Action needed to be taken and it needed to be taken quickly. For all their sakes.
As much as Ainsley disliked the way Cousin Ralph was going about things, he had to admit that he’d certainly managed to put the color back into Jayne’s cheeks. She was pacing her parlor when he arrived. His intent had been to merely ensure that Ralph hadn’t come to call. And he hadn’t.
But Lady Inwood, an overflowing fountain of gossip, had.
“He’s apparently questioning whether this child could be Walfort’s and he’s making no secret of the fact that he doesn’t believe it could be.”
“It isn’t,” Ainsley reminded her.
She stuttered to a stop. Sank into a chair. “This is just bloody awful.”
In long strides he crossed the room, knelt before her and took her hands. “The best way for me to protect you and the child is with my name. Marry me, Jayne. Let me claim the child as mine.”
“This is not how things were supposed to be.”
“No, but they are the way that they are. Walfort is not here to dispute Ralph’s claims. You and I know the truth of the situation . . . as does Miss Brown.”
Her eyes widened slightly. “He’s spoken to her, hasn’t he?”
“Yes. He’s going to make a stink of things. If we knew this was a girl, the entire matter would be moot. But if it’s a boy . . .” He stood up, moved over to the fireplace. No fire burned; he wasn’t cold. But he needed the distance. “Everything changed with Walfort’s passing. Everything. I want to claim this child as mine—whether it is a boy or a girl. If you set your course on insisting this babe is Walfort’s, you will place Miss Brown in a difficult position. Her word against yours.”
“I would be believed.”
Jayne’s station in life, her position as Walfort’s widow, gave her some currency, but would it be enough?
“In all likelihood, but why set yourself on this path when there is no need? Marry me, Jayne. Let me provide you with a safe haven from gossip and recognize this child as mine.”
She rose from the chair and began to pace. “This is absurd. Walfort is barely gone. Tongues will wag if we marry straightaway without a period of mourning. If you recognize this child, people will have confirmation that I was not faithful. The last remaining vestiges of my reputation will become tattered.”
“Better tongues wag now than when this child is born. As for your mourning period, I understand that you need this time. We will have a chaste marriage while you grieve.”
She stopped her pacing and rubbed her brow. “I feel as though I’m jumping from the pan into the fire.”
Tears welled in her eyes, and he cursed Walfort.
“You are known far and wide as a remarkable lover,” she said, “and you are extremely talented at being discreet. I do not want another marriage as I had before.”
“I know that his actions hurt you . . . dreadfully. I understand that you view me as guilty by association. But I swear to you that if you marry me, I will never take another woman to my bed.”
“Walfort gave the same vows before God.”
Damnation but he’d had enough. “I am not Walfort,” he ground out through clenched teeth. “And that child is not his. I’ll be damned if I’m going to allow it to be brought into this world and have to fight for what is not even rightfully his.”
“Allow?” Unfortunately, he could see in her eyes that he’d sparked her anger. “How dare you! You went into this arrangement perfectly willing to give up your child—”
“No! I was never willing, Jayne. It has always torn at me that this child would not know I was his father. But I shoved my own needs and desires aside because of guilt. Guilt as it turns out that I might not have even deserved.”
He stopped, trying to rein in his temper. Too soon. It was too soon to tell her everything. He seriously doubted that she would return his feelings in full measure.
“Jayne, this child should not suffer because of wrongs I was striving to make right.”
She lifted her chin in stubbornness. “And it won’t. Walfort claimed this child as his in his will. Mr. Ralph Seymour can rant all he wants. It will not change what will be recognized by law.”
“What is recognized by law is not always what is recognized by Society.”
“Walfort . . . before he died, I promised him this child would be known as his. While he was far from perfect in life, I do not wish to make a fool of him in death. You will stand behind that claim, won’t you?”
Never in his life had he ever betrayed a woman’s trust in him. He never spoke of his lovers. When he took a woman into his arms, she became his to protect: her reputation and her heart. He could do no less for Jayne. But what she asked of him, he hated with every fiber of his being. Still he nodded. “Yes.”
Blast her for being so damned stubborn!
Sitting before the fireplace in his library, Ainsley drank his whiskey and cursed Walfort for actions he’d taken that caused Jayne to doubt her appeal, her judgment, her desires. He felt as though he was engaged in a war he had no idea if he could win. She was mourning the loss of so much—more than her husband. All she’d believed about her marriage had been torn asunder. Why would she trust him now when he’d known it was all a farce and held the truth from her?
He should have told her, but then she’d have thought he did it to achieve his own ends.
Now he wanted her more than he’d ever wanted anything, and he wasn’t quite certain how to acquire her.
It didn’t help matters that she was struggling with her loyalty to Walfort. Yes, they’d all made promises, but they could not have foreseen that everything would unravel with Walfort’s passing.
“Ainsley’s worried about you,” Tessa said, sipping tea in Jayne’s parlor. She’d arrived only a few minutes earlier, and Jayne knew immediately by her mien that the purpose to her visit had little to do with simple kindness. “He can be quite protective of those he cares for. Irritated Westcliffe no end when he was a lad because Ainsley was so much younger, but he was always seeing to things, making sure all was well.”
“He has no need to worry about me. I’m not his responsibility.”
“Perhaps not. But a small part of you—the part that grows inside you—is, is it not?”
Jayne felt her stomach drop. “I suppose I should not be surprised that you know everything.”
Tessa gave her a gentle smile. “Not everything, but enough.”
“Does everyone know, do you think?”
“By everyone I assume you mean within the family. No. Leo knows, of course, but then Leo knows everything. You would think that an artist would only look at the shell, but he has the ability to search much deeper. I believe that’s the reason his portraits are so magnificent. Of course, I’m also biased. Be that as it may, others may begin to believe Ralph Seymour’s claims in time. Who is to say? But if I have raised my sons to be anything, it is to be accepting. Westcliffe and Stephen both chose their wives well, and they share the same willingness not to judge. However, my dear, I must be very honest with you.”
She set her teacup aside and held Jayne’s gaze. “I know what it is to have a son and to keep from him the truth about who truly sired him. It is an unbearable burden. I also know that Ainsley is a man of honor, whose loyalties are now torn. It will only worsen for him once this child is born. Mourning be damned, I say. Give this child its true father.”
“You assume much, Your Grace.”
“I know, m’dear. But know you will have the houses of Westcliffe, Lyons, and Ainsley behind you. They are a formidable trio, my sons. Few in London are willing to incur their disfavor. Or mine, for that matter.”
“It is barely a month since Walfort’s passing. People will gossip—”
“They gossip anyway.”
Long after she left, Jayne sat in the parlor and stared at nothing, her thoughts drifting back to a night when she’d traded all she believed in for a chance to hold something she treasured.
As though sensing its m
other’s distress, the child within her kicked. Once. Twice. Thrice. It did not carry Walfort’s blood. In her selfishness to want a child, she’d accepted Walfort’s excuses and justifications in the event this child was a boy, but now they were not so easy to live with. If this child was a boy, would it be fair to deny him a dukedom? Would it be fair to expose him to Ralph’s accusations? What had seemed so simple then seemed so complicated now. Doors had closed and opportunities had opened. She felt lost, at a crossroads, not knowing which path to take.
Chapter 29
“Please inform the marchioness that the Duke of Ainsley has come to call.”
Standing in the entry hallway, Ainsley tugged off his gloves. More rumors were floating about. If ladies were calling, Jayne was certain to have heard of them. He wanted to judge for himself how much they were upsetting her.
“I fear she is not at home, Your Grace,” the butler said.
Ainsley stilled. “Not at home to me, you mean? I will see her if I have to find her myself.”
The butler cleared his throat. “She left for Herndon Hall this afternoon.”
With a sound curse, Ainsley headed out the door.
The carriage had come to a halt some time earlier. Jayne didn’t know the exact hour. She knew only that darkness had fallen, rain poured down, and a footman stood ready with an umbrella should she decide to disembark. She sent her maid in as soon as they arrived. Yet in spite of the dampness and chill seeping into her bones, she couldn’t bring herself to leave the confines of the carriage.
The door clicked open. She didn’t know why she wasn’t surprised to see Ainsley climb inside and take the bench opposite her.
“What the bloody hell are you doing, Jayne?”
“How did you know I was here?”
“I made a call at your residence. Fairly killed my horse to catch up to you. Did you think I would let you run off without coming after you?”
“I wasn’t running off. I—” She had been running away. She looked out the window toward the residence. “I can’t bring myself to go in. It wasn’t quite as difficult in London because we hadn’t been there in so long, not since the accident. But here, for more than three years, it was everything. And everything was a lie.”
“Jayne—”
“I had to leave London, Ainsley. I feel as though I’m suffocating there. You, your mother, the ladies, Cousin Ralph—I have no peace. I can’t think, I can’t breathe. I know so many people mean well.” She released a wry laugh. “Some do not. I thought if I came here, I could at least breathe. But I can’t seem to leave the carriage. I don’t know what I was thinking.”
“It was not my intent to suffocate you, Jayne. But I promised Walfort that I would . . . care for you. Come to Grantwood Manor, Jayne. You will be away from the madness that is London. You can heal in spirit. Give birth to your child. Return here when you are ready.”
She felt the tears sting her eyes. He was not going to pressure her to marry him. It was both a relief and a disappointment. “Yes. I think I should like that very much.”
It was late when they arrived at Grantwood Manor the following night. Here the only black crepe to be seen was what she wore. Here the clocks tick-tocked. She felt a lifting of her spirits that astounded her. She’d not realized how much she needed to get away from the oppressiveness of both the London residence and Herndon Hall.
Ainsley had been the perfect gentleman on the journey here. He’d regaled her with tales of his youth, the history of his ancestors. They’d spoken of nothing intimate. Yet there was a sense of intimacy. It was simply his way—with his silken voice and his gaze never straying from her. She told herself it was because he was always in the mode of seducer. A habit formed during years of frequenting bedchambers. His reputation surpassed that of his brothers. Did he truly believe he could give it all up for her? Did she?
She wanted to as Ainsley led her up the stairs, but then the reality of the situation came crashing around her as he opened the door to the bedchamber beside his. She was certain it had never occurred to him that she would sleep anywhere except within easy reach.
“I should sleep at the end of the hall,” she said.
He shrugged. “Select whichever room you want.”
She didn’t want the room she’d had before. She didn’t want the room where Walfort had slept. To move to another wing would be ludicrous. Strolling down the hallway, she looked into every other room. None was as big as the one he offered her. None was as inviting. She would be here until she gave birth. Her back had begun to ache on the journey, and she’d been quite miserable. She reached the end of the hallway, pivoted, and returned to the door he’d first opened for her. “I suppose this one shall do. But you are not to use the door between the bedchambers.”
“I would not dream of it.”
“That is a lie. I suspect you were dreaming of it on the way here.”
“A small lie. Is it my fault that I find you irresistible?”
He was such a charmer, always knew the right thing to say. She wished she could trust his words. “Ainsley, do not woo me with false flattery.”
“One day, Jayne, I shall convince you that I’ve never given you false words.”
She opened her mouth to remind him—
“Omission is not false words.”
“It is still a falsehood.”
He shook his head.
“Would you care for a late night repast before bed?” he asked.
“Yes, thank you.”
While the servants hauled up her trunks and put away her belongings, she joined Ainsley in the smaller dining room at a table with only four chairs. She sat across from him while simple fare was laid out before them. She popped a square of cheese into her mouth and followed it with a grape.
“I suspect many mothers will be disappointed that you’re not in London for the Season,” she said.
“They would be more disappointed if I were there and not paying attention to their daughters.”
“You might be surprised. Someone might catch your fancy.”
He lifted his wineglass. “Someone already has. As you well know.”
“I am in mourning,” she reminded him exasperatingly.
She watched his jaw clench just before he gulped down more wine. “I’m well aware of that. Just don’t expect me to be too jolly about it.”
She wanted to change the subject. “You and your brothers grew up here, didn’t you?”
“Yes. Mother preferred Glenwood Manor to Lyons Place. Of late, however, we’ve been gathering for Christmas at Lyons Place. Claire has made it a true home for Westcliffe.”
“Your residence already feels like a home.”
“Not when I’m here alone. It’s too blasted quiet.”
The prospect of silence was what had driven her away from London and Herndon Hall. She didn’t want to be alone with her thoughts.
He’d been devoted to her during their month at Blackmoor, but then she’d given him everything. They’d lived in a bubble, but now the bubble had burst. She had no doubt that in time he would grow weary of her. Then she would face the challenges of raising her child alone.
Following dinner, Ainsley tried to convince her to join him in the library for a bit of reading, but she retired to her room. He went to the library, but rather than grab a book, he grabbed the bottle of whiskey and headed for the garden.
Trekking beyond the house, beyond the lighted path, he reached an area blanketed in darkness except for the glow of stars and moon. He sat on the grass, opened the whiskey, and took a long draught, relishing the burning and the penetrating warmth.
Jayne was correct, blast her. He’d gone into this situation knowing he could never recognize this child. It did not stop him from wanting to nor did it prevent him from wanting her, but his desires were ill-timed. She needed to heal. This child would be born. Walfort would be recorded as its father. Ainsley would do all that he could to protect it.
Stretching out on his back on the cool ground, h
e stared at the stars. Their distance made them all the more appealing. Jayne said she was suffocating. He brought her here to breathe. By God, he would give her room to breathe.
Sitting by the window in her bedchamber, Jayne did not want to admit that she had enjoyed sharing dinner with Ainsley. Even when they did not speak, it was a comfort to have him near. But was that enough?
She nearly leapt out of her skin when he came bursting into the room.
“Come along. I have something marvelous to show you,” he announced.
“But I’m in my bedclothes.”
“Doesn’t matter. There’s no one to see.”
He ducked into a bedchamber across the hallway and emerged with an arm filled with blankets. His excitement was contagious.
“What is it, Ainsley?”
“You have to see it to believe it.”
He led her through the manor. Once outside, he said, “Grab my arm. Don’t let go.”
She curled her fingers around his arm and allowed him to lead her through the garden, away from the house, the lights. “We should have the torches lit.”
“No, they’ll interfere.”
He came to a stop. She watched as his silhouette, limned by moonlight, arranged the blankets on the ground. Then he took her hand, drew her down until she was lying on the blanket, gazing at the stars. She saw one sweeping across the sky, followed quickly by another, then another.
She released a small laugh. “What’s happening?”
“I don’t know, but I’ve seen it before. It’s as though the stars are racing across the sky.”
“Do you think we’re only allowed one wish?”
“I think you can have as many as you want.”
She studied the sky. So many things to wish for. That she would have met Ainsley before Walfort. But what guarantee did she have that he’d be any more faithful? That she’d not had a month with Ainsley that caused her to doubt her affections for Walfort. But then she would not have a child.
“Is it wrong that I’m glad to be here?” she asked, not certain why the words burst forth.
“Is it wrong that I’m glad you’re here?”
Waking Up With the Duke (London's Greatest Lovers) Page 27