The Returned Lords of Grosvenor Square: A Regency Romance Boxset

by Rose Pearson

  “Good night, father.”

  Mary’s whisper caught his ears. Drawing in a ragged breath, Stephen turned his head to bid her good night, his whole being ravaged with pain, but by the time he looked around, the door was closed. She was gone.

  Chapter Seven

  “Of course, I am very glad to hear that your father was so willing to speak to you.” Jenny tried to smile as Mary looked back up at her with a questioning look in her eyes. “That is wonderful indeed.”

  “He did not speak to us a great deal,” Mary replied, slowly, her brow furrowing gently. “There was not much for him to say at all. In fact, I cannot be certain that he was glad that we had come into his presence.”

  “I am certain that is not so,” Jenny replied, firmly, knowing that this was most likely true but deciding it was best that the girl not think badly of her father. “He will still be tired from his journey and, besides which, there are a great many responsibilities for him to take on now that he has returned to the estate.” She smiled down at Mary, making sure to tuck the blankets in carefully. Mrs. Blaine had told Jenny on more than one occasion that the estate desperately needed the master’s guidance and that things were going rather badly for the estate as a whole, so now that Lord Carrington had returned, Jenny knew there would be a heavy burden of responsibility settled back on his shoulders. “You must simply try to be glad that he welcomed you, as he did,” she finished, resting her hand atop Mary’s for a moment. “That is quite wonderful, is it not?”

  The child did not look completely convinced, but her brow began to smooth itself from the frown that she had worn ever since she had climbed into bed. Jenny smiled softly, glad that Mary had begun to speak to her openly and had stopped behaving in such an angry and discontented manner. It was only a day or so since the Duke’s return, but even in such a short time, Jenny felt as though she barely recognized the children; such was the altering of their characters.

  “I must bid good night to John,” she told Mary, as one of the maids walked into the room, ready to set about a few final duties before Mary went to sleep. “Good night, Mary. I shall see you in the morning.”

  Mary nodded and grasped Jenny’s hand tightly for a moment, her eyes fixed on her face.

  “Good night, Miss Edgington,” she said, in a quiet voice. “Thank you for not leaving us.”

  Jenny’s heart ached at the vulnerability in the girl’s voice. Leaning over, she kissed Mary’s forehead, smiled and wished her good night. Then she rose and made her way quickly to John’s room, which was next to Mary’s. Her heart filled with an aching happiness at Mary’s quiet expression of gladness.

  “John?”

  John was lying on his side already, his face set.

  “Good night, John,” she said, not drawing near him as she might have done to Mary, for he certainly was not as open to her company nor her presence. “I do hope you have a restful sleep.”

  She made to turn around, only for John’s voice to reach her ears.

  “He will leave us again, will he not?”

  She turned back around. “Your father, do you mean?” Looking at John, she saw that he was looking fixedly at the wall, his jaw working furiously. Realizing that he was battling with his own emotions, Jenny drew near to the boy, wishing she could find a way to reassure him. “No, I do not think so, John. He has duties and responsibilities here that he must take on. You shall have to be taught about such things also, for when the time comes for you to take on the title.”

  John’s eyes flicked towards her and then back to the wall. “He did not want to see us.”

  Her heart ached for the child, seeing him more perceptive than his sister. Perhaps she ought to be honest with him. “This is difficult for your father,” she replied, slowly, seeing the slight softening of John’s hard expression as she spoke. “This house is filled with memories of your mother. He will struggle, I am certain of it, but it does not mean that he will run from it.”

  “He is not the only one who has found it difficult,” John snapped, a flush rising to his cheeks. “Yet he expects sympathy for his struggles when he gives us none.”

  Jenny opened her mouth to respond, only to close it again. There was truth in what John said, a truth she could not deny. Yet, what was she to say? She did not want to pile condemnation onto their father despite her own feelings on the matter.

  “I do not think I can trust him,” John finished, his eyes glistening in a way that betrayed his own heavy emotions. “I cannot trust that he will not turn his back on us again.”

  “Then I shall pray that His Grace will find a way to earn your trust, John,” Jenny replied, softly, reaching out to brush John’s hair from his forehead and finding, much to her surprise, that he did not jerk away. “But be assured that I have no intention of ever leaving your side. I do hope that brings you some comfort.”

  There was a long moment of silence. John drew in a long breath and sighed, his eyes closing as Jenny lifted her hand from his forehead. There was a heavy weight on the boy’s shoulders, Jenny realized, her heart aching for him. If only there was a way for her to lift it, but, as she considered this, Jenny realized that the only person who could do so was the Duke himself. He had to earn John’s trust, prove to him that he was not about to leave the estate again and that he did, in fact, care for his son and his daughter. The only thing that she could do would be to encourage such a thing. The rest was the Duke’s responsibility.

  “Good night, John,” she said, softly, getting up and making her way to the door. “I pray you have a good night’s rest and feel refreshed come the morning.”

  She did not think that he would reply but, just as she made to pull the door close, she heard his voice whispering towards her.

  “Good night, Miss Edgington,” he said, quietly. “And thank you.”

  “Oh, good, you are dressed for dinner.”

  Jenny frowned, a little surprised at Mrs. Blaine’s sudden enthusiasm. “I am wearing my usual dull gown and have redressed my hair into the tight bun that does not suit me in any particular way,” she said, with a slight wryness to her voice. “Shall I do?” It was not at all like Mrs. Blaine to care particularly what Jenny looked like when it came to dinner. Jenny was well used, by now, to sharing her meal with the staff below stairs, even though it was not the done thing for a governess.

  “Oh, but you are not to dine with us this evening!” Mrs. Blaine exclaimed, grasping Jenny’s arm and beginning to propel her towards the door. “No, indeed! The master has requested your presence.”

  Jenny stopped dead, refusing to allow Mrs. Blaine to pull her along the hallway any longer. Her heart quickened as she looked into the housekeeper’s face and saw the way she nodded and smiled, as though this were some wonderful honor. Her mouth went dry, her stomach swirling uncomfortably. Given how the Duke had behaved previously, she did not want to put herself in any sort of danger. It would not be the first time the master of the house had attempted to seduce one of his staff.

  “Come now,” Mrs. Blaine said, urgently. “You will be late.”

  “I do not think I should do such a thing,” Jenny protested, weakly. “You know very well what he suggested to me last evening.”

  Mrs. Blaine dropped her hand from Jenny’s arm and looked into her eyes, her expression suddenly severe.

  “I do,” she said, firmly. “But you cannot think that we would leave you there all alone with the master now, do you?” She gave Jenny a small smile, which allowed Jenny her first breath of relief. “A maid will be sitting within the dining room with you and there will always be someone by the door. Don’t you go fretting now, Miss Edgington. You’ll be quite safe.”

  Jenny’s stomach was twisting itself into painful knots, her hands held tightly in front of her. “I do not think that –”

  “You cannot refuse the master,” Mrs. Blaine warned, her eyes fixed on Jenny’s. “Come now. He is already waiting.”

  Eating with the Duke of Carrington was not a particularly pleasant exp
erience. He drank a good deal of wine and seemed to eat very little, whereas she herself ate quickly and quietly without so much as touching her wine. She wanted to ensure she kept a clear head when it came to the Duke. After what happened the last evening, she was more than a little uncertain about him.

  “So,” the Duke began, his eyes resting upon her for what felt like the hundredth time. “Tell me, Miss Edgington.” He frowned, realizing that he had not spoken correctly. “Tell me about yourself, Miss Edgington.”

  A little surprised, Jenny arched one eyebrow, looking back at him coolly. This was not at all what she had expected, given her previous altercation with the Duke. “What is it you wish to know, Your Grace?” she asked, watching him with sharp eyes as he drained the last of his glass of wine. The conversation she had expected to be having was where the Duke might rail at her for her lack of propriety, for her rudeness in speaking to him in the way she had chosen to do or perhaps, in fact, even stating that she would be freed from her position within the house. This mild, uninteresting conversation had been the last thing she had expected.

  The Duke waved a hand, although his gaze had become a little more fixed.

  “I would like to know of your past,” he stated, calmly. “You are a distant cousin of Lady Matthews, I believe?”

  Jenny nodded slowly, her eyes searching the Duke’s innocuous expression as though she might find a hidden secret lurking beneath. “I am a second cousin,” she said, slowly, refusing to go into any particular detail about her relationship with his late wife. “That is all.”

  “And did you spend much of your childhood with the family?”

  “No,” Jenny stated, her brows furrowing as she looked into the Duke’s eyes and saw the eagerness there. What was it he wished to know?

  “Then what of your own family?”

  Jenny swallowed hard, still feeling a rising suspicion deep within her heart. The Duke appeared to be simply trying to converse with her, trying to discover a little more about her, and yet she could not help but feel as though there was more to what he was asking than he wanted to reveal. “My parents are recently deceased,” she replied, not giving him any further explanation as to what had occurred, even though the stab of pain in her heart at the memory was more than difficult for her to bear without revealing some of it in her expression. “I have no other immediate family.”

  “Then you must be glad to find some kinship here,” he replied, with a quick smile. “To know that you are caring for Lady Carrington’s children?”

  She did not immediately respond, finding that his question and his assumption were almost something of an affront. No, she wanted to state. There could be no relief for the loss of her own parents and for the difficulties she then faced when they were gone from this world and had left her behind. Being in this house had been a daily struggle, given that the children were unwilling to have her present as their governess and had treated her with contempt since their very first meeting. That, at least, had changed, but it did not detract from the fact that she had been made to feel most unwelcome by the late Lady Carrington’s children.

  “I am glad that Mary and John have become a little more cooperative of late,” she said, eventually, with a slight lift of her shoulders. “It has not been a simple task, Your Grace, to step into the role of a governess. Your children have missed your presence.” She was glad that he had taken the time to greet them properly, as he had been expected to, but she had been sorry to hear both Mary and John speak with such confusion and such pain over that particular meeting.

  The Duke cleared his throat and waved a hand as though the mention of his children did not mean a great deal to him. “I have met with them both,” he stated, decisively, as though his duty to them was now complete. “Tell me, Miss Edgington. “What did you spend your days doing, as a girl? Were you simply at home? Or did you have times when you visited with your wider family - your aunts, uncles, and cousins?”

  A knot tied itself in Jenny’s stomach. “I was busy assisting my mother and father,” she replied, carefully, beginning to realize what the Duke was doing. “That is all.”

  “You did not see a great deal of your wider family, then?”

  A sudden surge of anger shot its way up her spine and Jenny found herself standing tall, her eyes fixed on the Duke with such fury coursing through her that she could barely catch her breath.

  “If you think that I shall sit here and tell you all I remember of your late wife, Your Grace, then you are quite mistaken,” she answered, furiously. “You are not at all interested in what I have to say about my own life, nor do you care about how your behavior towards me has fallen short of expected standards. YOU simply wish to lose yourself in memories, do you not?” She saw him glower at her, sinking back into his chair with a dark expression on his face. “Well, I shall not do as you demand, Your Grace. Good evening.”

  She turned away from him, aware that her face was burning with a deep anger that she could barely contain. Her upset over his treatment of her, the realization that he had simply invited her to dine with him for his own ends and the understanding that she meant nothing to him whatsoever, all forced her feet into quick, hurried steps.

  “Wait, Miss Edgington.”

  The Duke’s voice was loud and commanding and it was only by sheer force of will that Jenny managed to stop herself from flinging open the door and striding from it.

  “You will tell me what I wish to know of my wife.”

  He was beside her now, his presence suddenly large and overwhelming. His hand grasped her arm, his eyes narrowing as he looked down into her face. She could smell the wine on his breath, aware that, yet again, he was behaving inappropriately. The amount of liquor he had drunk would account for that, and Jenny felt herself recoil from him.

  “You have no right to demand such things from me,” she stated, fiercely, looking up into his face without fear. “I am here as your children’s governess, not as your personal companion, ready to speak of your wife whenever you wish it.” She wrenched her arm away from his when she saw him lean over her. For the first time, she felt a slight edge of fear. “Good evening, Your Grace.”

  “Miss Edgington.”

  His voice held a heavy warning, but Jenny did not respond. She did not listen to his demand that she remain by his side, nor that she speak as he wished her to. The fear that he might grasp her arm and force her to do as he requested began to burn in her heart, sending spirals of anxiety through her. It was all she could do to keep herself from running from him. Instead, she pulled the door open wide and scurried through it.

  The wide-eyed face of Mrs. Blaine was there waiting for her. Without a word, the housekeeper took her arm in hers and, together, the two women made their way along the hallway and back towards the servants’ stairs, putting as much distance as they could between Jenny and the Duke of Carrington.

  Chapter Eight

  Something was tickling at his nose.

  Stephen frowned and rubbed at it hard, his eyes still firmly closed. He had no idea what it could be, only aware that it was annoying him and tugging him from what had been a rather pleasant sleep.

  “Do go away,” he muttered in frustration, his fingers attempting to grasp the offending item – only for him to realize that there was another piece stabbing at his temples.

  With a groan, Stephen lifted his head and attempted to open his eyes.

  It was a rather difficult task and one that he had not yet become used to, not even after ten days back at his own estate.

  The smell of straw filled his nose as he cracked open one eye, feeling a wave of nausea crash over him. Apparently, he was not in his bedchamber as he had thought. Instead, it seemed he was in the stables, lying across three large rectangular bales of straw.

  Closing his eyes again, Stephen let out a small groan, hating that he had allowed himself to become so drunk that he lost all good sense. This was becoming something of a habit, he realized, passing one hand over his eyes as he attempted to pu
sh himself up. He would spend each evening on his own, either in the library or in the study, drinking whatever he pleased until the memories that tore at his mind began to fade away. How he hated sitting alone in the evenings! It was a place where memories began to grow all around him, whispering and beckoning to him as he tried his utmost to fight them back. They always succeeded, however, in capturing his mind. They would flood him without regard, pressing tears to his eyes and agony to his heart. Martha would, oft times, stand before him with that familiar, gentle smile on her face, and he would reach out to her – only to realize that she was nothing more than a vision in his mind. The pain that sliced through him, then, sometimes brought a cry to his lips, his eyes squeezing closed against the agony that burned within him.

  She was never there, as he had hoped. She always faded away, never to return to his arms again.

  Sometimes, within the darkness, within the sorrow and the suffering, he would find his mind tugging towards thoughts of Miss Edgington. He could not explain why, for she was not at all like Martha, given that she had a sharp tongue and a lack of propriety in how she addressed him. But for whatever reason, she remained there. It was as though she were somehow the only thing that would bring him a little relief from his sorrows. Her bluntness, her icy gaze and her disparaging remarks as regarded his behavior was a sharpness that cut through his agony, chasing it away for a few moments. It sometimes gave him just enough time to catch his breath before the memories of Martha began to assail him again.

  He was not behaving as a Duke ought, he was well aware of that. Yes, he was able to continue with the duties of his estate as he had done before he had left this place for the continent. But come the evenings, he would lose himself in liquor. When he awoke the following morning, he would have only a few hours to prepare himself for the afternoon and the responsibilities that came with his status and title, and so the cycle seemed to continue. No matter what he did, nothing ever changed. It was beginning to become something of a habit. It was as though, in sitting alone each evening, he now expected these thoughts to come to mind. He had the whisky already prepared, sitting on a small table beside him so that he could easily begin to drink whatever was required. Nothing ever seemed to change and, perhaps, he thought, wincing as he sat up straight, he did not want it to. In a strange way, mayhap he wanted to continue to remember Martha. Mayhap he wished her to come to his mind every night, no matter the consequences that followed thereafter. It was his way of remembering her, of bringing her to life again, even if he was tormented by the sight of her.