“I am in no mood for a question and answer game.”
“But when you are in the proper mood, do you enjoy games?”
“Splendor—”
“Would you like for me to try to make you laugh again, My Grace? When you laughed this morning, the sound gladdened me as much as I believe it did you.”
He had laughed with her, he recalled. And not even Emil could make him laugh the way she had.
“Do you sing?” Splendor asked. “I do. Which song would like for me to sing with you? If I do not know it, you can teach it to me. Do you sing?”
“Why are you asking me such peculiar questions?”
Smiling, she clapped her hands together. “Because ’tis the only way I can know you well.”
At her answer, he felt his irritation begin to lessen. She wanted to know him well. Besides Emil, she was the only person who’d shown an interest in the man behind the title.
He watched as she sat down in the chair in front of his desk and began eating the fruit out of her robe. “What are you doing?”
“I am being your company,” she slurred, her mouth full of blackberries, “because one of the things that I think will make you smile is not being lonely anymore. Am I mistaken in thinking so?”
No, he answered silently. “Yes,” he said aloud. “You are mistaken as mistaken can be. I enjoy solitude and privacy, therefore—”
“I still do not believe I am mistaken, and shame on you for telling me such untruths.”
“You will not chide me,” he said tightly.
“I shall. You are in dire need of frequent admonishments. Only timely scoldings will eventually rid you of your uncivil streak.”
Feeling his penetrating gaze upon her, she looked down at the top of his desk and saw a cream-colored letter. Even from where she sat, she could smell the heavy scent of roses emanating from the paper. “What is that?”
Jourdian glanced at the paper. “A letter, and don’t admonish me again, do you understand? I—”
“The letter smells of roses. ’Tis from a woman. What is her name?”
“That is none of your—”
“Is it Lyrical?”
“What?”
“The rose woman’s name.”
“Lyrical?”
Obviously the woman’s name wasn’t Lyrical, Splendor realized. “Is she called Ecstasy or Sunshine? Rainbow? Is she Compassion? Peace? Is her name Decadent, or—”
“Her name is Marianna! All right? Marianna!”
“She is pleasing to the eye?”
“Splendor—”
“Is she?”
“Yes,” Jourdian answered wearily. “She’s pleasing to the eye.”
“Why did she write you that letter?”
Somehow Jourdian managed to resign himself to the fact that Splendor’s curiosity would not abate until satisfied. “Marianna is a woman I used to court. The letter is an invitation for me to join her in London for her cousin’s wedding.”
“And will you join—”
“I’ve no time. Any more questions?”
Splendor looked at Marianna’s rose-scented letter one last time. As she had when Harmony had asked for one of Jourdian’s kisses, she felt a burning sensation in the middle of her stomach.
Whoever Marianna was, Splendor had no intention of sharing Jourdian with her. “I shall think of more questions in a moment, My Grace. For now, please go about with whatever you were doing before Ulmstead brought me in here. I shan’t disturb you, but will only be here watching you and listening if you wish to speak. Is that what you were doing?” she asked, pointing to the many stacks of papers piled on his desk.
He glanced at the papers, not a one of which he’d touched since finding and bringing her to his house. He’d never get the orchards if he didn’t begin the negotiations and send out the necessary letters to his bankers and solicitors.
Dammit, why hadn’t the vicar arrived yet? As long as Splendor was here, his household and routine would remain completely upside down, and he, the duke of Heathcourte, would continue to be reproached by this slip of girl who thought it her business to rid him of the uncivil streak that so distressed her.
What bloody nerve she had.
“The papers, My Grace,” Splendor pressed. “Are they what concerned you before I came into this room?”
“That is the work I should be doing,” he said, struggling to keep a tight rein on his temper lest she upbraid him again, “but not while you are in here. I prefer to work alone.” He walked around his desk, sat down across from her, and placed the blackberry she’d given him beside the stack of papers. “There are many things you can do to entertain yourself while I work. You must be hungry for more than just a bit of fruit. Mrs. Kearney could prepare something for you. Some bread and honey perhaps. After you’ve eaten, you could read. The library is filled to capacity with books. Or you might ask Mrs. Frawley to supply you with painting supplies or some sewing. Or, you could walk through the conservatory.”
“Conservatory?”
“A large room where plants and flowers are grown.”
“What kinds of plants and flowers?”
He shrugged. “Plants are plants.”
His ignorance of nature saddened her. “You are wrong. Rabbits, deer, and squirrels are all animals, but they are nay the same. ’Tis the same with plants, My Grace. Do you know you have a lovely patch of wood violets growing on your land? They nearly cover the forest floor, and ’tis difficult to walk among them without crushing them.”
Excited by her own words, she leaned forward in her chair. A crimson apple fell out of her robe, rolled across the desk, and fell into Jourdian’s lap. “And you have primrose, foxglove, yew, and willow. By the stone wall that hugs the cobblestone road there grow elm, big mounds of snowdrops, and a bank of periwinkle. You have hundreds of oak and alder, a multitude of black poplars, and oh, My Grace, so many, many cowslips that it quite delights the heart and soul to see them!”
Her enthusiasm was so great that Jourdian almost smiled. He didn’t smile, however, because he realized suddenly that she knew more about his estate than he did.
Odd. “How is it that you are so familiar with what grows on my land?” he asked, retrieving the apple from his lap and setting it beside the blackberry he’d put beside his papers.
“One need only look to see, My Grace. You have never looked. It occurs to me that you are more impressed by what is written on your papers.”
He picked up one page and waved it through the air. “For your information, these papers concern vast fruit orchards in Gloucester that I am endeavoring to purchase.”
“Do not buy them. Consider them next year perhaps, but definitely not now.”
He shook his head. If he waited only a few more weeks, Percival Brackett would acquire the orchards. And Jourdian’s blistering need to make certain that the Amberville holdings would never be subject to ruination again made it imperative that Percival not attain as much as a leaf of the orchards.
And besides, what did Splendor know about business investments?
The woman was daft.
“This is a civil conversation we are having,” Splendor said, and smiled. “Ever so much nicer than the sort we have when you are angry, do you not think so?”
He ignored her question. “Since you are so enamored of plants, I suggest you visit the conservatory and leave me to my work. You may ask one of the gardeners to accompany you.”
“I assure you I will visit the plant room, but for now I will stay here with you.”
He was about to argue when he it came to him that allowing her to stay would be the perfect way to induce her to leave. After only a short while of watching him read and son through his reports, she’d be bored to distraction.
He turned up the lamp and began to read. He read, and he read. Twenty minutes passed before he let himself look up.
Sucking on a blackberry, Splendor was watching him in the same intent manner she would have watched a juggler spin fifty fire
balls. There was simply no denying the fascination in her eyes.
Nor was there any denying how beautiful she looked with that dark berry pressed against her pale pink lips.
No, he told himself He would not give in to the power of her charm again. Not now, not ever again.
Resolving to wear her down, he read for another hour before looking up at her once more.
She remained intrigued.
“How is it possible to watch someone read for almost an hour and a half and not become weary of watching?”
She thought of all the years she’d watched him. “I could never grow weary of watching you. I know of nothing else that gives me such pleasure.”
Something inside him made him yearn to believe her, but common sense told him that he’d never heard such an excessive and illogical compliment. “What do you hope to gain with such flattery?” he snapped.
She sensed his rising ire, then saw proof of it when his light silver eyes darkened to the grim color of iron. “I do not understand you. All I wish to do is be with you. ’Tis a simple request.”
Not a tinge of dishonesty existed in her eyes or voice, Jourdian noted. But he remained unconvinced.
His elbows on his desk, he made a steeple with his fingers, and rested his chin upon them. “Shopping,” he said suddenly. Yes, shopping. All women loved spending money. Greedy and self-indulgent, all of them.
And Mrs. Shrewsbury could supervise Splendor’s shopping trip.
“If you will leave me to my work,” he began, “I will allow you a shopping spree as soon as I can arrange it.” His gaze missing nothing, he watched her face for signs of excitement.
“Shopping spree, My Grace?”
He saw naught but confusion etched across her fine features. “Splendor, a note from me will secure credit for you in any shop in England. Mallencroft is the nearest village, but you would find more to your liking in Telford, a township about a two-hour drive from here. I’m quite sure there are several dressmakers there. The seamstress in Mallencroft will be sending a few frocks for you, but they will not be of the same quality that you will find in Telford. And if you do not care for any of the ready-made garments the dressmakers have available, you may design your own gowns and have them created especially for you.”
There, he thought. Surely that would prompt a bit of excitement from her—more interest than watching him read. “But I already have this piece of satin, My Grace.”
“What? Do you mean you want nothing else?"
“Aye, that is what I mean.”
Her complete lack of interest in clothes astonished him, but he remained determined to find her weakness. “What of jewels? Enough jewels to swim in.”
“One cannot swim in colored rocks. And even if one could, what would be the use? They would not clean one or refresh one on a hot summer’s day, would they? One could nay float upon them, either. Or drink them, for that matter.”
“You think jewels are but colored rocks?”
“Is that not what they are?”
“Well…yes, but they’re very valuable.”
“Oh? Well, I do not care for jewels, but I am supremely fond of plants and flowers. You are in dire need of more flowers in your house. Most of the blooms I have seen in various rooms are not real. Do you wish me to put flowers in your home for you?”
“Whatever you like,” he answered absently, still pondering the fact that she thought jewels were naught but colored rocks.
“What do you enjoy reading, My Grace? And which color are you most fond of?”
“Shakespeare’s plays,” he muttered. “Blue and red and green…”
She was lying, he told himself. No one would refuse jewels! Quickly, he slipped his hand into the pocket of his coat and withdrew the tiny diamonds he’d found on the parlor floor. “Here,” he said, sprinkling the gems in front of her. “Take them. They’re yours.”
She glanced at her tears. How could he give her something that was already hers?
“I can give you bigger ones,” Jourdian pressed, wondering if her lack of enthusiasm stemmed from the fact that the diamonds were so small.
Splendor thought of the countless jewels already in her possession. The base of her bed was one solid emerald. The windowpanes in her room were diamond, the walls were fashioned of pearls, and the ceiling created with millions of sparkling rubies. Why, the very floors of her father’s castle were made of sapphires.
True, the gems were all very pretty, especially when sunlight shimmered through their depths, but she’d never thought of them as valuable. On the contrary, they were but the materials of which the castle was built, materials gotten from the earth and from the sea.
“Nay, My Grace,” she said, slipping another blackberry into her mouth. “I do not want any jewels.”
She was trifling with him, he decided. Toying with him until he hit upon the exact thing she wanted from him.
Very well, he’d continue offering until he discovered her one fondness. And when he found it, he’d deny it to her. Being denied her pleasure would serve her right for dallying with him.
“How about the world then?” he queried, opening his arms as if holding the whole planet Earth. “The entire world and everything in it.”
Splendor laughed. “My Grace, the world belongs to everyone, and so ’tis not yours to give.”
“You misunderstand. I could show you the world. Take you to faraway lands and give you grand adventures.”
Splendor slid one of her apples from the top of her robe and took a bite.
Jourdian saw a bead of apple juice on her bottom lip, and couldn’t help but think of a dewdrop glistening upon the velvety petal of a pale pink rose. Slowly, she smoothed her tongue over the sweet droplet, and Jourdian couldn’t remember ever seeing anything more sensual.
God, he thought. He had to get hold of himself. Imagine being aroused by a woman slurping fruit juice off her mouth.
“I have traveled far but once in my life,” Splendor admitted, then swallowed her bite of apple, “and I do not wish to journey so far again. I’m perfectly happy here, where I am. Life is life, My Grace, and no matter where you are things are not so much different as they are the same.”
Well, I’ll be damned, he thought, staring at her. She cared naught for a wardrobe or for jewels. She had no interest in seeing the world. He’d offered her everything his money could buy, and she’d refused it all.
“Nothing,” he said. “You want nothing from me.”
I want you to marry me, she thought. I want you to give me a child.
“Not true,” she replied out loud. “There is something I want from you.”
Aha! Jourdian mused. So she did have a weakness after all.
“Yes?”
“I would like you to smile at your servants. Ulmstead, Mrs. Frawley, Tessie, Hopkins… They are all good people, as are your other servants and your tenants, I am sure. If you could manage to keep your uncivil streak in check, a smile from you would make your servants very happy. Oh, and if ’tis possible, I would like to know the gardeners who care for your plants. I am a guardian of nature as well, and I think I will like to know your gardeners.”
Her announcement got his undivided attention. She was a gardener, and the fact that she remembered she was such indicated that her memory was returning. “Where are these gardens you care for?”
“Oh, they are everywhere. Wherever I am, My Grace.”
“I see. And do you have a garden at home?”
She pondered the beautiful glade above her father’s castle and all the wonderful and beautiful trees and flowers that grew there. “Aye.”
“Where is your home?”
“Pillywiggin.”
Jourdian had never heard of the place and decided it was but one of the many inconsequential villages that dotted the countryside. He resolved to study maps of the area to see if he could find its exact location. “What is your surname?”
“My surname?”
“Your second name. Everyone has
at least two names, do they not?”
She cocked her head toward her shoulder and gave him a puzzled frown. “I have but one. ’Tis Splendor.”
Jourdian folded his arms across his chest and leaned back in his chair. Obviously, she was illegitimate. If she were not, she would bear her father’s name. “How old are you?”
“I have seen thirty-two winters melt into thirty-two springs.”
It was impossible that she was of the same age as he! he thought. “You don’t appear to be more than nineteen. Twenty at the most. Give me the truth.”
“’Twas what I gave you.”
He sensed then that she was, indeed, being truthful, but he remained amazed by her youthful freshness. Other women her age were already trying to conceal wrinkles with heavy dustings of powder. Why, some already had the beginnings of gray hair! “Where is your mother? The rest of your family?”
Splendor ate another berry before answering. “All live in Pillywiggin.”
Finally he knew where to deliver her, he mused. He wondered if he would miss her. Miss her quick, bright smile, the soft feel of her hair, her enchanting scent of wildflowers, and the innocent sweetness of her character.
More thoughts of her drifted through his mind.
And then scattered when he realized what direction they’d taken.
Miss her? He couldn’t miss a person he’d known for two short days, for God’s sake!
Damn it all, he was becoming as sentimental as Emil. The next thing he knew, he’d be hunting for four-leafed clovers and wishing on stars!
“I’ll see to it you are safely returned to your family,” he declared sternly. “You will travel in my own coach and with the protection of my name. I will also provide you with funds in the case that you are in need of further care from a physician.”
Splendor dropped the berry pinched between her fingers. Desperation clawed at her. What would her father and her people say if she returned before having conceived Jourdian’s child? And what of Pillywiggin? Without the half-human child in their midst, the fairies would dwindle in number until not a single one existed.
A Basket of Wishes Page 11