Linnette, The Lioness

by Lavinia Kent

  “Did I seem upset?”

  “I am not sure. I did not stay long enough to inquire.”

  “Now for that you may be sorry. As I am sorry that I laughed. It was all so unexpected.”

  She heard his footsteps as he approached. “I truly will leave now, Linnette. I sense that we could talk in circles this evening.”

  “You may be correct. We do need to finish this discussion, but sometime when we are both bright and awake. I want no more misunderstandings.”

  His hand came rest upon her shoulder. His thumb moved with its own magic.

  She turned her face, and looked up at him over her shoulder.

  He held her eyes for a moment and then turned and left, leaving only quiet behind.

  He should leave. James knew it was the only choice. It was what she wanted, but his feet slowed as his boots clicked against the marble tile of the entry floor.

  They did need to talk.

  He needed to talk.

  Would there ever be a better time than now, now when their emotions were soft, their passions checked? If he waited, this moment might never come again. Their next meeting would be filled again with passion and want and—and confusion.

  Now, at this moment, he was not confused.

  For the first time in eight years he might begin to understand.

  He pivoted and walked back to the parlor. Linnette stood still staring out the window as if hoping to see him walking down the path.

  “Your father and the duke, Charles’s father, forced me to go,” he said the words flatly, not allowing emotion to seep into them. “They threatened my stepfather’s living, said they would give the parish to someone else. I did not truly believe them, but I could not take the risk. And your father said he would never consent to any marriage between us. You were young. He could have dissolved any union we tried to form.”

  Her eyebrows lifted for a moment, surprise shining on her face, and then her features settled, her thoughts moving forward. “We could have eloped, fled to Scotland.”

  “And what then? If we returned, he would have done his best to separate us. You were so young.”

  “As were you.” Still she stared out the window and it was impossible to read her tone.

  “Yes, but I was old enough to fear—to fear that we could not last, that love was not enough.”

  She sighed, long and deep. “I can understand that now. I could not have then. But it doesn’t matter. What is done is done.” She did not turn.

  “It does matter. I meant it when I asked you to marry me this morning. We can put the past behind us, begin again.”

  “And what of gossip and innuendo? The Dowager and the Duke. It does have quite the ring.”

  “I certainly do not care. Do you?”

  “You have explained why you left, but not why you did not return. Why did you stay away for eight years?”

  He had waited all day for her to ask again and still he had no answer. “I don’t know.”

  She turned then and walked toward him slowly, hips swaying, russet curls glinting by the light of the single candle. It was hard to see her face, to see her thoughts, but it was clear she knew the temptation she offered. “I think you do. Was I not enough for you? What did Canada offer that I could not?”

  “It was not like that.”

  “Then what was it like? What did you want that I could not supply?” Her voice was low and husky, wrapping about him, drawing him closer. “Do you know that for eight years I dreamed of you, dreamed of those few stolen hours we had together? Do you know how guilty I felt throughout my marriage that I could never forget you, forget how you made me feel?”

  “I did not know.”

  “And would it have changed things if you did? I don’t think I believe that it would have. You came back for the title, not for me.” It was impossible to mistake the bitterness that filled her.

  He took a step forward, held out his hand. “It is true that I came because of the dukedom. I had no choice. I have never been able to turn my back on responsibility.”

  “As you turned your back on me? You slept with me, took my virginity, made me love you—and then you left with no word.” Were those tears glinting on her cheeks?

  “Your father and the duke demanded—.”

  “And their demands were more important than my feelings, my concerns?”

  “I wrote you—I tried to explain.”

  “I never received a letter—not a single one in all those years.”

  “I know.” He looked away for a second, and then turned his gaze back. “After the first one, hell, the first six I wrote, I received a brief note from your father saying that you had married Charles and that he and the duke would be sure that you never received a single note I posted.”

  Yes, those were tears. Her cheeks shone silver in the candlelight as she lifted her face to him. “And after Charles’s death, when I was managing the dukedom. Did you never think to write then?”

  “I was afraid.” He said the words he had refused to even think. “I knew that I had hurt you. I had tried to deny it, even to myself, for years but I knew what I had done. I doubted that you would forgive me.”

  “I would have forgiven you anything those first years.”

  “And now?”

  She was still. He could see the thoughts playing across her face.

  “And now?” he asked again.

  “And now—I do not know. I do forgive you. I do understand.”

  “But . . .” He let the word hang.

  “But I do not trust you.” She smiled, but not with happiness. “I trust completely that you will not lie to me, but I do not believe that I can rely on you, lean on you.”

  “This is why you do not wish to marry me?” He began to understand.

  “I believe I do wish to marry you—do not look like that, I have not finished. I do wish to marry you, but I do not believe it would be wise and I am at an age where wisdom is important.”

  “You sound like an old woman.”

  “Sometimes I feel like one. I have been on my own for many years. Even when I was married to Charles, I knew that I must watch out for myself. And while I did not know what my father had done, I had long realized that what he believed was best for me and what I believed was often quite different. I like being responsible to no one and having no one responsible for me.”

  “Don’t you want children? I saw your face when you talked about your niece.”

  Her eyes grew dark and hard to read. “I am not willing to plan my life around something that might never be. Even if I married, who is to say there would be children? I was married for almost four years and it never happened. I have no reason to think it would be different now.”

  “But it might be.”

  “I will not live my life on a might.”

  “So the cartoons really don’t matter? They are only an excuse?”

  She stepped toward him and laid a hand upon his cheek, her fingers rubbing across the heavy stubble. “They matter. They force me to a decision. I must decide if we are worth the bother they will cause. I have been about in society for too long to believe that we can keep our relationship a secret once everybody is watching and curious—although it is hard because avoiding you would also cause gossip.”

  “So?” He felt anger rising and did not quite know why. What she said made sense, only . . .

  “So I don’t know. It’s been only a single day. Why does the world demand an answer now?”

  “It is not the world asking. I am the one asking.”

  “Then why does it feel like the world? Don’t you understand? I don’t want you to be my world—I let you become my world once and then you were gone. I want to stay free, as I have been these last four years.”

  “And if that is not possible? Even if we never spoke again, your life is changed. I am back, and I say that as Doveshire and not James. You will no longer manage the dukedom by yourself. You are not as powerful as you were a month ago—or as free. Do you reall
y wish to run to the country and hide in a dower house? Is that the freedom you wish?”

  She stepped back, her posture stiff. “Do you threaten me? If I will not marry you, you will turn against me?”

  God, she could be infuriating. That was not what he had meant at all. “No. I was only stating fact. I am back. Even if I did nothing but drink and gamble all day, people would come to me for decisions. I am Doveshire.” He said it with more force than ever before, for the first time the understanding of what it meant sinking into his bones.

  “Do you think I do not know that? I told you this morning that I could feel the difference in how I was treated. I know damn well that, despite having had the title for years, I am only now truly the dowager.”

  “And is that freedom? Marry me and you will just be the duchess again, have the power again. It is not too late for us.”

  She stared into his face as if searching for more words. There was something she wanted, something he was not giving. “I cannot marry you. I do not want to marry again a man I cannot rely on to put me first.”

  “And what can I do to show you that I put you first?”

  “Slay a dragon?” She said it as a joke, but he felt the truth of her words. She was looking for some great task that would allow him to prove himself, allow her to trust him again.

  “I haven’t seen many dragons about.”

  She did not answer.

  “And if I do not find a dragon? What then? Do you wish me to marry another?”

  Still, she did not answer.

  “I may not have started with much loyalty to the title, but I am damned if I’ll have them go heir hunting again just because you will not be reasonable. The title is mine for life, but after that? I must be responsible. I can’t imagine leaving it to a rat like Swatts or any offspring he may have.”

  That caught her. “I am not unreasonable. If anything, I think I am too reasonable.”

  “Then damn it all. I’ll be reasonable too. I’ll find myself a wife and have a dozen children. And you can stand at the gates of the dower house and watch them play upon my lawns.”

  This time when he left he did not turn back.

  THE MAIDS

  Jane stood outside the kitchen windows and waved frantically for Abby. She had to tell her what had just happened. She still could not believe it. Lady Westhampton and Lady Richard had taken tea with Lady Smythe-Burke and she, Miss Jane White, had served them.

  She’d felt wonderful in the past sharing some tidbit that her sister had passed on, but this time she’d spoken to them herself. It might only have been asking if the biscuits were fine and if they needed anything else, but she’d spoken to them.

  The kitchen door creaked open and before Abby could even stick her head out, Jane found herself spilling out the story. “ . . . And Lady Smythe-Burke had me stay in the room. They’d just been to the Duke of Doveshire’s house. Can you imagine them all together? Well, of course, not Lady Harrington—we know they’re not speaking—and the dowager duchess only came in at the end. Lady Richard was quite kind about her, but Lady Westhampton made some catty comment about how she was looking at the duke.”

  “Who was looking at the duke?” Abby was clearly not paying enough attention.

  “The dowager duchess, of course. They didn’t say if she looked like she was with child, but I almost begin to think she might be—and the duke is so handsome. Lady Westhampton flushed whenever she said his name. I wonder if she might have an affection for him herself.”

  “That would be something,” Abby replied.

  Jane considered for a moment. “Lady Westhampton is married, for all that means. Do you think she’d really be after the duke?”

  “As you said, he is handsome. Do you think he might call on Lady Smyth-Burke? I think I’d swoon if I saw him.”

  “Gentlemen don’t call on her nearly as often as ladies.”

  Abby sighed.

  Jane knew just how she felt. She glanced up at the sun. “I’d best be getting back. I am supposed to be taking a note to Lady Carrington, but I could not resist the chance to tell you.”

  “Then you’d best be off. We can meet again in the morning.”

  “Yes. I wonder what will be up in the windows tomorrow. It’s hard to imagine anything more scandalous than yesterday morning’s.”

  Abby slipped back into the kitchen with a smile. “I wonder . . .”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  It was a beautiful day for a walk. The sun shone brightly, even for an early summer day, and the sky was a deep, clear blue. A gentle breeze blew to keep the air from growing too warm and the trees were fully leafed, casting great circles of shade.

  Linnette did not care. She kept hearing James’s words of the night before replaying in her head.

  Was she being a fool?

  She strode forward, arms swinging. She looked back over her shoulder, glancing at her maid hurrying behind. She was not in the mood for a stroll, she wanted a walk, something brisk and fast that stirred the blood and cleared the mind.

  She smiled, big and wide and strictly for herself, trying to convince herself that all was well.

  The worries of the world were still heavy on her shoulders, but she would avoid them—at least for the rest of the morning.

  She chose a path heading down to the water, hoping the beauty of the lake would quiet her thoughts.

  There were ducks on the lake, mothers swimming serenely with a trail of half-grown ducklings trailing behind. A nurse with two small children sat on a bench, the youngest girl diligently breaking bread into small pieces. She was about the same age as Linnette’s niece and Linnette found her feet slowing.

  What would it be like to have a child, a little daughter of her own? She could so easily imagine walking down here most mornings with her daughter’s hand tucked tight inside her own, imagine the laughter and the fun.

  It had been years since she’d indulged in such thoughts. When Charles had lived, she’d often imagined the children that were to come, the sturdy little boy, heir to the dukedom, and the daughter with a smile that could fill her face, perhaps with Charles’s dark curls.

  Since Charles’s death, she hadn’t even dreamed of owning a dog.

  The estates had been all she needed, all she cared about.

  Even when she’d taken a lover it had been without dreams of the future. She’d understood the exact limits of each relationship. It was probably why such liaisons had all lost their attraction and she’d decided to be happy on her own.

  Then James had returned—James and his questions.

  The little girl had gathered her crumbs in her skirts and stood on the stone edging to the water. The ducks turned mid-paddle and hurried in her direction, clearly understanding what was to come. They quacked loudly, squabbling for position as the girl began to throw handfuls of crumbs into the water.

  James had truly asked if she wanted to marry him? He’d asked if she wanted children?

  Why did her heart and her brain give her different answers?

  Linnette turned from the happy child and began to stride along the path about the lake. What did she want? She’d given up waiting for James to return when she’d married and then for a second time about a year after her husband’s death. She’d always known deep in her heart that he would never come back when she was wed to another.

  But why hadn’t he come back before now? Did she believe that he had merely been afraid? It seemed unbelievable—and yet it rang true. Could a man who seemed afraid of nothing truly fear her?

  And why did she still fear that he’d come back for the title and not for her?

  She batted her eyelashes at the thought, turning her face into the breeze, denying the feeling of betrayal that came with it. He was not worth her tears. She’d given him enough of them eight years ago.

  So what did she want?

  How could she want a dream she didn’t believe in?

  How could she marry a man she did not fully trust?

  James had adm
itted that part of why he’d left was that he hadn’t believed she would stay with him and be happy. Well, he’d proved to her already that he wasn’t willing to stay just for her. How could she ever trust that now would be different?

  And what if he truly had been afraid? Was that enough of a reason?

  Her mind churned in endless circles of questions.

  “Is that her?”

  Linnette slowed as the loud question intruded on her thoughts, turning to see who had spoken.

  Several young women stood grouped in a tight circle, their eyes all on her. One blushed as Linnette’s gaze caught her. One of her companions leaned over and whispered something in her ear. The young woman’s gaze dropped with unmistakable interest to Linnette’s belly and then back to her face. And then they giggled. It was impossible to tell who began it but the tittering seemed to emanate from them in a solid wave.

  Linnette suddenly felt great sympathy for James’s anger at her laughter yesterday morning.

  She almost grabbed her dress and pulled it tight, eager to show off her slender frame. Annabelle had been right, current fashion made it seem possible she really did have a belly the size of large melon under her dress.

  She did not need this. She’d been overly emotional before, lack of sleep and lack of decision eating away at her normally orderly mind.

  She turned away and strode on further, faster, not bothering to look back for her maid. Given all the gossip and those blasted cartoons, what did it matter if she ended up walking alone? That was not going to ruin her reputation—at least not any further than it already was.

  She had never been laughed at before and was amazed at how deeply it stung.

  This walk was not providing the peace she had sought. First the little girl and the memories she’d sparked, and now the realization that she truly was being gossiped about and laughed at.

  It had been easy to believe she could be strong in the face of ridicule—before she’d felt it.

  She turned a corner, coming around a large boxwood—and stopped. Before her on the path stood Annie, Elizabeth—and Kathryn—Kathryn and a very large and playful puppy. What were they doing here? It should be hours before fashionable ladies began to stroll.