The Duke waved a hand, although his gaze had become a little more fixed.
“I would like to know of your past,” he stated, calmly. “You are a distant cousin of Lady Matthews, I believe?”
Jenny nodded slowly, her eyes searching the Duke’s innocuous expression as though she might find a hidden secret lurking beneath. “I am a second cousin,” she said, slowly, refusing to go into any particular detail about her relationship with his late wife. “That is all.”
“And did you spend much of your childhood with the family?”
“No,” Jenny stated, her brows furrowing as she looked into the Duke’s eyes and saw the eagerness there. What was it he wished to know?
“Then what of your own family?”
Jenny swallowed hard, still feeling a rising suspicion deep within her heart. The Duke appeared to be simply trying to converse with her, trying to discover a little more about her, and yet she could not help but feel as though there was more to what he was asking than he wanted to reveal. “My parents are recently deceased,” she replied, not giving him any further explanation as to what had occurred, even though the stab of pain in her heart at the memory was more than difficult for her to bear without revealing some of it in her expression. “I have no other immediate family.”
“Then you must be glad to find some kinship here,” he replied, with a quick smile. “To know that you are caring for Lady Carrington’s children?”
She did not immediately respond, finding that his question and his assumption were almost something of an affront. No, she wanted to state. There could be no relief for the loss of her own parents and for the difficulties she then faced when they were gone from this world and had left her behind. Being in this house had been a daily struggle, given that the children were unwilling to have her present as their governess and had treated her with contempt since their very first meeting. That, at least, had changed, but it did not detract from the fact that she had been made to feel most unwelcome by the late Lady Carrington’s children.
“I am glad that Mary and John have become a little more cooperative of late,” she said, eventually, with a slight lift of her shoulders. “It has not been a simple task, Your Grace, to step into the role of a governess. Your children have missed your presence.” She was glad that he had taken the time to greet them properly, as he had been expected to, but she had been sorry to hear both Mary and John speak with such confusion and such pain over that particular meeting.
The Duke cleared his throat and waved a hand as though the mention of his children did not mean a great deal to him. “I have met with them both,” he stated, decisively, as though his duty to them was now complete. “Tell me, Miss Edgington. “What did you spend your days doing, as a girl? Were you simply at home? Or did you have times when you visited with your wider family - your aunts, uncles, and cousins?”
A knot tied itself in Jenny’s stomach. “I was busy assisting my mother and father,” she replied, carefully, beginning to realize what the Duke was doing. “That is all.”
“You did not see a great deal of your wider family, then?”
A sudden surge of anger shot its way up her spine and Jenny found herself standing tall, her eyes fixed on the Duke with such fury coursing through her that she could barely catch her breath.
“If you think that I shall sit here and tell you all I remember of your late wife, Your Grace, then you are quite mistaken,” she answered, furiously. “You are not at all interested in what I have to say about my own life, nor do you care about how your behavior towards me has fallen short of expected standards. YOU simply wish to lose yourself in memories, do you not?” She saw him glower at her, sinking back into his chair with a dark expression on his face. “Well, I shall not do as you demand, Your Grace. Good evening.”
She turned away from him, aware that her face was burning with a deep anger that she could barely contain. Her upset over his treatment of her, the realization that he had simply invited her to dine with him for his own ends and the understanding that she meant nothing to him whatsoever, all forced her feet into quick, hurried steps.
“Wait, Miss Edgington.”
The Duke’s voice was loud and commanding and it was only by sheer force of will that Jenny managed to stop herself from flinging open the door and striding from it.
“You will tell me what I wish to know of my wife.”
He was beside her now, his presence suddenly large and overwhelming. His hand grasped her arm, his eyes narrowing as he looked down into her face. She could smell the wine on his breath, aware that, yet again, he was behaving inappropriately. The amount of liquor he had drunk would account for that, and Jenny felt herself recoil from him.
“You have no right to demand such things from me,” she stated, fiercely, looking up into his face without fear. “I am here as your children’s governess, not as your personal companion, ready to speak of your wife whenever you wish it.” She wrenched her arm away from his when she saw him lean over her. For the first time, she felt a slight edge of fear. “Good evening, Your Grace.”
“Miss Edgington.”
His voice held a heavy warning, but Jenny did not respond. She did not listen to his demand that she remain by his side, nor that she speak as he wished her to. The fear that he might grasp her arm and force her to do as he requested began to burn in her heart, sending spirals of anxiety through her. It was all she could do to keep herself from running from him. Instead, she pulled the door open wide and scurried through it.
The wide-eyed face of Mrs. Blaine was there waiting for her. Without a word, the housekeeper took her arm in hers and, together, the two women made their way along the hallway and back towards the servants’ stairs, putting as much distance as they could between Jenny and the Duke of Carrington.
Chapter Eight
Something was tickling at his nose.
Stephen frowned and rubbed at it hard, his eyes still firmly closed. He had no idea what it could be, only aware that it was annoying him and tugging him from what had been a rather pleasant sleep.
“Do go away,” he muttered in frustration, his fingers attempting to grasp the offending item – only for him to realize that there was another piece stabbing at his temples.
With a groan, Stephen lifted his head and attempted to open his eyes.
It was a rather difficult task and one that he had not yet become used to, not even after ten days back at his own estate.
The smell of straw filled his nose as he cracked open one eye, feeling a wave of nausea crash over him. Apparently, he was not in his bedchamber as he had thought. Instead, it seemed he was in the stables, lying across three large rectangular bales of straw.
Closing his eyes again, Stephen let out a small groan, hating that he had allowed himself to become so drunk that he lost all good sense. This was becoming something of a habit, he realized, passing one hand over his eyes as he attempted to push himself up. He would spend each evening on his own, either in the library or in the study, drinking whatever he pleased until the memories that tore at his mind began to fade away. How he hated sitting alone in the evenings! It was a place where memories began to grow all around him, whispering and beckoning to him as he tried his utmost to fight them back. They always succeeded, however, in capturing his mind. They would flood him without regard, pressing tears to his eyes and agony to his heart. Martha would, oft times, stand before him with that familiar, gentle smile on her face, and he would reach out to her – only to realize that she was nothing more than a vision in his mind. The pain that sliced through him, then, sometimes brought a cry to his lips, his eyes squeezing closed against the agony that burned within him.
She was never there, as he had hoped. She always faded away, never to return to his arms again.
Sometimes, within the darkness, within the sorrow and the suffering, he would find his mind tugging towards thoughts of Miss Edgington. He could not explain why, for she was not at all like Martha, given that she had a sharp tongue and a l
ack of propriety in how she addressed him. But for whatever reason, she remained there. It was as though she were somehow the only thing that would bring him a little relief from his sorrows. Her bluntness, her icy gaze and her disparaging remarks as regarded his behavior was a sharpness that cut through his agony, chasing it away for a few moments. It sometimes gave him just enough time to catch his breath before the memories of Martha began to assail him again.
He was not behaving as a Duke ought, he was well aware of that. Yes, he was able to continue with the duties of his estate as he had done before he had left this place for the continent. But come the evenings, he would lose himself in liquor. When he awoke the following morning, he would have only a few hours to prepare himself for the afternoon and the responsibilities that came with his status and title, and so the cycle seemed to continue. No matter what he did, nothing ever changed. It was beginning to become something of a habit. It was as though, in sitting alone each evening, he now expected these thoughts to come to mind. He had the whisky already prepared, sitting on a small table beside him so that he could easily begin to drink whatever was required. Nothing ever seemed to change and, perhaps, he thought, wincing as he sat up straight, he did not want it to. In a strange way, mayhap he wanted to continue to remember Martha. Mayhap he wished her to come to his mind every night, no matter the consequences that followed thereafter. It was his way of remembering her, of bringing her to life again, even if he was tormented by the sight of her.
“Good gracious!”
A startled voice broke the otherwise quiet stables and, without so much as looking up, Stephen knew precisely whom it belonged to.
“Miss Edgington,” he muttered, his voice rasping as he remained seated. “Good morning.”
There came nothing but silence to his greeting, making Stephen cringe, awash with mortification at having been found so.
“I am going riding,” he lied, as though this was the explanation for him sitting in the stables, in one of the vacant stalls, surrounded by straw. “Is it a fine morning?” Screwing up his eyes, he looked up towards Miss Edgington and immediately regretted doing so. Her hands were planted firmly on her hips, her lips were pulled into a thin line, and her eyes were fixed upon his, holding such disapproval that he knew she did not even need to say a word to communicate how she felt about his current behavior.
“It is a fine afternoon, Your Grace,” Miss Edgington stated, arching one brow in his direction as he realized his mistake. “The staff have been looking for you, I might add, and there is a good deal of concern over your wellbeing. I, myself, planned to go out riding in an attempt to discover where you might have gone but it seems that the search is no longer required.” She sniffed, disdainfully, and looked away. “Not that I have any intention of giving up my opportunity to ride, however. Now that you are quite secure and appear to be in no particular danger, I shall take the chance to ride across the estate regardless.” Her eyes flicked to his and then away again. “Do excuse me, Your Grace. I must inform the staff that you are found.”
He wanted to protest, wanted to call her back and state that she need not do so, for fear that his shame and embarrassment would grow all the more steadily once his staff knew of his whereabouts. But, his voice did not do as he had expected and he found only a soft moan escaping from him. The burden of his guilt weighed heavily on his mind, knowing that, yet again, he had disgraced himself in front of Miss Edgington.
It was not the first time since he had arrived back at his estate that he had done so – that, he well knew. He had, of course, made a somewhat lewd suggestion the first time they had been properly introduced. Thereafter, having endured her scathing tongue and sharp retorts about his behavior and his propriety, had thought that he might attempt to make amends by asking her to join him for dinner. However, the thoughts of his wife and how they had used to sit together to dine had rubbed at the edges of his mind, until he had been able to think of nothing else. Miss Edgington had become just another way to remember Martha. He had wanted her to tell him everything she recalled of Lady Carrington, even though he had known, deep within himself, that to do such a thing would only tear at his heart all the more.
Miss Edgington had become aware of his intention rather quickly, however. When she had attempted to quit the room, refusing to do as he had asked, he had become rather forceful and certainly incredibly demanding. The flicker of fear in her eyes had startled him but had not prevented him from insisting that she do as he requested. However, Miss Edgington had more fire within her than that, and so had simply strode from the room, his warnings hanging over her head like a cloud. She had not given him any more heed, nor considered his warnings to be of any particular concern. It was as though she knew that he could never remove her from his estate.
That was the worst of it, Stephen considered, hanging onto the edge of the stall as he hauled himself up, glad that his head did not scream in agony as he did so. Miss Edgington could never be sent from his house. Not when his children appeared to be so dependent on her, and certainly not when she had enough mettle to remain in his employ despite his behavior and his questionable propriety. No other young lady might do so. The butler had, on one occasion, made mention that the children had been ‘rather difficult’ when Miss Edgington had first appeared, as though to make Stephen aware that they could not do without her and that he would never be able to find someone akin to Miss Edgington’s abilities again.
“Your Grace!”
One of the stable hands appeared, framed in the doorway of the stables, his eyes wide as he stared at Stephen.
“I do apologize,” he stammered, as Stephen let go of the stall and attempted to stand straight. “I didn’t know you were here.”
“It is quite all right,” Stephen replied, with as much pomp as he could muster, even though he was quite certain that there was straw sticking out of his hair and his clothes were dirty. “I shall return inside at once. Please, go about your duties.” He gave a dismissive wave of his arm and attempted to walk from the stall without stumbling, his cheeks growing a deep shade of red as he realized just how much would be said about him amongst his staff.
“Oh.”
He turned before he left the stables, eyeing the stable hand with a sharp eye. “Is Miss Edgington to go out riding?”
“I am preparing a mare for her, yes, Your Grace,” the stable hand replied, no longer looking at Stephen but keeping his eyes fixed to the ground. “She enjoys a short ride whenever she has an afternoon free.”
Stephen nodded slowly, an idea forming in his mind. If he could change quickly and drink a few cups of coffee, he might then be able to ride out after Miss Edgington and have a conversation with her. One which she could not easily escape from. “Then have my stallion prepared also,” he said, firmly, aware of the weakness in his limbs and knowing that he needed to eat something before he was ready to ride. “I shall return in around half an hour. Have him ready by then.”
The stable hand, ready as ever to do his master’s bidding, bowed and did not lift his head until Stephen had turned away. Stephen, aware that his staff would know by now that he had been discovered, made his way back to the house with slow, careful steps, not wanting to wobble or stumble as he did so. The staff would, most likely, be watching him from the windows and he did not want to bring himself any further embarrassment.
* * *
One hour later and Stephen was finally prepared and ready to mount his stallion. It had taken a little longer than he had intended to bathe, change and curb his rumbling stomach, which meant that, most likely, Miss Edgington was already considering returning back to the estate from her ride. Regardless, Stephen was determined to try and speak to her. Yes, he could summon her to his study and insist that they have a conversation, but that would only lead to a formal exchange, devoid of emotion, which would bring him no relief. He had to speak to her plainly, in the hope that she would see in his expression a true regret for what he had done to make her residence in his home so part
icularly uncomfortable.
Besides which, he reasoned, throwing his leg over the saddle and pulling himself upright, he had always enjoyed riding although it had been some time since he had done so simply for the pleasure of it. The afternoon was fine, although evening would soon be drawing in. And as such, Stephen was determined to relish it. Yes, his head was still rather painful but he was not about to let it stop him from riding out.
The wind tugged at his clothes as he spurred the horse into a gallop. The vast grounds of his estate opened themselves up to him and, for the first time since he had arrived home, Stephen felt a smidge of pleasure growing in his heart. A tiny feeling of contentment rose within him as he continued to let his stallion run with abandon, not caring whither they went but simply allowing him his head. The sense of freedom began to envelop him completely, bringing him a spurt of joy that he could not easily resist.
And then, he saw her.
Miss Edgington was riding her mare slowly beside the large lake that lay to the left of his manor house. She was gazing down upon it as though she might see something wonderful emerge from within, her face lit with a gentle smile. It was such a beautiful picture that Stephen felt unwilling to break it, even though he knew that his reason for riding out was simply to speak to her.
Unfortunately, before he had a chance to decide whether to continue on or turn away from her, Miss Edgington looked up. Her smile faded away at once, ice growing in her eyes as she watched him draw near. Stephen swallowed hard, aware that there was a deep divide between them and fully aware that he was entirely responsible for it.
“Miss Edgington.”
His voice was harder than he had intended it to be and, from the look in Miss Edgington’s eyes, she did not much care for his manner.
“I thought to join you,” he said, lamely, not quite certain what else to say. “That is, if you would not mind.”
A New Home for the Duke: A Regency Romance: The Returned Lords of Grosvenor Square (Book 4) Page 7