Because of You

by Cathy Maxwell

  Yale watched her go, and then sat on a chair.

  “How did you make such bloody mess of things?” he asked himself aloud. The question echoed in the empty room.

  It’s England, he concluded. He was a success anywhere else in the world; he should never have returned, or involved himself in the affairs of the vicar’s daughter. He had been better off alone.

  From the front of the inn, he could hear Squire Biggers’s laugh. It was a hearty and good-natured but false sound.

  Yale wondered if Wayland ever tired of bootlickers like Biggers following him so closely they almost had their noses up his arse. Of course, that was one of the advantages to being a duke—everyone toadied up to you.

  Perhaps Sam would have toppled into his arms if she’d found herself married to a duke, instead of to the ne’er-do-well younger brother.

  He pulled a wry face. No, she wouldn’t.

  And that was one of the things he liked about her. That and the fact that she was an enjoyable little piece in bed. Too enjoyable. Even thinking of her made him hungry for her.

  Fenley’s voice from the open doorway interrupted his musings. “Excuse me, Lord Yale, but His Grace wishes you to join him. He is ready to leave for London.”

  Yale rose to his feet, feeling weary before the journey had begun. “Mr. Carderock, Fenley. I have no use for all that nonsense.”

  “Yes, my lord,” Fenley answered dutifully. He held the wide-brimmed hat Yale had worn from London.

  Yale sighed. He missed the freedom of the sea and being his own man. At the doorway, he paused in front of Fenley. The servant had been with the family since Yale’s grandfather’s days.

  He took the hat. “Fenley, you’ve seen a great deal in your life, haven’t you?”

  “I believe so, my lord.”

  “Tell me, do you understand women?”

  A twinkle sparkled in Fenley’s rheumy eye. “No, my lord.”

  “That’s what I feared,” Yale answered. “There isn’t a one of us that stands a bloody chance.” With those words he sauntered down the hallway to go to London, the stage of his youthful humiliation, with a brother who didn’t know him and a wife who despised him.

  Life promised not to be dull.

  The duke of Ayleborough did not travel light. Besides the ducal coach with his coat of arms painted on the door, there was a second coach just for luggage and servants. Each coach came with a driver and footman, to keep the passengers safe.

  A footman held the coach door open for Samantha, but she hesitated. Once she climbed into this coach, she would be leaving everyone safe and familiar.

  The duke took her hand. “You take one step at a time,” he counseled her in a low voice. “And don’t ever forget, you are one of us now. My name and my family protect you. Hold your head high.”

  The man was kindness itself. How could he be so different from his brother?

  “Thank you,” she murmured. “I am in need of a friend.”

  “You’ll do fine,” he assured her, and helped her up into the coach.

  She’d never seen anything like the interior of this vehicle. The emerald green seats with their gold tassels were more springy and soft than a feather mattress. She’d never sat in anything more designed for comfort.

  The duke took the seat opposite her as Yale climbed in behind him. Samantha wished she’d had the foresight to insist the duke sit next to her, but now it was too late.

  Her husband was a big man and his long legs didn’t quite fit inside the confines of the coach, especially once Fenley joined them. Still, she wondered if it was necessary for him to scoot quite so close to her.

  His arm brushed her breast and her nipple tightened instinctively to his touch.

  She pushed back into the corner of the coach, crossed her arms, and wondered how long it would be before she could erase the memory of his lovemaking from her mind.

  Focus on his faults, she told herself. Certainly that would keep her mind busy all the way to London!

  Ayleborough leaned his head out the window to say a few last words to Squire Biggers. He pulled it back in. “Is everyone ready?” He didn’t wait for an answer but knocked on the roof, signaling the coachmen.

  With a shout at the horses, they were off. Because everyone in the village still crowded around the coach, they could not go fast. Samantha waved farewell to Miss Mabel and Miss Hattie. Mrs. Biggers practically chased the coach waving her good-bye.

  Mr. Porter stepped out behind his fire at the smithy to watch the two coaches go through the village. His wife had joined him and she used a corner of her apron to wipe away a tear.

  The coach rolled by the church and the vicarage. The vicar’s wife stood in the open kitchen door. Many a time Samantha had stood in that very place to watch the goings-on in Sproule.

  They passed the cemetery, the Ayleborough vault, and the graves of her parents. Samantha said a silent prayer to the souls of her parents, asking their blessing on this new turn her life had taken.

  Someone nudged her elbow and she was surprised to see the duke holding out his handkerchief. She accepted it and thanked him profusely, aware that the more she went on about his small kindness, the deeper Yale frowned.

  Ayleborough glanced at his brother’s scowl and smiled at her. She returned the smile. She liked him. She might even trust him.

  Yale cleared his throat as if to remind them of his presence. Beneath her lashes, she slid a look at her husband. He was staring out of the opposite window, but she knew he was aware of everything. He shifted, his leg rubbing against hers. Ignoring the erratic beat of her heart, she very deliberately moved her leg away.

  “Yale, tell us what you’ve been doing these eleven years.” Ayleborough asked.

  “A little of this, a bit of that,” came the infuriating answer.

  Samantha’s gaze met the duke’s and she rolled her eyes heavenward. He openly grinned back at her.

  Yale caught the grin. “What is so funny?”

  “Nothing, brother,” Ayleborough said.

  “Perhaps since he doesn’t feel like expanding on your very reasonable question, Your Grace,” Samantha said in her sweetest voice, “would you tell us about your new son?”

  She’d hit the topic closest to Ayleborough’s heart. He launched into a description of each of his three sons. He was a proud father. Nor did he hide his affection for his wife, Marion. He quite adored her and said as much. They’d named the new baby after her father, Charles.

  From the moment Ayleborough had started speaking, Yale had closed his eyes, but Samantha was certain he feigned sleep.

  “What are the other boys’ names?” she asked.

  “John and Matthew,” Ayleborough answered. “I had no desire to give them outlandish names like Wayland and Yale. Our father was a renowned Anglo-Saxon scholar. Silly names, if you ask me. Our sister’s name is Twyla. You will meet her in London, too.”

  “Does she have children?” Samantha asked.

  “Two girls, Louise and Christine, and two boys, Arthur and Douglas.”

  Samantha couldn’t resist saying in Yale’s direction, “I had no idea you were an uncle, Yale.” The name still sounded foreign to her.

  He pretended to snore.

  Ayleborough winked at Samantha and the two of them laughed. Even Fenley smiled.

  Yale pretended to wake. “What is so funny?”

  Samantha shrugged her shoulders. “Nothing in particular. Is that not right, Your Grace?”

  “A small jest. It wouldn’t interest you, Yale, and, Samantha, please call me Wayland when we are in private. May I also say, I’m well pleased with my new sister-in-law.”

  “Why?” Yale said baldly. “Because she asked about your children?”

  “Actually, I find her intelligent as well as lovely. I can’t wait to introduce her to Marion.”

  Samantha didn’t know who was more surprised, Yale or herself.

  “Thank you, Your Grace,” she managed to whisper.

  “Wayland.�
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  She smiled. “Thank you, Wayland. I appreciate the compliment. I am also pleased with my brother-in-law.”

  “You’re pleased. He’s pleased,” Yale interjected crossly. “What about you, Fenley? Are you pleased, too?”

  “With all due respect, my lord, Lady Yale appears to be a superb catch,” Fenley answered dutifully, but with a smile tugging the corners of his mouth.

  “Mrs. Carderock, Fenley. Mrs., Mrs.,” Yale chastised. He made a show of trying to situate himself better in the coach. However, this time when his leg brushed hers, he was the one who pulled away. “Haven’t we all something better to talk about?”

  “We could discuss my earlier question,” Wayland said.

  “Which question was that?” Yale said, stifling a yawn of boredom.

  “The one where I asked what you had been doing with yourself these past years.”

  Yale crossed his arms, stretched out his legs as much as he could, and stared out the window. Samantha had almost begun to think he wasn’t going to answer his brother at all when he said, “I’ve been building a shipping company.”

  “Your own company?” Wayland asked with interest. “Tell me about it.”

  “There isn’t much to say.”

  “Come on, man,” Wayland said impatiently. “What is the name of the company?”

  “Rogue Shipping.”

  Wayland’s eyes widened. “Rogue Shipping?” He gave a sound of delighted laughter. “You are the one behind Rogue Shipping. Why, that’s most opportune!” He looked to Samantha. “It’s a small company, but it’s well run. There are those who predict it will become the foremost shipping firm in the Orient next to the East India Company.”

  “We contract with them sometimes, too. More and more lately,” Yale answered laconically.

  The duke sat back in the corner of the coach and gave his brother a stare of utter amazement. “For a shipping magnate, you should see to your tailor.”

  “Do you doubt me?” Yale asked, his voice silky with challenge.

  “No,” Wayland said bluntly. “Every wealthy man dresses in well-worn garments almost ten years out of date.”

  “Actually, the village gave him those clothes,” Samantha said, feeling a need to speak in Yale’s defense. “I burned his other clothes.”

  “You did?” Wayland asked, his eyebrows coming up in interest.

  “To prevent the spread of disease,” Samantha added, once she realized her words could be misconstrued. “I had reason to burn them.”

  “You don’t owe him an explanation,” Yale said protectively.

  “But it would be nice,” Wayland countered. “The squire told me the marriage was in a bit of haste.”

  “There was no scandal involved,” Yale said.

  Wayland frowned his disbelief.

  “I saw her and fell head over heels in love,” Yale said, answering the unvoiced doubts, and surprising Samantha. “But I feared giving my real name because she would think the worst of me. Which she does.”

  Wayland looked from his brother to Samantha and back. “Well, if you are the head of Rogue Shipping, you are richer than a nabob,” he said, obviously thinking it was time to change the subject. His voice still held a hint of doubt. “When we get to London, we’ll see about your wardrobe. I will send you to my tailor.”

  “Correction, brother,” Yale said. “I will see to my wardrobe. I have no need of your tailor.”

  “Stubborn to the end, aren’t you?” the duke said.

  “Aye,” came Yale’s response.

  The conversation died after that, each person keeping his own counsel. Samantha had been startled that Yale would declare himself madly in love with her. It was a gallant but silly gesture. People would notice soon enough when he left her what his real feelings for her were.

  After a while, Wayland, Samantha, and Fenley amused themselves with a card game until it was too dark to play. Yale stared out the window, lost in his thoughts.

  Shortly after the sun had set, they arrived at the first posting house of their journey to London. The innkeeper was expecting the duke, and a good hot meal of roasted leg of lamb cooked in a brandy sauce awaited them in a private room.

  The inn was a popular one and very busy. The innkeeper informed them there had been a horse race only that day. There were no other rooms to be had, but when Yale held out a gold sovereign, he managed to find one for Samantha.

  She was tired and could barely eat a bite of her meal. The day’s traumatic events and her lack of sleep the night before had all conspired to make her so tired she almost fell asleep in her plate.

  Yale was the first to notice her nodding off. “Go on upstairs to bed, Samantha.”

  Fenley, who stood guard at the door supervising the duke’s personal footmen and the inn’s servants in serving the dinner, quickly moved around the table to pull out her chair for her—but Yale had already done it. Samantha smiled at Fenley. He had bustled around from the moment they had arrived to ensure their bags were delivered to their room and that matters were as the duke liked them.

  “I do not know how you do it,” she told him. “I’m tired almost to death.”

  Fenley smiled, pleased with her compliment. “I have had years of practice, my lady.”

  Yale took Samantha’s arm. “And he is tougher than an old rooster.”

  “As you say, my lord,” Fenley said with a bow.

  Samantha noticed that Yale had stopped correcting Fenley every time he referred to Yale as “my lord.” She didn’t know how she felt about being “my lady.” The day had been too full of surprises for her to worry about it. Tomorrow she would consider this startling change in her importance.

  Yale escorted her out of the room, placing her hand on his arm. Once the door was shut behind them, Samantha removed her hand.

  “I can see my own way from here.”

  “Oh, Sam…antha,” he added at her cross look. “The inn’s crowded. It is no place for a gentlewoman to be wandering about alone.” As if to punctuate his words, the sound of male laughter came from the taproom.

  “I am more worried about being accosted by you than by complete strangers,” she said briskly, heading for the stairs.

  In three long strides he placed himself in front of her. “Samantha, I have to do what is right.”

  “Oh? How amazing of you finally to remember that.” She stepped around him, lifted her skirts slightly, and started up the stairs to her room.

  Behind her she heard him mutter something about exasperating females. It pleased her.

  The steps were winding and narrow. A gentleman was coming down and she had to move to the side to let him through. As the man passed, he glared with a touch too much familiarity at Samantha’s bosom—that is, until Yale placed a protective hand on her waist.

  “So sorry,” the gentleman muttered.

  Yale practically growled a response, and Samantha had to concede that perhaps he was right and should escort her to her room. Either way, it didn’t appear she was going to dissuade him. And he thought her stubborn!

  At the top of the stairs, they walked down the hall in silence. This inn was five times the size of the Bear and Bull. Samantha had never thought inns could be so huge, and she suddenly realized what a country mouse she was.

  Yale opened the door to her room and stepped back. Samantha started to walk in and then stopped with a gasped cry.

  He was right behind her. “Sam, what’s wrong?”

  “There is someone in here,” she said, backing out.

  Yale glanced in the room and then suppressed a laugh. “Sam, it’s the maid.”

  Samantha stopped. “The maid?”

  He pushed her forward and said to the girl in the room, “You’re the maid Fenley arranged, aren’t you?”

  The girl bobbed a nervous curtsy. “Yes, my lord. The master said there was a lady here without her maid and sent me to tend to her. Did I startle my lady? The master said I should wait for her.” She bobbed another curtsy.

&nbs
p; “Everything is fine now,” Yale replied easily. He placed his hand on the small of Samantha’s back and attempted to push her covertly into the room.

  Samantha hung back. “I know nothing about maids,” she whispered to him.

  “Excuse us a moment,” he said to the maid, and closed the door, leaving them out in the hall. His voice low, Yale said, “You don’t have to know much about maids. They have to know everything. You just stand there and let her do her job.”

  “What is her job?” she asked him desperately.

  “She’ll brush your hair, help you take off your dress, and tuck you into bed.”

  “I don’t need anyone to do that. I’ve been doing that myself for years.”

  There was genuine sympathy in his eyes as he said, “You have, Sam, but you’re a lady now, and you will soon learn that what you wish doesn’t matter to the duke of Ayleborough. We have appearances to uphold. When we arrive in London, you will be assigned a maid of your own and you’ll never get to brush another hair on your head or lace up your own frock again.”

  “But I like doing those things.”

  “Yes? Well, now you are Someone Important.”

  “Someone Important?”

  “You know, a person whom all the village watches and gossips about.”

  “I was that as the vicar’s daughter.”

  “But now you are related to an important title and are rich. And in the interests of family harmony, let’s not argue about it tonight. The girl will receive a more than handsome tip for her services, so let’s not disappoint her, shall we?”

  Samantha considered his words a moment before saying, “She probably thinks I am a fool for crying out when I saw her.”

  He rubbed the side of her cheek with the back of his fingers. “No, she knows she startled you. It will be fine.”

  “It’s just so different than what I’m used to.”

  He tilted her chin up with one finger. “Sam, you are going to find that London is a far cry from Sproule. There will be things that are different than what you are accustomed to, matters that will make you anxious. Just take a deep breath and realize there are no dragons anymore. You will make mistakes, but you will thrive. I know that.”