His voice faded, as the two exited the room, leaving Ruan and Deveraux alone in the library.
"Shall we invite Lord Keyford?" Deveraux's done was deliberately light, for he knew that it was a heavy question. Ruan thought for a moment, before answering. What Lavelle had told him in Southampton had convinced him that Keyford was the man behind the numerous attacks on his person, and perhaps a staid country ball would be the best place to observe his late wife's father?
"Ask him in person," Ruan suggested, relieved when Deveraux nodded in agreement with his idea. "Let him know that I'll be here. If he comes, he comes. If not..."
If not, then perhaps Lord Keyford was the man behind the attacks. Ruan excused himself to take a walk, fetching his coat and hat from his bedchamber, before venturing out into the soft evening air. Jarvis House was a mere five minutes from the village, and Ruan gently strolled along the path, appreciating the peace of the evening, and the sounds of birds and insects in the hedgerow. The church of the parish of St. Jarvis was perched at the top of the hill, which ran down to the village. Like many other buildings in the locale, it was built from Cornish granite, and was surrounded by a slate wall. The churchyard was tidy, with an abundance of speedwells and figworts swaying in the light breeze. Ruan opened the gate, and followed the stone path around to the back of the church, where the graveyard was. Many new headstones had appeared since he had last visited, and he paused to read the names of those who had died in recent years. He felt his chest tighten as he approached Catherine's grave; at the head there was a simple granite headstone, which was inscribed with her name and the date of her death. He hunkered down before the stone, and as he did so he saw two roses had been laid there, quite recently, by the looks of how fresh they were. Ruan lifted one, and examined it curiously. It was a fine, long-stemmed rose, he knew by the quality of it that it must have been grown in a hot-house. It certainly hadn't come from Jarvis House, he thought, remembering his pathetic bunch of posies. Would Lord Keyford have left it? Ruan thought on what he knew of his father in law; Keyford had been a mean, tight individual, who had shown very little love to his only legitimate child during her lifetime. Perhaps, though, her death had filled him with remorse?
Ruan sighed; he would probably never know who had left the roses-- though he could rule out most of the villagers, who would not have the type of money for such sentimental frivolities. He rested his hand on the headstone, and lowered his head to say a short prayer for his late wife. He had not known, when he was two and twenty, what he was taking on when he married Catherine. It had been akin to adopting a child; she was so vulnerable and helpless. He had tried to protect her, both from outside influences and the horrors that inflicted her internally, but he had failed. After her death he had been filled with sorrow, grief and guilt --and the guilt was made worse by the fact that, once some time had passed, he felt a sense of relief. This, more than anything, had convinced him that the rumours about him were true: he was a monster. The only person he had confided this to was Polly, and he had expected to receive a thorough dressing down from the straight talking Northerner. Instead he had found comfort, for she had merely told him that caring for someone --as she did for Emily and he had for Catherine--was not a straightforward business.
"Everything you did, you did because you loved Catherine, and wanted to protect her," she had soothed him. "And you did right by her, at great personal sacrifice to your own needs and wishes. Love is not an easy emotion your Grace; it's a million feelings all rolled into one, good and bad. Caring for Catherine was difficult, there's no harm in admitting that it was not all a bed of roses, for you do yourself a great disservice by pretending that it was."
His knees creaked slightly as he rose, and he began the short journey back to Jarvis House. As he exited the churchyard, he stole a glance down the path that led to the village. He could see the boarding house from here, and the lights blazed merrily in the windows. In Olive, he felt that he might find some redemption, if only she would let him be the husband that he knew he could be.
Perhaps this was a bad idea, Ruan thought, his stomach clenching as he guided the horses up the drive of Pemberton Hall. Olive sat, ram-rod straight, beside him, and Polly sat silently beside her. He had innocuously suggested, the day before, that his wife might like to visit his childhood home, and Olive had jumped at the idea. When he had collected her at the boarding house that morning, he discovered why: Polly wanted to see her sister.
Ruan had felt like a selfish git as he helped the Northern lass into the gig. He had been so preoccupied with Olive, that he had forgotten how much Polly probably missed young Emily, whom she was rarely separated from. Though she had probably found consolation in the fact that Emily been left in the care of the very able Mrs Hogg, who doted on the young girl.
The Housekeeper and Emily's sister stood at the door to greet them as Ruan steered the gig to the front steps of the house. He waved hello, before hopping out and assisting Olive and Polly from the vehicle.
"Polly!"
Young Emily, who now that Ruan thought on it was probably nearly twenty, tore down the front steps and launched herself at her elder sister. Polly staggered backwards at the force with which Emily threw herself on her, but she did not fall, merely wrapped her arms around her sister in a warm hug.
"Oh, I have missed you," Emily said, as she drew away from the embrace, "I have a new pet chicken, called Maisie. Mrs Hogg says her eggs are magical, though I told her not to be silly, eggs aren't magical only fairies are."
"Indeed her eggs are," the stout housekeeper called, as the group ascended the front steps of the house. "They make the finest puddings known to man, and I have one cooling in the kitchen for after luncheon, your Grace."
"Thank you Mrs Hogg," Ruan replied, casting a warm smile at the woman whose food had been the highlight of his childhood, "Allow me to introduce--"
He paused abruptly; what on earth was he supposed to introduce Olive as? The woman he had married, but had failed to bed? His poor housekeeper would drop dead if he shared that bit of information with her!
"Olive," his wife smiled at the housekeeper, neatly side-stepping Ruan's discomfort. "It's wonderful to meet you Mrs Hogg, I have heard so much about you and Pemberton Hall. Many people in St Jarvis have told me it's the most beautiful house to be found in all of Cornwall."
Mrs Hogg preened with pleasure at this statement, and led Olive inside, pointing out the different architectural merits of Pemberton Hall as they went. Polly and Emily discreetly said their goodbyes to the Duke, and disappeared across the manicured lawns to their small cottage. Ruan watched the pair for a moment, obviously giddy and in high spirits, his heart aching. What would it be like to know love as unconditional as the two Jenkins sisters shared? He had never known, even as a child, what it was like to have someone love him so. His memories of his mother were hazy at best, and while he had a few images of her kissing and hugging him, he wasn't entirely sure that he hadn't made them up. His father had always held him at arm's length, and as a boy he had longed for affection that wasn't provided by a dutiful staff member.
If I have children, he vowed as he watched Polly and Emily disappear from sight, I shall let them know that they are loved. He felt a stab of protectiveness for his yet fictitious offspring, and hastily followed his wife and housekeeper inside. There would be no children if he couldn't persuade Olive to return to the marriage bed.
His wife and Mrs Hogg were still in the entrance hall, viewing the many portraits that lined the wall.
"This is the late Duke," Mrs Hogg said, waving a hand at an intimidating, gilt framed portrait of Ruan's father. There was little resemblance between father and son, the Fifth Duke of Everleigh had been fair, while his son had favoured his mother's dark colouring. "And this is His Grace, ooh he must be only four or five in this, with the late Duchess. Wasn't she beautiful?"
Ruan remained silent as he watched Olive take a step closer to the painting of him and his mother. Her face seemed to soften a
s she viewed the image of him as a child; Ruan felt a momentary pang of embarrassment, for in the painting he was dressed in foppish pantaloons and his hair was long and curly, like a girls.
"You were adorable, your Grace," she said finally, glancing at him with warmth in her eyes.
"Pshaw," Ruan replied dismissively, though a jolt of pleasure traversed him at her words, and he struggled to keep a grin from erupting on his face. What was wrong with him? He was a Duke, he wasn't supposed to wag his tail like a puppy when a woman declared him adorable!
"We have embarrassed His Grace," Olive whispered to Mrs Hogg, linking her arm through the older woman's. The two ladies headed in the direction of the Blue Parlour, with Ruan following behind. Tea was served in the bright, airy room, which looked out over the rose garden. Mrs Hogg bustled about, directing skittish maids, and not sitting down herself until Olive begged her to.
"Tell me more about Pemberton Hall," she pleaded, and with a show of humble reluctance -which soon passed -Mrs Hogg took a seat on the divan opposite Olive, and began to school her on the running of the house. It was all new information to Ruan, who had not known how much effort went in to keeping a home he rarely frequented running smoothly. Cleaning, gardening, repair work -- it amazed him what went on in the house without his knowledge.
"It sounds like you are doing a most admirable job, Mrs Hogg," Olive said with a smile, as the housekeeper finished speaking. Olive turned to Ruan, her eyebrows raised, "Does it not, your Grace?"
"Lud," Ruan gave his housekeeper a roguish smile, "I had no idea how much work you did. Remind me to give you a pay rise Mrs Hogg."
The older woman beamed with delight at the praise, and rose from her seat, brushing down her apron.
"Thank you, your Grace," she said with a neat bob of her knees, "Now I really must get back to work. I'll leave you to show Olive the rest of the house."
The door closed behind her with a firm click, leaving the Duke and his wife alone. A moment's silence ensued, in which Ruan stared fixedly at the China cup in his hand. It was absurdly small, and looked even smaller as his hands were so large, though the one in Olive's hand seemed a perfect fit. She was perfect; small and delicate, and utterly untouchable.
"Who is that?"
Ruan raised his eyes to where Olive was pointing, even though he knew instinctively what it was that had aroused her curiosity.
"That's Catherine," he said, standing up and walking over to the portrait which hung above the fire-place. The Blue Parlour had always been Catherine's favourite room in the house, so it had felt more appropriate to hang her picture here. He started slightly, as he felt a touch on his sleeve, but relaxed when he realised it was Olive, who had come to stand beside him. She patted his hand consolingly as she gazed up at the picture of Catherine.
"She was very beautiful," she offered; for it was the truth. Catherine had always been a beauty, with dark locks and deep brown eyes set against alabaster pale skin. It was a restless beauty however; even in the portrait she looked agitated, as though she wished to be anywhere than there.
"Polly told me everything," Olive said, after they had stood in reflective silence for a moment. Ruan turned to look at her in confusion; "Told you everything about what?"
"About Catherine. About you and Catherine. Don't be angry with Polly," she added quickly, seeing the look on Ruan's face. "She just wanted me to know what a kind and generous hearted man you are. And you are, Ruan, you truly are."
Her soft voice speaking his name caused him to shiver with desire, and her hand on his seemed to burn his very skin. He encircled her wrist with his own hand, and pulled her gently toward him, so that she was pressed against his chest.
"If you think that, my dear," he whispered, looking down into her green eyes, "Then will you consent to be my wife?"
Olive licked her lips, a nervous act, no doubt, but one which left Ruan aching with need for her.
"Perhaps," she consented, shyly dropping her eyes to his chest, "Though we did agree that a courtship is not complete until the couple have danced together at least once, did we not?"
Ruan groaned at her teasing words; he was aching for her so much that it was nearly painful. Still, at least she seemed to have softened toward him; in fact, he would go so far as to say that she now actually appeared to like him. A marked improvement on the first days of their marriage.
"I wish," he said softly, and she glanced up at him again, her eyes full of questions. "I wish that I had courted you properly the first time Olive," he continued, feeling relief as he divested himself of the guilt he felt. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry that I went about everything the wrong way."
He watched his wife frown as she considered his apology.
"I wish you had too, your Grace," she finally replied in a light, teasing tone. "Now the future of our marriage rests on your ability to Waltz..."
It would be the best waltz of her life, Ruan thought with determination. Then once it was done, he would take her by the hand and lead her to the nearest bedroom - scandal be damned!
"Gemini, you look beautiful!"
Poppy and Alexandra both danced around Olive as she descended the stairs of the boarding house. Their enthusiasm was infectious, and Olive reluctantly had to admit that the dress that Jane had loaned her, was most becoming. It was a dark, emerald green, which suited her colouring perfectly. The empire line dress flared beneath the bust into a light, frothy skirt of silk. She had initially protested to Polly that it was too small around the bust, for Jane had a far slighter frame than she, but the Northern woman had given a ribald laugh at the suggestion that it looked improper.
"Sure isn't that what every woman wants?" Polly had laughed, "A dress that emphasises rather than restricts one's assets?"
Polly had flushed then, and murmured an apology; their relationship had recovered from the initial lies they had both told each other at the start of it. Though Polly now regularly faltered when she addressed her, not knowing whether to call Olive by her name, or address her as "Your Grace".
"You both look beautiful as well," Olive offered the twins, for they were a sight to behold. They were dressed in identical gowns of soft lilac, their blonde curls tied high on their heads --it was almost impossible to tell them apart. A fact not lost on their Aunt, who frowned as she exited the drawing room and saw their attire.
"No funny business," she said, wagging a finger at the pair when she saw them, and in response the twins tried to look wide-eyed and innocent. "I will not have a repeat of what happened at Lady Amberley's ball."
"What happened at Lady Amberley's ball?" Olive asked, her interest piqued.
"Oh a ghastly, ancient, decrepit, old man thought to court me," Poppy scowled at the memory.
"So the twins decided to play a trick on the poor soul," her Aunt interrupted, a frown on her face. She would not encourage their hi-jinx, despite how infectious their exuberance was.
"We didn't tell Sir Boras that there were two of us," Alexandra continued, "And so he got an awful fright when one of us exited one door, only to appear a few seconds later on the other side of the ballroom."
"And when he danced with Poppy, I kept popping up at the side of the ballroom and waving at him. He thought he was having an apoplectic fit!"
"He nearly did have a fit," Augusta admonished and cast Olive a pleading look; "I pray my dear, that you'll keep an eye on these two and keep them out of mischief."
"I'll try," Olive promised the older woman, though secretly she doubted anyone's ability to keep the twins from doing what they wanted. The only other lady that had decided to accompany them to the ball was Petronella Devoy, who was resplendent in a gown of dark red, which complimented her dark, lustrous locks perfectly. Olive had almost forgotten that Petronella was the daughter of a Viscount, but the exquisite material of her dress, coupled with the diamonds around her neck, promptly reminded her.
There was no carriage to take them to Jarvis House, so the women walked, arms linked, in high spirits. The sun was beginn
ing to set, and the sea at the bottom of the steep hill was deep purple, streaked with flashes of orange and gold. The house was all lit up, and as they hurried up the sweeping driveway they could hear the sounds of voices and music coming from within.
Jane stood at the door to greet them. She wore a very becoming gown of taupe and her hair was dressed high on her head.
"Oh wonderful, I was hoping that was you," she once the ladies had reached the front door. Her glasses were absent, and she squinted at each member of the entourage, trying to discern who was who.
"Where are your spectacles Jane?" Poppy queried, as their hostess blindly led them through the entrance hall, to the ballroom.
"Oh, Julian says they're too hideous to wear to a ball," Jane said plainly, "And that the guests would run off if they caught sight of me in them."
"What nonsense," Poppy frowned, her face a picture of the annoyance the Liv felt. Lord Deveraux was seriously beginning to grate on her nerves.
"Yes, you're beautiful with your glasses," Alexandra interjected, "They magnify your eyes, so that it's like looking at some mythical nymph when one is speaking with you!"
Jane flushed, and laughed at Alexandra's statement, though she did look rather pleased.
"I'm afraid it's just a small affair," she confided, as she led the ladies into the magnificent ballroom. "Nothing like the parties one attends in London."
As Olive took in the scene before her, she felt she had to disagree. The ballroom of Jarvis House was huge, with double height ceilings and chandeliers shedding twinkling light on the guests below. There was at least a hundred people present, many that Liv did not recognise, though one did catch her eye - Lord Keyford, who stood some distance from the crowd, surveying all the guests with dislike. She shivered, hoping that he would not spot her, not after their nasty encounter in the inn. Luckily her view of him was blocked by a rather large man who stepped into her path.
The Duke of Ruin: Reluctant Regency Brides Page 13