She took a moment to tie the ribbon of her bonnet. “Of course I was coming. Where else do I have to go?” If she thought he wouldn’t notice the slight sarcasm in her voice, she was mistaken.
With a kick of his heels, Yale urged Beast close to her. He jumped down. “You and Wayland took your time coming out.” He touched her cheek with the back of his fingers. “Is anything the matter?”
For a moment, she was tempted to tell him…but what purpose would that serve, except to set Yale against his brother? “I had to change my hair.”
He smiled at her and lightly touched her braid. “I like your hair down. This is how I saw you when I first woke from my illness. If I had my way, you’d wear it thus all the time.”
His thumb stroked her neck before he pulled his hand back. Where he’d touched her, her skin tingled.
“Come along!” Wayland shouted from the coach window. “I want to make London before midnight. You’re wasting time.”
“Don’t mind him. He is a surly brute in the morning,” Yale whispered, in a voice loud enough for Wayland to hear.
The duke grunted and closed the window with a snap. Yale opened the door and helped her inside.
She paused on the step. “You won’t be riding with us?” she asked, aware that Wayland was listening.
Yale studied her a moment. She wished she could read his mind. When he spoke, his voice was light, “No, I’m enjoying the cold wind. It helps me keep my perspective.”
She wanted to ask him what he meant but lacked the courage. Instead, she took her seat. Fenley followed her into the coach and Yale signaled the coachmen it was time to leave.
The atmosphere inside the coach was far from the congenial camaraderie of the previous days. She gave her back to Wayland and huddled in her corner, lost in thought. For a moment, she wished she was a man and didn’t have to be dependent upon others for every morsel she ate, every thread of clothing she wore, everything she touched.
Her father had always told her that her one sin was her pride—and it was hurting very much indeed. She was a wife, and under the law she was not even considered a person in her own right, but her husband’s property. And her husband didn’t want her—except for one thing.
For a moment she entertained the notion that Yale might have put his brother up to his request. But she dismissed it. The argument she had overheard earlier had been too bitter to have been staged.
Worse, part of her missed the intimacies she’d shared with Yale. If she closed her eyes, she could almost remember the feel of his strong body joined with hers. The rock and sway of the coach, combined with Wayland’s earlier salacious observation, served to heighten lustful memories that would be better forgotten.
Her doubts and worries circled each other with every turn of the coach wheels. At last she took refuge from her misgivings and fears in sleep.
They made few stops. The closer they rode to London, the more anxious Wayland was to be reunited with his family.
He did insist, upon spying a hat shop in one of the villages they passed through, that Fenley get out of the coach immediately and buy Yale a decent hat. “We can’t have him riding into London hatless.”
Fenley hurried to obey his command. Yale rolled his eyes heavenward and led Beast to a drink of water.
“You should go with Fenley and try on the hat,” Wayland prodded.
Yale ignored him.
When Fenley returned, he carried a very handsome curled-brim beaver. Yale had already remounted. He reached for the hat, thanked his brother profusely for the gift, and then slapped it on his head so hard it almost came down over his eyebrows. He proceeded to ride out of the village that way.
“He thinks he is a damn clown,” Wayland muttered under his breath. He knocked on the side of the coach and they were off.
It wasn’t until after dark that the coachman announced he could see the lights of London.
Heedless of the cold, damp air, Samantha pulled down the window and craned her neck, hoping for her first glimpse of the metropolis. The coach rolled to a stop on a small rise and there, in the distance, she saw hundreds, thousands of tiny lights. The air smelled of chimney smoke.
Yale reined Beast in beside her. He wore the infamous hat the right way now, but with a rakish tilt to it. He looked very handsome.
“There it is, Sam,” he said in a low voice. “London, the center of the civilized world.” The planes of his face were golden in the light of the coach lamps. He looked very serious…and very handsome.
“You have nothing to fear,” he promised her, misreading her silence. “Be your own courageous self and London will be at your feet.”
“I want to believe that,” she whispered.
“If it is in my power, I shall make it so.”
For a moment his gaze lingered on her lips, and she thought, he could kiss me now and I would let him.
But when he leaned forward slightly, she pulled back, conscious that they had an audience.
If Yale noticed or if a kiss had been his intent, he didn’t say, but put his heels to his horse and rode on ahead.
The coach followed him.
Samantha pulled her head back into darkness and raised the window.
“Do you still wish to pretend he has no feelings for you?” Wayland’s voice asked behind her.
Samantha didn’t answer.
“I only ask that you try, Samantha—nothing more. As a favor to the family.”
Did a person ever refuse a duke anything? she wondered bitterly, as the coach drove her closer and closer to London and a new life.
Chapter 12
Travel weariness left Samantha the moment she set foot into the stone and marble foyer of Penhurst, the city residence of the duke of Ayleborough.
It was exactly as Yale had described it and much more. The chandelier hanging in the middle of the room was large enough to hold a thousand candles, although none of them were lit. Instead, the burning candles from no fewer than twenty wall sconces played against its crystal prisms.
Gold scrolling across the ceiling framed a classic scene. She gawked like the country girl she was at the chubby satyrs who chased long-haired nymphs through an imaginary forest. The colors were vivid—the forest greener than anything real, the nymphs’ lips red and inviting, their naked breasts in full display.
“My great-grandfather had a sense of humor,” Yale commented dryly in her ear.
She felt the heat of a blush burn her cheeks. “I’ve never seen anything like it. You didn’t tell me about that.”
“He spent almost more than the cost of the rest of the house on the ceilings. Mother hated them, especially this one, and would cheerfully have painted over them if Father had let her. But no man in his right mind would paint over such buxom beauty. Not even Father.”
He spoke without thought, and his obvious masculine appreciation only heightened her uncomfortable awareness of him as a man. A handsome man.
A man who’d taught her the meaning of pleasure in bed.
“Welcome home, Your Grace, Mr. Fenley,” said a man who could, by his formal attire and dictatorial manner, only be the butler. Yale had been correct about even the servants appearing as if they had servants. No less than a score of footmen and maids swarmed around them, carrying in luggage, taking their coats.
“Good to be home, Timothy,” Wayland said. “I’ve brought guests with me. Please see to their things.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
There came a shout. “Papa!”
A young boy of six or so ran down the carpeted steps that curved down into the foyer. He paused on the last three steps only long enough to launch himself at Wayland, who caught the child in his arms.
“John, my boy,” Wayland said, and unashamedly gave the child a huge hug.
“We are glad you have returned,” a woman said from the stairs, and they all looked up to see Marion, the duchess of Ayleborough, standing on the landing. She was a tall, regal woman with blond hair and intelligent blue eyes. Besi
de her stood another boy of about nine years of age. Samantha recognized him. He was Matthew, the marquess of Danforth, Wayland’s oldest son and heir.
Wayland bounded up the stairs two at a time to reach his wife. “I’m glad to be home also.” He kissed her hand. It was a formal gesture, but his lips lingered. A silent communication passed between husband and wife, and Samantha felt a stab of jealousy.
She slid a look in Yale’s direction. He wasn’t even paying attention to the tender moment. Instead, he watched Matthew and John with a bemused expression.
Wayland set John on his feet beside his brother and now young John aped Matthew’s serious demeanor. Matthew put him in his place with an elbow in the ribs. John jostled back, waiting impatiently for his father’s attention.
Samantha wondered what Yale was thinking.
Wayland tore his gaze away from his wife and bowed to his oldest son. “Matthew.”
The boy bowed back, accepting his father’s hand. “Father.” For all his solemnity, he couldn’t resist a triumphant look at his younger brother. John’s lower lip turned down into a pout.
“Have you been taking care of your mother and brothers while I have been away?” Wayland asked.
“Yes, Father, I have,” the child answered.
“Good, then. I am proud of you.” Wayland placed a hand on Matthew’s head and embraced him. The boy grinned unself-consciously.
John tugged on his father’s coat.
“Did you bring any treats, Father?”
“Ah, not now,” Wayland chastised him. “Not until I’ve had a chance to sit down. You know the rule.” He turned to his wife. “How is our Charles?”
“Cranky,” Marion said. “He’s cutting a tooth. Nurse is worn thin from being up with him all night, and he didn’t nap today, either. We just got him down and she warned me that you are not to wake him up.”
“And I won’t,” he promised. “But first, I have a surprise for you.” Taking her by the shoulders, he directed her down the stairs to Samantha and Yale. “Now, be ready. This will be quite a shock.” He stopped her in front of Yale. “Here.”
Marion smiled at both Yale and Samantha. “You’ve brought guests. That’s very nice. Welcome to Penhurst. I’ll have Mrs. Witchell prepare rooms for you.”
“No, Marion, look closely,” her husband said. “They are not just any guests. Do you not recognize them?”
She stared and then blushed. “Miss Northrup…from Sproule, no?”
Samantha curtsied. “Yes, Your Grace, although I am surprised that you remembered.”
Marion held out her hand. “This is an unexpected pleasure. I hope you enjoy your stay with us.”
“Thank you, Your Grace.”
“Yes, yes, yes,” Wayland said impatiently. “But she is not my surprise. Look closer at him.”
The two boys had come down the stairs, too, and they now stood beside their mother, staring up at Yale.
Marion shook her head. “I’m sorry, sir. You seem familiar but I can’t place you. Have we met before?”
“It’s my brother Yale,” Wayland whispered in her ear.
“Yale!” Marion almost collapsed. She stared in confusion at Yale and then rounded on her husband. “How can it be? We were told…we thought…I don’t know—”
“It’s him,” Wayland confirmed.
Marion turned back to Yale and took a step toward him. Her hands came up to touch his shoulders, the side of his face. It was a motherly gesture, kind, reassuring. “You live.”
Yale took her hand and kissed it. “Yes, alive and well.”
Tears formed in her eyes, and Marion threw her arms around him. “We’ve missed you so much. Twice we’ve mourned for you. Once when you’d left, then the other when we’d heard you were killed in that storm. I can’t believe you are back with us.”
“I knew it would be a grand surprise,” Wayland said with satisfaction. “I could have sent a message, but I wanted to deliver the news to you myself. I wanted to see the expression on your face.”
Marion swiped at tears rolling down her cheeks. “I should give you a severe tongue-lashing for springing him on me this way,” she told her husband, and then held out her hands for her sons. “Come, Matthew, John, meet your uncle.”
The boys took a cautious step forward. Their expressions were so serious, Samantha wanted to hug each of them.
Even the servants had stopped to watch the unfolding drama. Several maids dried their eyes on their aprons.
Matthew held out his hand just as he had with his father. Yale took it. The corners of his mouth twitched, but he hid his smile before making his bow.
“It is good to meet you, sir,” Matthew said.
“And I you, my lord marquess,” Yale said. “In fact, it is very good.”
Then John, mimicking his brother, also offered his hand. “We are glad you are not dead,” he said with a child’s open honesty, and Yale laughed.
“I am glad, too,” he admitted. “But Wayland and I have another surprise.”
“I do not think I could stand another one like that last one,” Marion said. She was still crying and tried to dry her cheeks by pressing the back of her hand to her face.
“But this one is a happy one,” Yale promised. He pulled Samantha forward. “Miss Northrup is my wife.”
“You are married?” Marion blurted out before she could stop herself. Her face turned red with color. “I am so sorry for that way that sounded, Miss Northrup—”
“Samantha,” Wayland corrected.
“Yes, Samantha,” his wife amended warmly. “I never expected to see Yale again, let alone to see him married. But this is a blessing.” She embraced Samantha, whispering, “Welcome to the family.”
Family.
The word brought tears to Samantha’s eyes. Reading her thoughts, Wayland’s gaze met hers…and she understood what he felt was at stake—
He did not want Yale to leave again.
And he expected her to see that Yale didn’t.
“Come,” Marion said, hooking her arm with Samantha’s. “I have sandwiches and wine waiting for you. Wayland is always hungry when he returns from travels, aren’t you, darling?”
“I thought I’d take the boys back up to the nursery and check on Charles,” her husband said. “I’ll catch up with the three of you.”
“Do not wake the baby,” she said sternly.
“I won’t,” he promised, heading up the stairs with his sons. “Here, who wants a piggyback ride?”
“I do!” John said immediately.
“I’m too old for that stuff,” Matthew sniffed.
“Your loss, then,” his father replied, and bent down for John to hop from a higher step onto his back. He glanced at Matthew. “John and I’ll race you to the nursery.”
Obviously Matthew wasn’t too old to race, for without another word, he went tearing up the steps. John and Wayland charged after him.
Yale stared after them, his eyebrows raised. “Was that my brother who just pretended to be a horse?”
Marion laughed. “He dotes on his sons. He visits them every day for no other reason than to play. I keep telling him that Matthew is old enough to be sent to Eton, but Wayland insists on keeping him one more year at home.”
“How different from Father.”
Marion nodded. “We both wanted our children raised with more affection than what our parents had given us. Of course, most of our friends think we spend too much time with the boys…but they grow so fast. I shall miss them when they are on their own.”
She turned her attention to the housekeeper, giving her instructions on which rooms to ready for the guests. “Samantha, did you bring a maid?”
“No, she didn’t,” Yale said smoothly. “And I have no valet.”
“That poses no problem,” Marion answered. “Mrs. Witchell will assign a member of the staff to each of you.” She then led them into a richly appointed sitting room off the main hall.
This was more luxurious than the foyer. Fi
ne portraits hung on walls covered with green Genoese cut velvet. On the ceiling, half-dressed young girls were swinging while handsome men knelt at their feet.
A maid brought in a plate of small sandwiches and offered it to Samantha. She accepted it gratefully. Wayland had refused to stop longer than to change the horses on their trip that day.
“I can’t stop looking at you, Yale,” Marion said. “You left here a boy and have returned a man.”
“I thought I was grown up when I left.”
“So you did,” she agreed, a sad note in her voice. “It is good to see you again. Now tell me, where have you been?” She offered Yale a glass of wine. “And how did you meet Samantha?”
“I’ve been in the Orient and met Samantha in Sproule, where she saved my life,” he answered dutifully.
Marion’s eyes widened. “Tell me everything,” she demanded.
“I went to Sproule and came down with influenza. My blood has apparently grown too thin from living all these years in a tropical climate. The English cold just about killed me.”
Marion, sitting gracefully on an upholstered couch, indicated for Samantha to do the same before asking, “You nursed him?”
Sitting on the very edge of the couch, Samantha cleared her throat, still uneasy to find herself accepted and moving among people who had for years been like storybook characters to her. “Yes, Your Grace, I did.”
“I remember what a fine job you did with the old duke. And please address me as ‘Marion.’ Wayland and I are not formal. Not with close family. He will have to give you a title, Yale. Lord Yale is not enough.”
“I am happy as I am, sister.”
“Are you? What a wonder. Then you are the only one who is. Wayland has such trials with the other family members,” she confided. “Seems everyone wants something of him. But finish your story, Yale. Did you wake up from your illness and find Samantha nursing you? Was it not love at first sight?”
“It was indeed,” Yale agreed gallantly, his words catching Samantha in the middle of taking a sip of wine. She almost choked on it.
“A love match,” Marion said with a happy sigh.
Samantha rose and started to correct the misinterpretation. Her honest nature demanded it, but Yale had anticipated her move.
Because of You Page 18