“Rest, my love,” he said, every muscle in his body tensed to maintain an outward appearance of calm. “I will return later to see how you are feeling, but for now, you only need to rest. I will take care of all the rest.”
Jane nodded and closed her eyes, the even breath of sleep on her in seconds. Michael laid a hand on her brow and then leaned over to kiss her cheek. “I will see everyone I love avenged.” The promise came as a whisper.
***
Michael stormed down the hall and stalked to the study to pace before the fireplace. A rage greater than the fire in the hearth coursed through his veins as he grasped the decanter of brandy. Then he turned and threw it against the far wall and watched as the amber liquid streamed down the dark wood.
The door opened and Jenkins entered. Before the man could speak, Robert burst in behind him, his features indignant. “What is the meaning of having me pulled from my bed in the middle of the night? What is so urgent…?”
Robert’s jaw cracked as Michael’s fist smashed into it, and the man flew back into a chair, which overturned from the blow. The man barely had time to pull himself up and shout, “What is going on?” before Michael had him by the collar and was pulling him to a standing position.
“You killed Elizabeth,” Michael seethed as he pulled his brother to him so their noses almost touched. “You tried to kill Jane.” His voice was as tight as the fist at his side. “Why?”
“I have no idea…”
Michael’s fist crashed into his brother’s face again, this time leaving the man’s nose askew. “Why?” he demanded again, a spring ready to uncoil.
Robert glared at Michael, ignoring the blood that gushed from his nostrils. “That woman was not worthy of the title of Duchess.” He spat more than what Michael suspected was blood. “My Catherine is more deserving of that title than that stupid woman ever could have wished to be.” His face pinched in disgust. “You always had a soft spot for people beneath you.”
Michael narrowed his eyes at the man he had once thought of as his brother. “I have every right to choose whom I marry,” he said.
Robert snorted, or at least attempted to through his broken nose. “I should be Duke, not you!” he sneered. “You might be the elder, but you have done nothing to earn the title. I, on the other hand, have done everything. If it were not for me, you would have watched as the estate, all the lands, even the wealth dwindled away. All because of a woman! You had eyes only for Elizabeth and I saw the devastation you would have left behind, the neglect. You have never been worthy of Father’s title, and you never will be.” Then his face twisted into something so ugly, Michael almost took a step back. “And that brat of yours?” he hissed. “He is as weak as you.”
Michael’s fist slammed into the man’s face again and again, and he did not stop until a voice behind him halted his hand.
“Father?”
Michael turned his head and looked at his son, whose face was contorted in horror.
“Father, please, do not become him,” Samuel said as tears ran down his cheeks. “If you do, the darkness that left this house will return.”
The boy’s words, a proclamation that held meaning even men struggled to comprehend, struck Michael with such force, he wondered if his son had doubled up his fist and struck him.
He looked down at the battered face of his brother and released his shirt, pushing the man to the floor. “Bah!” he shouted. Then he turned to Samuel and knelt before him. “You are wise beyond your years,” he said and then pulled the boy into his arms. “I am so proud of you.”
When the embrace broke, Michael rose. Jenkins stood at the door, a silver tray gripped in his hand, still raised as if he meant to strike someone with it. “Jenkins,” Michael whispered as he grasped the man’s wrist.
The butler seemed to come around, as if his mind had been far away. He cleared his throat, his face turning red from embarrassment. “Your Grace,” he said with a deep bow. “Forgive me. I heard what…that man…did to the Duchess and I am afraid I lost my head.”
Michael chuckled. “As you can see, I lost my head, as well.” Then he pursed his lips. “Send a rider for the magistrate. I want someone here to collect him,” he pointed to Robert who lay unmoving on the floor, “and I want another man to go collect Catherine. I care not if they must tie her hand and foot, I want her treated like any other criminal who has conspired to murder.”
“As you wish,” Jenkins said stoically, although a corner of his mouth rose for a fraction of a second.
“One more thing. Where is Dalton?”
Now Jenkins did chuckle. “He is tied up in the kitchen being watched over by Mrs. Curtis, Your Grace. She caught him attempting to slip out after you left.” A moan came from the man on the floor. “And what will you do with him?”
“Let him be,” Michael replied. “If he decides to run, allow him to do so, for everyone will know of his deeds. He has no place to hide.” He walked up to his son, picked him up, and placed a kiss on his cheek. Then he pulled him in and held him tight. “Things will change from now on, I promise,” he whispered.
“Good,” Samuel whispered back.
Setting Samuel back on the floor, Michael took the boy’s hand in his and walked out into the foyer.
“Where are we going, Father?” the boy asked.
“To see Jane,” replied Michael.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Fire and smoke filled Jane’s dreams, as flames jumped out at her and morphed into images of Lord Blackstone towering over her as he cackled with madness. She looked down at the cords that bound her hands and feet and quailed as they burned away, expecting her skin to be a charred mass by the end.
Jane’s eyes flew open and she gasped before realizing she was in her bed and the only flames that burned were in the fireplace. Her heart leapt with joy when she looked down to see Michael’s large hand holding hers.
“Michael,” she said and was surprised how rough her voice was.
He sat up in the chair where he had clearly fallen asleep. Dark circles rimmed his eyes and his face looked haggard, but otherwise he looked well. “Jane,” he said with a smile.
Tears stung her eyes. “I love you,” she rasped.
“And I love you,” he returned. “I am sorry I doubted you, for you believed in me when no one else did.”
She raised her hand and touched the scars on his face. Light shone in his eyes, yet changes had come about in this man. “All is forgiven,” she said. “As long as you love and trust me, that is all that matters.”
He smiled down at her and then leaned in and kissed her. Her heart and body longed for him, and she ran her hand through his hair, pulling him into her. He was the man she loved, and he had a great affection for her. Nothing would keep them apart ever again. She knew it in her heart.
When the kiss broke, she looked down and laughed when she saw Samuel curled up at the end of the bed.
“He refused to leave your side,” Michael explained. “It was the first time the boy has ever refused to heed me, although I must admit I did not expect him to do otherwise in this case.”
Jane wiped at her eyes and looked at Michael. “Your brother…”
“Will be brought before the magistrate, as will Catherine. Dalton was escorted out not even an hour ago.”
“I am sorry for what he did,” she said. “I only wish I would have known sooner.”
He shook his head and sighed. “My own guilt blinded me to the truth, so I find it highly doubtful events would have unfolded any differently had you known beforehand.” He kissed her hand. “It was my fault and that of no one else. However, those dark days are now gone, and our future is bright ahead of us.”
“It is,” she said with a smile.
Michael released her hand and stood. “I will take Samuel to his bed now. You must have time to rest. I will return later.”
Jane smiled as he leaned in and kissed her brow. When he was gone, she lay back into the pillows and found her mind wandering.
For a moment, fear gripped her as images of the fire flickered in her mind, but she stared them down until they melted away into nothing. In that nothingness, a light began to grow, a flame much different from that which had tried to take her life. This light brought her joy and it pulsed with love. And that light was called Michael.
Epilogue
Two weeks passed, and Jane had never been happier. Somehow, Robert and Catherine had managed to escape the magistrates—Michael suspected Robert had paid them off but no proof of this existed—but they had been caught near London as they tried to make their way to Scotland. Their trial would be soon, and Jane suspected that, despite their station, their punishment would be great.
Walking along the cobblestone path in the garden, Jane laughed as Samuel leapt about, calling out for the rabbits. The boy was persistent in his hopes of finding more, and she could not blame him. She had once dreamed of finding a chest full of gold coins, a notion she found silly once she had grown to adulthood. Now, however, she realized she had found her treasure, and he came in the form of a man named Michael. He was her light and her treasure, and she could not imagine a life without him.
That man leaned against the gate that led to the open field behind the garden, smiling at her as he watched her approach. His hair, which he continued to keep long, flowed behind him in the cool breeze, and her heart soared. Yes, she loved this man, but even that word lacked the strength of her feelings for him, for he accentuated that which was best in her and had saved her life in more ways than one. Perhaps no word stronger than love existed; if one did, she did not know it. However, she did not fret over it, for she felt that emotion inside her.
“You wished to see me?” Jane asked.
He took her hands in his and looked down at her. “I did, for there is something I wished to share with you.”
Jane’s stomach leadened at the seriousness of his tone. Was not all right with the world yet? Did some threat loom over them of which she was unaware?
However, his smile removed all worry, and her stomach righted itself. “I once asked if you would reside in the cottage on my land so I could properly court you,” he said. “However, I have come to realize that courting is not something I wish to do.”
This time her stomach dropped to her feet. “You do not?” she whispered. How could she have missed a change in his feelings toward her? Had all that had happened to him make him realize that no one could replace Elizabeth, especially a governess?
“No. Only a foolish man would waste his time courting a woman he already loved. A wise man would simply ask the lady if she would marry him.”
A wave of affection washed over her, and she had to wipe a tear from her eye. “I see,” she replied. “So, are you a foolish or a wise man?”
“Although many may think me foolish,” he said, “I do not believe I am. So, Miss Jane Harcourt, I have no doubt that you are the woman I love, and I would be honored if you would become my wife.”
Jane smiled up at him. “It would be an honor,” she replied.
The next thing she knew, she was in his arms, his lips pressed to hers, and that kiss became stronger and hungrier. Everything in the world seemed to disappear around her, except the man who held her.
Then another pair of arms wrapped around her middle, and she glanced down to see Samuel smiling up at them. She and Michael laughed as they collected the boy in their arms and the trio embraced. Then, with Samuel between them, they gazed out at the sky that displayed a mixture of the pinks, oranges, and reds of one of the most beautiful sunsets Jane had ever experienced in her life.
She must have voiced this sentiment, for Michael turned to her and said, “This might be the most beautiful of sunsets, but you are the most beautiful of women.”
Her face had to have reflected the reds in the sky, but her heart soared with the clouds. She was a woman who believed in a man, who in turn, believed in her. A relationship she had been advised would never thrive. Yet, as Anne had counseled, the heart never lies, and Jane’s heart told her that she and Michael, along with Samuel, had many long years ahead of them.
Return of the Duke
Chapter One
William Hawkins gave a grunt as he dug yet another hole in the unyielding earth with a pointed spade, ready to prepare the garden bed for the new spring flowers he was to plant later that week. No matter how little or great the rain was, he always found the ground hard. The air was especially warm for this early in the year, and he stood and wiped sweat from his forehead.
Beside him, Thomas Wilkins straightened and massaged his lower back. “I fear my days of gardening might be coming to an end,” the man, who was at least thirty years older than William’s one and twenty, said. “Though I don’t know what I’ll do next with this life of mine. I might find myself awfully bored.”
“Maybe buy a small cottage and do a bit of farming?” William suggested as he leaned on the shovel.
The older man shrugged. “Maybe.”
Voices coming down the garden path made the two men turn. Miss Margaret Garvey, the only daughter of their employer, Lord Garvey, 3rd Baron of Foramint, was of the same age as William, as were the other three women in her company, or so William assumed. He had to fight a smile that threatened to spread across his lips while studying the group of women as they made their way toward Thomas and him. It was not out of disrespect or admiration that he studied the women, however, but rather an interest in how women of the ton conducted themselves as compared to those who lived the life he had. He knew better than to outright ogle them, for it could easily land him back on the streets from which he came. Lord Garvey had made that point clear when William was hired on as undergardener to Thomas just over four years earlier.
“If you so much as look at my daughter,” he had said in that smug tone he was wont to use when dealing with any of those who were in his employ, “I will see you not only thrown out of my home but also flogged beforehand. My Margaret is not one of your types and will not be treated as such. Do I make myself clear?”
William had agreed wholeheartedly, though he found it difficult to not study the girls and her friends. They were very beautiful with their carefully styled coiffures, lace dresses, and impeccable postures, and the way they held up their fans in front of their faces and giggled when they saw him looking their way was intriguing. However, he would do nothing to be accused of wrongdoing, for he needed this position. Granted, thirty guineas a year was not much as far as wages were concerned, but it was certainly better than what he had before, which was nothing at all of which to speak. The fact was that his food and lodging alone would have made the hard work he put in worth every minute of his time in the garden. No, he would do nothing to jeopardize what he was thankful to have, but it was not easy to keep his eyes from wandering from time to time.
As the women passed the two gardeners, one of Miss Garvey’s friends, a Miss Flanks if William remembered correctly, looked his way, a mischievous grin forming on her pouting lips.
William’s cheeks burned and he pushed back his hair in a self-conscious manner as the women giggled and then turned a corner and moved out of sight.
“Ya should stop yer dreaming,” Thomas said. “I’ve been doing this work for coming on forty-five years now, and them types won’t never speak to the likes of us.”
William sighed. “I know, but it’s nice to wonder, ain’t—isn’t—it?” He had been working on getting his speech to sound more refined, but after so many years of bad habits, he was finding it more than difficult. What he needed was proper instruction, but where would a gardener get that type of training? “Can you imagine going to their fancy parties and attending them during their outings?”
Thomas snorted. “Which ya’ll never be a part of. Them dresses alone cost more than you or I would ever earn in a month. Nay, in a year. Concentrate on yer work; that’s the only thing to do.”
The old man was right, but William could not help but allow his mind to wander to what might be. Most people in the lo
wer class had the same thoughts, he knew, for he had shared in conversations with more than one of the servants on what life would be like to be of the genteel people. It did little harm to dream, and William voiced as much.
“Little harm?” Thomas asked in an admonishing tone as he picked up the hoe once more. “I’d say it does lots of harm if ya spend yer days leaning on that shovel instead of using it to finish yer work. Now, get busy now or ya might just find yerself back out of a position before the sun sets.”
William sighed and stuck the tip of the shovel into the ground and pushed down with his foot once more. “Well, one day, I will have my farm and I’ll not have to work for anyone else. Just you wait and see.”
“Sure ya will, my boy,” Thomas said, his voice dripping with skepticism. “Won’t we all?”
“William,” a singsong voice called out, making him turn once again. Lady Garvey, Miss Margaret’s mother, walked up, and he gave her a polite smile.
“Yes, my Lady?” he replied with a respectful bow.
Lady Henrietta Garvey was nearing fifty years of age and had not lost any of the beauty or youthfulness she had possessed from her younger years. The woman had always been kind, and William respected her that much more for it. When he first obtained his position at Millweed Manor, he had not been able to read a single word or write his own name, but Lady Garvey had taken pity on him and allowed him to take lessons from the tutor when the man finished lessons with her daughter. Lady Garvey had been amazed at how quickly he learned to read and soon allowed him to choose from a small collection of books on a shelf in the servants’ quarters. Most of the books had loose or missing covers, but the stories were complete, and William devoured them much like he had devoured his first real meal at Millweed after he had not eaten for more than two days prior.
“Alfred wished to know when the flowers will be planted,” she said. “I informed him they would be planted when you finished readying the beds, but alas, he wants to know which day exactly.”
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