by Heather Boyd
But most of the duke’s children, expecting their father’s disinterest in the festive season, had made other plans and sent their regrets.
They had to make do with Mrs. Warner’s friends instead. They would not have been Gillian’s choice if she’d had any say in the matter.
It was Gillian’s job to ensure Jessica was ready to make her come out, and the girl had proved as much of a challenge as her father had initially suggested when he’d offered her the position of companion nine months ago. Jessica took instruction well but seemed incapable of staying at arm’s length from servants, which had become Mrs. Warner’s chief complaint.
And it was true that Jessica was interested in the servants around her perhaps more than appropriate for a duke’s daughter. She was as open and friendly as Lady Fanny Rivers, the duke’s other daughter. There had been more than one evening when Jessica had sought her out late at night and ended up falling asleep in Gillian’s own bed. The girl had never known her mother, and she often missed her older sisters dreadfully.
Yet making friends with the hired help was not what Jessica needed most. What she did need was an ally, a friend closer to her own age to share experiences with when in London. Gillian had been encouraging a friendship with one young woman in particular for that very purpose. “Miss Hawthorne is quite lively.”
Miss Hawthorne was a year older than Jessica, had an excellent mind and, more importantly, was open to discussing the merits of one gentleman over another. That girl was aware of the appeal of men in a way Jessica had yet to discover for herself. Gillian was waiting for the right time to suggest the duke sponsor the girl for a London season too as her parents could not afford the expense.
“She wants my papa’s attention,” Jessica grumbled.
Gillian quickly dismissed the maid, afraid there was another tantrum in the wind. The Duke of Stapleton was a fine gentleman, both in looks and character. The duke had presence quite beyond what was normally found in men. He drew the eye, he made Gillian squirm with an impossible longing she did her best to fight. It was possible Miss Hawthorne had designs on becoming the next Duchess of Stapleton—possible, but very unlikely that such a wish might come to pass. From what Gillian could tell, her employer was actively trying to avoid the girl, and that was for the best. Miss Hawthorne wasn’t right for him.
Yet one day, some lucky woman would catch Stapleton’s eye and come between father and daughter forever. There would be a husband for Jessica and a second wife for the duke no doubt. The duke would need someone for company once Jessica began her new life. It was not meant to be part of her duties, but Gillian felt it was her unspoken duty to prepare the girl for such an eventuality. “If he finds a woman he likes, what is wrong with that?”
“He cannot marry someone my age,” Jessica blurted out. “I absolutely forbid it.”
Gillian chuckled softly. Lord Stapleton and his youngest daughter were both very particular. There had been a string of nurses and governesses before Gillian, and all had been dismissed after a few months of service for one reason or another, or so she’d been warned. Gillian had lasted nine months, something of a record here at Stapleton.
Gillian smoothed Jessica’s hair behind her ear. While the bond that had formed between father and daughter gave Jessica all the love and security she could ever need, it had also created problems that Gillian was trying very hard to overcome in the gentlest way possible.
The girl was stubborn, prone to tantrums when thwarted. She had been indulged by all who knew her. Jessica could not accept anyone ever coming between herself and her beloved papa.
Although Gillian was patient and had tried to explain she might have to share his affections eventually, Jessica was so very young and had been terribly sheltered. She appeared rather naïve when it came to romantic relationships, too, and Gillian had come to the conclusion that Lord Stapleton had kept news of his amours far away from his daughter’s ears.
But in their current situation, poised on the eve of Jessica’s first season, tongues were wagging furiously about Stapleton’s personal life. Jessica had heard how her papa was universally admired for his wealth and title. The talk annoyed Jessica. It scared the girl, too.
Gillian captured the girl’s hand and squeezed. “You cannot stop your father from having his head turned and marrying if that is his heart’s desire.”
“I can and I will,” Jessica promised, stubborn to the end.
Gillian adjusted the collar of Jessica’s spencer, ensuring she was covered as much as possible. The halls and public rooms were often cold here at Stapleton, and the last thing His grace would want is his daughter presenting herself to the guests with a red, dripping nose. “How will you do that when you have a new husband yourself, claiming all of your time after your first season?”
For a moment, the girl appeared confused. “I… Well. I will. You will have to help me convince Papa to call the coming out off.”
“I cannot do that. He hired me to make sure you’d be ready.” Besides, Gillian had no intention of doing so. She knew how much the girl would yearn for a family of her own one day. “Come along. Your father’s guests are waiting to see you.”
“Oh, very well. I’d rather the way it used to be. Just the three of us, and Whitfield’s visits now and then.” The girl worried at her lip. “I suppose I must smile even when Lord James butts into our conversations like he always seems to do.”
Lord James, second son of the Marquess of Newfield, was younger than Whitfield, and had from the outset gravitated toward Jessica. He was very friendly. Perhaps too marked in his interest for Gillian’s tastes, on so short an acquaintance, but all men approached women in different ways.
As far as Gillian could tell, Jessica hadn’t the slightest clue she was being pursued. That worried her. She would have to be blunt with the girl again. “Lord James admires you.”
The girl blinked a few times. “Well, he can admire me all he likes when he’s on the other side of the room. He does not have to be party to every conversation I have.”
“He’s trying to get to know you, my dear. I believe he likes you romantically. I think he might be courting you.” The girl frowned. “Jessica, when a man likes you, he will find ways to make you notice him. Lord James likes to sit at your side, and his butting in is his way of making you look at him.”
“I prefer the way other men court women. Papa sits beside you and never says a word.”
Gillian laughed heartily. Jessica may not be aware of other men, but she noticed everything about her papa. “His grace sits beside me so he might avoid speaking altogether. He is certainly not courting me. After nine months of living here, he feels safe around me.”
Jessica gaped. “That is so unromantic, and unfair of him to use you so ill.”
“That is how it should be between us. Jessica, my dear, you forget again that your father employed me to take care of you, not him.”
“Would you look after him if you could?”
Gillian gasped. “Jessica! Stop changing the subject.”
The girl giggled. “Well, if we must talk about my suitors, we should also talk about you having one too.”
“No. I’m much too old for marriage.”
“You’re only eight and twenty years old. You could have another husband, and a child to love. My father describes you as a fine woman, and he’s never wrong.”
“He did?” Gillian quickly shook aside a sudden burst of pleasure. Every woman, even an old widow like herself, could be forgiven for preening a little when complimented by someone of distinction. However, she ruthlessly refocused on her charge. “Tell me what you think of Lord James?”
“I like him well enough, I suppose?”
“One way to know if you might like him is if the idea of kissing him appeals to you.”
Jessica scrunched up her nose. “Do I have to?”
“Most husbands will kiss their wives at some point in their marriage. It is an idea you must consider and accept,” she warned. She want
ed Jessica to choose well and have no regrets. Marrying for wealth, comfort, was all very well, but without love and mutual affection, it could seem an empty life indeed.
“They say Papa and Mama were always kissing.”
Gillian felt a pang of envy. “And they were very happily married, were they not?”
“Would you kiss Papa?”
Gillian threw up her hands at the girl’s foolishness. Lord Stapleton would never stoop to kissing a paid companion. “Stop your silly speculation about your father and I before you land me in a great deal of trouble. Companions have lost their positions, their very livelihoods, thanks to groundless accusations.”
“I won’t let anyone send you away over my nonsense.” Jessica nibbled her thumb, then nodded slowly. “I really don’t want to kiss Lord James, or anyone staying for the house party. I don’t know if I’d want to kiss anyone, in fact.”
Gillian winced. Hearing further verification that Jessica may not be ready for marriage gave her no pleasure. At Jessica’s age, Gillian had discreetly experimented with kissing two local boys to know that she did want to do it again, but with someone better. Jessica might be well developed in her body, but she was far too young to recognize desire in others or in herself. Conversation appeared all she was interested in so far when it came to gentlemen.
Unfortunately, Mrs. Warner was not patient or understanding, forever pushing Jessica toward Lord James unless Gillian intervened. “Then you won’t have to kiss him. Can we go down now before your father sends for us?”
“Oh, very well.”
Gillian linked their arms and drew her toward the main staircase.
At this time of the evening, guests would be gathered in Stapleton’s grand saloon one floor down. The duke had a lovely, comfortable home, except for the drafty halls and endless rooms to traverse to get anywhere. She would be very sorry to have to leave once Jessica was married, but there was no way around it. Once Jessica found a husband, Gillian had to find new employment.
Halfway down the stairs, Gillian glimpsed the first sign of trouble.
There was mistletoe attached to an unlit chandelier.
There was also the shadow of an unfamiliar figure lingering in the library doorway below. She had no idea who the fellow might be, but whoever it was could not be the right man to deliver Jessica’s first kiss if he thought surprise was an option.
Her heartbeat quickened with concern. Gillian switched Jessica to her other arm so the girl could be maneuvered away from the man until his features became clearer. Jessica’s first kiss would not be a mistake that might lead to an unwanted connection. This lurking stranger might be too interested in the size of Jessica’s dowry rather than the girl herself.
Gillian discreetly peeked around as she remembered there was another way to get Jessica to the guests, a somewhat roundabout detour through the east wing and then down via the servants’ stairs.
Making a snap decision, she jerked Jessica about—but walked straight into the hard body of a large gentleman.
She was caught, hauled close, and held tight against a very fine wool cloth coat. His scent was achingly familiar, and her body responded with unexpected pleasure. Gasping from the shock, Gillian glanced up into her employer’s face, stunned that, even with the extra layers required for this drafty house, she could feel so much when he touched her.
Too much.
Stapleton frowned. “My apologies, Mrs. Thorpe. I should have been more careful.”
He let her go slowly, making sure she was steady on her feet. Gillian darted a quick glance toward the shadows, but the lurking gentleman had fled. “It is entirely my fault, your grace. I should have been expecting you.”
His brow lifted at her remark, a sight that made her insides quiver. He often held back his words, but his facial expressions fascinated her. She often watched him when she should be minding her own business, or Jessica’s.
“I was wondering where you’d got to.” He cleared his throat. “Both of you.”
“A hem needed stitching.” Gillian sighed as she fibbed about the reason for their absence. Informing the duke his daughter was trying to avoid the guests again would not make him happy.
“Oh, look,” Jessica exclaimed suddenly. “You are both standing under mistletoe.”
Gillian glanced up and stared in consternation at a second bunch that she had not noticed.
Lord Stapleton growled. “If I ever catch who keeps hanging this stuff about the place, I might just wring their bloody neck.”
He yanked the offending greenery down, staring at it as if he might find the answers in the foliage.
“You have to kiss Mrs. Thorpe now, Papa,” Jessica warned with a laugh.
“Jessica!” Gillian whispered in horror as she took a step back from the duke. Had nothing they’d spoken about earlier gotten through that girl’s thick skull? She couldn’t kiss the man who employed her. It was Jessica who needed to be romanced, not her father.
“I’m sure you’d like him to.”
Silence descended, and for a moment, Jessica appeared stricken. She winced.
“I was sure I said that in my head,” the girl whispered. “I’m so sorry.”
The duke took a pace back, and the look on his face spoke volumes for his disgust at the idea of kissing a companion. Of kissing Gillian, in particular.
Properly embarrassed, Gillian caught Jessica’s elbow firmly and drew her down the stairs, hiding a sensation of crushing disappointment as best she could behind familiar tasks. “Come along Jessica, your sister will be wondering where you are.”
Chapter 3
Nicolas stared after Mrs. Thorpe in utter shock. The idea of kissing him had surprised the widow, but that look on her face, acute disappointment, set his pulse soaring. However, he should not be kissing, or thinking of kissing, a woman who depended on him for her livelihood. He hoped she had missed his consideration of the idea.
“I must say, that was poorly done,” Gideon Whitfield murmured as he stepped out of the shadows of the library.
Nicolas spun about, feeling guilty without having reason. “What?”
“You should have kissed her while you had the chance.” Whitfield plucked the mistletoe from Nicolas’ hand. “Might have been the only way to begin.”
Nicolas clenched his jaw. “I am not interested in kissing.”
“Liar.” A fevered light glinted in Whitfield’s eyes. “I’ve been watching you tiptoe around the woman for months. A good shag is just what you need. Admit it, you want her.”
Disturbed by Whitfield’s perception, Nicolas shook his head vigorously. If he did, he didn’t mean to. “Don’t be ridiculous. What are you doing lurking out here? I thought you had already gone home.”
“A ruse.” He pursed his lips, and then studied the clump of mistletoe. “I was trying to help a friend determine who is hanging mistletoe about the place. This is the fourth bunch I’ve seen today.”
“And?”
“And nothing.” Whitfield sighed. “No one else is around. Your guests are all still in the saloon as far as I can tell. I suspect it’s just a bit of fun to pass the time for someone.”
Nicolas gestured to the mistletoe. “I found three others this morning.”
Whitfield whistled. “Perhaps its not for fun after all. Someone is determined to steal a kiss from someone.”
“And desperate.” Nicolas had his suspicions as to the culprit. Lord James’ finances were not the best, and his estate could use a new injection of funds, not that Nicolas would agree to any match because Jessica hardly favored the fellow.
He scowled when Whitfield snapped his fingers. “I should be going.”
How lucky was Whitfield to be a bachelor with a home close enough that he could leave? He had no one to answer to, and no one to notice his comings and goings or if he arrived safely. “Let me have a carriage brought out to take you home.”
“No need.” Whitfield stepped back into the library, wrapped his neck with a scarf, drew on his greatcoa
t and gloves and set a thick wool cap upon his head. “The short walk is always invigorating. I will be late tomorrow,” he said as they reached the chilly entrance hall.
A covered lantern had been left on the hall table for his neighbor by a servant, so Nicolas lit it from a brace of candles and passed it over. “How late will you be?”
Whitfield shrugged. “Not sure. But I will certainly send word if I find I cannot make dinner.”
Puzzled, Nicolas followed him to the door and let him out into the cold evening air. Whitfield had promised he had no other plans for this week and would be available every day and evening. If he were not present tomorrow, Nicolas would have to deal with the ladies on his own. A depressing thought indeed. “What are you doing over there?”
“I’ll let you know after your house party ends,” he said with a sly smile. “Try to enjoy what remains of your evening,” he called as he strode away.
Nicolas shivered in the cold as he watched Whitfield plod along the garden path that led to his nearby home. He was tempted to follow him, just to avoid another hour of utter boredom. The only bright point in his evening was after Jessica said goodnight, he had just one further responsibility.
After his regular nightly conversation with Mrs. Thorpe, when they only ever talked about Jessica, he could finally go to bed and forget he had visitors.
Jessica greeted him at the saloon doorway and hugged him. “Good night.”
“So soon, Little Mouse?”
Jessica nodded, hiding a yawn behind her hand. “I feel so very sleepy tonight.”
She wandered off, Mrs. Thorpe trailing after her at a brisk pace.
He took a seat, but he knew from past experience that Mrs. Thorpe would return downstairs in precisely fifteen minutes. Punctuality was her stock in trade. She had done wonders for Jessica’s tardiness by example. With luck, that habit would continue into her marriage.
The party broke up soon after and he bid all good night and fled to his study, glad to have a few moments to collect his thoughts before his regular evening appointment.