Duke Du Jour

by Petie McCarty

  Clearing his mind, he strode past the maze of boxwood shrubs, then through the rose garden and onto the terrace. Grabbing the knob on the back hallway door, he pulled it wide and stared into the glowering face of his butler Burgess.

  “I’m back!” Jared grandly proclaimed.

  Burgess still glowered. “Back?”

  “That’s right. Surely, you noticed I have been missing. And yes, I know Shirley is the upstairs maid.” Jared chuckled at his own joke.

  Burgess did not and shifted to block the doorway when Jared moved to enter. The glower remained. Obviously, Burgess didn’t get his joke, though Jared had thoroughly enjoyed making it. How could he expect Burgess to grasp the humor? Shirley and Heddy were back in—

  Never mind.

  Had his butler really not even missed him? Not even noticed Jared was gone? Maybe time travel did not elapse any time where you came from, only where you ended up.

  “What do you want?” Burgess demanded, and eyed Jared up and down with a haughty air. “You’re soaking wet.”

  “Yes, well—I fell into the fountain.”

  Burgess sniffed. “You’re dressed in…period clothing.”

  “The Regency era to be exact,” he said rather proudly, though he didn’t know why. His odd attire was not helping matters.

  Burgess narrowed his eyes. “You must depart immediately, or I shall call the authorities.”

  “Leave? I’m the bloody Duke of Reston! Why the devil would I leave? Have you gone daft?”

  Burgess eyed him with a distinctly wary gaze. “No, but apparently you have. The Duke of Reston is in his study at this very moment.”

  The butler glanced back over his shoulder as though looking for reinforcements or a big footman like Gordy—except Jared didn’t have any footmen here, and he was running out of patience.

  “Stop shamming around and move aside. I’m the Duke of Reston, and well you know it.”

  His damnable butler tried to close the door, but Jared stuck his boot in the narrowing gap. “Let me in!” he roared.

  The door to his study opened a ways down the terrace, and a figure stepped out. Years had passed since Jared had seen the fellow—maybe a decade or more—but he felt fairly certain this man was Jackson Langley.

  “It’s all right, Burgess,” the man said.

  The butler’s demeanor immediately changed from combative to subservient. “I wasn’t sure what to do, Your Grace. He claims he’s the duke and said he was…back.”

  “I know. I heard. Quite probably the entire household heard.” He turned his attention to Jared. “Would you join me in my study?”

  “You know him, Your Grace?”

  Jared glared at his butler. What game was Burgess playing? Whatever it was, his cousin was in on it.

  Jared started toward him, anxious to put the usurper in his place. “So you know me?”

  “We’ve never had the pleasure of meeting, but I know of you.” He cast a furtive glance at the very interested Burgess.

  What the devil was he about? He and Jared had met before. Granted, it had been a few years, but the bounder should certainly remember. What the hell was he up to?

  “Cousins, of a sort,” the man said softly, so Burgess could not hear. “Now, if you would like to step into the study, we can—”

  “What I would like is some dry clothes,” Jared blustered with all the hauteur he could manage in his sodden condition.

  His cousin nodded and turned to Burgess. “Find some of my casual clothes that might fit Jared and bring them down to the study.”

  “Your clothes?” Jared exploded. “I want my own damned clothes.” His head pounded in earnest.

  “Yes, but right now we need to talk. Please step into my study.” His cousin motioned him over. “I’ll pour us both a scotch. I have a feeling you are going to need one.”

  “My damned study,” Jared muttered, as he boot-squished toward the open doorway. “My damned scotch, too.”

  As soon as Jared stepped inside, the usurper closed the door behind them.

  “You are my cousin,” Jared said, wanting to put a stop to this charade. The man was next in line after Jared, so no small surprise he would usurp the dukedom during Jared’s disappearance. The blighter had wasted no time.

  “Yes. I’m Jackson Dexter Langley the Third.”

  That stopped Jared in his tracks. Dexter? No, he had locked that vault. Refused to think of his friend.

  “You’re Jared, I assume.”

  “Of course, I’m Jared. You and I met a few years ago. Well, probably several years ago.”

  Jackson poured several fingers of scotch from a crystal decanter on the sideboard and handed him the glass. “You were not supposed to come back, Jared.”

  “Back?” he parroted.

  “You should have remained in the nineteenth century…for everyone’s sake.”

  “You know? Where I’ve been?”

  “I’ve been expecting you—not certain when exactly. Yours wasn’t the only family to keep journals.”

  “Oh, dear God,” Jared whispered.

  “Precisely.”

  And he downed half the scotch in one long gulp.

  Jackson opened the inner study door. “Come with me to the portrait gallery. There’s something I wish to show you.”

  He led Jared down the line of ducal portraits in the long gallery past One through Six, slowed to a stop at Seven, and stepped back. Jared stopped next to him and stilled.

  The portraits beyond Seven were different. There was a man and a woman in each.

  “What the devil?”

  “Portraits of the last six Reston dukes and their wives,” Jackson said, following his gaze.

  “Wives?”

  “All, but Seven. Strangely, there is no wife with him, or should I say you.”

  Jared inhaled sharply and stomped over for a better look.

  “Like glancing in a mirror, is it not?” Jackson asked softly.

  Gone was the mischievous duke who had smirked at Jared whenever he had entered the gallery. In its place was…him. He hustled past the next four portraits and stopped in front of his parents. He reached up and gently touched their faces.

  “They are smiling,” he whispered, incredulous. His parents looked very different with smiles.

  “Yes, all of them are.”

  Jared looked back down the row. Each couple was indeed smiling. His gaze reverted to his parents again. “You knew my father and my mother?”

  “Yes.” Jackson cleared his throat. “I inherited the dukedom upon your father’s passing. Your father died childless.”

  “He what?” Jared shouted. “That is impossible! I am his son.”

  “Like I told you, Jared. You were not supposed to come back.”

  He could only stare at his cousin. What the hell had happened? He left, and his place in the world had disappeared? His father, childless?

  “How did he die?” Jared whispered.

  “A car crash. Rainy night, poor visibility, slick roads. Margaret unfortunately was with your father, and both were killed instantly. The coroner believes your father had a heart attack at the wheel before they ran off the road.”

  “His heart, of course.” Jared lightly touched their faces again as though somehow the smiles would disappear. “I don’t ever remember them smiling like that.”

  “Yes, well, they were very much in love. As were all the Reston dukes following Seven, if my family’s journals are accurate, and I believe they are.”

  Jared stared blindly at his cousin for long moments and then back at the line of portraits beyond his own. Was he losing his mind? He had managed to time travel twice, but when he returned to the future, he didn’t exist. Had just the traveling eliminated his place in the world? But that could not be. He had lived a childhood; he remembered it. All his anger and outrage evaporated into overwhelming confusion.

  “I don’t understand,” he said flatly.

  “I am sure you don’t. I’m not sure I do either, but my
family has kept clear, concise journals since the first Viscount Dolan—who was the second son of the sixth Duke of Reston, although that latter part is a bit hard to substantiate.”

  “Bullen,” Jared whispered.

  “Exactly.”

  Jared chugged the rest of his scotch.

  “Oddly enough, the journals were chronologies of my family and yours. Evidently, you Langleys were not as fastidious as mine in their recordkeeping, for I have found no journals of your descendants.”

  “You mean ancestors.”

  “No, I mean descendants. Jared, you have to go back. Each subsequent journal after Bullen’s original mentioned the importance of maintaining the fountain in the back garden and provided a description of Jared, Duke Seven, should you somehow return earlier than expected.”

  “So, that is why the fountain looked better than when I left.”

  Jackson grinned. “And it is waiting for you to go back.”

  “But I will change history if I do.”

  “For the better.”

  “No. No, I cannot. What about my genealogy? Who fathered my line, if I did not?” Jared wanted to know.

  His cousin shrugged. “The original Seven maybe?”

  “It could account for the subsequent less-than-stellar genealogy I hated to claim as my own. But Seven died. I know. I was there…after.”

  “Maybe he married and sired a son before he left for Waterloo,” Jackson suggested. “I have tried to search for records, but everywhere I turn, records have either been destroyed in fires or somehow lost. Seven left no journal.”

  “I tried to find Seven’s history before I went back in time and came to a dead end as well.” He could not help the rueful smile he gave his cousin. “Certainly no pun intended.”

  “Your blood connection is there. Sometimes you just have to go with it.”

  “Start everyone over with a much-diluted strain of Six’s wastrel genes?” Jared mused.

  He felt like he was clinging to sanity by a thread, and this man wanted to throw him a lifeline. Hell, his cousin had just informed him that Jared’s own father had died childless. What if the bugger was telling the truth? Where did that leave Jared?

  “Look, I don’t have all the answers,” Jackson said. “I just want to help you get back where you belong.”

  “Where I belong?” Jared’s temper flared again. “I belong here, but evidently my spot—my place—has disappeared.”

  “Your place has not disappeared, merely shifted. I cannot tell you how everything managed to work out, but I do know why. Bullen wrote that after you returned to his time, things were better. History was better. And you have to go back to make it all happen.”

  His cousin gestured at the portraits. “Don’t worry about compromising history. The only people truly affected by your return will be your family, and they can only get happier. Look at their smiles. If there is a spare or two besides the heir this go-round, all the better. The spares will find their way. You will show them.”

  If I don’t go back, I really could change history. This history. Jared stared hard at the portraits of his descendants, and his gaze reverted to Seven—him. “Where is my wife?” he demanded.

  “I have no idea. Your portrait has always puzzled me, too.”

  “What did Bullen’s journal say? Who was she?”

  “I don’t know who she was. Oddly, the journal never mentioned her name. Bullen always referred to her as Seven’s wife or Jared’s wife.”

  Dear God in heaven! What if I have been gone too long already?

  He suffered a sudden spate of panic. He had told Ariana good-bye, fed her some shite about never returning, and left her.

  Among suitors.

  “I have to get back!” he exclaimed and thrust his glass at Jackson, then raced for the end of the gallery. He got to the door and turned back.

  “Whatever happened to Edwina Montrose?” he called to his cousin. “Did you know Eddy?”

  Jackson rolled his eyes. “That slut? She’s on her third husband, and that may be over soon. She continues to trade up for titles.”

  Jared let out a bark of laughter and pulled the door wide.

  “Wait!”

  He glanced back.

  “I am very glad to have met you, cousin Jared. You are everything the journals said you were.”

  What the hell did that mean?

  He shrugged and raced for the fountain. Hoping he wasn’t too late. Hoping he had not lost his place in the past as well.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Jared sat up.

  Wet again.

  Right place or wrong place? Did he even have a place?

  He scrubbed the water out of his eyes and slapped the hair back from his face. A wave of relief hit him hard enough to knock him back in the fountain, as he gazed out at Cook’s herb garden.

  And saw Harry.

  The wolfhound sat frozen a few feet away, just stared with his big sad eyes.

  “You were supposed to come with me,” Jared told him.

  Harry whimpered and then jumped into the fountain with him. Jared roared with laughter and did not bother to fight off Harry’s slobbery tongue. He was wet to the gills already.

  “Back again, are ye? Ye do love that fountain, Yer Grace. Or is it yer brandy?”

  Hands fisted at her hips and a wide grin on her face, Cook stood at the gate to her patch of whatever. Jared was so happy to see her, he leaped from the fountain, danced her in a circle to her wild shrieks, and kissed her on the cheek, while Harry shook and rained fountain water on them both. Then Jared raced all out for the stables, Harry hard on his heels.

  “Glad yer back, Yer Grace!” Cook screeched after him and cackled.

  Music to his ears. Bless God, he was home. Really home.

  Inside the deserted stable, he grabbed Hammer’s blanket and threw it over the unsuspecting horse who snorted his surprise.

  Dart and Wink appeared immediately.

  “Yer Grace! Ye’re back!” Wink exclaimed. “About time. We was worried.”

  About time?

  “How long have I been gone?”

  The two grooms stared dumbstruck, first at Harry, then back at Jared. Small wonder. He should know exactly how long he had been gone, but he couldn’t worry about seeming daft now.

  “How long?”

  “Nigh onto two months,” Wink said carefully.

  Dear God! Two whole months. What could Ari have done in two months?

  He straightened the saddle blanket, dodged a nip from the big stallion, and reached for his saddle.

  “ ’Ere now,” Wink complained. “Let me do that, Yer Grace.”

  Jared stepped back, willing the man to hurry. “Is Lady Ariana all right?” he asked Dart who had stepped into the stall to help.

  “All right?” the groom repeated.

  “Have you any word of her?”

  Dart stared blankly.

  “Um, her…activities?”

  “Oh! Lady Ariana’s got her a new suitor.”

  Jared felt cold all over.

  “Some nob what’s been sniffin’ around for a while—”

  He glared at Dart.

  “I mean, been interested fer a while.”

  “What nob?” Jared growled.

  “Um, Yer Grace,” Wink answered for the lad. “He can’t talk. Yer chokin’ him wif his necktie.”

  Oh Lord.

  Jared released the folds of shirt and necktie he had not realized he’d grabbed and did his best to smooth them. “I’m sorry.”

  “S’all right, Yer Grace. I’m just glad ye’re back,” Dart wheezed.

  “What nob?” Jared asked again, careful to keep his hands to himself.

  “Dorsey says Baron Simpson—”

  “Wimpson, damn him! I should have known.” Jared pounded a fist in his palm.

  “No, sir, it is S-impson. He’s going to offer for Lady Ari. Dorsey heard it hisself from Simpson’s coachman.”

  “Going to?” he parroted. “She is no
t yet married?”

  “Dorsey says Lord Simpson got hisself a special license, so’s he be ready.”

  “Shows what ye know, Dart,” Wink snorted, as he tightened the saddle girth. “Ye got it all wrong.”

  “She doesn’t have a suitor?” Jared asked Wink hopefully.

  Dart put the bridle on Hammer and slid the bit between his teeth.

  “Oh, she’s got one all right, Yer Grace,” Wink replied and smirked at Dart. “A Scottish earl she met at that ball she went to in London a couple months back.” He huffed a disgusted exhale. “A demmed Scot—can ye believe it?”

  “Who?” Jared demanded.

  “My cousin told me.” He waited, got no reaction, then added, “Jerry Jarvis?”

  “Yes, yes, I know—the sadler.”

  “Oh! Yer memory’s back. Well, Jerry had some mugs of ale with the Scot’s driver at the Hare and Hound tavern.”

  “Yes! Now who?” Jared ordered impatiently.

  Wink said loudly and slowly, “The Scot’s coachman—”

  “No! I mean who is the Scot?” he half shouted.

  “Um, the Earl of Duncrotch. No, thas not right. ’Tis the Earl of Dunweed.” Wink pulled off his cap and scratched his head. “No, thas not right either.”

  “Dammit! Think, man, think!”

  “He can’t think if ye’re yellin’ at him, Yer Grace,” Dart offered, as he led the big stallion out of the stall past Jared. Harry followed but steered clear of the horse’s hooves.

  Jared followed him out and counted to ten.

  The figure of a man stood in the stable doorway, silhouetted by the afternoon sun. “It is Dunkirk,” his deep voice said. “Seems the Earl of Dunkirk has beat out Simpson’s suit.”

  Bullen.

  Jared met him halfway and wrapped him up in a hug.

  “It is glad I am to see you,” Bullen said, his voice strangely hoarse. “I feared you were gone forever.”

  “Me, too,” Jared said and finally let him go, wondered briefly why his eyes burned.

  “I see you found Harry.” Bullen tilted his chin at the wolfhound sitting close, but not too close to Hammer, obviously waiting for his run.

  “He was right there at the fountain when I—” Jared caught himself and cast a furtive glance back at the two grooms, enthralled by their liege lord’s uncharacteristic emotional display.

  “Right,” Bullen said understanding. “Harry has stayed at the fountain day and night since you left.” He walked forward took Hammer’s reins from Dart and sent the disappointed grooms out of the stable.