by Regina Scott
“Of that I have no doubt.”
“Too pretty,” she told the duchess with a look to Abelona. “She’ll come to a wretched end, you mark my words. Probably marry a cavalry officer and run off to some heathen country to die of dysentery.”
Jane leaped to her feet. “Oh, goodness, look at the time. We must go. So much to do. Terribly sorry, Your Grace. Come along, girls. We must dose you before any of this infects you.” She clapped her hands as she rushed forward, and Calantha and Abelona scrambled off the sofa to run to her. Even Larissa moved faster than her usual languid grace. The duchess made some protest, but Patience Ramsey gave Jane the thumbs up as she hustled the girls from the room.
“Lady Carrolton may be a good friend of your grandmother’s,” she said as she led them back to the schoolroom, “but she is mistaken on several counts. You are most certainly not too thin, Larissa. I predict you’ll have a nice willowy figure by the time you come out.”
Larissa smiled, then frowned, then did her best to look haughty. Couldn’t agree with the enemy, after all. “Thank you, Mrs. Kimball.”
“And you are not too quiet,” she told Calantha as they entered the schoolroom. “You were only being polite, and I know your grandmother was proud of you.”
Calantha smiled as she skipped over to the table.
“Me, me,” Abelona said, tugging on Jane’s skirts.
Jane smoothed a curl from her brow. “You can marry whoever you please.”
Abelona beamed at her.
“She can’t, you know,” Larissa said, joining them all at the table. “We’re the daughters of a duke. We must make advantageous marriages.”
“What’s advantageous?” Calantha asked.
“Having advantages,” Jane explained, seating herself at the table. “It means your marriage will help your family in some way—bringing in wealth, property.”
Calantha wrinkled her nose. “Father has lots of property. Mr. Mayes the solicitor said it was nearly too much for one man to handle.”
Small wonder he was so busy.
“I don’t want an advantages marriage,” Abelona said. “I just want my unicorn.”
“You’ll want that kind of marriage when you’re older,” Larissa predicted. “Everyone wants an advantageous marriage, even Father. He needs a wife who will give him a son.”
Though she knew the truth of it, Jane still felt as if she’d run into a wall.
Calantha frowned. “Why does he want a son when he has us?”
“Because we don’t count,” Larissa said. “We’re just ladies.”
Something boiled up inside Jane. “Ladies are important too. How’s a duke to get a son without one, eh? Who makes sure this household has food and drink and bedrooms for everyone?”
“Parsons,” Abelona said.
“Grandmother,” Larissa corrected her.
“Exactly right. Now, no more talk of marriages. After the example you were just given, I think Larissa is right. You need lessons on deportment.”
Larissa brightened.
“Right after we finish arithmetic.”
~~~
The look on his mother’s face warned Alaric before he took a bite of the beef at dinner that night. It was just as well. His thoughts had returned with surprising frequency to his recent discussions with Jane and the girls. She’d said she was happy here, but he kept wondering about the gleam in her eyes last night. It was almost as if she’d been flirting with him.
Now he examined the slice of roast he’d taken from the silver platter the footman had offered. Rather blacker than usual. He knocked the tines of his fork against the edge and heard the dry crackle of charcoal.
“Not Cook’s usual style,” his mother said before taking a long drink.
Neither were the potatoes. He knew they must be near the end of last year’s crop, but the mound in front of him was grey and lumpy.
He glanced at Parsons, back straight against the wall. “Is there trouble below stairs?”
His butler kept his gaze on the flowered pattern of the opposite wall. “The kitchen is at sixes and sevens, Your Grace. Someone opened all the doors on the greenhouse, and the produce has suffered.”
At least Parsons could not blame Jane for that.
“However,” he continued as if determined to cut up Alaric’s peace, “the greatest problem appears to be Mrs. Kimball.”
Alaric sighed and set down his fork. “What has Jane Kimball to do with the kitchen?”
Parsons moved closer, as if encouraged by his reaction. “Just so, Your Grace. She went so far as to suggest that Cook send fewer sweets and more fruits and vegetables to the schoolroom. She has no sense of the tradition on which this great house was built.”
Another adherent to the sacred traditions of the island, it seemed, for all Parsons had been with them less than a dozen years. Planting, tending, harvesting—the rhythms had remained unchanged for centuries. Yet Jane’s suggestion made him wonder.
“How many sweets was Cook sending?” he asked.
His mother cleared her throat. “I believe I can answer that. After Evangeline died, I instructed Cook to indulge the girls. I believe she was baking three cakes a day.”
Alaric stared at her. “Three entire cakes, every day?”
For the first time that he could remember, his mother refused to meet his gaze. “One for each girl, you see. I’d quite forgotten about the matter, but I agree with Mrs. Kimball that it seems excessive now.”
It had been excessive then. He’d had a few friends who had drowned their sorrows in sweets when they were lads. One now struggled with gout, the other with alcohol. He would not want either fate for his daughters.
“Tell Cook we appreciate her efforts to cheer the girls when they needed it most,” he told Parsons. “And that we have the utmost confidence in her ability to rise to the occasion now. Let me know if we need to add to her budget or hire someone to help with preparations.”
Parsons inclined his head. “Yes, Your Grace. Thank you.”
As his butler stepped back against the wall, Alaric turned to his mother. “Are there any other decrees I should know about before Mrs. Kimball brazenly does what’s best for the girls?”
Her Grace’s smile was rueful. “I may have ordered matching outfits and instructed the maids to dress them identically each day.”
So that was the reason they all wore white so often. “Why?”
She scooted forward on the scroll-backed chair. “I never had a daughter. They are so much more fun to dress than a little boy. And they’re so adorable dressed identically, like dolls.”
“Mother,” he said, “my daughters are not your toys.”
She flushed red. “Certainly not. I merely mentioned the fact because dear Jane might want to improve their wardrobe, especially Larissa’s.”
He shook his head as he speared a limp piece of asparagus. “Dear Jane, eh?”
“Mrs. Kimball seems so formal,” she said, returning to her own dinner. “And she is a dear. I’m sure you’ve noticed.”
More than he felt comfortable admitting. Jane was far too much on his mind. He could blame these crises that followed in her wake, but he had the feeling she would have been on his mind regardless.
“And how did today go?” he asked as soon as Parsons let her into the library that night.
That gleam he so admired was in her eyes as she approached the desk. “Quite well,” she reported. “Larissa took to multiplication, despite her protests to the contrary. I think we can move on to division shortly.”
“Excellent.” He motioned her into the chair across from him. “And no more ghosts?”
“None lately, but I won’t know about tonight until later. Ghosts don’t come out until midnight.”
“Learned that in Portugal, did you?”
She shook her head. “Egypt. Those old pharaohs have been moaning for centuries. Kept half the camp awake most nights.”
He laughed. It felt surprisingly good, and surprisingly strange. When
was the last time he’d had a good laugh?
“You should do that more often,” she said, as if she knew his thoughts. “Happiness sits well on you.”
Parsons coughed, and she rolled her eyes. “That is, happiness sits well on you, Your Grace.”
Now Parsons rolled his eyes, as if begging heaven for patience.
“And how did the singing lessons go?” he asked.
“Tolerable.”
He shook his head. “And here I spent most of the last two days outside in the cold, on your orders.”
“No, you didn’t,” she said primly. “I’ll wager you spent most of the time behind that desk. You’re more housebound than your daughters.”
Parsons coughed again and added a stomp of his foot for good measure.
“Are you ill, Parsons?” Alaric asked. “Would you care to excuse yourself for a glass of water?”
“No, Your Grace,” his butler managed to choke out.
Jane rose. “It’s all right. I should be going. Just know that all is well in the schoolroom, Your Grace. Good night.” She curtsied and turned to go.
He wanted to call her back, give her some reason to stay. Life seemed so much better when she was near. But detaining her would be selfish. She had been hired to attend his daughters.
Odd. He never remembered being jealous of his daughters, until now.
Chapter Eleven
The first real change in their routine came on Sunday. Wey in a superfine wool coat and top hat, his mother in her fur-trimmed pelisse, and the girls in their matching redingotes attended services in the village church on the other side of the bridge. As governess, Jane rode with the family in the landau, while the other servants in their olive livery walked behind. They made quite a cavalcade crossing the bridge that bright morning.
“There’s Father’s lock,” Calantha proclaimed, pointing down the side stream to the west. Jane spotted a square block of a building close to the bank on either side.
“What are you locking up, Father?” Abelona asked, cuddled against Jane’s side in the chilly morning air. “Is it scary?”
“No, Abelona,” he said with a smile “The lock is a set of gates that closes off the river, to keep our lands from flooding.”
“Perhaps we should pray for their efficacy,” the duchess murmured, turning away from the sight with a shudder.
“Does it flood here often?” Jane asked Larissa as they walked from the carriage to the duke’s private entrance at the side of the church. Like the castle, the building was solidly constructed of golden stone with a square tower at one end topped with a cross.
“Every spring,” Larissa said. “Sometimes water fills people’s houses, but we’ll be safe at the castle.” She put on her polished smile, so like her father’s, as they entered the chapel.
Walnut box pews stood in orderly rows, basking in the golden glow from stained glass windows on either side. The center aisle led to a semicircle nave with more touches of gold, from the plates awaiting communion to the lettering on the Bible. The first three boxes on the left had gilded finials as well, and the unicorn crest on the half-doors. Wey, his mother, the girls, and Jane filled the first box. She thought perhaps the other servants would flow in behind, but they found seats farther back. Apparently previous dukes had had larger families.
The vicar was a round-faced balding man who reminded her of her father. He had a better speaking voice, though. It boomed out every prayer and order of the service. Still, his congregation must have grown used to it, for she spotted more than one gazing about distractedly. She managed to catch most of the service while keeping Calantha from rustling the hymnal too often and Abelona from wiggling off the bench. At least Larissa mimicked her father, sitting upright, a slight frown or nod showing that they were attending to each word and giving it appropriate thought. She couldn’t help admiring that.
As they left the chapel at the close of services, after Wey had thanked the vicar, the duke turned to her with a smile. “And what do you intend to do with your afternoon off, Jane?”
Her afternoon off. She could imagine riding through the crisp air, coming back to toast and hot chocolate. Sitting with a book before a roaring fire, toes wiggling in the warmth. A shame there was a tall, powerful man in each picture, one she could never have.
She made herself smile. “I think I’ll explore the village. You’re all right taking the girls back to the castle without me?”
She thought he swallowed as he glanced at his daughters, who were traipsing back to the landau. “We’ll manage.”
“Good man.” She patted his arm and turned for the village.
It took her only a quarter hour to walk the hard-packed streets. Weyton held a cluster of whitewashed cottages, all neat and tidy, plus shops for the blacksmith, cooper, dry goods merchant, and baker. The inn along the river was particularly popular, if the number of people heading in that direction was any indication. Ladies, however, did not go unaccompanied to such a place, for all she’d visited a few with Jimmy and his friends. She was turning back toward the bridge when she spotted Simmons walking toward her. She was ready to scold him for abandoning the girls when she remembered it was his half day off too.
She nodded as she started to pass him, but he caught her arm.
“Ready to bolt yet?” he asked.
Jane pulled out of his grip. His eyes, a dark hazel, were narrowed, and his lips were once more curling into a sneer. Perhaps she should be afraid. He was a good eighteen inches taller than she was and likely outweighed her by two stone of pure muscle. But surely he knew if he accosted her she would take her concerns to the duke, and Simmons would be reprimanded, or worse.
“Not me,” she assured him, keeping her smile pleasant. “Takes more than a broach in my boot to scare me off.”
“Maybe someone wasn’t trying to scare you,” he said, holding his ground. “Maybe someone was trying to do you a favor. Ask around—everyone says the House of Wey is cursed. You’d be better off somewhere else.”
Did he really believe that, either that he had been helping her by implicating her for theft or that Wey’s family was destined for difficulty? “Then why do you stay?” she challenged him.
His look turned hard. “My father was born on the island. I promised myself I’d return one day. I have business here, some scores to settle. You don’t.”
“Three little girls who need me?” Jane reminded him. “I call that reason enough. You do right by them and me, and you’ll have no trouble from me, Simmons.”
He shrugged. “Sorry. If you won’t leave, I can’t make the same promise. Enjoy your afternoon off, Mrs. Kimball.”
He strode off, but she felt as if he took some of the sunshine with him.
~~~
Alaric had always enjoyed Sundays, a time for rest, contemplation. While he thought Mr. Dennys’ sermon particularly inspiring, focusing on the importance of duty, by evening he found himself ill at ease. It didn’t take much to realize why. Jane wasn’t going to come report. What a pitiful fellow he was to keep listening for her footfall.
“Father?”
He looked up from the desk, where he’d been attempting to craft a response about the society budget, to find all three of his daughters crowding in the doorway, stockinged feet protruding from under their nightgowns. Dread pushed him to his feet. “Girls? What’s wrong?”
Larissa hesitated, but Calantha shoved past her, Abelona on her heels.
“We’re just doing what Mrs. Kimball said,” his middle daughter assured him. She glanced back at her older sister. Larissa sighed and followed her into the room.
“I told them this wasn’t necessary,” she complained as they approached the desk.
Abelona scampered ahead, coming around the desk to tug on the leg of his trouser as if to make sure she had his attention. “Mrs. Kimball said to wish you good night.” She crooked her finger, and Alaric bent lower. “Good night, Father. Don’t let the bedbugs bite.”
He smiled at her. “Good night,
Abelona.”
He straightened to find Calantha fidgeting. “Mrs. Kimball said you might want to see us.” Her face puckered, and her voice turned wistful. “Do you want to see us, Father?”
“Of course,” he told them all. “It was very thoughtful of you to come bid me good night. Allow me to return the favor and escort you back to your rooms.”
He was still smiling when he retired to his own suite of rooms an hour later. Abelona had wheedled a story from him, her sisters draped against either of his arms as he read from the big book she’d chosen. Knights on horseback, ladies sallying forth to find their true loves—he began to see why she believed in unicorns. He could imagine Jane telling the tale with more drama, more excitement. It was just like her to think of the girls, and him, even on her day off.
Now, if he could just stop thinking about her.
~~~
Perhaps it was his thoughts of Jane. Perhaps it was the sun shining again the next morning. Whatever the reason, Alaric woke, breakfasted, and took his horse Decatur out for a ride early. A few hardier souls had ventured out in the cold to look over fields and check on animals. Most of them waved to him as he passed. Mr. Harden turned his back.
Still, he was in a much better mood when he returned to the house, and even more so when Parsons announced later that Alaric’s friend and solicitor, Julian Mayes, had arrived.
Julian had been one of the few local boys he’d known growing up on the island. The Mayes had had an estate to the west on the river, and His Grace had allowed the boys to ride together on occasion. If they stopped to fish or climb trees or swim, no one but their grooms was the wiser. These days, they stole time during Alaric’s infrequent visits to London, and Julian found reasons to drive out to the island.
Now he leaned back in the leather-bound chair across from Alaric’s desk, looking little different than when they’d ridden the shore together. His hair was still that shock of red-gold that defied taming. His brown eyes still sparkled with intellect and the promise of good fun. Or perhaps it was the grin he aimed Alaric’s way. It was impossible not to brighten in Julian’s presence.