Say Yes to the Duke

by Kieran Kramer

  “Long enough that I should put it behind me, and I have.” Janice stood once more. “But it took some time. The heart is a fragile thing.”

  “You’re right,” Isobel said. “I know my heart is extremely fragile. All of me is, my lady.” She looked down modestly.

  “Right.” Janice smiled, remembering how Isobel once hoisted two full trunks over her head.

  “What is it?” Isobel raised her head and gazed suspiciously at her.

  “Nothing.” Janice’s tone was light and brisk. “As usual, you lift my spirits without even trying. We really must stop talking of this morning’s events, memorable as they were. It’s time to get ready for dinner. Unless you think I have a few moments in which to read.”

  There was a knock on the door, and she exchanged a wry glance with her supposedly fragile servant. “I suppose you’ll have to answer it.”

  “I’ll get rid of whoever it is.” Isobel’s eyes narrowed with purpose, and she opened the door wide, as if to confront a lion.

  The nurse stood there, looking as taciturn as she had upstairs.

  In a way she was a lion, but one Janice intended to tame. “Come in, Mrs. Poole.” There wasn’t a question about wanting to see her. Anything to do with the duchess was important.

  “My lady,” Mrs. Poole said, “I’ve mess-s-s-age.”

  Isobel blinked fast, probably at the strong whistle on the s in message.

  “And your message is?” Janice prodded the nurse.

  Mrs. Poole folded her hands. “The dowager awoke and said she never got to tell you good-bye.”

  “Oh.” Janice was puzzled that the nurse had come all this way to tell her so. “She sneezed and fell asleep quickly. Neither of us was able to make our farewells.”

  “She tends to fall asleep fast, but she woke up shortly after you left.” The woman hesitated.

  “As … the Queen?” Janice asked.

  Isobel drew in her chin, and no wonder. Janice hadn’t told her yet that Mr. Callahan was right—the dowager did think she was the Queen, at least some of the time.

  “No,” said Mrs. Poole, “she woke up as Her Grace.”

  Isobel’s eyes widened.

  “She was asking after her grandson,” Mrs. Poole went on, “and I told her that he was soon to visit. But she wasn’t satisfied with that. She got a little teary.”

  “Oh, dear,” Janice said, her heart pained. “That’s a terrible shame.”

  “I-I offered her a new handkerchief.” Mrs. Poole looked over Janice’s head.

  “You did? That was good of you, Mrs. Poole.”

  “Yes, well, I opened the curtains, too, which seemed to cheer her.”

  “Very nicely done.” There was hope for this nurse, after all.

  Mrs. Poole returned her reluctant gaze to Janice’s. “But then she sneezed and … well, you know what happened.”

  “Right. She became the Queen.”

  Isobel dropped the hatbox she was carrying in the far corner of the room.

  The nurse paused to frown at her.

  “Don’t mind me.” Isobel said airily. But her eyes gave her away. She was intensely curious and desperate to hear more.

  Mrs. Poole looked back at Janice. “Her Majesty told me to pass this message on immediately to the young lady who recently visited her—‘the clever, frustrated one,’ she said.”

  Janice scratched the side of her nose. “I suppose she might mean me.”

  “Of course she means you, my lady!” Isobel interjected. There was a moment’s pause, and her face went red. “I don’t know about the ‘frustrated’ part. But you are clever.”

  “Thank you, Isobel,” Janice said. “Do go on, Mrs. Poole.”

  The nurse drew a deep breath. “I also assume you’re the young lady to whom the dowager refers because you’re the only one who’s visited her since she became ill.”

  Janice’s heart sank. “You mean, Ladies Opal and Rose haven’t? Nor Miss Branson?”

  “No, they haven’t. Nor have the other ladies who’ve been in residence.”

  “Have there been many?” Isobel asked, agog.

  “Yes,” the nurse said coolly, “not that it’s your business.”

  Isobel’s mouth opened, but Janice held up a hand to silence her. “That’s unfortunate, that the dowager has had little feminine company other than yourself, Mrs. Poole. But the duke visits regularly, doesn’t he?”

  “Once a day,” said the nurse. “He insists on sitting with Her Grace alone every afternoon at three o’clock. That’s when I take my tea.”

  “How good of him.” Janice had arrived at that time and found his absence at tea rather touching, now that she knew exactly why he’d left her.

  Mrs. Poole nodded. “He’s very devoted to her.”

  He certainly appeared to be. “So what is this message?” Janice tried to curb her impatience. “I think I should be getting downstairs.”

  “I don’t understand it myself.” The nurse’s manner was more stiff than ever. “But Her Majesty says…”

  She hesitated.

  “What?” Janice wasn’t certain she wanted to know.

  Mrs. Poole’s lips thinned. “She says that you must say no. And that if you ignore her advice, you’re a fool.”

  Janice felt her own mouth fall open—she’d been too long around Isobel—and quickly shut it. “That’s all?”

  The nurse nodded. “She was quite emphatic about it, too. ‘No, no, no,’ she said as she fell asleep again.”

  Hm-m-m.… Janice was almost dizzy thinking of the implications. “Thank you for passing that on.” She managed to smile calmly in farewell to Mrs. Poole.

  The nurse, of course, refused to smile back.

  Oh, well. There was only so much one could accomplish in a day.

  “Goodness.” Isobel stared at Janice. “She whistles like a bird all day long. You’d think that would make her cheerful, but no. She’s as sour as a lemon. Do you know what she meant by that message, my lady?”

  “I think I do.” Janice leaned her back against the door, her whole body fraught with tension. “The dowager told me there’s only one way to win over the duke, but she fell asleep before she could tell me. That was her one way.”

  “‘Tell him no,’” Isobel said in a dramatic whisper. “How very clever of her. Everyone knows you must say yes to a duke. Whatever he wants he gets.”

  “Exactly.” Janice swallowed to quell the butterflies in her stomach. “Not that it matters. I’m not interested in winning the duke. I’m here for the dowager’s sake.”

  “But, my lady! Why won’t you at least try to win him? Imagine … you could be a duchess.”

  Janice pushed off the door and began to pace in a small circle on the rich burgundy Aubusson carpet in front of the hearth. “I’ve already told you, Izzy. I’ll marry for love if I marry at all.”

  “But think of how it would feel,” Isobel said, “to make those jealous women who say you’re the invisible sister upset? They’d have to pretend to be happy for you. And you could give them the cut direct if you chose.”

  Janice sighed. “I have to admit, something to that effect would be satisfying for a few fleeting seconds. But seeking that sort of petty revenge isn’t a good reason to spend the rest of your life with a man you don’t love.”

  “Even if he’s rich?”

  “Yes, Isobel, even so.” Janice patted Izzy’s arm. “I know you mean well. But trust me that money doesn’t solve all one’s woes.”

  “It doesn’t?”

  “No. It doesn’t,” she said softly. “It seems to me that only love makes things truly better.”

  “I hope so,” Isobel said with a short chuckle, “as I’m never going to be rich.”

  “Neither one of us knows what our futures hold. Besides”—Janice sighed—“I can’t say no to people. I think it comes from living in a large family. One has to compromise.”

  “You are agreeable, my lady,” said Isobel. “Perhaps too nice.…”

  “Isobe
l. One can never be too nice.”

  “I don’t know, miss. I remember the circus trainers cracking their whips at the tigers. If they didn’t frighten them a little bit, they’d get eaten up.”

  “I don’t propose to crack any whips,” said Janice, “nor shall I be devoured. I promise.”

  They shared bemused smiles.

  “Well, I’m off.” She looked one more time at her reflection and didn’t see an ounce of the lurking ambition that the dowager—as the Queen—seemed to think she had. “Wish me luck downstairs.”

  “You don’t need it.” Isobel winked. “You know the secret.”

  “Right,” said Janice dryly. “I suppose I do.”

  Say no.

  Say no, and if the dowager was right the world would be Janice’s, whether she magically blossomed out here in the country—per her mother’s wishes—or not.

  Chapter Eight

  On her way to the drawing room, Janice got lost. She thought she was going down the corridor that led to the staircase, but instead she found herself in a vast hall—the portrait gallery. One stunning portrait in particular caught her eye. It was of a beautiful lady with a spark of something—a glow—in her eye.

  She’s in love, Janice thought. That’s what love looks like. She’d seen the same look on Marcia’s face and on Mama’s.

  And then Janice wondered if the woman in the portrait was the dowager when she was young. The clothes would have been from about that time.

  Janice had turned back, determined to find her way to the stairs—it was a simple enough correction she had to make—when she found the most wonderful sitting room with an enormous window, in front of which were three wingback chairs. She skirted around them and stood before the panes, where a blanket of cold air made her shiver as she looked out to a snow-covered garden.

  She was so glad Esmeralda was no longer trembling out there in the cold but was instead snug in her straw bed with her puppies.

  Thanks to Mr. Callahan, Janice couldn’t help thinking, and wondered what he was doing at the moment. Talking to Oscar? Looking in on Esmeralda?

  Or … thinking of her?

  No. She really had to rein in her too-vivid imagination. She didn’t even like him. How could she like a man who’d warned her away from him himself? And he didn’t like her. He’d made that obvious. He’d not helped Esmeralda for Janice but for the dog’s sake alone. Had it really been necessary to tell her that?

  No. Which proved that he didn’t give a fig for her. He simply liked to kiss her. As she did him.

  She decided the dramatic yet pristine view deserved her attention more than Mr. Callahan did, so she’d linger over it another minute. She sank into the middle chair, curled up her feet, put her chin in her palm, and gazed upon the portion of sky where the setting sun lent an orange glow to the tops of the tree line. For a few seconds she closed her eyes and let herself drift …

  Right back into Luke Callahan’s arms.

  “I left them in here, I’m sure.”

  Her eyes flew open at the sound, and she felt a moment’s embarrassment, as if she’d been caught out doing something entirely wrong. But of course, no one could see inside her head. Nor could anyone see her, not unless they came round to the window.

  It was one of the sisters. Lady Opal, she was sure. She had the softer voice of the two.

  There was a further swish of skirts.

  “You’re so absent-minded,” said Lady Rose. “There they are. On the table.”

  “Oh.” More rustling. “They’re not even smudged.”

  Spectacles, probably. Janice should really let the two women know she was there. But she’d been so cozy. They’d leave any second and she could grab another minute’s wicked daydreaming about Mr. Callahan and that kiss this afternoon before she had to head downstairs. She didn’t look forward to trying to be charming during dinner, after which she’d be required to sing and play the pianoforte, something she dreaded.

  “After tonight, we’ll know if she’s after him,” said Lady Rose.

  Janice’s heart lurched. She had the sickening feeling that she was the subject of their tête-à-tête.

  “I wonder what she’ll wear to dinner,” said Lady Opal.

  “It was too difficult to tell her intentions today at tea,” Lady Rose answered her. “Perhaps she really is here to see the dowager.”

  Heavens. They were speaking about her!

  “It’s just so hard to believe.” Lady Opal’s tone had an edge of scorn to it. “You know her parents must have sent her here to capture the duke’s interest.”

  Janice squeezed her eyes shut. They had—they had sent her here for that very reason!

  “I’ve heard she can’t hold a candle to her older sister,” said Lady Rose.

  “Then her older sister must be extraordinarily beautiful,” said Lady Opal, “because Lady Janice is quite pretty.”

  Janice supposed she should be complimented. But instead she felt a bit seasick listening to them speak about her with no feeling.

  Please leave, she willed them silently.

  “What are we going to do if he makes us go?” asked Lady Rose.

  Janice heard a sigh.

  “We’ll try Scotland,” said Lady Opal. “There are plenty of lairds seeking feminine company.”

  A frisson of shock went through Janice, and she opened her eyes again. What exactly did Lady Opal mean by that? Her statement could be taken any number of ways.

  “In this weather?” Lady Rose sounded entirely bleak. “Surely we won’t have to worry about traveling for a while.”

  “I hope not.”

  There was a heavy silence.

  “No pitying ourselves,” said Lady Opal. “For one shining Season, we had our chance. Now we make do.”

  “If only you’d said yes to Lord Archibald—,” began Lady Rose.

  “If only you’d encouraged Sir Kevin instead of Lord Boxwood. He was never going to be interested. I told you so.” Lady Opal sounded bitter.

  “Oh, do be quiet,” whispered Lady Rose.

  “Lady Janice will never be like us,” said Lady Opal. “She has a family to take her in.”

  “That’s its own sort of misery,” said Lady Rose, “traveling from relation to relation. And you’re wrong—she is quite like us. I see it in her face.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Lady Opal.

  “She has the air of someone who’s afraid to chase her own happiness.”

  Janice’s middle clenched.

  “Like us,” said Lady Rose. “Why did we never think we were good enough to be happy?”

  “I don’t know,” replied her sister. “Perhaps because our parents didn’t like us terribly much.”

  Lady Rose sighed. “She doesn’t have that excuse. They’re supposedly a very loving family.”

  “But she may have another excuse equally as good,” said Lady Opal.

  Shame made Janice’s cheeks hot. She didn’t have any defense at all.

  “Well, whatever her reasons, she’s too timid to chase a duke,” Lady Rose said. “And come to think of it, surely her parents must know that. Perhaps they really did send her here to see the dowager. Get her out of the way, so to speak. She’s had every opportunity to make a good match. No doubt they’re ashamed she hasn’t.”

  A stab of horror went through Janice. Could Mama and Daddy be ashamed of her? She knew they pitied her, but shame was something else entirely!

  “You’re suggesting she’s a millstone?” Lady Opal’s voice went up an octave.

  “No one likes to be around a failure.” Lady Rose sounded a bit smug, as if she weren’t a failure herself. “It’s bad luck, especially if one has a reputation of excellence to uphold.”

  Janice swallowed. Her parents weren’t like that. They loved her.

  But then she remembered all the important events she was missing, how Mama had brushed them off and so had Daddy. And then they’d practically pushed her into the coach.

  Did they really not want her a
t Mama’s grand ball? Or at the dinner parties that they’d surely hold in Gregory and Pippa’s honor?

  Was her presence becoming a burden?

  “I do recall that she made a bit of a fool of herself over some man,” said Lady Opal.

  Janice’s eyes widened.

  “Finnian Lattimore.” Lady Rose was quiet. “He was gorgeous. Don’t tell me you don’t remember the details.”

  Breathe, Janice told herself, and laid a palm on her breast in hopes of slowing her heartbeat down.

  “Remember what?” asked Opal.

  “There’s an old rumor that won’t die,” Lady Rose said with some amusement. “A very dark rumor, and no one who’s heard it would dare repeat it to the family.”

  “Why don’t I know of it?”

  “It must have been when you were bedridden those six months. Yes, that was it. You were deathly ill, and I wouldn’t share certain on-dits with you. And then it never came up again.”

  “What is it?” Lady Opal asked. “You’re driving me mad.”

  “It is said that she might have given herself to him. Long ago. In Ireland. At some wedding. And then later at Vauxhall, of all places.”

  No.

  Janice was glad she was seated and not standing. They had it all wrong! That was Marcia Finn had taken advantage of in Ireland and left high and dry—

  Marcia!

  Not her.

  The injustice of it all made her dizzy.

  She wasn’t angry at Marcia … poor Marcia. She’d had an awful experience.

  But it was frustrating for Janice.

  Entirely too frustrating.

  Because how could she ever defend herself? She’d never be able to. Never in a million years would she correct that statement—

  Not without putting a blight on her own beloved sister’s reputation. Janice would have to bear it with a smile. She’d have to pretend she’d never heard it. Mama always told them to ignore gossip anyway. Never to dignify it with a response.

  And Janice must admit, too, that the skewed tale hadn’t come from nothing. She had attended a few events with Finn in London. Of course, she’d had no idea of Marcia and Finn’s painful past at that point.

  He and Janice had never—

  They’d never done what Lady Rose said they’d done.