Candor was probably best. “How old do you believe Jessica to be?”
“I thought her a child of ten or eleven at first, as I told you. Later I thought perhaps as old as thirteen.”
“Devlin, Jessica told you she was a grown woman.”
“Yes, but I thought she was putting on airs. Her interests — her devotion to her hens, for heaven’s sake — marked her as a person of tender years.”
“Her naiveté provided your conclusion?”
“It was convincing enough, but add to that her behavior. She mounted and rode a strange stallion — astride, mind you. She crawled through brambles, slithered on her belly, to find me. She devised ways to cope with me and persist, in spite of my own obstinacy.” A smile played at his mouth as he detailed Jessica’s efforts. “No mature woman of my acquaintance would have attempted any of that.”
He began pacing again, head bowed, hands locked behind his back. “Once I was on Vindicator, she bid me farewell as if she were glad to be rid of me. I could not allow her simply to go trudging off afoot, unrewarded, but I had a devil of a time convincing her. She resisted, but I had the impression she was frightened, perhaps of being abandoned alone in the dark. Besides my own reluctance to leave, Vindicator refused to budge without her.
“When I finally had enough of bickering, I ordered her to ride. My assumption that she was a child was confirmed when I grasped her wrist to haul her into the saddle. It was like lifting a bag of thistle down.”
As if he thought his description demeaned Jessica, his voice grew earnest. “She was strong, but sinewy. I even commented about her being built more like a young lad than a girl.”
Again he paused before he continued. “How old is she, Mother?”
Lady Anne lowered her tone to match his. “She looks to be the eighteen years she claims, Devlin, just as she told you.”
Devlin raked both hands into his thick hair and gave an agonized groan. “I thought she was pretending, just as she played at being competent to order me about. I made her vow to stay with me until my sight returned. Sometime during my delirium, I entertained your very thought, that I should make her my ward and provide for her until some unfortunate knave took her off my hands.”
“If it’s a knave you want to marry her to, Devlin, why not the one to whom she is already betrothed?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
The dowager was drawing insights. Devlin Miracle, the Twelfth Duke of Fornay, with little knowledge of innocent, unsophisticated females, wanted to take custody of this one. He wanted to make her part of his family, establish her in society, provide a respectable dowry, and find her a proper husband.
At Jessica’s age, she was no waif. She was a woman whose reputation might be sullied by association with an unmarried gentleman. Lady Anne did not speak her thoughts.
“Her reputation is not ruined for rescuing you.”
“How about spending the night in my arms, unchaperoned?”
“On a horse? For the time required to return an injured man to his home? For attending your wounds? If anything, the reputation of a scullery maid would be enhanced by reports of her courageous efforts on your behalf that night.”
He stopped pacing and considered his mother’s words. Since she had him reevaluating, Lady Anne continued.
“Devlin, I want her to stay. I want to spoil her just as badly as you do.”
“I made an agreement, Madam. Gave her my word. As soon as my sight returns — returned — I am, was, to pay her five hundred pounds and provide safe passage home.”
“Darling, we cannot allow that dear creature to go back to Swelter.”
“Welter, Mother. The village where she comes from is Welter, not Swelter.”
Lady Anne dismissed his correction with a wave. “Since Jessica has been with us, I have served as incontrovertible chaperone. Because I have always been aware of her age and of your regard for her, I have made a plan. We will announce that she is a cousin whose family is on hard times. We shall host a ball, a closed affair with carefully selected guests, to introduce her. We shall do it soon, while so many are out of town. We might make a fine match for her in some lesser family.”
“Wed her to some dolt? Absolutely not. Jessica shall have no less than a baron.” He frowned. “He must be a man schooled as a gentleman.” His shoulders slumped. “That was perhaps a better possibility before today.”
“What transpired today to change things?”
“The servants saw me fondle her.”
“Surely you did not touch her intentionally. Besides that, neither Patterson nor any of the household staff would … ”
“A stable boy was there. The one called Latch.”
“What was a stable boy doing in the house?”
“I don’t know. I only know he came running, offering to help when he saw me groping.”
“Do you suppose your handling of her appeared practiced, as if you were familiar with … with a woman’s anatomy?”
He smiled for the first time. “Here I was worrying about her reputation, never suspecting mine might be in jeopardy. You do know, Madam, that I have a reputation as a connoisseur of ladies. Mine will be the one sullied if word spreads that I handle ladies as ineptly as I did this cousin today. I was so astounded as to flush. The shock must have shown in my expression and heightened color.” He spewed an involuntary chuckle, laughing at himself. The dowager gave him a stern look before her laughter joined his, echoing about the room.
Their laughter subsided as mother and son settled into chairs side by side. Lady Anne was first to break the reverie. “I would like to host a ball to introduce her to a few friends.”
Devlin’s good humor dimmed. “To what purpose?”
“To make a match. She would be a lovely consort to any eligible man at court.”
“You think to foist a peasant girl off on a gentleman?”
“Her father attached himself to a German baron’s daughter. We could hint that Jessica has a connection to the aristocracy through that.”
“Strange, I had a similar thought myself.”
The dowager’s smile freshened. “Is the son as scheming as his mother?”
He laughed. “I abandoned the idea. It was too outrageous, linking Jessica to nobility through her father’s mistress. I would say Jessica was a victim of that union rather than a beneficiary.”
“Then, it seems fair that she should get some benefit from his defection in payment for the suffering it caused her.”
Devlin snorted, indicating disregard for such a duplicitous scheme, then he sank low into his chair.
His mother was not usually devious. Except for the shaky claim to nobility, the idea had merit. In London, he, Devlin, would entertain offers for Jessica’s hand. Although he might not be an expert, he was wise enough not to join a flower like Jessica to a brute like John Lout, or some addled, aging gentleman.
“All right,” he said. His mother drew a long breath. “But I will consider only offers from gentlemen.”
“What of his appearance?”
He waved a hand. “Of course, he must be handsome, after a fashion, but his looks or taste in clothing will be of lesser importance than his wit or intellect.”
“Have you told Jessica that your eyesight is returning?”
“Yes.” He raised a hand, palm out. “Do not get out of sorts. I did not tell her first. She caught me staring into her face and guessed. I would appreciate your not discussing it, not even with her.”
“Darling, she will be so pleased about your progress. She has been so certain you were going to get well.”
“When I am, she probably will leave. What then of your plans to see her well married?”
“I cannot bear the thought of her leaving. Oh, Devlin, she has brought sunlight into my life.” She cast a lo
ok at him and realized he shared similar thoughts. “That is part of your concern, isn’t it? Does the idea of Jessica leaving trouble you?”
He did not speak, nor did he indicate he had heard her questions.
“It is obvious, darling, that you want her to stay, perhaps as badly as I do. That is correct, is it not?”
Again he didn’t respond, but spoke as if he had not heard. “Perhaps you had better see to your hatchling, Mother. I am a grown man no longer given to sharing his innermost thoughts with his mama.”
Lady Anne started to chastise him, then decided that his grief at the prospect of losing Jessica was punishment enough. She might have a word with Jessica before retiring.
Devlin recovered his manners and stood to escort his mother to the door. Lady Anne turned and he bent allowing her to press a kiss to his forehead.
“Sweet dreams, darling,” she said, then held him as she gazed into his face — a face she had loved since giving birth to him nearly twenty-nine years before. He rewarded her lengthy silence with a smile.
The duchess went directly to Jessica’s rooms. When the door opened to her light rap, Lady Anne marveled that the girl’s troubled expression nearly mirrored Devlin’s.
“How are you feeling, darling?” Lady Anne began as they sat in chairs at either side of the small hearth in Jessica’s rooms.
The younger woman had changed into a dressing gown, but she appeared more stimulated than fatigued.
“Do you have a headache?” the dowager asked.
Jessica touched her injured crown tenderly. “Only a little one.”
“I am certain Devlin will offer recompense for his wretched behavior.”
“He has already apologized.”
The dowager studied her. “He seemed uncertain about whether you were alert enough to be aware of his apology.”
Jessica stared at the small blaze brightening the room and wondered again at the strange sensations she experienced as she had revived that morning in Devlin’s arms. Had he touched her as intimately as she thought, or had that been a beautiful dream?
She had never allowed any man to caress her as she imagined he had, and she had been shocked by her own responses, whether it was real or a dream. Instead of being offended, as would have been proper, she had felt exhilarated. When he withdrew his hand from her breast, she groaned with disappointment. She had wanted him to continue touching her.
A sharp rap at the door startled both women. Jessica hurried to answer, opening to Devlin. He stood there, still in his clothes, his hair mussed as if he had run his hands through it, repeatedly. She hoped neither he nor the dowager would notice how she flushed. If so, maybe they would attribute it to sitting near the fire.
“Is my mother here?” he asked brusquely.
“Yes. Come join us.” Jessica felt a leap of pleasure when he reached for her shoulder before she realized he only required guidance. As was their habit, she turned her back, presenting the shoulder for his hand so she could lead him to a place by the fire.
“I’ll stand,” he said, aware of the hearth and sliding his hand from her shoulder to the mantle. She chastised herself for her silly sense of abandonment.
Away from him, Jessica tried to regard him critically. Tall and solidly built, he was too handsome by half; too haughty, likely spoiled by his station in life and by women, too. Adoring females included his mother who expressed unmitigated pride in this son. Jessica continued evaluating as his mother filled the silence.
“I was just asking Jessica how she felt. I assured her you would make recompense for the mishap this morning.”
Seeing the look of chagrin on his marvelous face, Jessica burst from her reverie to laugh lightly. “How is he to atone for my abasement, Your Grace?” She threw a lazy glance his way only to see his expression darken at her choice of words. Surely he did not think he had done her any real injury. She needed to heighten the jest to show him she bore him no malice. She giggled, a sound she hoped he would interpret as lightheartedness. “Shall we fit him with a collar and a leash and allow me to lead him about for a time?” Jessica punctuated her taunt with another laugh. “A little subservience might benefit the man.”
The dowager’s low chuckle, mingled with Jessica’s tinkling laughter, prodded him. He leaned closer to the girl and spoke in a low voice. “If it’s a collar for me, then perhaps we can manage a muzzle for you, little fox.”
Her breath caught, indicating his words startled her, as he intended. Giggling, she placed a hand on his forearm. Her laughter coupled with the gesture, appeased him. He could not control the smile that spread from his heart to his face.
“Perhaps I exaggerated my injury,” she said, laughter trilling in her voice. She turned to his mother to prevent her speaking of it again. “Please, Your Grace, what matter did you come to discuss?”
The dowager looked from Jessica’s imploring face to Devlin’s half smile, and yielded.
“If you feel well enough.” She cast a quick, meaningful glance at Devlin. “We have an idea to discuss with you. Is that agreeable, Devlin?”
He shrugged, giving tacit approval without speaking.
Chapter Sixteen
Jessica tried to lie still, listening to Sophie snoring softly on her cot at the far side of the room. She wished she might join her maid in that world of dreams, a place where a scullery maid-turned-lady could go for solace. As she lay listening, Jessica’s angst increased.
She needed to tell someone about possible danger to Devlin, then she needed to leave, return to Welter and her mother. To John Lout. To her duties in the scullery at Maxwell Manor. There she could no longer hurl accusations against Fry or Hardwick or Lattimore Miracle.
How, her conscience begged, could she walk away from the safest haven she had ever known? How could she surrender the hot baths, clean sheets on soft beds, marvelous food and wardrobe? There was the money, too, as if she could allow Devlin to pay for luxuries a girl such as herself should never have known.
She pushed off the covers. If she were honest, it was not sweetness of life holding her. It was sightless blue eyes that reflected the skies when he smiled or laughed and, occasionally, the storms gathering over the sea when he was annoyed, or when he touched her.
She sat, stood, and shuffled to the door, grabbing a wrapper to cover the sheer night rail, one of those Sophie laid out for her to wear each night. Her hair hanging loose was an annoyance. She stepped to the vanity and fastened the unruly tresses back with combs.
Soundlessly, she lifted the latch and slipped into the corridor, easing the door closed behind her, then drew a breath.
This was not the beginning of her flight. No, this was just an outing. She would need to plan and prepare for the longer journey. No female would set off in clothing as scant as that she wore.
She slipped her arms into the wrapper’s sleeves, lapped the sides and secured the tie at her waist.
The chatter of birds anticipating the dawn encouraged her as she traversed the long walkway, ran down the stairs, and turned to cut through Devlin’s study to access the yellow rose garden, her favorite. There sweet smells and gentle breezes mingled behind a north wall. Recently someone had placed a bench where a wanderer might enjoy the sunlight or even sit protected from a light rain. She was grateful for the foresight of that person.
Inhaling the crisp night air, she squinted down at unopened buds of a bush she had planted with her own two hands. She had been watching the addition for signs it was satisfied in its new home. She knelt and, with cautious fingers, touched the new growth.
“Yes,” she whispered. “I knew you would like it here.”
A familiar voice spoke quietly, as if trying not to startle her, as it did precisely that.
“What are you approving with sweet murmurs out here this time of day, Jessica?”
She stumbled
to her feet and whirled, fumbling with her sash to make sure her covering was secure. “Oh, Your Grace, I apologize most sincerely. I did not imagine anyone might be here so early.” She began backing toward the door.
His smile was scarcely visible in the predawn darkness, but she could see the gleam of his teeth as he emerged from the shadows.
“This garden may be small, but I believe it can accommodate two visitors at one time.” His voice sounded of suppressed laughter.
“Yes, I suppose it can.” She peered at him, entertaining a new thought. “Unless one is at his prayers or seeking privacy.”
“Were you?”
“What, Your Grace?”
“At your prayers, kneeling and whispering.”
She rewarded his guess with a little laugh. “No. I was speaking encouragement to the buds, Your Grace. I suppose praising a flower is a prayer of sorts. A compliment to its Creator.”
“The one who planted it?”
She laughed again. “No. The originator.”
His quiet laughter joined with hers. She squinted into the darkness trying to make out his face. “Have you sight this morning, Your Grace?”
“Devlin. Call me by my Christian name, Jessica.”
“I do not think familiarity shows proper regard for your station, particularly in front of our — that is, your — staff.”
“Are any members of the household present now?”
“No, no one else seems to be up.”
“Then, if you please.”
“Devlin.”
“Yes. Thank you for your interest, Nightingale, I do have sight this morning.”
A smile spread her face just as the playful breeze teased one unruly ringlet from its hastily affixed anchor to drop over her forehead, giving her a mischievous look.
“A miracle is a grand way to begin a new day,” she said, and noticed that he looked both pleased and amused, like a youth not yet burdened with a man’s responsibilities. A broad smile broke his wondrous features, turning his into the most beautiful face she had ever seen.
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