“It wasn’t the least bit exciting, my dear girl,” he assured Joanna as he dropped his stud into his pocket and pulled apart his collar. “I almost died.”
“And now you have to use a cane,” she said and frowned, looking thoughtful. “I suppose you could do something with that,” she said after a moment. “Edie’s terribly tenderhearted.”
He eyed her with doubt. “Are we talking about the same woman?”
“She’ll melt like butter if you go about things the right way.”
As agreeable as that sounded, Stuart’s mind couldn’t quite form the picture. Granted, he knew next to nothing about his wife, but the idea of Edie’s melting like butter over anything, especially him, didn’t seem the least bit likely.
“Oh, she tries to be hard and tough,” Joanna went on as he continued to eye her askance. “But it’s a sham. She’s always finding homes for stray kittens and puppies, and she gets very upset when a bird flies into a window. She feels sorry for anything wounded.”
“I suppose I do fall into that classification,” he murmured. “So I’m to play on her sympathy?”
“Well, it wouldn’t hurt to have her feeling sorry for you, would it? I can show you other ways to get on her good side, too. You see . . .” She paused to give him a confident smile. “I can wind Edie ’round my little finger when I want to.”
That was probably true, for though there might be some similarities in temperament between the Jewell sisters, there was one significant difference. It was clear that Joanna was hopelessly spoiled.
“That’s very kind of you,” he said, smiling back at her. “And you’ll do this out of the goodness of your heart, I assume?”
She looked at him with injured innocence. “I want my sister to be happy.”
“I’m sure you do,” he agreed gravely. “Come, child, drop the other shoe.”
She grinned, unrepentant. “I wouldn’t mind staying out of finishing school.”
“Ah. But what makes you think I can persuade your sister to change her mind about that?”
Her answer was simple, direct, and a damned sight too clever for a schoolgirl. “Tell her you want me to go so the two of you can be alone together. That’s sure to make her keep me here.”
Stuart began to feel for Edie. “I’m glad you’re on my side,” he murmured.
“So?” she prompted when he said nothing more. “Do we have a deal?”
He laughed, remembering those same words on Edie’s lips five years ago. “You do remind me of your sister.”
She leaned forward and stuck out her hand. “Is that a yes?”
He could see no disadvantage to the arrangement. The girl certainly seemed to know her sister well, far better than he. “Why not?” he said, and also leaned forward. “As you said, I shall need all the help I can muster.”
As they clasped hands to seal their arrangement, he reflected that making bargains with impertinent American females seemed to be his lot in life.
So far, he couldn’t complain about his luck in that regard, but now, he and Edie would have to negotiate a new, entirely different sort of marriage than the one they’d had in the past, and when Stuart thought of her appalled face at the train station, he knew that bargain was not going to be an easy one for her to make.
STUART MIGHT NOT know much about the woman he had married, but he knew one thing. Patience was not one of her virtues. He and Joanna had barely stepped down from the hired carriage parked in the drive before the heavy oak front doors were thrown back and Edie came out to greet them, the butler and the housekeeper in her wake.
Not that greeting them could really describe her purpose, if her expression was anything to go by. She was frowning like thunder. “What on earth are you doing here?” she demanded as she strode across the gravel toward the carriage.
Stuart opened his mouth, ready to restate the obvious, but he shut it again when he realized she wasn’t talking to him. Her next words confirmed that realization.
“Why aren’t you on your way to Kent, young lady?” she demanded as she passed him and halted in front of Joanna.
The girl gave a shrug. “I missed the train.”
“Missed it?” Edie echoed. “How in heaven’s name could you miss it? You were on it. And so was Mrs. Simmons. Where is she, by the way?”
“Still on board, bound for Kent,” Joanna informed her with obvious relish. “Well, I couldn’t wait for her,” she added as Edie made a sound of dismay. “As it was, I barely had time to jump off the train myself since it was already moving.”
“Oh, my Lord, you jumped off a moving train? Joanna Arlene Jewell, what were you thinking? You could have been badly hurt.” She glanced down, her anger fading into concern. “Are you all right?”
“Edie, don’t fuss. I’m all right. Didn’t fall or twist an ankle or anything when I jumped.”
“But you could have!” Her concern faded as quickly as it came. “And you did this . . . why?” she demanded.
“Because Margrave’s come home, of course!” The girl waved a hand in Stuart’s direction. “I knew who he was the second I heard you call his name, and I could see that things around here were about to get very interesting. I wasn’t going to miss any of that!”
“You won’t be missing anything,” Edie assured her, “because Margrave isn’t staying long. And,” she added before either he or the girl could dispute that statement, “neither are you, little sister. There is another train tomorrow, and you’ll be on it.”
“But he’s my brother-in-law, and I want to get to know him. I only met him once, you know, and I barely even remember it. And by the way,” she added before Edie could speak, her tone indignant, “why didn’t you tell me he was injured in Africa?”
“Injured?” Edie turned to him in surprise, and Stuart hastened into speech, for despite Joanna’s assurance that it would help his cause, he had no intention of playing on Edie’s sympathy. He didn’t want pity, for God’s sake.
“It’s nothing,” he said, hoping to dismiss any further discussion on the topic. “Nothing at all,” he added, giving Joanna a quelling look.
He ought to have known that wouldn’t work. “It’s not nothing,” the girl cried and turned to Edie. “He got eaten by a lioness.”
“Good heavens!” Edie burst out. “Stuart!”
“I wasn’t eaten, only gnawed a bit. Then she decided she didn’t like the taste of me.”
Edie pressed a hand to her mouth and slowly lowered her gaze to his leg. “So that’s why you’ve taken to carrying a walking stick,” she murmured behind her hand. “I didn’t realize . . .”
She paused, lowered her hand, and returned her gaze to his face. “Oh, Stuart,” she said, and in her voice and her eyes was the pity he loathed and dreaded. “I’m sorry. How terrible.”
“Not so terrible,” he countered, keeping his voice light, ignoring the none-too-gentle elbow Joanna jammed into his side. “My tennis game’s gone to hell, of course, and stairs take a bit more time than they used to, but other than that . . .” He paused and gave what he hoped was a careless shrug. “I’m quite all right.”
“He’s not all right,” Joanna contradicted him. “He’s lame. So—”
“I am not lame!” Desperate for a distraction, he glanced around, and when he saw the tall, portly fellow in black who stood by the front steps, he stepped around his wife and headed in that direction, displaying as great a show of vigor in his walk as he could manage. “Wellesley,” he greeted in a hearty voice, “how delightful to see you.”
“Your Grace.” The butler bowed, and when he straightened, his impassive expression made Stuart grateful for the British custom of well-trained, impassive servants. “It is a great pleasure to have you back at Highclyffe.”
“Thank you.” He glanced around the butler, noting that the house’s limestone façade, no longer cracked and cr
umbling, must have been replaced. “Everything running smoothly here, I trust?”
“Yes, indeed. Very smoothly.” Wellesley glanced at his undone collar with a hint of disapproval and glanced past him. “Is Mr. Jones following you in another carriage? If so—”
“Jones isn’t coming,” he cut in, “but yes, a dog cart shall be arriving soon with the rest of my things.” He turned to greet the spare, elderly housekeeper who stood beside the butler. “Mrs. Gates. Good to see you are still here.”
“Oh, I’ll always be here, Your Grace,” she said, her lined face breaking into a wide smile. “As long as the good Lord allows.”
“I’m glad to hear it. Have you enough housemaids under you to make my rooms ready even though I was terribly rude and didn’t write ahead about my return?”
“Of course, Your Grace. I shall have your rooms prepared at once. And if Mr. Jones is not with you . . .” She paused to gesture to the lanky young man in livery to her left. “I’m sure Edward here would be up to the task. As first footman, he has served as valet upon occasion.”
“His Grace won’t need a footman for that,” Wellesley put in. “I shall do for him myself until Mr. Jones arrives.”
“Jones won’t be coming.” Stuart sighed, rubbing a hand over his face, reminding himself they had the right to know. “Mr. Jones is dead.”
“What?”
Edie’s shocked gasp didn’t cause him to turn around. “It won’t be necessary for you to valet, Wellesley. Thank you all for your solicitousness, but I shall do for myself.”
“Yourself?”
The surprised word from both the servants was also echoed from behind him, and he turned as Edie came up beside him. “But surely you’ll need help,” she said, a frown of what might have been concern knitting her brows. “Without a valet, how will you manage?”
“I’ve grown accustomed to doing for myself, and I find I prefer it that way, at least for now. Wellesley, will you—” He broke off, his voice failing. He gave a cough and tried again. “Will you tell the other servants about Jones? I know some of them were quite fond of him.”
“Of course, Your Grace.”
“Thank you,” he said with relief and gratitude. “Mrs. Gates, if you will have my rooms prepared and a bath drawn, I would appreciate it. I’ll wait in the library.”
Glad that particular room was on the ground floor, he gave a nod to the remaining servants and limped up the steps and into the house, hoping that everyone would now allow the subject of his injuries and his valet to drop.
Edie’s demeanor indicated that she might actually have the heart he’d wondered if she possessed, but though her compassion for his condition might commend her character, he had no intention of using that to persuade her to make their marriage real. The day he needed pity to win a woman was the day he’d walk himself and his mangled leg straight off a cliff.
Chapter 5
THE LIBRARY WAS so different from the room he remembered that Stuart stopped in the doorway, uncertain for a moment if he was in the right place.
Shelves of books still lined three walls of the long, rectangular room, but the fourth wall, the one that ran alongside the south terrace, had been stripped of bookshelves altogether. In their place were tall French doors that opened onto the terrace, framed by silk draperies of soft green. The room’s walnut paneling had been removed and the walls painted a pale, buttery yellow. The once-gilded woodwork was now white, and the worn velvet upholstery of the furnishings had been replaced with a delicately patterned green-and-white chintz. The room was now airy and full of light, a vast improvement over the oppressiveness of the previous décor.
The library wasn’t the only thing about the house Edie had transformed. He’d already noticed that the north façade had been replaced, but a step outside verified that the south one had received the same treatment. The knot gardens were no longer a gnarled mass of overgrown boxwood, wild rose canes, and weed-infested turf. The Italianate potagers put in by the third duke during the reign of Queen Anne were now back to their original, intricate splendor, their roses blooming with controlled abandon and their low boxwood edges precisely trimmed. The once-rusty wrought-iron table and chairs on the terrace had been painted white, potted geraniums lined the balustrade, and beneath his feet, the cracked, crumbling flagstones of the past were gone. In the distance, the home farm looked tidy and the fields well tended. He hadn’t had any doubt that Edie would capably manage Highclyffe and his other estates, not only because he trusted his instincts but also because annual reports from stewards and land agents over the years had confirmed it.
Despite that, he found it reassuring to see for himself that everything was in order. And yet, looking out over the immaculately groomed lands spread out before him, he wondered suddenly what there would be for him to do here. Edie had managed everything so well, what could he contribute?
It’s time to go home.
The insistent need that had pounded through his head on that fateful night six months ago echoed back to him again, reminding him that he could have chosen to die. But instead, he’d chosen to live, to come home and accept at last the role he’d been born to. But then, he’d always known he would return one day. He just hadn’t expected it to be this way. He’d rather fancied coming home to all the celebratory fanfare due to a famous traveler and explorer. He certainly hadn’t envisioned himself limping in like a wounded animal.
Still, he was here, and he had responsibilities to assume. Patching things up with Edie was his first, his primary goal, for nothing else would matter without that. Not that there had ever really been anything to patch up. They hadn’t been the happily married couple who had drifted apart, separated, and now had to reconcile. No, they’d been two strangers brought together by mutual need. They had certainly never been in love.
At least, he amended, she hadn’t been. He thought of the first time he’d ever seen her in that ballroom and how it had felt. Like the hand of Fate grabbing hold of him, forcing him to stand still and look hard because in front of him was something worth noticing. He might have fallen, and fallen hard, if she hadn’t so ruthlessly cut the ground from beneath his feet before he’d even known her name. Ah, well.
This was a new beginning, and a second chance. Not that the task ahead of him would be an easy one. He’d known then, and he knew now, that Edie had a wall around her it would not be easy to breach.
“You’ve changed.”
The sound of her voice had him turning around to find her in the doorway to the corridor, watching him through the open French doors.
“A man’s bound to change in five years, I suppose.” He started back toward the library, but after only a few steps, he wished he’d remained where he was. With her watching, he felt acutely self-conscious as he came across the terrace and into the library, especially when he paused in the center of the room and noted that she had not come forward to meet him halfway. He hoped that was not a metaphor for their future.
“Stuart?” She hesitated a moment, then she said simply, “I’m sorry about Jones. Was that lions, too?”
“Yes. How do you think I’ve changed?” he asked, rushing on, feeling a desperate need to veer off the subject of his valet. “Aside from the obvious, of course,” he added with a forced laugh, shifting his weight to his good leg and holding up his walking stick.
She considered for a moment. “You’re much graver than I remember. Not quite so glib and debonair as you used to be.”
“Yes, my carefree youth has passed on, I daresay.”
Her lips curved upward a bit. “Still undoing your ties at every opportunity, though, I see.”
“It’s not the tie, Edie,” he said with a grin, hoping here was the beginning of a rapprochement. “It’s the collar. One of the things Africa taught me was just how uncomfortable the damn things are. You’ve changed, too, by the way,” he added.
&nbs
p; “Have I?” She seemed surprised by that. “In what way?”
He studied her for a long moment, considering. It was the same face he remembered, with its angled auburn brows, spring green eyes, and dusting of freckles. It had the same stubborn, square jaw, pointed chin, and pale pink mouth, and he presumed her straight white teeth still had that slight overbite that showed when she smiled, though as he recalled, she’d never been one to smile much. Hers had never been a pretty face, he supposed, not by society’s standards, but it was so vibrantly alive that its lack of symmetrical beauty didn’t seem to matter. So what was it about her that was different? He tried to pin it down.
“You’re not so thin now as you were then. And not so fierce. Not so driven. You seem . . . I don’t know quite how to put it, Edie. You’re softer, somehow.”
She shifted her weight and looked away as if uncomfortable with his description. “Yes, well . . .” She gave a cough. “That’s good.”
Silence fell between them, a silence that banished any hope of immediate rapport and underscored the brutal fact that despite being married, they were two strangers alone in a room, grasping for something to say. Not that there was nothing for them to talk about—quite the contrary. Their future as husband and wife stretched before them, and if he’d survived for anything at all, it was for another chance with her, a chance to make with her a marriage that was real. He could hardly jump right into that topic, however, and he glanced around, striving for something neutral to say.
“I like what you’ve done with this room,” he remarked at last. “The French doors to the terrace are a splendid idea.”
“I did the same thing in the music room, the billiard room, and the ballroom. Since these rooms all flank the terrace, it was a simple improvement to make.”
“Well, the ballroom would certainly benefit from the additional fresh air. That room was always beastly hot when it was full of people, even with all the windows open. And here in the library, the French doors bring in a lot more light. One can see well enough to read in here now. Before, I remember, one always had to light a lamp, even in the afternoon. Such a silly thing, I always thought, not to have adequate light in a library. But now, a lamp would only be necessary after dark.”
How to Lose a Duke in Ten Days Page 6