“There is nothing more. We’re finished, Toddy. We have been finished for a long time.”
He reached for her again, but she eluded his grasp.
“I refuse to believe that,” he said. “You’re hurt, jealous. I love you, Jeannette, and you still love me.”
“I’m sorry, but I don’t. Not anymore.”
His skin paled, and for a moment she actually thought real pain shone in his gaze. Then he blinked and with shoulders straight made her an elegant bow. “I hope that buffleheaded husband of yours comes to his senses soon and pleads for your forgiveness. He truly does not deserve you.”
And then Toddy was gone.
She gazed across at Betsy and shook off her reverie. “Finally we are arrived. I am most glad, as I am sure you and Smoke must be too.”
When she’d left Caisleán Muir, she’d decided to take the kitten with her. Except for a bit of meowing from inside his wide wicker basket, he’d proven a good traveler. Trusting him to the care of Betsy and a footman, she made her way into the house.
March, Winterlea’s stately majordomo, welcomed her with all the deference due her rank, making her realize how used she had grown to the far more relaxed, informal nature of the staff back in Ireland. Not that he was unfriendly, merely precise, the epitome of everything the head servant of one of the finest families in England should be.
“I shall inform the duke of your arrival. The duchess is in the library, my lady,” he advised. “I will show you the way.”
She knew the way, but said nothing, etiquette demanding she be announced, even to her sister.
Count on Violet, she mused, to be back among her beloved books, even after having just given birth to twins. Ensconced in a cozy leather armchair, Violet peered over her wire-rimmed spectacles as they entered the room, an astonished smile lighting her features.
“Lady Mulholland, your Grace.” March bowed and left the sisters to make their welcome.
Setting down her book, Violet hurried to her feet with far more agility than the last time they had met, her figure lush yet clearly on its way to returning to its usual slenderness. They exchanged a warm embrace. “Gads, what are you doing here? You said nothing about coming for a visit.”
“When I received Adrian’s letter about the babies, I simply had to see them and you. My turn this time to drop by and surprise everyone.”
“Well, you have, and delightfully so. You’ve just missed the family, though. Everyone was here, as usual, for the holidays, even though Adrian wanted to break with tradition this year because of the birth. But his mother wouldn’t hear of it and really I did not mind. The hoards will descend again in a month for the christening, but until then Adrian has shooed them out. He says I need rest and quiet to recover my health, but in truth I think he’s the one in need of recovery.” She grinned and glanced toward the doorway. “So where is Darragh? Lagging behind with the coach, or has Adrian found him already to bend his ear?”
Jeannette strolled toward a small table, picked up a book that lay on top, then immediately set it back down. “No. He…um…he could not accompany me. Estate business and one of his architecture clients, you know.”
She could have confided in Violet, as she had been wanting to do for such a very long time. But now that the opportunity was upon her, she hesitated, reluctant to reveal the shameful truth of her disastrous marriage.
“Oh,” Violet said. “Well, perhaps he can join us later, for the christening.”
Jeannette refused to meet her twin’s gaze. “Hmm, perhaps.”
“You traveled all this way alone, then?”
“No, I…um…I was accompanied by my maid.” She decided not to mention Toddy, knowing Violet’s less than favorable opinion of the man. “And my kitten. I have an adorable new kitten. You don’t mind if he sleeps in my room, do you?”
Violet tossed her a bemused smile. “Of course not, I love kittens. What is his name?”
“Smoke. He was a wedding present from one of my neighbors.” No longer her neighbor, Jeannette realized, since she no longer resided in County Clare and might very likely not do so again.
“What’s this about smoke? Is something on fire?” Garbed in relaxed country attire, yet still managing to look every inch a duke, Adrian strode into the room.
Violet laughed. “No, not at all. Jeannette was just telling me about her cat.”
Adrian bowed over Jeannette’s hand, murmured a quick hello. “You have a cat?”
“I do. He’s a dear creature and a wonderful companion.”
She saw Violet and Adrian exchange a curious glance, but decided not to let it trouble her. She had far too many things over which to be troubled without adding another item to the list.
“It is so very lovely to be here at last,” Jeannette continued. “The journey from Ireland was quite exhausting.”
“Of course it was,” Violet said. “When did you last eat? You must be hungry and thirsty. Why don’t we all go into the drawing room and I’ll ring for some refreshments.”
Jeannette agreed and the three of them walked upstairs, Adrian pausing first to slip Violet’s arm through his own, obviously still cosseting her, despite the fact that she seemed well recovered from the babies’ delivery.
“Where is Mulholland?” Adrian asked after they entered the drawing room and took seats—she and Violet side by side on the sofa, Adrian across from them in a chair. “I assume there’s no longer any need to call him O’Brien now.”
Jeannette’s lips tightened at the reminder of Darragh’s duplicity. “No, no need at all. His true identity has been most thoroughly revealed, as I related to you in my letter. Of course, you already knew the truth well before any of the rest of us, did you not, your Grace?”
She met Adrian’s gaze.
He returned it with an unflinching one of his own. “I admit I did. At the time, it seemed rather a case of tit for tat. One deception exchanged for another.”
She paused for a long moment. “Then I guess you might say that each of us knows the other’s pain. In appreciation of that, it would seem I owe you an apology. Being hoodwinked is far from a pleasant experience, is it not?”
Surprise crossed his face. “You are right, it is not pleasant.”
His gaze shifted and settled upon Violet, turning warm and rich with a love so profound Jeannette was forced to avert her own gaze, feeling suddenly as if she were intruding.
“But I find I no longer mind. The rewards I’ve received,” he murmured, “have more than made up for any discomfort along the way. I would not trade a moment of the journey that led me to the life I have today.”
Violet beamed and reached out a hand. Adrian took hold, squeezing tightly before releasing her hand.
Then he turned his attention back to Jeannette, nodding his head to silently accept her overture at ending the hostilities that had stood between them since their aborted wedding day.
Jeannette drew a breath. “So, in answer to your original question, no, Darragh did not accompany me. He…had work in Ireland.”
Nothing more was said, a discreet tap at the door coming at just the right moment. A pair of housemaids bustled in bearing a laden tea tray and another tray stacked high with an array of delectable foodstuffs.
“Ah, good, the refreshments have arrived,” Violet declared. “Kit will be sorry to have missed this.”
“Yes, where is Lord Christopher?” Jeannette drew off her gloves.
“With friends up at a hunting box in Yorkshire. He’ll be back in time for the christening, however.”
Having learned the skills of a good hostess, Violet poured tea and arranged plates of food for each of them before handing them around.
Jeannette sipped her tea and ate a single triangular sandwich before setting her plate aside. “I hope you will not take it amiss, but I am rather dreadfully tired all of a sudden. Would you mind terribly if I retired to my room to rest and change out of these traveling clothes?”
“Oh, of course not. I should ha
ve thought.” Her sister made to rise in order to ring for the housekeeper, but Adrian forestalled his wife and crossed to pull the bell himself.
“Later this afternoon, I would love to see the babies,” Jeannette said.
Radiant pleasure spread like sunshine over Violet’s face. “That would be wonderful. I usually feed them at two. Why don’t you join me in the nursery about two-thirty.”
“Two-thirty it is.”
At half-past two, Jeannette climbed the stairs to the third-floor nursery. Bathed and rested and changed into a fresh gown, she felt far better, far more in control of her volatile emotions.
Tapping softly upon the door, she entered the room. Cheery and pleasant with bright spring green paint on the walls, rich walnut floors and furnishings, the nursery was a place of security and contentment. Two large cradles were set up at a perfect angle to the fireplace and windows so the infants would have plenty of light and warmth, yet be sheltered from any unhealthful effects.
Violet sat in a nearby rocking chair, one of the babies at her breast. Jeannette exchanged a smile with her twin, then gave Violet time to finish feeding her child without the interference of conversation.
A young, rosy-cheeked nursemaid appeared, crossing to help Violet with the baby once he was done eating. Violet buttoned her dress into place, then let the maid carry the sleeping baby to his cradle to tuck him in next to his brother’s. As soundlessly as she had arrived, the maid departed.
“They are beautiful.” Jeannette stood at the foot of the cradles, gazed down at the two slumbering infants.
Violet joined her, voice low. “Perhaps it’s motherly conceit, but I think so too. I think they are the most adorable boys on the planet. They have Adrian’s eyes.”
“And his stubborn chin, I see. I swear they’re as alike as we are. Can you tell them apart?”
“Only by the hair on Noah’s head. He came out with a big hank growing right on the crown. While little Sebastian is as bald as an egg.”
Jeannette looked closer, and sure enough, one of the babies sported a tuft of black hair that peeked out from beneath the tiny white lace cap on his head.
“Once they both grow hair, I’ll have to think up a new way to tell one from the other.”
“No switching, hmm?”
A tiny grin curved over Violet’s lips. “Definitely no switching. Any chance you might be expecting one of your own?”
Jeannette gazed at her nephews, unexpectedly wistful. “No. No chance at all.”
During her journey to England, she’d gotten her menses. It should have come as a great relief, since a pregnancy now would have only complicated matters further between her and Darragh. Still, gazing down upon the babies, her heart squeezed with sadness.
“Would you like to talk about it?” Violet asked after a long silence.
Jeannette’s fingers tightened on the crib rail. “Talk about what?”
“The real reason you’re here. The reason your husband isn’t.”
She considered sticking to her earlier story and pretending everything was just as it ought to be, but even as she opened her mouth to do so, the whole sordid tale came tumbling out. Violet listened, saying nothing as she let Jeannette give voice to her troubles.
“…and so we have…well, I suppose you might say we are separated. He and I have different wants, different needs, and our marriage has never been easy, even from the start. He wishes to live in Ireland and, well, I wish to live here. I ask you, is it so unreasonable to want to live in your own country?”
“No, for either of you. But Jeannette, he is your husband.”
“Which is why I gave him every opportunity to come with me. I practically begged him and he refused.”
“Do you love him?”
She nodded. “Yes, but what does it matter? He and I are worlds apart and not likely to meet anywhere in between.”
“Perhaps it’s not so hopeless—”
“He doesn’t love me. Sometimes I’ve thought he might, but he’s never said the words. Oh, Violet, I think my marriage is over.”
Violet laid a hand over hers, gave it a gentle squeeze. “Then I am sorry. Is there anything I can do?”
Jeannette flipped her hand, squeezed back. “Yes. You can let me stay here. Just for a while until I find my feet and arrange my affairs. It won’t take me long, I promise. A few weeks perhaps.”
“Take as long as you like, as long as you need.”
“And Adrian?”
Violet shrugged. “What about him? You are my sister. Adrian will simply have to get used to dealing with more than one set of twins in the house.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Jeannette remained at Winterlea for four weeks.
While there she spent time with Violet and Adrian and the boys, enjoying the babies far more than she would ever have imagined. Placing them on a blanket on the drawing room floor in the afternoons, she liked to fuss over them until she earned a smile from each. And once she thought she heard a giggle from Sebastian, though no one believed her, since Violet had been asleep in a nearby chair at the time, exhausted after a fractious night with the twins. Despite the necessity of hiring a wet nurse, Violet wanted to breast-feed the boys as much as she could, insisting the intimacy created an irreplaceable bond.
For her part, Jeannette resumed her old habit of sleeping late and letting Betsy and the other servants see to her every need. She was aware of their efforts, though, as she had never been in the past, careful to thank them for their service and not ask too much of them in the way of extra duties.
Which is why when she had trouble sleeping, as she often seemed to lately, she went down to the kitchen and made herself a cup of hot milk. She even banked the coals in the stove afterward, and scoured clean the pot and cup so no one would know she had been there.
She had Darragh to thank for that, she supposed, for giving her the knowledge and self-sufficiency to do something as ordinary as heat up her own cup of milk. She had him to thank as well for her inability to sleep, memories of their time together tormenting her in the dark, quiet hours, when she was not occupied enough to hold such thoughts at bay. Yet whatever regrets she might harbor, she refused to let them dissuade her from her chosen course.
The babies were christened during the final week of her visit, family traveling from all parts of the country for the event, including her and Violet’s parents.
Their initial reunion was awkward and strained, her parents deluging her with a barrage of questions about this mysterious Irishman she had married. Why, they demanded to know, had she not said in the first place that he was an earl? And why had he only sent a gift and card for Violet and Adrian, instead of attending the christening himself?
Two hours into the visit, however, her mother’s cool demeanor began to thaw, then warmed to an easy flow over a discussion of the latest fashion pages in La Belle Assemblée. By that evening, it was as if none of the unpleasantness of the past months had occurred. Jeannette was forgiven.
She was also forgiven by her friends, who wrote to her in droves. By the end of her stay at Winterlea, she had invitations to four country-house parties and a winter fête in Bath. She chose one of the house parties, an entertainment hosted by her dear friend Christabel Morgan, now Lady Cloverly.
Christabel, it seems, had married in August while Jeannette had been in residence at her cousins’ house in Ireland. Christabel’s new husband was an older gentleman, a widower with a half-grown daughter and need of an heir to carry on his title. In addition to an attractive estate in Kent, he owned a luxurious townhouse in London, where he spent the majority of his time as an active member of the House of Lords. Christabel loved that she would be living in London and professed to be overjoyed by her prosperous alliance.
Clearly, Christabel’s marriage was not a love match, as Jeannette witnessed for herself only a short time after her arrival in Kent. But just as her friend would never experience love’s highs, she would also never experience its lows. And Lord Clove
rly was not a bad man, neither cruel nor unkind, simply more interested in his work and his legacy than in entertaining a new young bride.
Determined to enjoy everything now that she was back among old friends, Jeannette threw herself into the house party with gusto. She and the other fifteen guests rode horses and participated in target practice—archery for the ladies, pistols for the gentlemen, weather permitting. On the days it was too cold to venture out-of-doors, they played cards and charades, and listened to the ladies, including herself, perform a variety of musical selections—activities that continued well into the evening.
Christabel’s party was precisely the type of entertainment Jeannette had always adored. And she was having fun. Of course she was. She spent half the day laughing, did she not?
Yet somehow all the frivolity held a hollow ring, an emptiness at its core that she could not seem to fill. And as each day drew to a close, and she lay in bed waiting to fall asleep, a sense of dissatisfaction would sweep through her, where only weary contentment should have been.
It was Darragh’s letter that was draining away her enjoyment, she decided. Just before she left Winterlea, he’d written to her, a hard, crisp businesslike missive that had left her frozen for a time in her chair.
In the letter, he informed her that he’d set up an account for her in London on which she could draw, providing an allowance generous enough that she could have no cause for complaint. Included as well was the deed to a townhouse in Mayfair that now belonged to her, together with a rudimentary staff that she could manage in any manner she saw fit. If she did not like the house, she had his leave to locate another; arrangements would be made for its purchase and sale of the first. Horses, a phaeton and a coach would be provided as well. Had she need of anything further, she was to contact his man of business in London to see to the matter.
Along with his letter, he enclosed notes from Moira and Siobhan, who wrote to say they missed her, asking when she was coming home. From Darragh, there was nothing of a personal nature. He’d said there would be no divorce, but his actions felt like one nonetheless.
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