She looked up at his dear face. “I won’t be far away, Papa.”
His expression was odd. Almost sad. “Perhaps not in distance, but you will be out of my reach.” His hand fell to her shoulder. “I’ll be in the library until he arrives and will speak to him before he attends you in the drawing room.”
When he was gone, her brothers became far more animated and open, tossing out bits of advice.
“Let him know, right up front, what you’ll tolerate and what you will not.”
“You’ll not be a guest in his home. You’ll be a duchess, and mistress of all. Take charge, sister, and don’t be cowed by anyone.”
“The first available opportunity, host a grand ball, but only invite a select few. Make the rest wait.”
“Yes, Jane, and be very discerning about whom you receive. By God, put a bit of it back in their eye.”
“If he hurts you, I expect to be informed.”
Silence reigned. They turned to look at Julian.
He shrugged. “The man’s lost three wives, all due to complications involving childbirth. Has it occurred to no one that the circumstances are a bit over the top? I cannot forget how the duke’s own mother met her end.”
Jane’s heartbeat steadily increased. “I am unable to forget as I never knew to begin with.”
Julian looked at her from his place at the far end of the table. “She was in confinement with her third child when she died and it was generally thought complications killed her. But word has always been the old duke thought he’d been cuckolded and murdered her before she could foist another man’s child upon him. He loved her, you see, and her betrayal sent him into temporary madness. After her death, he became a hermit and no one ever saw him again.”
With a loud huff of disgust, James dropped his spoon into his cup. “Charming, really. Nothing says I love you like murder.”
“It’s all hearsay, of course. She was alone at Eastchase Hall, with only her young son and daughter for company. The duke was insanely jealous and possessive of her and chances are her betrayal was simply a figment of his imagination.”
James looked thoughtful. “I’ve heard it said she had a particular friendship with Viscount Radcliffe’s father, whose lands adjoin Blixford’s.”
Julian never took his eyes from Jane’s. “The elder Radcliffe was shot by a highwayman not long after the duchess died. One has to wonder why a highwayman would choose a barren, scarcely traveled country road upon which to search for prey. One must also take into account the fact that most highwaymen are merely thieves –not murderers.”
“Are we allowing our Jane to marry the son of a killer?”
Julian finally looked away, to Jack, whose face was thunderstruck. “In all fairness, a son can’t be held accountable for his father’s sins, nor can his character be judged by that of his parent.” He returned his gaze to Jane’s. “And we must remember, this is all rumor and speculation. It may well be the duchess did indeed die of complications in childbirth and Radcliffe was in fact shot by a highwayman. My concern is for Jane, and this I do insist –if your husband mistreats you in any way, you will come to one of us, immediately.”
I most certainly do not want a wife ruled by a passionate nature.
I feel it best to marry a woman whom I respect, but do not love.
I will never allow myself to tender an affection for you.
She’d thought his speech was predicated upon his fear that she would die, that he would grieve if he loved her and lost her. He was protecting himself from pain.
Had she been wrong? Was his insistence of marriage to a woman he respected but did not love, a woman of no passion, based upon his father’s insane jealousy regarding his mother? One could hardly experience insane jealousy when one’s heart wasn’t involved. A woman of no passion would never dream of straying, would she? Jane considered Annabel. A sweet, soft-spoken miss, content to tend to her gardens and homes, far more interested in needlework than bedroom activities. Letitia had been cut from the same cloth. Jane had never met his third duchess, Grace, but from all she’d gathered, that miss was equally reticent, decorous and purely devoid of a passionate nature.
She, on the other hand, had allowed him to ravish her in the library. Had he not said such cruel things to her, she had no doubt he would have completed the task and she would have allowed him to do so. She’d been quite captivated by it all.
“You have my word, Julian, but I don’t anticipate mistreatment from Blixford. I rather think my greatest obstacle will be indifference.”
Every one of her brothers stared at her, astonishment on their faces.
“Jane, you are sometimes unaccountably silly. No man would be indifferent to you. None. Not even a stick like Blixford.”
If they only knew. “We shall see.” She rose and they followed suit. “Bear in mind, will you all, I am a better shot than most men. If Blixford gives me too much trouble, I’ll shoot him and point out the error of his ways.”
That earned a laugh, as she’d intended. They made their way to the drawing room to wait upon the duke.
***
Michael supposed some men might feel uncomfortable and awkward, but he did not. For any injustice he’d visited upon her, Lady Jane adequately earned her recompense by jilting him. Her ruination would be set aside after they were married, with little to no lingering effects. He wouldn’t place himself in a position of perpetual apology to Sherbourne, or his daughter.
After a stiff, formal meeting with his future father-in-law, wherein a marriage settlement was agreed upon to their mutual satisfaction, he walked with Sherbourne up the stairs and across the hallway, into the drawing room. Dressed in a fetching gown of soft yellow, topped by a spencer of dark blue, Lady Jane sat close to the fire, a book upon her lap. In the seat facing her, James Lennox, Viscount Hildebrand and heir to Sherbourne’s earldom, was likewise employed with reading. Julian Lennox, whom Michael had once considered a friend, having known him since they were boys together at Eton, sat at the pianoforte and played a lovely tune far more adeptly than his sister was able. Her remaining brothers, Jack, Henry, Bram and Robert, were playing cards, jesting with one another, bluffing their hands and generally being loud and raucous, as was their nature.
As soon as he and Sherbourne cleared the doorway, they all rose and greeted him in turn, shaking his hand, welcoming him with the courteous formality one offers to another in polite society, despite the nature of true feelings.
Behind their affable smiles, Michael was well aware they would each take great enjoyment from shoving a rapier between his ribs.
In the midst of a platoon of champions, Jane smiled beatifically and accepted his bow over her hand. “Good morning, Your Grace. How lovely of you to call.”
“My pleasure, Lady Jane.”
“May I offer tea?”
“Thank you, no. Perhaps you’ll do me the honor of accompanying me for a drive in the park.”
She’d already been riding, he guessed, her person wafting the scent of the outdoors, her cheeks still flushed with wind and exertion. As always, she looked good enough to eat. And to return to for extra servings.
“I’d be delighted.”
Accepting his arm, she walked with him to the doorway. No one spoke a word until Michael paused and glanced over his shoulder. “Good morning, gentlemen.”
They each nodded curtly, smiles gone, replaced with fierce looks Jane would not see unless she turned.
She did not.
When they were at the foot of the stairs, the butler handed her a bonnet then stepped away to open the door. As she tied the ribbons beneath her chin at a rakish angle, Michael said dryly, “I shall have to remember to handle you with kid gloves, lest your army of brothers descend upon my house to defend you.”
“Your Grace would be advised to be wary of your wife before you give a thought to my brothers.”
“I stand duly warned, Lady Jane.”
She jerked a look at him as he handed her up into his curricle.
“Are you laughing at me, Blixford?”
“Hmm, perhaps a little. I doubt many men receive warnings of bodily harm from their betrothed.”
She settled in and adjusted her skirts around her, leaving room for him as he took his seat and gathered up the reins from the footman. “We are not yet betrothed. We have, I believe, an item of some importance to discuss before I’m satisfied.”
“Ah, yes. The important item.” He took them off down the street, heading for the park. “As I recall, you were most insistent I afford you the pleasure you expect in the marriage bed. I assure you I will do my best, but there must necessarily be some effort on your part.”
“Yes, of course, but you may have misinterpreted my meaning. I’ve no doubt we will find mutual satisfaction with one another, but only if we’re together. I won’t be packed off to Eastchase Hall for the duration of our marriage, made to wait upon your whim.”
He turned a corner a bit too sharply and she leaned into him, her breast resting against his arm rather nicely. “It’s customary for an increasing wife to stay out of the public eye.”
“I’m aware, Blixford, but I won’t take kindly to being left alone for the duration of my confinement, nor will I be happy if I’m abandoned after the birth of your heir. In short, I don’t wish to be merely a brood mare, set out to pasture once I’ve delivered. I expect to continue to enjoy conjugal relations, and if this is unacceptable to you, I suggest you turn round and take me home.”
This was unexpected, and he didn’t want to lie to her, but he could not, would not agree to stay with her. He pondered his response while she looked ahead, to the park, evidently enjoying herself immensely.
Her dark-blue eyes sparkled. “We’ll be able to converse without interruption, as I’m shunned and no one will speak to me.”
“Ah, the silver lining. That will change, of course, once we are married.”
“Yes,” she said simply. When they were within the park gates and on the long portion of the drive, they passed the first carriage, an open barouche housing Lady Mowbry and her daughter, a pasty-faced young woman with wide, staring eyes, terrified at the sight of the Duke of Death. Michael lifted a brow and resisted the odd urge to growl. Insolent chit.
They’d only just passed the Mowbry carriage when he said, “Ah, here we have the Marchioness of Bloomsbury. Shall we call out a greeting and flummox the old battle-axe?”
Jane chuckled in her low, throaty voice. “Behave, Blixford.”
Nevertheless, as the marchioness’s carriage drew near, Michael tipped his hat to her and called out, “Good morning, Lady Bloomsbury! Lovely weather, is it not?”
The woman’s chins actually shook with indignation. But she couldn’t ignore him, regardless of his passenger. He was a duke. “Quite,” she said with a snap of her head before she turned to look the other way.
He glanced at Jane, expecting a wide grin and merriment dancing in her eyes. Instead, she stared straight ahead, a deep flush along her pretty cheeks. “I beg your pardon, ma’am. I’ve embarrassed you.”
“Indirectly, yes. It matters not to me that I’m shunned. I asked for it. But it grieves me for others to feel embarrassment on account of my presence.”
“What a fascinating revelation. I’d never have guessed. Please tell me how grieved you were after you ran away from marrying me, four years ago.”
Turning her face toward him, she said soberly, “It was a very wrong thing to do to you, and I’m ashamed of myself for treating you with such disregard and disrespect. My only hope is that I may make it up to you in the future and pray you will find it within you to forgive my childish, selfish behavior. You spoke cruelly to me and forced my hand, but you didn’t deserve such a public humiliation.”
He saw deep sincerity in her eyes.
Michael returned his focus to the horses and they clipped along in silence for some time. He didn’t do more than nod to anyone else they passed. His mind continued to assess Jane’s demand, but he couldn’t find an adequate response. The truth of it wasn’t something he would speak of. He wouldn’t tell her of his fear of following his father into madness, that he couldn’t allow himself to become attached to her, and the only way he could be certain of it was to keep her at a distance. He would have to come up with an alternate reason, or he’d have to lie.
He wondered how she’d spent her time in Scotland, if that had some bearing on her insistence of enjoying conjugal relations. “What manner of man is MacDougal, and what was the nature of your relationship?” He noticed she stiffened, ever so slightly, but her words were easy and open.
“My mother, as you surely know, was half Scots, her father a third son who traveled to London to find a bride. He and my grandmother alternated their years between England and Scotland, but my mother always considered herself more Scot than English. She had many cousins, but favorite amongst them was Elizabeth, who married a man named MacDougal. They have five children, the oldest being Brian MacDougal. He and his family once visited at Hornsby Grange, and we all got along famously. When I decided to travel to Scotland, I went to his parents’ home at Castle MacDougal. They invited me to stay indefinitely, and over time, I became well acquainted with my extended family. A year ago, Brian proposed.”
Why did it take three years for him to ask? “You declined?”
Her nod was brief. “I didn’t love him in the way a wife should love her husband.”
“You’ve agreed to marry me, yet do not love me in the way a wife should love her husband. I fail to distinguish the difference.” He was fishing, compelled to cast the line because she so conveniently provided the lake.
“I yearned to return home, to be nearer my father and brothers. Had I married MacDougal, I’d live the rest of my life in Scotland and, despite my love for the highlands and my mother’s family, I’m a child of England and wish to live here.”
“Am I a means to an end, then?”
“In a manner of speaking. As you said, we may accommodate one another.”
He was dissatisfied and didn’t know why. He didn’t want her to feel anything for him beyond friendship, didn’t want the guilt of being unable to return her affections. Why, then, did her bald statement cause him this discomfort? He continued to watch the ears of his matched bays as they twitched in response to the sounds around them.
“You’re not jealous, surely, because to entertain jealousy would necessarily mean your affections are engaged, and you’ve made it abundantly clear such is not the case.”
He glanced at her and saw that she was earnest. What a pompous man he had become. She accepted him to reinstate herself within society and if any lingering feelings remained, he’d undoubtedly squashed them completely with his Thou Shalt Not Love Thy Spouse speech the night before. Her request for continued sexual relations with him was not, it appeared, anything to do with him, but with the act itself. He ruthlessly squelched the distant howling within him. He should be glad. Never mind that he was not. “I’m not prone to jealousy. It’s a wasted emotion, of which no good can come. While I expect you to remain faithful until such time as I have an heir, perhaps two, your life after that will be your own, to do with as you please. I daresay a woman of your passionate nature would, indeed, require continued . . . stimulation.”
“Are you saying you wouldn’t be averse to me taking a lover?”
His gaze returned to the drive while the howling increased volume in his head. “That is what I’m saying.”
“Do you disremember what I told you last night? I will accept no man in my bed but you, and if this is unacceptable, I suggest we disassociate ourselves from one another and make alternate plans.”
“Would you marry MacDougal then? A man you don’t love? Would you expect him to remain your bed partner for life?” He was astonished to realize he was angry.
“I would indeed.” She drew herself up in that way she had. Very much like a straitlaced, aristocratic, entitled duchess, about to give someone a frigid setdown. “It’s becoming clear that you s
till find me repugnant, that as much as you will welcome a son because you’ll have done your duty by your ancestors, your true joy will be found in your freedom from my attentions.”
Her voice became deeper as she spoke and he was aware she attempted to avoid weeping. He’d rather made a mess of things, though he was at a loss just how so. Was this a portent of their marriage? He suspected it was, and his anger increased. “I don’t find you repugnant in the slightest, Lady Jane. I’ve told you I desire you. Must I prostrate myself at your feet and blather on about your beauty, your lovely eyes, luxuriant hair and soft, inviting body? Would you have me circle you like a stallion, pawing the ground and baring my teeth at the other rutting animals who would dare look at you? Perhaps I should bite you, as a stallion does a mare, to place my mark upon you that all will know you are mine, that they must keep their distance. Would this give you comfort and assurance that I find you desirable?”
She stared ahead, a veritable statue. When she spoke, it was a whisper. “I think I hate you, sir, for you have this ability to hurt me by your cruelty. I don’t love you, and thank God for that, because were I foolish enough to love you, I’ve no doubt you would destroy me.”
Michael was dumbfounded. Had he been cruel? Of course he had not. She was being overly sensitive, imagining a slight where none was intended. “All this because I gave you my permission to take a lover of your choosing once you’ve discharged your duty to me? And here I believed I was being rather grand in my gesture. How have I become the villain in this piece?”
Turning her face to his, her gaze was cold. “Has it not occurred to you that I don’t consider giving you children to be a duty, that I desire children because it’s within my nature to want them? Or do you blithely assume my interest in children is in the same vein as yours, merely a commodity, necessary to retain a title? I assure you, it is not. I don’t give a damn about your title.”
He was more confused than ever. “If you don’t love me, why does it matter that it’s me in your bed? A woman of your beauty and charm will have no lack of choice in lovers.”
The Last Duchess (The Lennox Series) Page 7