* * *
Claire awoke to the bright daylight of midmorning and the sight of Louisa slipping into her room.
“Are you just waking up now?” Louisa said incredulously as she closed the door behind her.
“Yes,” Claire said, struggling to throw off the fatigue of a bad night’s sleep. She’d had trouble falling asleep after Rowan left, and memories of what had happened between them assailed her afresh now.
She sat up and pushed a few strands of hair out of her face. “I overslept.” She would have to sort herself out to leave Foxtail as soon as possible, but she didn’t know how she would explain her abrupt departure to Louisa. What had happened felt far too raw and private to discuss.
Louisa sat down on the bed. She was smiling. “You missed the excitement, such as it was. Fitzwilliam and Dixon moved out this morning.”
“What?”
“They’ve gone to stay at the vicarage.”
“Both of them? But why?”
Louisa’s smiled deepened, and Claire detected a hint of smugness at the corners. “I thought perhaps you might be able to shed some light on that. I overheard Fitzwilliam telling Dixon that since he has decided to court you, it wouldn’t be appropriate for him to stay in the house.”
“But—that’s ridiculous!”
Louisa laughed, but she also looked puzzled. “Goodness, you are making things hard for the man. Why should it be ridiculous that he wants to move out and court you, especially when you’ve already admitted to me that he makes your heart thump?”
“Because it’s his hunting box,” Claire said. “He’s not the duke’s cousin—he is the Duke of Starlingham. He told me so last night.”
Louisa’s eyebrows shot upward. “That must have been some assembly. You don’t think he was joking, or hoaxing you?”
“I’m certain he wasn’t.”
“Well, well. Now we know that the dear old duke isn’t old after all. But why is he pretending to be his own cousin?” She crossed her arms in playful vexation. “And where is his ducal finery? My one chance to see a duke, and there hasn’t been a gaudy waistcoat or golden quizzing glass in sight.”
“He’s here in hiding because of something to do with a friend. Though I think it’s also that he likes not being a duke for a change.”
“You know,” Louisa said slowly, “it makes sense now that I think of it, him being a duke. He’s so commanding.”
Claire nodded.
Louisa’s eyes narrowed. “So why aren’t you celebrating? He wants to court you! You’ve snared a duke!”
Outside the window, the sky was a perfect blue. Claire gazed at its vastness, which looked like freedom, while she felt trapped by her desires and circumstances. But she still had choices. “I don’t want to marry a duke.”
“What?” Louisa, sitting behind Claire, poked her, and Claire turned. “What can you possibly be thinking? Why not marry a duke?”
“Can you see me, quiet Claire Beckett, as a duchess?”
“You’re not quiet,” Louisa said fiercely. “You’re thoughtful and good-hearted. The world needs more duchesses like you.”
“I don’t want him to court me.”
“But you like him. He wants to make you his duchess. This is everything you need!”
It was so tempting to believe that, but Claire knew she’d already allowed herself to need Rowan far more than she should have. “We’re not a good match. And I don’t want to be a duchess.”
Louisa treated Claire to a stern look. “I can’t understand why you won’t give him a chance. But if you don’t find some man to marry soon, you’ll end up a baroness.”
“Or I won’t marry anyone at all.” Claire threw off the covers and swung her legs off the bed. “I have to get up and start packing.”
“You can’t leave now—nothing’s sorted out yet. And clearly Fitzwilliam doesn’t want you to go, since he’s left you his whole estate for you to enjoy without him.” Louisa paused, and her face melted into a satisfied grin, for she could never be stern for long. “And all this because you started saying no. Amazing, the power of two little letters.”
“Amazing, the trouble caused by two little letters.”
Louisa chuckled and made for the door. “This is too much serious talk before breakfast. I’ll get you a nice cup of chocolate, and then everything will make more sense.”
* * *
The vicarage was without a doubt the smallest dwelling in which Rowan had ever installed himself.
He’d awoken the morning after making love to Claire knowing that he was going to court her and that he needed to leave Foxtail to do so properly.
He’d botched the encounter in her room. He was so enchanted by her, and he’d been so certain enchantment was enough, that he’d rushed heedlessly forward. Until now, he’d been allowing what had happened with Maria to close him off to anything that might make him vulnerable, but he was suddenly ready for feelings he hadn’t wanted in so long.
What was between him and Claire was different—he was different. Making love with her had broken open something in him that he didn’t want to seal up again.
Rowan had needed to take Dixon into his confidence and had revealed his identity to him, to which Dixon had said triumphantly, “I suspected as much! I was a frequent guest when your father used to come to Foxtail, and you look exactly like him.” He’d paused, the light of suspicion in his eyes. “But I wonder at you and Miss Beckett not knowing each other, being related.”
Rowan didn’t feel it was his place to reveal Claire’s information. “Let’s just say she’s a very distant cousin.”
Dixon, the imp, seemed quite amused by the whole thing. “And so you’re going to court her properly,” he said with a glee-filled smirk. “I wonder how a duke will do at courting?”
* * *
Rowan appeared the next morning at Foxtail with a bouquet of wildflowers. He was standing by the hearth when Claire came into the sitting room, having been alerted to his presence by an exuberant Louisa. Claire realized now that it was likely one of his relatives who had once dispatched the stag mounted on the wall behind him.
“Good morning, Claire. You are looking quite wonderful today.”
He looked wonderful too. He was wearing an exquisite, ducal-looking coat of bright blue, though clearly he was still suffering from the lack of a valet, because there was a new, small nick on his jaw. She longed to feather her fingertips over it, as if her touch might soothe it, but she curled her fingers inward instead. She remained standing, resolved to be brisk and firm with him.
“This is your house, Rowan,” she said. “If one of us is to leave, it should be me. I can pack my things and be gone in a matter of hours.”
“I don’t want you to leave,” he said, the barest hint of his customary growl in his words. Why hadn’t she realized before that his growling was half composed of haughtiness?
“But—”
“Foxtail is at your disposal for as long as you wish to stay,” he said firmly.
And then he bowed and left, leaving Claire puzzled, frustrated, and ridiculously disappointed, never mind that she hadn’t wanted him to come at all.
When he appeared the following morning, Claire didn’t come down, despite Louisa’s urging.
But Claire did send a note to Mr. Dixon that afternoon, letting him know that though Mr. Rutledge’s interest had been flattering, she wouldn’t be able to accept any proposal from him.
Her time at Foxtail had been meant as an escape from her looming engagement to Lord Haight and a last chance for a holiday with Louisa, but it had turned into so much more. She’d come to see that she did have choices for her future. Even if they were not terribly appealing, they were her own choices, and she would make them. At the end of the week, when her family would expect her return from Aunt Mary’s, she would make her way home to let them know that instead of marrying Haight, she would be accepting a position as governess for a family Louisa knew.
Her family would doubtless be
furious with her, but Claire knew she couldn’t accept a future of misery for herself just to please her father. It would be wrong. But she would go home to say what she had to say in person. If there was going to be a permanent break with her family—and she very much feared there would be—she wanted to say goodbye. They might be difficult, but they were still her family.
When Rowan stopped by again on the third morning after leaving Foxtail, Louisa attempted to drag Claire to the sitting room. “He’s being so sweet! How can you ignore him?”
“It’s better not to encourage someone if the answer’s going to be no,” Claire said. After which statement, Louisa threw up her hands.
The fourth day, Rowan brought a puppy. This, Claire couldn’t ignore. She came into the sitting room and found Rowan crouching down by the little brown dog whose barks she’d heard from upstairs. He was rubbing its stomach.
“Rowan, this is ridiculous. You can’t purchase my cooperation by giving me a puppy.”
He looked up, a hint of wickedness playing about the strong lines of his mouth. “I’m not giving Prince to you—I’ve borrowed him from Dixon’s neighbor. But I did hope you would at least find him irresistible enough to emerge from your tower, or wherever it is you’ve been hiding.”
She made an exasperated sound, but it tapered off into a laugh. “You’re impossible,” she said even as Prince sprang up and ran over to bury his head amid her skirts. She knelt down to pet the puppy’s soft fur.
Rowan was quiet as Claire played with the dog.
“I’ve decided not to sell Foxtail,” he said after a few moments. “I’ve already sent word to my man of affairs to arrange for repairs and refurbishments for the lodge and for Trethillin as well.”
She straightened up and looked at him. Though his features might be too strong to be considered conventionally attractive, to her he was irresistibly handsome. “I’m glad to hear that. Foxtail is a unique and wonderful property that deserves to be maintained and enjoyed.”
But it was terribly tempting to imagine herself there with him, lazing about in a boat on the lake, or reading in the little hut as a soft breeze wafted through its open doors. His eyes told her that he wanted to share this place with her, and she knew herself to be weakening toward him.
Because she cared for him.
No, it was more than just caring. She was very much afraid that she loved him.
What if he loves me too? an inner voice prodded.
She couldn’t listen to it. She’d learned so much about herself in her time at Foxtail, and she couldn’t afford to go back to the way she’d once been. Change wasn’t easy, and it could be hard to maintain resolution in the face of pressure. Going home to tell her family about her decision to be a governess would be a true test of the direction she’d set for herself.
She was about to make some excuse and leave, but before she could, he said, “I just thought you’d like to know about Foxtail.” He whistled for the puppy and took his leave.
Standing there alone again in the sitting room, she was very much tempted to stamp her foot.
On the fifth day, he didn’t even ask for Claire, but instead invited Louisa to join him for a cup of tea, which she did. Claire, who could hear them laughing from her bedchamber, resolutely took up a book, but she had to force her eyes to stay on the words so she wouldn’t be tempted to go downstairs and join them. Thank God, she thought, that she was leaving tomorrow, even though the idea of parting from Rowan and leaving Foxtail made her chest squeeze.
Late that afternoon, she strolled about the property as a sort of leave-taking. The sunlight fell like gold coins on the path through the wood, and she found her feet guiding her to the edge of the clearing by Trethillin. Gardeners were already at work clearing the weeds from the cottage gardens, and a workman was nailing down some loose shingles on the hut. The sight left her both happy and depressed.
She set out on the way back to Foxtail, resolved to be glad for the decisions she’d made for herself. She had nearly passed through the woods by the lodge when she met Rowan on the path.
* * *
“Louisa told me you might be here,” Rowan said as he approached Claire. She was wearing a pale blue gown, and she looked almost unbearably lovely, familiar and mysterious at the same time.
She’d become utterly important to him.
He wanted to touch her, but he didn’t know how she would receive it if he did, and so he didn’t.
She smiled a little. “Trethillin looks much better already,” she said. “It will be beautiful. Though I admit I loved the battered, wild look it had when I first saw it.”
He could ask her right then if she would marry him. He wanted to ask her again. But how would she respond?
God, he was beginning to sound like Rutledge. What the devil was wrong with him? He’d never wanted for decisiveness before.
“I wouldn’t have put any thought into keeping Foxtail and refreshing the village if it hadn’t been for you.”
“Then I’m glad, on Foxtail’s behalf, that I came here and imposed on you.”
A silence stretched between them. “Claire,” he said, “I’ve come to care deeply for you.” These were pallid words; in truth, he loved her. He wanted to tell her, but it seemed like too much in that moment. Hadn’t she said she didn’t want to be overwhelmed by him?
He chose to play down his emotions and appeal to her sense. “We are good together. Stay with me. Be my wife. Will you marry me?”
She turned her face away. “Rowan”—her voice sounded thick—“I thank you for the honor you do me, but I cannot accept.”
He wanted to kick the mighty oak tree that stood next to him. “Damn it, Claire, why are you refusing to see what’s real? It’s true that we haven’t known each other for very long, but there’s something very good between us. It’s a spark that’s crackled from our first meeting, and it’s grown into a flame, one that could light a lifetime.”
She looked back at him, as though his words had touched on something significant. “Rowan, I’m not made to be a duchess. You would see this if only you would think.”
“Do you think I’ve always liked being a duke?” he said fiercely. “That I wanted to be responsible for so much from an early age? To be always of interest to people because of my position and not because of the person I am?”
Though he might need to woo her with sweet, gentle words, he wasn’t the sweetest of men, and he could only speak his truth to her. “I didn’t get to choose. We’re all born into a particular time and place and position, and there’s not a thing any of us can do about that fact. But we do have a say over how we respond to what life brings us.”
Her eyes darkened with some emotion, and he thought for a moment that he’d pierced the armor of polite reserve she’d drawn around herself, but when she spoke, her voice betrayed nothing. “Then you’ll understand why I must honor the choices I’ve made for myself. I need to go home, to tell my family that I won’t marry the baron.”
She began walking, and he fell into step with her in silence. Shortly they emerged from the woods near the lodge.
“And then you wish to go and be a governess,” he said, hating the words as he formed them.
“Yes.”
He was so frustrated that she wouldn’t honor what was between them. But he was not a beast. He sighed. “Then let me take you to your family.”
She turned to him in surprise. “No, I couldn’t. But thank you.”
“I don’t make the offer with a view to changing your mind. I’m offering because you’ll be traveling alone otherwise, won’t you?”
“It’s no matter.”
“Yes, it is. It’s not sensible for a young lady to travel unaccompanied, as you well know. If you’re going to be a governess, you’ll have to set a good example.” He paused. “I will ride outside the coach, of course. It’s a journey of but a few hours, I believe?”
“Five,” she said. “But I can’t inconvenience you in this way, and the mail coach will be f
ine.”
“Just let me do this, Claire. I don’t like the idea of you traveling unaccompanied when I have the means to help. That’s all my wealth and power are to me: the means to help those I care about be safe and happy.”
She looked troubled, but she agreed.
They’d reached the front of Foxtail, and he bowed and took his leave.
Chapter Eight
* * *
As Claire prepared to leave Foxtail the next morning, she had to drag herself through each step. The place had become a second home to her, even though the very idea was ridiculous. It belonged to the Duke of Starlingham.
“I wish you wouldn’t go,” Louisa said as they stood in the front drive by Rowan’s coach. He was there too, waiting for her on a tall chestnut horse. He’d merely nodded at her when she’d come out. It was better if he didn’t talk to her, she told herself, but it didn’t feel better.
“You know I have to leave. But we can’t let years go by before we meet again.”
Louisa pulled her into a fierce embrace. “You just save those governess pennies, and we’ll go to the Continent together and have the most wonderful, audacious time touring about. We’ll meet unsuitable people, drink more than ladies should, and see everything there is to see.”
“That sounds wonderful,” Claire said in a voice growing rapidly husky. They stepped apart, and she climbed into the carriage.
They set off with a crunching of wheels on gravel, and that was it, the end of the most magical time of her life.
As the journey was but five hours, there would be no need to stop. Claire settled into the seat and looked out the window and tried very hard not to dwell on what she was leaving behind.
And there was Rowan, framed in the small coach window as he rode alongside. He was looking ahead, perhaps lost in thought, but accompanying her. Not asking anything of her.
She watched him for a long time. He looked very good on horseback, and the sight of his broad shoulders in his dark coat brought memories of those moments when their bodies had expressed what words could not. But it wasn’t only these thoughts that preoccupied her. It was the knowledge that he was simply there.
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