Glowing in Gold: The Brothers Duke: Book Five

by Felicia Greene

  ‘Miss Selkirk, may I be frank with you?’

  The precious feeling of peace abruptly vanished. ‘Of course. I’m invariably frank with everyone I come across. I expect much the same treatment.’

  ‘Well then. I shall endeavour to treat you with less delicacy than to which I am accustomed.’ Charles smiled, pausing for a few moments as he arranged his thoughts. Jane took the opportunity to look surreptitiously around the room, trying to glean clues as to the man’s personality from the objects in his library.

  There was little to suggest vice, virtue or anything else. A great many expensive things amongst the books, yes, but arranged in a hurried fashion. Almost as if his deepest self, his heart, was somewhere else entirely.

  ‘Miss Selkirk?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘You looked curious for a moment. Absent, almost.’

  ‘Forgive me. I was attempting to ascertain your inner self through the objects I see on display.’

  ‘Ah.’ Charles blinked. ‘You certainly are frank.’

  ‘Was there any point in telling falsehoods?’

  ‘No.’ Charles smiled. ‘I can see why Edward in particular likes you so very much.’

  ‘Was… was this your way of being frank?’

  ‘No, Miss Selkirk. If I were to be frank, I would say that Edward is powerfully in love with you, and has no idea how to behave as a result.’

  ‘Oh.’ Jane blinked. A sudden, frightening surge of emotion rose in her chest. ‘I see.’

  ‘Have you seen him since the ball?’

  The memory of Edward’s hands on her made it difficult to speak. ‘No.’

  ‘I’ve seen him in several places. My continuing association—and friendship—with Anne Duke means I spend large amounts of time around the Duke brothers. And I must say that I have never seen Edward so entirely changed. He is altered almost beyond recognition.’

  ‘Beyond recognition!’

  ‘Yes. I know you wish me to be honest, and I shall be. I have never seen Edward Duke look quite so wild-eyed, quite so incapable of dignity–and above all, quite so sad.’ Charles looked at her steadily, unblinking. ‘I feel that you deserve to know that, given that he has apparently told you nothing of how he feels.’

  Sad. Jane could imagine Edward wild-eyed or undignified–very probably both–but she couldn’t picture him sad, let alone on her account. She briefly closed her eyes, pain lancing through her at the thought of him suffering. ‘I see.’

  ‘Has he really failed to approach you in any way?’

  ‘I… I rather think that he believes he is doing the right thing.’

  ‘Ah.’ Charles paused. ‘Because of his past, and the fact that you now seek a respectable union?’

  ‘Perhaps. But possibly because I told him that—that if he couldn’t find the courage to court me openly, he should let me be courted by someone who would.’

  ‘I see.’ Charles’s face grew more guarded as his voice lowered. ‘The ball was—was eventful, then.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And he refused to court you openly?’

  ‘I—yes. Well, no. He… he said he was frightened.’

  ‘I imagine he was. Is.’

  ‘I was frightened, saying it. I’m frightened to say it now. But people have to be brave.’ Jane pursed her lips, wondering why the courageous statement seemed so weak now in front of Charles. ‘They have to be.’

  ‘Immediately?’

  ‘Why? Are you suggesting that Edward’s current state is my fault?’

  ‘No, Miss Selkirk. Believe me. I think that whatever personal hell Edward has created for himself has no other hand involved in its fashioning.’ Charles looked at her with a cautious, appraising stare. ‘I am merely asking you if, among all of your many talents, you also possess patience.’

  ‘I don’t know if I should demonstrate patience in this case.’

  ‘And I’m not saying you should. There is no should involved.’ Charles paused. ‘I’m also not speaking of second chances. I am… I am merely recommending patience.’

  ‘And why should I be patient?’

  ‘Because I think the reward would be worth the wait. Perhaps not all that valuable, as thoughts go, but it’s what I think.’ Charles shrugged, a mild expression on his face. ‘That’s what I know, from watching those around me learn how to love.’

  Learn how to love. An odd way to phrase it, perhaps. But as Jane sat and considered the words, they gained more and more power. A potency that shone through lesser feelings, revealing the path that she knew she had to take.

  ‘Margaret has invited me to the Duke townhouse, to speak about a perfume we purchased.’ She spoke slowly. ‘I believe it may be a pretext.’

  ‘It certainly sounds like one.’

  ‘I wasn’t going to oblige her.’

  ‘And now?’

  ‘I think I will. I think I’ll go, at any rate.’ Jane paused. ‘Go, and—and see what happens.’

  ‘I think that’s a fine idea, Miss Selkirk. And I hope I’ve been of help to you.’

  ‘You have.’ Jane took a last look around the room. If anyone deserved to find someone to complete him, it was a man as unexpectedly gentle as Charles Weldon. ‘Very much so.’

  Edward didn’t know how many days had passed. It could have been weeks—could have been months, for all he cared. All he knew was that he had been sitting in his armchair, brandy glass permanently in hand, for a damnably long time. And now, as if God Himself had decided that he couldn’t have a moment of peace, his brothers had barged into the room and appeared to be remonstrating with him.

  He attempted to listen to what Thomas, Robert, John and Henry were saying, but hiding behind the haze of brandy was far more comfortable. Eventually, with a harsh sigh and an attempt to sit upright, he sagged back into his chair with a grunt. ‘Stop it, all of you. I am going to be bitter, unpleasant and swimming in drink forever, there’s nothing to be done about it, and I damn well wish you’d stop trying.’

  ‘Edward.’ Thomas stepped forward, his face haggard with worry. ‘You’re being ridiculous.’

  ‘I’m not.’

  ‘He’s not.’ Henry spoke simply, with his usual gravity. ‘He’s in love.’

  ‘I have never said at any point that I’m in love. Not once.’

  ‘I know. But I can tell. We all can.’ Henry shrugged. ‘Even if you can’t.’

  Trust his grave, genius brother to say something that struck a chord. Edward bowed his head, unable to repress a wince as the memory of Jane in the orangery assailed him.

  ‘Enough.’ He took another swig of brandy, the liquid burning away any spark of realisation that had begun to burn. ‘I mean it.’

  ‘If you could only come out with us.’ Robert looked at him beseechingly. ‘Come out and laugh, joke, be your old self–’

  ‘My old self is dead. Dead and buried. Don’t keep trying to raise it–there’s no point trying to breathe life into old bones.’ Edward raised his voice. ‘Get out.’

  ‘Edward, will you—’

  ‘No. Get out!’

  Damn all of them. If he couldn’t have her, couldn’t summon up the courage to admit his sentiments properly—well damn them, and damn himself.

  The brothers left the room, hardly daring to look at one another. Only when they were safely out of sight of Edward’s bedroom did they finally stare at one another, their fears and concerns battling with severe irritation.

  ‘He can’t hide in his room drinking brandy forever.’ Thomas shook his head as he crossed the hall, where his valet hurried to procure his coat. The brothers followed. ‘He can’t.’

  ‘I think he can. He’s a stubborn sort–always has been, underneath the smile.’ John sighed. ‘I managed a week in my room when I was pining over Anne. I imagine he’ll be able to do it for a month.’

  ‘I’m not living like this for a month. Worrying about him, trying to make him do things.’ Thomas shook his head angrily, pulling his coat on with such ferocity that his valet winced
for the sleeves. ‘Oh, don’t look at me like that, Jenkins.’

  ‘Forgive me sir, but–but that lovely stitching–’

  ‘Hang the stitching.’ Thomas looked forbiddingly at Jenkins, who walked away without further comment. ‘Oh, Lord. I’m becoming an ogre.’

  ‘Edward can inspire ogreish tendencies in anyone.’ John smiled gently. ‘But we must be patient.’

  ‘I’ve never been the world’s authority on patience.’ Thomas looked at Robert and John,who shrugged. ‘But we must think of some sort of…’

  He stopped, his mouth briefly falling open.

  Jane. Jane Selkirk, at the other end of the corridor. He had to be mistaken, surely–but no, it was her, the shapeless gown and wild hair confirmed it. She was moving too fast for him to greet her or even cry out, following the butler with every appearance of brisk efficiency.

  She had come through the back entrance. But why? And more importantly, why was everyone behaving as if the bloody house belonged to them and not him?

  ‘Was that–’

  ‘Yes.’ Thomas turned to Robert with his mouth still open. ‘It was.’

  ‘Christ.’ John stepped forward. ‘How uncanny.’

  ‘Why is it uncanny?’ Henry frowned. ‘I knew she was coming.’

  ‘What? What?’

  ‘Oh, yes.’ Henry nodded politely. ‘She was meant to visit today.’

  The brothers stared at him, slack-jawed. Finally, John managed to recover his voice. ‘She’s visiting, you say?’

  ‘Yes. Margaret told me.’

  ‘I see.’ Robert pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing. ‘Your wife told you that the reason for Edward’s sadness would be visiting the house today, and you decided not to tell us anything?’

  ‘No. Why would I have told you? It didn’t seem relevant in the slightest.’ Henry shrugged, apparently immune to the shock building between the brothers. ‘She mentioned it to me yesterday.’

  ‘I see.’ Thomas paused. ‘And what exactly did she say?’

  ‘That she’d invented an excuse for Jane to visit, and that I wasn’t to alert anyone to the–oh, no.’ Henry frowned. ‘I forgot that part.’

  ‘I doubt it matters.’ Robert hurriedly patted Henry on the back. ‘Probably useful that you’ve told us now.’

  ‘But why is it useful? What are we going to do about it?’

  The brothers looked at one another. Eventually, with a very black look at Henry, Thomas turned to the front door.

  ‘We’re going to leave the house.’ He spoke with complete finality. ‘Dorothea wishes to look at a pear tree for the south wall, and I’m sure Charlotte and Anne have errands that require our participation.’

  ‘Yes.’ Robert spoke quickly. ‘I’m meant to find a new necklace for Charlotte.’

  ‘And I’m meant to buy Anne peppermint tea.’ John smiled. ‘She can’t drink anything else.’

  ‘Margaret asked me to find treacle biscuits, but I haven’t yet.’ Henry paused. ‘So we’re going to leave Jane and Edward in the same house together, with no-one but the maids?’

  ‘Yes. And I doubt the maids will interfere, if they know what’s good for them.’ Thomas stepped out into the street, turning back to his brothers as they followed. ‘It’s about time Edward clears things up by himself. No help allowed.’

  They’d really left him, then. Edward hadn’t quite believed they were going to–they’d always been so irritatingly present at every low moment in his life, encouraging him to do better. But here he was, at his lowest, and they’d abandoned him to become better on his own.

  He looked at the brandy with barely concealed loathing, pushing it away. It hadn’t done a damned thing to make him less sober, and a headache was already looming. Better a cup of coffee from the kitchens, and a bath–yes, a bath. Lots of hot water, and a comb, and an hour or so spent making himself look presentable.

  In the end, it took less than an hour. It was as if his better self had been patiently waiting under a layer of brandy and sadness, waiting to shine again as soon as he spent time in the company of a bar of soap and a mirror. As Edward put the finishing touches to his decidedly casual clothes–he’d put his banyan away, thank God, no-one wished to see him floating around the house in a nightgown when there were perfectly good shirts and cravats to wear–he realised with a shock that he was hungry.

  He hadn’t wanted to eat in days. Now, along with the coffee, he wanted eggs and bacon. Possibly a freshly-baked bun, although the cook wouldn’t take too kindly to him strolling in and demanding she make something… but then, he was well-dressed now, and there was every chance he’d succeed in being charming…

  … No. Charming was beyond him. He’d left all of his charm with Jane, and didn’t know if it would ever return. But he could probably get eggs, at any rate.

  Padding down the stairs, he enjoyed the unexpected silence of the house. His newly sharp brain could appreciate the quiet, rather than desperately trying to drown it out with drink. Even the maids were sleeping or out; the house had sunk into dreaming, just as he had until a very short time ago.

  The only sound he could hear was coming from the study. The soft, barely-there rustle of pages being turned, and the faint crackle of a fire.

  It couldn’t be. For a moment a wild spark of hope bloomed in Edward, only to be brusquely crushed by his own sense of reason. He didn’t deserve nearly enough good luck, enough fortune, to have Jane here in the same house as him.

  But still. He should look.

  All thoughts of food and coffee gone, he made his way towards the study door. He couldn’t run, however much he wanted to—Lord, if he frightened her with hastiness, he really would go up to his room and never come back. Not too quickly, not too slowly either—should he knock at the door, or push it open…

  … it was ajar. The door was ajar, and he could look inside.

  Jane. Jane reading a book on the low green chaise longue placed in front of the fire, her focus on the pages intense and unwavering. Jane, with her unpinned hair and frown between her brows–Lord, that face, that face full of such inexpressible perfection that it was all he could do to keep still, watching her. She looked tired, crumpled and angry, angry in a sad way, and the knowledge of what had caused her sadness sent a lance of pain through Edward that was difficult to bear.

  But she was here. He could attempt to make it up to her.

  ‘You’re back. He couldn’t keep the wonder from his voice; how stupid it made him sound. Jane didn’t look up, but he saw her stiffen as she turned a page. ‘You’re here.’

  ‘I… I don’t quite know why I’m here.’ Jane sounded as brisk and cross as she had on the very first day they had spoken to one another. ‘Margaret asked me to come, to speak of something connected to a perfume I purchased some days ago. But she isn’t here yet, and so I have chosen a diversion.’

  Only Jane could have chosen an enormous, dusty book of astronomy maps as a diversion. Edward slowly, carefully approached her as she sat straight-backed on the chaise-longue, the book on her lap. ‘Astronomy.’

  ‘There’s a comet. One which will be visible to us before long. Its path allows us to view it for a very brief moment—but it will be in the sky, and God willing the clouds will clear for its arrival.’

  ‘And how long have you been tracking the path of this particular comet?’

  ‘Weeks. Months.’

  There was nothing else to be said. He knew nothing about comets, and he was fairly sure Jane knew it. But he couldn’t go now—he wouldn’t.

  Jane shifted gently on the chaise longue. Edward watched her, hardly daring to believe that she was moving closer to him.

  She was. A handspan, perhaps—but still. She was closer.

  ‘Perhaps you could teach me about comets.’ He had to say something—anything. ‘I’m abominably ignorant about them.’

  ‘I’m not sure.’

  ‘And why aren’t you sure?’

  ‘It seems like a large amount of work for very little reward.’<
br />
  ‘Maybe I could provide adequate compensation.’

  ‘I believe we have already discussed our differing views concerning compensation.’

  ‘And if I were to court you?’

  Jane’s hand stilled on the page. Edward held his breath; expectation, terror and hope stilled his tongue as she half-turned to him. ‘Court me?’

  ‘With outings, flowers, dances. Taking you through Hyde Park in my carriage. Asking every irritating relative you have for the pleasure of your company.’

  ‘But that would mean…’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘I don’t think you know. I–can’t imagine that you truly know what you would be giving up.’

  ‘You’re right. As usual. But I know what I would be gaining.’ Edward slowly settled on the chaise-longue next to Jane, swallowing as the scent of her perfume reached his nose. He knew he could wake up to that scent for the rest of his life, and never grow tired of it. ‘And that’s enough for me. More than enough.’

  Jane sighed. A long, slow sound, it contained more hope and terror than anything that Edward had ever heard. She moved closer still, another handspan. One more movement, and she would be in his arms.

  God, he’d missed her. ‘I imagine you must be tired, after working so very much for so very long.’

  ‘I… I can say without exaggeration that I’m exhausted.’

  ‘I know. So am I.’ Edward paused. ‘Exhausted after chasing wisps, illusions… all while sleeping. Who knew one could exhaust oneself in sleep?’

  ‘Sleep.’

  ‘Yes. I’ve been chasing, and fighting, and… and I don’t want to fight any more. I rather want to surrender.’

  ‘Surrender.’ Jane’s small smile was hollow, full of pain. ‘Doesn’t that mean loss?’

  ‘No.’ Edward sighed. Even if he was full of tension, being near to Jane relaxed some fundamental part of him. Perhaps his soul. ‘I don’t think it does.’

  Surrender. Jane had never truly considered the word before. It was a strange word, which could denote seduction or defeat–but it was never used to mean victory, which was what she felt now.