followed it down the corridor in hot pursuit. There was a clatter of falling objects.

  A wordless exclamation escaped Cecelia.

  Her aunt marched up to James and fixed him with a jaundiced gaze. “I am not one to criticize eccentricity, Tereford. Pot and kettle and so on. You are free to do as you like. However mad. But I will not allow you to involve Cecelia in…whatever it is you’re doing here.” She shook her head muttering, “A servants’ costume ball?”

  James wanted to say that he and Cecelia were engaged to be married. But Miss Vainsmede’s inopportune arrival had prevented him from verifying this. Of course they were, with the way she’d kissed him. But he’d gone too fast the last time he’d proposed. He couldn’t make such an announcement without speaking to Cecelia.

  He tried to judge her thoughts from her expression. If she gave him some signal. But he could not be sure what she wished him to do.

  “And I must say, abandoning polite society, which you purportedly enjoyed, to live in squalor is a bit much,” said Miss Vainsmede. She frowned at him. “Could you find no other way of being a mystery?”

  “Mystery?”

  “The wonder of your disappearance after your abandonment of polite behavior,” the older lady replied. “Has the disorder here turned your brain?”

  “People are still talking of that?” James asked. The reason for his flight seemed so much less important now. He’d almost forgotten.

  “Of course they are,” replied the older lady. “It is much more than a nine-days’ wonder. Everyone who calls on us has a theory. They have become increasingly wild.”

  The cat passed the doorway going the other way, the dead rat now hanging from its jaws. James wondered if she was taking her kill to the kitchen to demonstrate her prowess and solidify her position.

  “And yet they do not quite come up to the reality,” added Miss Vainsmede, her tone desert dry.

  To announce an engagement when he had been absent from society without explanation would increase the gossip. Cecelia would be brought into it. James didn’t want speculative whispers attached to their news. And Cecelia was still silent. Why had he wasted the chan
ce to talk to her alone? He ought to have proposed and then kissed her. “If I could just have a moment to speak to C…your niece.”

  “You may do so whenever you like,” answered her aunt. “At our house. Not here. She will not be coming here again. From now on she will be home for morning calls. As I informed the horde of people who came looking for details about her expedition with the prince.”

  “Expedition?” James asked.

  Cecelia flushed. “Hardly that,” she murmured. “A visit to Vauxhall merely.”

  The bolt of jealousy that went through James exceeded any that had shaken him before. It was like an earthquake. He realized that he’d imagined Prince Karl had dropped from her life, as he had from James’s. Cecelia’s visits to him here had created a small world of their own, apart from all that. He’d come to cherish it. He’d thought she did as well.

  But she’d gone on with her life outside their hidden realm, and there she’d spent time with the prince. Gone to Vauxhall—with its dim pathways and hidden nooks! Prince Karl was just the sort of fellow to take full advantage of them. What was he to Cecelia now?

  James felt furiously confused. She’d kissed him! And enjoyed it. She’d said so. Cecelia wasn’t a girl who scattered meaningless kisses.

  “Come, Cecelia, we are going,” said Miss Vainsmede.

  “I will just stay a bit longer, Aunt. A few minutes only.”

  She looked as if she wanted to tell him something significant. James clutched at the possibility. “Indeed,” he began.

  “No.” The older woman’s face fell into stubborn lines. “We have an agreement, Cecelia. Unspoken till now, I concede, but clear nonetheless. I stand in the place of your chaperone for propriety’s sake, and you make it unnecessary for me to act as one. By being sensible! By behaving as you ought. And you deal with society. I am weary of them all. You will return home with me at once.” She crossed her arms and glowered at them both.

  “What about the free flight of the queen bee?” replied Cecelia. Quite inexplicably, to James.

  “My dear girl, I know you are well aware that a metaphor is not to be applied literally.” She huffed out a disgusted breath. “If only you were a bee. We would get on so much more easily. Come along!”