If this were yesterday morning, they’d be talking. Laughing. Teasing.
But this was today. The last day.
One thing hadn’t changed—she still refused to take his arm. She was so bloody, maddingly independent.
And yet it was in large part her fierce independence that so drew him to her. That and her kindness. Her intelligence, her sense of fun, her sensitivity—especially to Thomas—
And her body.
He was a man after all.
He would take her friendship if she decided that was all she could offer him, but he wanted so much more. He wanted everything.
They’d reached the temple. Bear was there before them, sniffing Aphrodite’s feet. He woofed a welcome, wagging the great fan of his tail, and then went back to exploring the olfactory delights that lurked in the folly’s corners. The click of his nails on the marble floor sounded especially loud in the sudden quiet.
Well, Edward supposed that it was actually no quieter now than it had been the moment before. It just felt as if everything had paused, holding its breath, waiting with a sudden sense of expectation—or, to be honest, doom.
It had been evening the first time he’d been here with Jo. The shadows had been beginning to soften, lengthen. The line between what was real and what was imagined—dreamed of, hoped for—had begun to blur. Anything had seemed possible.
Now the sun was bright and sharp.
Within hours she would leave, and the magic of this fortnight would be over.
“Well—”
They both spoke at the same time. Stopped. Stared at each other.
Before this morning, they would have laughed together. Now, he bowed and said, formally, awkwardly, “Please, you first.”
Jo nodded, accepting the burden—and speaking first was a burden, he realized. He was being a coward to put the onus on her, but he did it anyway. She might be stronger than he in this.
He hated feeling so . . . helpless. So powerless to control matters, to make what he wanted happen. But that was the way with life, wasn’t it? He couldn’t stop Helen from dying. He couldn’t protect Thomas from hurt and disappointment. And he couldn’t make Jo marry him.
Jo moistened her lips, opened her mouth—and then turned to walk toward the stone bench.
Oh, God. The bench where they’d first touched, first kissed.
Perhaps Jo felt some of the same pain he did, because she changed course, veering away to follow the curve of the portico, stopping only when she came to a spot where all they could see was trees—nice, calm, restful vegetation.
Well, not entirely restful. A squirrel objected to their presence from a nearby branch.
Bear took exception to that and came over to bark a rebuke, which sent the furry-tailed rodent scampering down the trunk and off into the underbrush.
“Edward.”
Here it comes.
He gripped the balustrade, braced himself...
“I love you.”
His heart leapt with joy. He turned to grin down at her.
She wasn’t grinning back.
Hell. There’s a but coming.
He braced himself again.
“But I can’t agree to marry you. Not yet.”
He must have made a small sound of distress, because Bear interrupted his rodent watch to look up at him.
Jo looked away, out into the woods. “I’m sorry. I know it’s not what you wanted to hear, but—”
He interrupted her, panic suddenly loosening his tongue. He was not going to—he couldn’t—accept that answer without trying to change her mind.
“Why can’t you?”
She frowned at him. “It’s obvious.”
“Not to me.”
She stared at him. He stared back.
She finally gave a little huff, rolled her eyes, and said, in a tone that suggested she was addressing a halfwit, “You’re a duke.”
“Yes. And I was once a solicitor. But when it comes down to it, I’m just a man.” He tried to lighten matters by waggling his brows suggestively. “As you know very, very well.”
She flushed, but he could see she wasn’t going to give in.
“I have my work. The Home is in Little Puddledon. That’s where I need to be—not with you at Grainger or at any of your other properties.”
“But you don’t have to choose.” He took a breath, tried to modulate his voice. “Livy can manage the Home, can’t she?”
Jo shook her head. “No. Especially not now, when we are setting up a second home for mothers with sons. Livy might be able to handle one of the places, but not both.”
He almost suggested they rethink the new project, but he stopped himself in time. Jo would dismiss that argument out of hand, and, being the father of a son, he would have to agree with her.
He was an attorney. He would offer up another argument.
“Yes, but think, Jo. Wouldn’t it be better to have Livy in charge of one place and to find someone else to fill the second position? If you had two women doing the day-to-day work, you’d be free to concentrate on planning. With two homes, there will be more planning to do.”
She frowned again. Was she wavering?
“I would still need to be in Little Puddledon.”
“I don’t know about that. If you chose the right people, people you can trust, you can rely on letters—just as you and I have done over the last year.”
“Mmm.”
“And you—we—could certainly visit regularly.”
He would dangle some other charitable tidbits in front of her. She was an ardent reformer. He’d heard her talking to Lady Darrow about the school the countess had started for the tenant children here.
“And think of all the good you could do on my estates.”
Did he see a flicker of interest in her eyes?
“Do you have schools?”
“No—or should I say, not yet?”
She gave him a pointed look that he took as a warning not to push her too much—or too obviously.
He would move on to other enticements.
“I could certainly use your advice on what policies I should support in the House of Lords to further the well-being of women and children.”
Her eyes were definitely gleaming now.
But she controlled herself. “No. It’s not just that you’re a duke, Edward. Oh, that’s part of it. But more than that, it’s just too soon.” She shook her head decisively. “I made that mistake with Freddie. I can’t do that again.”
But you aren’t seventeen and I’m not Freddie.
He didn’t say it—he kept his lips tightly sealed. He didn’t want to risk putting her back up.
“Don’t you see, Edward? It’s too soon for both of us. We’ve been on holiday, away from our real lives, thrown together with no other responsibilities. Things will look different once we are home. Once I am back in Little Puddledon, and you are back in London.”
“No, they won’t.” He sounded as sulky as Thomas sometimes did when he told him to finish his beans.
Well, he felt sulky. He didn’t want to go back to London with all its two-faced toadies. Not now that he’d found Jo.
Jo frowned at him. “Think! Isn’t it true that you were worn out from the Marriage Mart when you came to Darrow? And then you met me, and I wasn’t pursuing you. That must have been a relief. And then it turned out that Thomas liked me, even asked me to be his mother.”
“Yes! See—”
She waved him to silence. “How do you know what you feel isn’t largely because you see me as an answer to your problem? A tidy . . . solution that frees you from having to trawl Society’s ballrooms any longer?”
His stomach twisted. “No. That’s not it. I—” He shook his head. Come to the point. “How can you say that, Jo? I love you. I want to marry you. Not anyone else.”
She frowned, put her hand on his arm. “You may think you do, Edward, but—”
He shrugged off her touch, suddenly angry. “I know how I feel, Jo. I am willing to agree to w
ait to see if my feelings change, but I don’t think they will. I’m a grown man who has lived thirty-five years. I know my own mind.”
Jo’s brows snapped down. “And I am a widow of thirty-four years. I know my own mind as well.” She poked him in the chest. “You were happily married—I was not. You are a man—I am not.”
He was tempted to make a salacious joke about that, but fortunately his brain kept a tight rein on his tongue. He swallowed the words.
“Women give up everything when they marry, Edward, even our identities. I’d become your duchess. Your wife. Thomas’s stepmother. No one would see me any longer.”
She looked away from him, off into the woods. “I do love you, but I need to be sure I love you enough. I need time away from you, from this”—she waved her hand, taking in the temple and, he knew, the house party in general—“unnatural environment. From Pen and Caro scheming to get me married to you.”
She looked back at him. “You know I decided to marry Freddie too quickly. I am older and wiser, yes, but I will admit I don’t feel older. I feel just as bowled over, as dazzled, as I did then.” She flushed. “And, well, more seduced. I love what you do to me in bed, but we can’t live our lives in bed.”
Unfortunately.
She didn’t say the word, of course, but he thought he heard a note of regret in her voice, a longing that echoed his own.
Bear had come round to fill the space between them. Edward felt the dog bump against his leg and bent down to scratch his ears, thankful for the small distraction.
“I just need time and some distance, Edward, to sort out my feelings.”
That was fair. “Very well. Let’s agree in . . . how much time would you say you need away from my handsome, charming self?”
Jo snorted and rolled her eyes, just as he’d hoped. “A month or two, I suppose. I know at first I’ll miss you terribly.”
That sounded promising.
“But I imagine that will wear off in a few weeks.”
Not so promising.
“Why don’t you write me in—let’s say in two months’ time,” he said, “to let me know what you’ve decided.”
Should I mention now that she might be carrying my child?
No. She’d snap his nose off—and perhaps remove other parts as well—if he did.
“And I should come down to Little Puddledon anyway,” he said. “Well, I should have visited months ago. But especially now that we are talking of starting the Home for mothers and sons. You can show me the site you have in mind, and we can discuss more of the details.” He swallowed, looked away briefly. “And I promise not to pressure you if you decide I am just your friend and not your lover.”
Jo nodded. “Yes. That sounds reasonable.” She put her hand on his arm. “It’s not just having to leave Little Puddledon, Edward. I hated London. Or, well, I suppose it was Society I hated—all those people staring at me, whispering about me.”
His hand covered hers. “I don’t like Society much, either, Jo. People stare and whisper about me, too. But I think I can face them more easily if I have you at my side.”
She looked up at him, her eyes softening as if she was swayed by his words.
He would not allow himself to hope . . . too much.
“And you’ll be a duchess, Jo. You can look down your nose at them.” He grinned. “Though I do think we should spend most of our time in the country when I don’t need to be in Town for Parliament. London has its attractions, but it’s very dirty and noisy.”
Something else had caused her eyes to cloud. “Oh, Edward. The ton never forgets a scandal. The old cats are sure to remember Freddie’s suicide—and that it was a result of losing at cards to the previous Duke of Grainger.”
He shrugged. “Let them remember. We can’t change the past, Jo.”
She frowned, but he could tell she was worried.
“Come, Jo. You are one of the bravest women I know. You aren’t going to let a few gossipy women—and men—control what you do, are you?”
“N-no.” Her chin came up, her voice grew stronger. “No.”
“There you go. I have complete confidence in you.” And he would allow himself some hope.
“And now we should go back. Thomas will want to say good-bye to you.”
Jo nodded. “Yes. And I wish to say good-bye to him. He’s a wonderful boy, Edward.”
He grinned. He hoped Jo’s obvious love for Thomas would be one more prod moving her in his direction.
He even managed to keep her hand on his arm all the way down the temple steps before she reclaimed it.
Chapter Seventeen
The Darrow traveling coach swayed to a stop in front of the Benevolent Home for the Maintenance and Support of Spinsters, Widows, and Abandoned Women and their Unfortunate Children.
Jo stared out the window as she waited for the coachman to open the door. She’d been in a fit of the dismals ever since she’d left Darrow, but had thought her spirits would lift when she finally reached the Manor.
They hadn’t.
The old brick building looked . . . different. Smaller.
No, it’s the same. I’m the one who has changed. The Home doesn’t feel like home any longer.
Nonsense. She was just tired from traveling. She’d bounce back and be her normal self soon enough.
“Thank you, Zachariah,” she said as the coachman let down the steps.
The man smiled. “I hope ye had a good journey, milady.”
“Yes, I did. You are an excellent—”
“Jo!”
Jo looked over to see Winifred hurrying toward her and brightened a bit. That’s right. The Home was more than just a building. It was the people in it that made her feel like this was where she belonged.
Winifred’s gaze had already swept past her.
“And Zachariah! I’ve been looking forward to seeing you again.”
The coachman laughed. “I know ye weren’t looking for me, Winifred. It’s me horses yer wanting to see.”
Winifred grinned. “Aye. Though it is good to see you as well.”
Clearly, Jo had been forgotten.
She’d assume Zachariah would think to unload her trunk—not that she needed any of those altered dresses here—and would leave these two to wax poetic over horseflesh. There was one creature at the Home who she felt certain would be happy to see her.
“Where’s Freddie, Winifred?”
Winifred couldn’t manage to tear her eyes away from the lead horse, but she did answer. “With Livy in her office.”
Jo stared. Livy had an office?
She had a bad feeling about this. “Where?”
That got a bit more of Winifred’s attention. The woman managed to glance over, looking slightly abashed. “Oh. I mean your office, o’ course.”
Jo’s stomach dropped—and then her ire rose. So, Livy had taken over her office, had she? Well, they would just see about that! Jo was not about to let the woman usurp her position without a battle royale.
She strode around the house to her office, knocked briskly, as a warning only—she was not about to ask permission to enter her own office—and opened the door.
She had just enough time to see Livy was indeed sitting in her seat at her desk before Freddie erupted into a paroxysm of joyous, demented barking. He leapt up from his usual place at what should have been her feet and bounded over to greet her.
She crouched down to hug him and have her face enthusiastically washed.
“Jo,” Livy said, having the grace to vacate Jo’s chair. “You’re back.”
Jo tried to glare at her, but it was hard to do that when she had to keep dodging Freddie’s tongue.
“Yes, Freddie,” Jo said, finally capturing her dog’s face in her hands. “I’m happy to see you, too, but do try to restrain yourself a little.” She managed to stand and then reclaimed her seat at the desk. Freddie rested his head in her lap, and she stroked his ears.
She immediately felt calmer, more in control.
&nbs
p; Livy had taken one of the chairs on the other side of the desk. Now she leaned forward. “I’m dying to hear all about the house party, Jo. Tell me everything.” Her brows tented. “But first, how are Nick and Caro doing? Caro sounds happy, but it is sometimes difficult to discern the truth of the matter from letters. And I don’t know her well, of course.”
Jo had opened her mouth to take Livy to task for her egregious meddling, but was stopped by the note of sincere concern in the woman’s voice.
“They both seem very happy,” she said.
Livy beamed at her. “Oh, good! I thought Caro would be perfect for Nick.” She sighed happily. “While I’ve always considered myself a matchmaker, the matches I’ve made in the past were just for a few hours. Caro and Nick were my first try at making a match for life.”
And then a distinctly mischievous gleam appeared in her eyes. “And my second try was just a fortnight ago. Tell me how I did with that, Jo.” She waggled her brows. “Did Edward like your dresses?”
He had, but . . .
“Livy, I cannot believe you had the audacity to take your scissors to my wardrobe! There was hardly anything left to those bodices. And the new dresses you slipped into my trunk were just as scandalous.”
Though she had got used to them after a day or two. She was wearing her old travel dress now—it felt odd to have so much fabric near her neck.
Livy was eyeing that dress with obvious distaste. “It’s criminal how you hide yourself in such dowdy gowns, Jo. You have a very nice figure.”
Jo flushed. Well, what else should she expect from a former madam?
“Though I grant you there aren’t any gentlemen in this vicinity worth trying to impress,” Livy said. “Edward, however . . .” She brightened. “Did he like your gowns?”
“Er.”
“You may as well tell me. I’ll find out anyway. Caro will write me.”
Of course, she would. And Livy would likely report everything Jo said to Caro.
Blast it, I’m surrounded by spies.
“Yes, he liked them.”
Livy gave a little bounce in her seat. “And . . . ?”
“Why do you think there’s an and?”
Livy pinned her with her far-too-perceptive gaze. “Reading people is part of my job, Jo—or was part of my job, my old job.” She grinned. “And, also, I know Edward. You’re perfect for him—even more perfect than Caro is for Nick.”
Cheers to the Duke Page 20