“I wanted the company,” Lady Cassandra said with a smile. “And I have come to appreciate the friendship.”
“We’re both very grateful,” Miss Clemens said. “Had it not been for you, I would probably be living in Scotland right now.”
“Scotland?” Caleb stared at her in surprise.
“That is where my parents wanted to send me when they realized my reputation could not be salvaged. Out of sight, out of mind, as my father put it.” She stared down at her plate for a moment before stabbing at a potato with her fork. “He wanted to save my younger sisters from suffering the repercussions of my mistake. As a parent, it was the right decision, I suppose, even though it hurt to be cast aside not only by the man I’d thought I’d marry, but by my entire family too.”
“But you didn’t go to Scotland,” Caleb said.
“No. Lady Cassandra and I were friends before her sudden departure from London. We stayed in touch, so I knew she’d made a life for herself here. I asked if I could come and stay with her for a while and well…that turned into five years.”
“Will you stay here too, Mr. Crawford?” Daphne asked.
When Caleb dropped his gaze to her, he found her watching him expectantly. “I don’t think I can,” he said.
“Why not?” Peter asked, staring at him from across the table.
“Because I was hired to do a job,” Caleb explained. “Once that has been completed, I will have to leave.”
“I could write to my brother and suggest you take on a more permanent position as caretaker,” Lady Cassandra said. “The pay is reasonable, and I know we would benefit from your continued presence.”
“The children have taken to you,” Miss Clemens said. “And I…” She took another bite of her food, allowing her words to fade.
Caleb felt his heart ache. A bond had been forged between himself and these women, not to mention the children they cared for. He’d made a home here during the brief time he’d spent in their company. But it was temporary. Eventually he would have to return to London and resume his responsibilities there. His position as duke demanded it of him, and to be honest, he could not abandon his mother for too long. Not when she’d recently lost both her husband and her eldest son.
“Thank you. That is very kind of you,” Caleb said, “but I’m afraid it’s not possible.”
“Because...?” Penelope asked.
“That’s enough,” Lady Cassandra chastised her daughter. “Mr. Crawford probably has responsibilities he would be neglecting by remaining here longer than necessary.”
“I have a mother who needs me,” he said because it was true, “and I have an inheritance from my father that must be dealt with. Coming here was actually a welcome excuse to avoid having to do so, but I cannot ignore it forever.”
“What did he leave you?” Eliot asked through a mouthful of meat.
“Eliot,” Miss Clemens chided.
Caleb grinned at the boy who always asked the most forward questions. “Some property, actually. And some money.”
“How much money?” Eliot asked.
“That is enough,” all three women exclaimed in unison while they stared at Eliot with severe disapproval.
“Sorry,” Eliot muttered. He took another bite of his food. “I just—”
A booming crash cut him off, the sound prompting Daphne to leap in her seat.
“It’s just thunder,” Caleb assured her. Excusing himself he stood and went to the window. “The wind has picked up. And the rain is coming down hard.” Light lit up the sky and another crash followed. Leaping out of her chair, Daphne ran to him, and he swept the girl up in his arms, holding her close so she would feel safe. “It’s all right,” he murmured as she pressed her face into his chest. “You’re safe in here.”
“But what about Raphael?” the girl cried. “I think he’s still out there!”
“Did you forget to bring him inside with you earlier?” Miss Howard asked.
Daphne bobbed her head up and down and cried harder.
“He’ll be fine,” Miss Clemens assured her. She’d risen as well and was now stroking her hand over Daphne’s head in order to sooth her. “Cats are versatile creatures, sweetheart. He’ll know to take shelter wherever he can find it.”
Caleb stared back out at the trees he could see through the darkness. Their branches whipped from side to side, and then another blast of light lit up the sky. Muffled by the drumming of rain and the howling wind, Caleb heard the feint sound of neighing. “I should check on my horse,” he said and lowered Daphne to her feet. “The thunder will have unsettled him.”
“You cannot mean to go out in this weather,” Miss Clemens said.
Looking at her, he saw the fear in her eyes – fear for him – and he could not stop from taking her hand. He squeezed it quickly before releasing it once again. “Don’t worry. This isn’t my first thunderstorm, Miss Clemens. I will be back before you know it.”
“Watch Daphne for a moment, please,” he heard Miss Clemens say as he strode from the room. Returning to the kitchen, he snatched his jacket from the peg by the door and shoved his arms through the sleeves.
Miss Clemens burst into the room, carrying a lantern. “Take this at least so you can see.” Her voice was steady but alarm strained her features.
“Thank you.” He took the lantern from her, brushing her fingers as he did so. A charge went through him, warming his insides and jolting his pulse.
“Do you not have a hat you can wear?” she asked with marked concern.
“It is at the cottage.” Along with his greatcoat. He hadn’t thought he’d be needing either one when he’d come inside earlier after completing his work for the day. “Perhaps you can prepare a hot cup of tea for when I get back and see to it that a warm fire is burning in the parlor?”
“Yes, of course.” She caught his arm when he turned for the door, and he paused there on the threshold to look back at her. “Do be careful, Mr. Crawford.”
He dipped his head to acknowledge he’d heard her and opened the door. It caught on a gust of wind and swung wide, slamming against the outside wall. Tightening his jaw, Caleb stepped out into the turbulent night, caught the door, and forced it shut before heading toward the cottage where an overhang jutting from the right wall provided shelter for his horse.
6
Too agitated to stay still for even one second, Mary moved around the kitchen. Having lit a fire in the parlor, she kept checking on the water she'd put to boil for the tea Mr. Crawford had requested and looking out the window in anticipation of his return. If only she had a clock nearby so she had some idea of how long he'd been gone. It felt like twenty minutes, but she suspected it was only ten.
“The children are all in bed,” Cassandra said, entering the kitchen. “Emily is reading to them from Robinson Crusoe.”
“It looks as though the world is ending out there,” Mary said, ignoring Cassandra's comment because it was impossible for her to think of anything else at the moment. Hugging herself, she forced her gaze away from the blurry window and went to find a teapot.
“He will be all right,” Cassandra said. “Mr. Crawford's a strong and sensible man.”
“I know that, Cass.” Preparing the tea strainer, Mary poured hot water through it and into the pot, busying herself in a futile attempt to keep her mind off the storm outside and the man who was caught up in it. She jumped when another boom sounded overhead and took a deep breath to steady herself. “I know my concern is irrational, but I cannot seem to make it go away.”
“Because you care about him,” Cassandra said. “Deeply.”
Mary closed her eyes briefly. “How is that even possible, Cass? When I decided five years ago never to form an attachment to another man ever again?”
“That was before you met Mr. Crawford,” Cassandra told her gently.
Mary stared down at the teapot that now stood waiting. “What am I to do?”
Silence hung in the air for a moment, and then Cassandra’s hand to
uched her shoulder. “You could choose to give Mr. Crawford a chance and see where things lead.”
Mary drew a quivering breath. “The effect he has on me terrifies me. I worry it’s clouding my judgment and that it will prompt me to make the same mistake I made once before.”
Cassandra dropped her hand and fetched a tray which she set before Mary so she could place the teapot and cups upon it. “Having a relationship of any kind puts us at risk of getting hurt, Mary. The key is to determine whether or not the other person is worth that risk.”
“How can I possibly know that, Cass?” Mary shook her head. She wanted to believe the best of Mr. Crawford. His actions so far had certainly convinced her that he was thoughtful and considerate, but was that enough to ensure she could trust him?
Cassandra looked at her and smiled. “What does your heart tell you?”
Groaning, Mary scrubbed the palm of her hand across her face. “My heart has been wrong before. I’d be a fool to follow it again.” No. This time, she’d use her head, and her head was telling her to be cautious. “And besides, you heard him yourself this evening at dinner. He will leave here as soon as his work is complete. He gave no indication at all that he would have cause to stay.”
“Have you given him any, Mary?” Cassandra’s gaze held hers.
“Maybe not.” But suppose she overcame her fears and told him how much he meant to her. Could she ask him to stay when she knew his mother needed him? “I’m not sure doing so would be in his best interest.”
Cassandra sighed. “I hope you’re right about that, because the only thing worse than getting hurt is having to live with regret.”
The outside door burst open just as she finished speaking, bringing rain and leaves and a sopping wet Mr. Crawford into the kitchen. Water dripped from his hair and ran down his body, pooling around his mud-stained boots. In his arms, he cradled a scraggly clump of shabby fur that meowed with piercing dissatisfaction.
Crossing the floor, Mary brushed past Mr. Crawford and closed the door to shut out the cold. He was shivering badly, and she could see now that his face was terribly pale.
“Come on,” she said, applying her most practical tone. “Let’s get you warmed up.” She pulled Raphael away from Mr. Crawford and handed him over to Cassandra.
“I’ll take him up to Daphne,” Cassandra said. “Thank you, Mr. Crawford. She’ll be most pleased to know he is well and safe indoors.”
Mr. Crawford nodded in a jerky way, and Mary immediately set to work, pulling his jacket from his shoulders and hanging it over the back of a chair near the stove to dry. His shirt, she saw, was plastered to his arms while splotches of dampness stained his waistcoat. Somehow, she would have to get him dry before he caught a cold.
“I’ve made some tea,” she said and went to pick up the tray. “We can have it in the parlor while you warm yourself by the fire.”
He didn’t respond but she sensed he was following her out into the hallway and toward the cozy room that awaited. Reaching around her, he opened the door so she could enter, his arm grazing her shoulder to spark her awareness.
Mary stepped into the welcoming warmth, and he closed the door behind them to keep the heat in, which of course made her keenly aware of how very alone they now were. She crossed to the small table in front of the sofa and set the tray down while he moved closer to the fire. She poured two cups of tea and offered him one of them.
“Thank you.” His voice was low.
Mary watched as he sipped his drink. A sigh of supreme satisfaction rose from deep within his chest, then his gaze met hers, and the smile that followed almost knocked her off her feet. Her pulse leapt and her fingers tingled with the sudden urge to reach out and touch him and offer him comfort.
“Those wet clothes won’t do you any favors,” she said, not knowing where she found the words to imply something as scandalous as him undressing with her in the room, but it did seem like a reasonable thing for him to do if he wished to avoid getting sick.
He raised an eyebrow. “You want me to take them off?”
“I want to ensure your comfort,” she explained while fighting to keep her back rigid and her voice as serious as possible.
With a snort, he set his cup on the mantle and started unbuttoning his waistcoat. “I can think of a few ways for you to do so, Miss Clemens.”
Heat ignited in Mary’s cheeks, and she instinctively retreated a step. “I’m going to fetch you a blanket,” she muttered, backing away even further in the direction of the door.
Mr. Crawford watched her go with an underlying hint of amusement in his eyes. His fingers undid another button on the waistcoat, and Mary fumbled for the door handle somewhere behind her. Finding it, she allowed the escape it offered to calm her nerves.
“I will return shortly,” she said with a hoarse whisper she barely recognized as her own. And then she fled into the hallway, desperate for a moment’s reprieve from the man who addled her brain and left her longing for his embrace.
“I need a blanket,” she told Cassandra and Emily when she met them on the upstairs landing. “Mr. Crawford…” She glanced to one side, too distressed to offer a proper explanation.
“I see,” Cassandra said.
Brushing past her friends, Mary hurried into her own bedchamber, threw open the lid of the trunk at the foot of her bed, and pulled out a thick wool blanket she only used during the coldest winter months.
“Well, you’d best go and make sure he gets it,” Emily said from her position next to the door. The two women had followed Mary into her room and were both watching her with great interest.
“He was very wet when he came in,” Cassandra said. “The sooner he gets warmed up the better.”
“Can you manage on your own?” Emily asked with a yawn.
Cassandra promptly yawned as well. “It has been such a long day, and we are both rather tired. In fact, we were just off to bed when you met us in the hallway.”
“You were heading toward the stairs,” Mary said. She held the blanket against her chest, taking comfort in its warmth.
“Only with the intention of asking you about Mr. Crawford’s condition.” Emily’s expression was too serene to be taken seriously. “As long as you think you can manage without our assistance, I do believe we’ll retire.”
“I never said—”
“He’s welcome to stay on the sofa so he doesn’t have to go back out into that awful weather,” Cassandra said. “Just tell him to get undressed first so he doesn’t leave watermarks on the upholstery.”
Mary stared at her friends who were both pressing their lips together in obvious attempts to stifle their laughter. “You’re awful,” she said. “Do you know that?”
“Hmm…” Cassandra murmured. “I do believe you’ll thank us later. Good night.”
She left the room with Emily close on her heels. The sound of doors opening and closing nearby could be heard, followed by silence. Mary gripped the blanket harder, squared her shoulders, and strode toward the stairs. Her friends were being ridiculous. She was being ridiculous. Mr. Crawford was chilled to the bone and in dire need of her help. That was all there was to it.
But when she opened the door to the parlor without thinking to knock, she saw that there was nothing ridiculous about this situation and that it threatened to become far more complicated than she had ever imagined it could. Because there he stood before the fire just as she’d left him, except he’d not only shucked his waistcoat, but his shirt, boots and hose as well. Indeed, he was completely naked save for the breeches that still preserved what remained of his modesty, and by God if he wasn’t the most beautiful man she’d ever laid eyes on in her life!
Granted, his back was turned toward her, but it was the sort of back that was made to be admired. Muscle sculpted it to perfection, dipping inward toward his spine. His shoulders were broad and further accentuated by the well-defined shape of his biceps. Mary’s gaze traveled lower to his tapered waistline and the molded shape of his bottom. Her
mouth went dry, and it took some effort to tear her gaze away from that part of his body. But to ogle that area was most improper. Certainly more so than it was to admire the rest. So she dropped her gaze further, to the bare calves dusted by dark brown hair and the feet that were firmly planted on the parlor floor.
“You should probably close the door,” he said, jolting Mary so forcefully she actually jumped.
Her chin jerked up, and to her absolute horror she saw he was watching her over his shoulder. Heat erupted inside her, and her stomach immediately dropped all the way to her toes. Embarrassed, she turned and closed the door behind her, pausing with her face toward it and her back toward Mr. Crawford for a minute in order to catch her breath and slow the beat of her racing heart.
“Are you all right?” she heard him ask.
“Perfectly,” she said with the most unsteady voice she’d ever used.
“I’m sorry if I have unsettled you, Miss Clemens, but I needed to get out of the wet clothes in order to warm up.”
“Yes. Yes, of course.” She took a deep breath and clutched the blanket even tighter before turning back to face him. “I…er…I brought you this.”
His gaze dropped to the blanket. “Thank you.”
“And Cassandra says you can sleep on the sofa just as long as you don’t get it wet.” She forced her feet forward one at a time until she was close enough to hand over the blanket. “It will save you from having to go back out into the storm.”
“I appreciate that,” he murmured. Accepting the blanket, he unfolded it completely and wrapped it around himself to cocoon most of his body from his armpits to his ankles.
Feeling as though she could breathe again, Mary went to make herself a cup of tea. “How was your horse?” she asked while taking care not to spill the tea on the table as she poured.
“A little anxious. He doesn’t like this kind of weather, but stroking his muzzle for a while seemed to sooth him.”
“I’m sorry we don’t have a proper stable.” She took a sip of her tea and sighed.
No Ordinary Duke: The Crawfords Page 7