by Jaimey Grant
Miranda made soft little sounds of contentment as she released her mother’s breast and yawned sleepily. Jenny adjusted her clothing and continued rocking her baby, marveling at such perfection. How could she have been so selfish as to ignore this perfect little girl?
Her heart would always ache for her baby boy, the little being who should have been there to be raised as his father’s heir.
A choking sob caught in her throat. She held it back, refusing to cry anymore. As if discerning her suffering, Miranda fussed, clenching and unclenching her tiny fists.
Jenny sensed another presence intruding. Glancing up briefly, she saw her brother-in-law leaning against the doorpost and frowned, returning her gaze to her daughter. “Good morning, Miles,” she said absently. When he didn’t respond, she looked up again, her eyes narrowed in question.
Her heart stopped beating for a long moment then picked up faster than before.
Dare.
His dark brows were raised in amusement. She saw the smile in his eyes and the one on his lips. His long hair was pulled back, as usual. His arms were crossed over his chest and he appeared utterly at ease.
Jenny sensed the coiled tension in him, however. He was unsure of his reception, she realized, and was bracing himself for her rejection.
Rising slowly so as not to disturb her sleeping child, Jenny moved to the bassinet near the window. She very carefully set the baby down, maintaining abnormal control over her suddenly trembling body.
Not even looking up, Jenny brushed right by her husband. She could feel him watching her but she didn’t care.
Feeling as though her heart was breaking and not exactly sure why, Jenny retreated to her bedchamber.
Dare was astounded by the change in his wife. She had always been rather delicate but now she was nearly skeletal—far too thin for a woman who’d recently given birth to twins.
In fact, her entire appearance had suffered in her decline. Her unbound hair was dull and her pale blue eyes seemed almost lifeless in her gaunt face.
He made to follow her but the unwelcome thought intruded that perhaps she would not want him to. He hesitated one second before brushing the thought firmly aside.
She was in her room, seated at her dressing table, dragging a brush through her long blond curls. He stepped up behind her and gently removed the brush from her trembling fingers.
He took over the task, not speaking. She kept her eyes downcast, and twisted her hands together in her lap but she didn’t stop him as he half expected her to do.
Dare watched her face and watched the brush in his hand as it glided through her hair. He’d dreamed often of her hair, spread over his pillow, lying on her shoulders, masking her naked breasts. He’d dreamed of her so often that his fantasies had merged with his reality causing him no end of melancholy and physical discomfort.
He glanced in the mirror again to find her watching him, the expression in her cornflower eyes unreadable. But he sensed her pain and knew he was the cause no matter what her father had done to precipitate his flight.
He set the brush aside and crouched down beside her stool. Taking her chilled hand in his own, he tried to smile. He was afraid it more closely resembled a grimace, however.
“Jenny-love, we have to talk,” he told her, his voice breaking slightly on his pet name for her. He cursed under his breath and firmly reined in his disturbing emotions.
He wasn’t sure she’d answer. When she did, her words sliced through his heart, threatening to bleed him dry.
“Why did you leave?”
He sucked in a harsh breath, his fingers tightening involuntarily. “Your father said you wanted me to go,” he said woodenly.
“After all we’ve shared, how could you believe I would want you to go?”
All the hurt, the feelings of abandonment, and betrayal were painfully clear in her voice. Dare reacted instinctively, pressing his lips to her bare knuckles with a reverence he’d never felt for another woman.
“I was stupidly proud, my love,” he admitted in a whisper. “Too proud, too frightened of the possibility that it was true to even consider asking you. My damnable pride, something I have not suffered from for more years than I can count, decided to rear its blasted head.” He curved his free hand over her cheek, feeling the wetness of her tears. “I am not making excuses, Jenny. I am truly sorry for the pain I’ve caused you.”
Jenny’s eyes fluttered open and he thought he just might drown in those azure depths.
The moment had come. Dare could no longer avoid it. He had to tell her what was in his heart, what made him breathe, what kept him sane.
So he did.
“I love you, Jenny. With all my heart and soul, with every breath in my body, with all my being. I wish to spend my life proving to you how important you are to me and how sorry I am for forcing you through so much hell.”
Jenny’s fingers tightened on his. Her lips twisted into a small smile, which grew as she replied, “Only if you allow me the same privilege, my dearest love.”
At his questioning look, Jenny released a tinkling laugh. “I could have hunted you down, you know. I could have told you long ago how I felt. I didn’t want to burden you and make you feel obligated to me. It was my pride that made me refuse to debase myself by pouring out my heart when I wasn’t sure what it was you felt for me.”
“None of this was your fault,” he insisted, in true gentlemanly fashion.
Jenny laid her hand against his stubbled jaw. “As I took part of the blame for my pregnancy, I take part of the blame for every contretemps we’ve gotten into from the start. We’ve neither one of us behaved very admirably this past year, Dare.”
He would have refuted her words but she placed a gentle finger over his lips, silencing his protest.
“And so, I ask that you allow me the same privilege you have requested. To love you with my whole heart, soul, and being, ‘til my dying breath. And to spend my life proving to you how important you are to me and how sorry I am for causing you so much needless suffering. I am truly sorry, Dare. I never meant to add more pain to your already tormented past.”
“Oh, Jenny-love, you have no idea how I needed to hear you say that.” He wrapped his arms around her, laying his head against her chest, a sigh of deep relief echoing through his body and into hers.
She smiled as she stroked her fingers through his silky, black hair. “My admission that I caused your pain?” she asked facetiously.
She felt him smile against her belly, the movement causing familiar flutters of sensation quivering all through her body.
“No, that you love me. You could tell me that every minute of every day for the rest of our lives and I would never get tired of hearing it.”
“Then you’ll stay?” She asked tentatively but with such a vast amount of hope that he was momentarily too choked up to reply. After taking a deep breath, he smiled, saying, “Aye, Jenny-love. Of course I’ll stay.”
Taking his head in her hands, Jenny leaned down. Her lips pressed sweetly to his, her innocence despite being a mother charming him all over again.
They rose as one and he pressed her full-length against him, an action she aided by moving so close he thought she just might be trying to disappear under his skin.
He swung her up into his arms, intent on her bed on the other side of the room when a sudden thought occurred to him.
“Is it too soon?”
Jenny smiled with true joy for the first time since their wedding. She shook her head, a laugh escaping when his pace quickened.
An hour later, Dare leaned up on his elbow, absently fondling a lock of his wife’s hair. She stared up at him, her dazed expression the highest compliment she could have paid him. He smiled and leaned down to place a soft kiss on her slightly parted lips.
She sighed when he moved back. “That was beautiful,” she breathed.
He laughed. “A rather lukewarm description but I’ll accept it as a compliment,” he said.
Jenny lightly
slapped him. “I meant the kiss, you looby. The other was”—she blushed and released a little contented sigh—“earth-shattering.”
He rewarded her for that with a deep, soul-stealing kiss that left her weak in the knees and begging for more.
An infantile cry from the next room interrupted their loveplay. Dare lifted his head, his face freezing at the sound. He’d forgotten their child. How could he forget his own daughter?
“Miranda,” he whispered, his dark-eyed gaze fixed on the door opposite.
Jenny smiled, her white teeth flashing. “Would you like to meet your daughter?” she asked.
He breathed the word, “Yes.”
Jenny rose and drew on a sapphire blue silk dressing gown. After shooting him an utterly seductive, utterly endearing grin, she disappeared into the baby’s room.
Dare sat up and pulled on his breeches. He sat there for a moment, nearly lost in thought, before dragging his fingers through his hair and tying it back with one of Jenny’s ribbons. He didn’t bother with anything else.
He was at the door only seconds after Jenny’s departure, gazing into the room that held his wife and daughter, the two most precious beings in his world.
His bride turned at his entrance, a serene smile in her beautiful eyes and an invitation to join them on her perfect lips.
Dare approached cautiously, more nervous than he could ever remember being in his life. He carefully blanked his expression, not wanting to alarm Jenny and unsure of the amount of fear a child could sense. His bride handed Miranda over, calmly confident in his nonexistent knowledge of babies. Her attitude helped calm him…a bit.
Dare took his daughter into his arms, cradling her tight to his bare chest. When he looked down into the palest blue eyes and smelled that sweet baby smell, something in him cracked.
Gazing down at his child with fascinated awe, the young father moved away from his wife. He started whispering words of love and devotion to the child, not even bothered by the fact that his behavior was not in keeping with how their class operated.
This child, this bright spot in his life, was worth more to him than any ridiculous strictures imposed by a Society that encouraged infidelity, hypocrisy, and every other vice known to man.
This child…and his wife.
His beautiful, strong, willful wife, with her mistaken beliefs and humorous tendencies. She loved him when no one else did and refused to see him as anything other than a man worthy of her tender regard, someone worth redeeming. And while Dare hesitated, even now, to agree with her assessment, he couldn’t help but love her for the belief he’d always craved but never hoped to receive.
Jenny watched her husband with love, hunger, and an odd twinge of pain. He was so obviously in love with his daughter that Jenny fell in love with him all over again. It was distressing how much time they had lost due to their stupid pride.
As if sensing her disquieting thoughts, Dare looked up, meeting her eyes. His own looked rather wet. Jenny smiled hesitantly feeling the sting of tears and not even bothering to stem the flow.
Dare’s expression was no longer blank. He stared at her with all the love in his heart and soul. Then, whispering so low that she had to lean forward to hear, he said, “Thank you.”
The End
Page forward for an excerpt of
Honor by Jaimey Grant.
One
Autumn 1815
Under the cover of absolute darkness, a slight female figure climbed awkwardly down an ivy-covered wall. With a cautious glance left and then right, the cloaked figure darted across the open parkland at the rear of the manor house and managed to reach the relative safety of the trees. Just before she reached the woods, a shaft of moonlight broke through the clouds, highlighting the pale features of a young lady, beautiful and desperate. In a swirl of midnight cloak, she was lost among the trees.
She carried nothing more with her than a very small and very shabby valise containing one extra, equally shabby dress, some underthings, and enough money to catch the southbound stagecoach once she reached the posting house—money that had been given to her by some of the servants who wanted to help her escape.
The time neared four o’clock and considering her past, she should have been terrified out of her wits to be alone in the dark of early morning. But she found fear of her father’s plans lent her the courage she needed to traverse the night-blackened forest with little thought for her past experience there.
She reached the village with some time to spare as the stage left promptly at six; the clock boasted only half past five. She purchased her ticket and sat down in a chair in the far corner of the taproom of the small posting house, hoping to be as inconspicuous as possible. Thankfully, her shabby cloak and coal scuttle bonnet concealed her enough to elicit no more attention than the landlord’s wife asking her if she wanted breakfast.
After the homely woman left, Lady Verena Westbridge looked about her with wary interest. She longed for a more simple and peaceful life where she didn’t have to worry what imaginary offense she had committed to warrant her newest punishment.
Two men—highborn gentlemen to judge by their dress and manner—entered the taproom then and she watched them nervously. Why were they there so early in the day? One glanced in her direction but looked quickly away as he and his companion moved on to sit at another table. She endeavored to ignore them, but their voices, while not overly loud, carried to her isolated corner.
“I don’t know how the devil Feldspar roped me into this,” the one with the blue eyes and blond hair remarked lazily to his friend. “The only members of the female persuasion that will be there are ladies and servants. The one is untouchable and the other is best left that way.”
“True,” said his companion, a rather tall man with black hair and strangely colored gray-green eyes. “Nevertheless, you agreed to go, as did I, and at this point we cannot honorably renege.”
The landlord’s wife approached at that moment and set a plate of eggs and toast as well as a pot of tea before Verena. She thanked her and darted a nervous glance at the gentlemen who had continued to speak. The one with the blue eyes stared at her intently and she turned away praying he would leave her alone.
Images flashed in Verena’s mind, hazy recollections of the past, a past too painful for her to fully remember. She shook her head, banishing the thoughts.
The gentleman must have satisfied his curiosity, for she heard him say, “But Hereford? Good Lord, there is nothing of interest at Feldspar’s. As much as I consider him a friend, the man is a complete bore. And he never has enough servants to take care of everyone. Anyone with the least subservient attitude can be sure to be hired yet no one applies because even the servants find it a bore to live and work there.”
Verena could hear a strange inflection in his tone and she chanced a peek at him through her lashes. He watched her again, his eyes half closed in lazy attention. What game did he play?
Before she could reflect much upon it, she heard the call to board the stage.
Swallowing the last of her breakfast and throwing a few coins on the table, she darted out into the early morning gloom. She handed her single valise to the coachman who threw it into the boot. Then she climbed into the coach.
Her eyes soon adjusted to the dim interior. Only two other people waited in the carriage: a rather worn looking farmwife who confided she traveled to see her ailing mother, and a ponderous man dressed in old but professional garb who journeyed to see his first grandchild. Verena favored them with a tremulous smile but refused to share anything about herself other than to tell them the name she’d chosen to use while hiding from her father.
Doll Rendel.
The three passengers lapsed into silence as the coach pulled away from the posting house.
Verena passed the time thinking about where she could go. Unbidden a pair of deep blue eyes flashed through her mind and she remembered Hereford. A house party with too few servants guaranteed work. She would much rather be a maid o
f some sort than a lady who could be forced into a distasteful marriage. With determination, she decided to change in her ticket at the next posting house and purchase one to get her to Hereford.
Her decision made, Verena sat back and let the rocking of the coach lull her into much-needed sleep.
“Very well, I’ll hire you despite your lack of references. Lord knows we need the extra help. But you must work very hard to prove your worth.”
Verena agreed gratefully. Mrs. Watts had proved to be a kind but stern woman and Verena knew she would have no difficulty working for her.
“Have you any special abilities, Doll?”
“I’m a dab hand at dressin’ hair, I’d say, mum,” Verena answered softly, trying to hide her cultured accent as much as possible. She experienced a rare spurt of gratitude toward her father for disallowing a lady’s maid in his home. How else would a lady have learned to dress hair? Necessity ever was the mother of invention.
“Excellent! We have need of an abigail for those ladies who neglected to bring theirs. And when you are not busy with those duties, I will give you some other chores to give the other girls a hand.”
“Thank ‘ee, mum,” Verena whispered as she sank into a curtsy.
“Bridgette! Come here, child.”
Verena watched a girl of about her own age approach. Masses of dark red curls framed a face dominated by large green eyes. Her countenance lacked the freckles that so often cursed girls of her coloring. Carrying herself as though she didn’t realize her own beauty, Bridgette gave the housekeeper a blank look.
“Mum?”
“Take Doll and explain her duties as ladies’ maid.”
Bridgette grinned and curtsied. “Yes, mum.” Turning, she tipped her head at Verena. “Follow me.”
Verena walked behind the girl and marveled at her ability to remain so cheerful even though her servitude probably made her prey to all sorts of rakes and libertines.