He looked back at her, surprised. “Lady Rivers?”
She wet her lips. “Would you…could you remain a little longer?”
“For how long?”
“Until dawn.”
He drew in a deep breath. “If you need me, I’ll stay.”
Relief coursed through her that she wouldn’t be alone, and she finally released his fingers.
Jeremy glided around the bed quietly, removing his coat and his pocket watch to place them on a side table. She felt a pang of disquiet as he removed his boots that he might continue undressing until he was naked. But then he climbed onto the bed mostly clothed and wriggled closer, spreading one arm out toward her.
“Come here, my dear lady. Hold on to me.”
Fanny rolled into his embrace and heaved a heavy sigh as he wrapped her in his arms.
“Today must have been dreadful for you. I’m so sorry,” he whispered.
“I am, too. I don’t even know who I’m grieving for, and I feel quite bad about that.” A sob tore from her throat, though she tried to smother it.
Jeremy’s fingers stroked her head and hair. “It’s all right. I’m here.”
Fanny breathed his scent deep into her lungs, conscious that the beat of his heart was steady and true had pushed away the impulse to cry. Jeremy was young, healthy. Certain to live for a very long time. And with that thought in her mind, Fanny felt peace for the first time in hours.
Chapter 6
Jeremy accepted a silver tankard from a servant and strolled into the Duke of Stapleton’s library, overcome by the unexpected noise of masculinity but determined not to show he didn’t belong in such a room. The vast chamber contained at least two dozen other men of varying ages, each wearing a band of mourning around their upper left arm. One of the servants had whispered to him that most, if not all of the local gentry had answered the duke’s summons to toast the late Mr. Hawthorne today.
Knowing few in the room but asked to attend as well, Jeremy kept to the outskirts of the conversations and observed everyone. A great deal they spoke of meant nothing to him, but he prowled the room as if he was used to such gatherings.
It was clear to see who possessed the most wealth or the least by the way they held themselves and the tones of their voices. Signet rings sparkled on chubby fingers and fob watches gleamed in waistcoat pockets of the richest fellows. More than a few boasted canes topped with gold figures of lions or horses, all but a few spoke with subdued tones.
He passed a pair of toffs with heads bent together speaking loudly. “I say, where are the women?”
“I heard they’ve all gone to comfort the new widow for the day,” the sadder of the pair muttered and then buried his nose in his tankard.
“A shame for I had wished to speak with one of them alone.”
The sadder man glanced sideways at his companion. “Still hoping to catch Lady Rivers? Good luck to you.”
“Always. You haven’t given up, I’m sure of that.”
“I have my own reasons for seeking her out.” The sadder one sighed. “She’s led us all a merry dance over the years.”
“For the last year, I promise you,” claimed Lord Dour, as Jeremy dubbed him. “One way or the other, she’ll be wed before the year is out.”
“Ambitious.” The balding one asked, “Keen to expand the family holdings?”
The sour fellow was narrowly built and at least twenty years older than Jeremy. His face displayed little sorrow as he regarded the occupants of the room. “Always, and now with Hawthorne soon to be underground, the widow will finally have to sell her slice of land. What a better time to unite two great families. Women have no business managing an estate or money.”
The balding one sighed. “And Lady Rivers has a surfeit of both just waiting to be taken over.”
“I can certainly imagine better uses for it than building orphanages and the like,” Lord Dour nearly spat as if it was a dirty habit to help someone in need. “Well, let’s drink to Hawthorne and hope the ladies return before sunset.”
Jeremy moved away but committed those men and their words to his memory, though not with the intention of emulating them on the stage one day. He did not like the way they spoke of Lady Rivers. One way or another meant she really was a target for fortune hunters at this wedding.
He had wondered if she’d been exaggerating in the beginning, but now…
Apparently not.
And after last night, giving her the comfort she craved in her own bed, he was even more determined to look out for her best interests.
The bald fellow raised his glass high. “To Hawthorne.”
Jeremy toasted along with them before he strolled on. But he decided to find out who they were and then…well, he had options if they caused trouble for Lady Rivers later. He could at least warn her, or perhaps the duke might want to know as well. He seemed quite a protective father.
Eventually he found the duke seated by the fire with all the male members of his family surrounding him. Jeremy eased a little closer and was grateful when he was called over by the duke himself to join them.
“I was wondering what was keeping you.”
“There’s quite a crowd,” he murmured by way of apology.
“Indeed there is, and rightly so. It’s a damn shame about Hawthorne,” the Duke of Stapleton said, taking a long swallow from the silver tankard a footman had placed before him.
The man’s sons, son-in-law and future son-in-law murmured their agreement and drank deeply. Jeremy merely sipped his ale to be agreeable, not out of any real desire for the drink.
The death of the neighbor seemed to have hit the family hard, the duke most of all. There had even been talk of delaying the wedding out of respect for the dead, but the newly widowed Mrs. Hawthorne had foreseen such a decision. She had sent a note forbidding anyone to consider delaying the nuptials. So the wedding would take place a few days earlier than planned, with the funeral to follow a day later.
He had to admit it was hard to look forward to a wedding when the dead was waiting for burial not far away.
After the wedding, he’d been told the Westfalls would observe three months of mourning for their dear departed friend and neighbor. Everyone from duke down to pot boy would clad themselves in black and the house would close to guests. He’d already seen signs of preparations being made by servants on his way down. He wasn’t sure what would happen to his visit to the country, but he assumed Lady Rivers would eventually send him back to London before his two weeks were up.
He sipped his ale and contemplated his own demise. Would anyone even notice he was gone? Would he be famous by then and mourned by hundreds of ardent admirers? Would he be mourned the way Mr. Hawthorne was? By a woman who couldn’t imagine life without him?
Life carried on unscripted and adlibbed. It was only in a play that an actor could ever know the fate of the character he played.
He buried his nose in his tankard. Mr. Hawthorne’s passing had made him maudlin and the drink certainly wasn’t helping. Jeremy had never been much for overindulgence of spirits or ale, but the Westfalls appeared to be seasoned campaigners of such indulgences. He was trying to fit in by appearing to share their vices. He took note of Lord Rafferty reaching for a new tankard and took a hasty pretend sip of his, so no one would offer to fetch him more.
The gathering of men eventually split into small groups, each one taking turns to venture close to the duke for a few words before drifting away again. But soon the talk was not of the dearly departed but of the future.
The duke sighed heavily after one group departed. “Of course, the daughter’s chances of making a match now are in tatters for another year. Can’t accept suitors calling on her now until their mourning is over.”
“They’ll mourn the full two years,” Mr. Whitfield explained to Jeremy.
“A pair of women, one widowed, one unwed, with only young children to lend a hand will struggle,” Rafferty warned. “Rebecca is concerned how they’ll fare in the ye
ars to come.”
“I expect the estate might need to be sold,” Whitfield said quietly.
“No. Mrs. Hawthorne will have help, whether she agrees to it or not,” the duke vowed. “I owe it to Hawthorne to look out for them. He was the best of men. I’ll buy the farm if need be to keep them with a roof over their heads. Gillian wants to take the eldest to London with us when she’s out of mourning and give her a chance to make a good match there.”
“It is good of her to take such an interest,” Jeremy murmured, feeling he should add something to the conversation. “A match will surely be made with the duchess’ help.”
They all nodded, staring into their tankards before drinking deeply again.
Jeremy was starting to feel the effects of the drink he’d consumed and set his tankard aside. He had to keep his wits about him, to stay in character for the whole two weeks. Thankfully, no one seemed inclined to do more than drink for now.
The duke and those gathered closest appeared to be firm friends all. Rafferty, soon to be married into the family, was freely helping himself to a fresh tankard without leave, Whitfield swiped the duke’s tankard from his hand and refilled it without saying a word.
Whitfield did not drink as much as the others, Jeremy noted, but his sadness was palpable. “Jessica has decided to stay another night with the Hawthornes. Natalia needs help with the little ones.”
“That leaves the widow and the farm to be managed.”
Jeremy knew little about the managing of a farm other than what he’d overheard last night. “Lady Rivers mentioned the land seemed to be in decline.”
All eyes turned on him.
The duke smashed his fist on the arm of his chair suddenly. “I should have seen it. But of course, Fanny has always been a sharp one. It pains me that I didn’t realize until now that they were struggling. I could have been of help earlier, and perhaps…”
Perhaps Hawthorne would have lived longer? Jeremy shook his head and stood, snatching up his tankard. His tongue suddenly could not stay silent. “Death comes to all on silent wings to cease suffering but often brings regret to those left behind in its wake. It is the way of the world, and naught can be done to stand in death’s path. We must stand together and face the challenges of the here and now as men of compassion and hope.”
Everyone stared at him.
“The soul of a poet,” Whitfield observed with a slight smile.
The duke sighed heavily. “Truer words have never been spoken, though. Hawthorne’s pain has ended and ours just begun, I fear.”
The man who’d been hoping to catch Lady Rivers approached and offered his condolences. “Sad times, your grace,” he murmured. “Sad times indeed.”
The duke stood to shake his hand. “Thank you for coming, Lord Thwaite. I’ll be sure to tell Hawthorne’s widow you mourned with us today when I see her next.”
Thwaite nodded. “No need. I shall pay my respects to her soon myself.”
“That is kind of you,” the duke murmured, quickly losing interest.
Kind? The man was planning to buy the lady’s property for a song and probably throw them out into the cold before the year was over.
The balding man joined them next, dropping into Jeremy’s recently vacated chair. “Any idea when the ladies might return?”
“Not soon,” the duke announced.
Jeremy was watching Lord Thwaite’s face and saw a flicker of anger at the news. He very quickly excused himself and slipped from the chamber. Jeremy was happy that he had gone, but hoped he wasn’t headed straight for the Hawthorne property to pressure the widow to sell to him.
He turned his attention to the balding fellow who had remained. So far, no one had said his name out loud.
Lord Samuel moved to stand beside Jeremy. “That’s Letterford, he owns the Heybridge estate about three miles south of here.”
“Thank you. No one has thought to introduce us yet.”
“No one ever does. He’s an amiable old fellow. Widowed. His children are grown. The man who just left was Lord Thwaite. His heir is expected to arrive in time for the wedding, I hear. He’s to stand up with Rafferty as best man.”
“Where is Thwaite’s property located?”
“A little closer. You could say his property is nearly a neighbor to my father’s estate.”
A few things he’d heard clicked into place inside his head. “Is it because of the Hawthorne land’s location, that it’s not?”
“Yes, that’s right. I’m surprised that you would realize that.”
Jeremy shrugged. “I must have overheard something about it earlier, I suppose.”
Lord Samuel was quiet for a moment and then he whispered, “What exactly did you hear?”
Jeremy glanced at the duke’s second son, the scoundrel spare, and shrugged. “Thwaite mentioned a plan for expansion.”
“Not with the Hawthornes’ land?”
Jeremy held his stare. “It’s what he hinted at.”
Lord Samuel scowled fiercely. “Couldn’t wait till the old fellow was buried before making a move on the widow.”
“I don’t think he’s done anything yet,” Jeremy admitted. “He mentioned a lack of funds.”
“Thwaite has been eyeing that property for years. Excuse me. I think I should call on the new widow. My children have no doubt ventured there again.”
Lord Samuel whispered in his father’s ear and then strode off out of the room.
The duke frowned after him, but then shrugged. “Do you know Hawthorne could always best me with a bow? Devilishly clever shot with it. Mind you, he couldn’t shoot down game with anything else. Remember that time we all went out and he shot off the tip of the tallest tree on my land?”
“We were just boys then,” murmured Lord Milo, the duke’s heir.
“You and I tried to be just like him that summer,” Whitfield added with a smile.
Lord Milo frowned. “Didn’t Hawthorne keep that bit of tree as a souvenir?”
The duke nodded. “Yes, it’s in his study to this day. We always have a good laugh whenever I visit him.” The duke’s lips pressed together firmly. “When I had…”
Whitfield clapped the duke on his shoulder when it appeared Stapleton had become too emotional to continue speaking. That had happened a few times in the past day. Whitfield raised a glass high. “To our friend and his poor aim with a rifle.”
“To Hawthorne.”
Glasses were raised, drunk from, and then silence, the gentlemen each falling into their own introspections. Lord Milo left to circulate with the remaining guests until they departed.
When Lord Letterford finally took his leave, Whitfield raised his head and stared at Jeremy. “This must have put a damper on your visit to the countryside.”
“Not at all. I mean to say that if I am any kind of gentleman, I should support my lady’s family in good times and in bad.”
The duke turned to Whitfield. “He speaks well, doesn’t he?”
“Indeed.”
Rafferty cleared his throat. “Has Letterford spoken to you yet?”
“No.”
“He will.” Rafferty cast a look in Jeremy’s direction. “It concerns Fanny.”
The duke’s eyes flicked to Jeremy before he said, “Fanny is a grown woman. I have no say in how she lives her life. She’s already turned Letterford down once. He’d be a fool to ask again.”
Rafferty’s expression soured. “I thought time might have changed her mind.”
“It won’t be time that changes her mind, and you should know that as well as anyone here.”
Rafferty frowned. “Do you still have a man in her household?”
Jeremy gaped as the duke nodded and confirm that he did in fact spy on his eldest daughter. “He lets me know of any potential problems.”
Given the way the duke’s attention returned to Jeremy, it was clear he considered Jeremy a potential problem. He had met a number of the household staff already and hadn’t detected anything untoward about any
of them. “Who is your spy?”
“Why?”
“Merely curious how one might act such a role and avoid detection,” he promised with a shrug. “I’ve little chance of meeting a real spy who would admit to it.”
The duke smiled tightly. “I could tell you so you could learn from them, but can I count on you not to tell my daughter, Mr. Dawes?”
Jeremy owed his loyalty to Fanny, not to her father the duke. He shook his head.
The duke sighed. “Well, at least she found herself an uncorruptible one this time. The last fellow she plucked from obscurity could be bribed to do anything for anyone.”
Jeremy scowled. “I’m sorry to hear it.”
“Never fear, I will always deal with anyone who acts against my daughter’s best interests,” the duke promised.
Jeremy nodded, understanding that the responsibility of his current role shouldn’t be taken lightly or he’d suffer for any presumption. The duke would deal with him too if Jeremy strayed beyond his current role.
He’d no intention of doing so. But he walked a fine line where propriety was concerned. He had to make it seem like he was in serious pursuit of Lady Rivers without jeopardizing her reputation.
The duke rearranged his long limbs and regarded his tankard yet again. “I hope you are as loyal to my daughter as you seem, Mr. Dawes. If not, you will not fare well.” The duke’s jaw clenched, determination clear on his features.
“Understood.” Jeremy nodded, feeling a pang of uneasiness. He’d been threatened before by rough men all his life. Men holding knives, blunderbusses pointed at him. Men who would murder and never be held to account. But he had to admit, being threatened by the well-dressed head of the Westfall family was actually equally terrifying. The duke had the power to send him back to his old life, deny him his profession, or even make him disappear altogether.
“Good.” The duke nodded and then abruptly turned to his elder son who’d just returned. “How long will you be staying at Stapleton this time, son?”
Talk resumed without Jeremy, and soon the duke appeared to forget his presence as servants appeared, lighting dozens of candles about the chamber.
The Lady Tamed Page 6