Nightingale (13 page)

“Done,” she said, offering a hand.

He took her hand in his greasy one and smiled. She smiled back. He had already forgotten the one-third pound. He might overlook the extra five when time came to pay him. Far be it from her to remind him. After all, she was the one earning the duke’s award.

At that thought, a vivid picture of Devlin stole into her mind, momentarily blocking out the crude cottage and its inhabitants.

Earlier, she had visualized the old, feeble duke she described, first to John Lout, then to her brother. This sudden image caught her unaware, so vivid it nearly paralyzed her. No matter how she had described him, Devlin Miracle, the twelfth duke of Fornay, was in truth, the smartest, most devastatingly handsome, witty, virile, thoughtful, generous man she had ever met. The mental picture of him, so lifelike, distracted her, and she scurried to clear her plate.

“Jess-i-ca?” Her mother’s wail summoned the daughter back from her illusion. “Have mercy, child, and bring an old woman a bit of tea to settle her stomach.”

The image of Lady Anne was superimposed over Devlin’s, and Jessica remembered that the dowager and Jessica’s mother were nearly the same age. Of course, the dowager had enjoyed tangible benefits as well as the attention of a devoted husband. It wasn’t fair to compare the two.

“Yes, Mama.” She wiped her hands on her apron and hurried to her mother’s bedside for her cup.

Leaning back, his feet crossed and propped in front of the fire, Brandon looked from their mother in her bed to Jessica.

“She could get up and fetch that herself.”

Their mother flashed him an angry look. “I no longer have dependable use of my legs, Brandon. Jessica knows that.”

“It’s your own sloth, Ma, that keeps you bedfast. That and Jessica’s energy. You have her fooled, but not me, and I’m the one’s going to be seeing after you for the next … ” He looked startled. “For how long, Jess?”

“Maybe as long as ten days.” Seeing his scowl, she revised. “Maybe less, depending.”

“Will he pay you more for a longer stay?”

“It is likely.”

Brandon pursed his lips. “If it’s a week, the old girl may be back on her feet and waiting on herself by then.”

Their mother narrowed her eyes at him. Jessica recognized, for the first time, that these two, mother and son, were both accustomed to having their own way. The only thought worse than returning home to support her mother and argue with Brandon was the prospect of marrying John Lout.

Dear God, she hoped that did not happen. She needed money to escape — and find a way to provide for her mother without being physically present herself.

• • •

The coach had begun its return trip when Jessica signaled a stop. Figg leaped down, strode to the carriage door, and poked his head inside.

“What is it ye’r needing, Miss?”

“A moment’s conversation with Bear,” she said.

Bear clamored off the box. At Jessica’s nod, he opened the door and offered a hand to steady her step down. She walked a little way before she motioned for him to accompany her.

They walked in silence before she turned to confront him.

“There are things I do not know,” she began. “I might be of more assistance to the duke if I were enlightened.”

He gave a series of nods, indicating he understood.

She looked into his eyes trying to decide if she should trust him. “What is your true name, Bear?”

“Ben Bruin.”

“Ah, so that’s why they call you Bear.”

“That and my size, Miss.”

“Will you tell me how you became friends with His Grace?”

It was like pulling teeth, but gradually Bear warmed to her questions.

He had been a wanderer and nearly thirty years of age when he tramped into Gull’s Way some twenty years before.

“The old duke’s sons were hellions back then,” Bear said, smiling a bit as he drifted back in memory. “They were into every nook and cranny, every cave and hole — harmless places mostly, along with some that wasn’t so harmless. The old duke and her ladyship needed help with ’em.”

Jessica did not want to look at the man or distract him once she had him talking.

“The old duke asked me right off if I had a temper and I told him I had, but I kept it under control, for the most part.

“He asked if I was a decent hunter, a fisherman, and swordsman. He said I looked like a bonny fighter. I assured him I was all of those and more. That seemed to please him well enough. He shouted for Patterson to find Devlin and send him to us.”

Bear grinned at the memory. “He told Patterson not to bother to have the boy wash. Told me the middle son — nine years old, he were then — wouldn’t stay clean long enough to make washing worth our wait.

“As you might suppose, I took to Devlin right off, and he to me. The duke set most of his attention on training the older boy, Rothchild. He took little time or trouble with the younger ones.

“Lattimore — Lattie — he was only five years old when I come here. He mainly stayed with the nanny and the governess.

“But Devlin,” his grin broadened, “was as fearless and adventurous as any boy born.” Bear sent her a pride-filled glance while his grumbling words seemed to contradict his expression. “That’s a bad combination in a youngster running unhobbled like he was.” He stopped talking as if he were lost in his memories.

“You’ve been with them ever since?”

“Yes.”

“Were you able to conquer Devlin’s wildness?”

Bear laughed and shook his head. “Not so much conquered as reined it in a bit. I gave guidance here and there as I could. I never had no intention of breaking his spirit.

“The boy had a natural inclination with animals, particularly horses. He had no fear — not even enough to show a proper regard for wild things, in particular those a man is hunting. I sometimes helped best by letting him get into trouble. I only let him suffer enough to teach him to curb his riskiness some.”

Bear touched the thin strip of his scalp where hair no longer grew. He smoothed his hair over with his hand so that the spot was covered.
Was the scar a memento of his own youthful excesses, or of Devlin’s?

“I tried to advise the boy before he stumbled into real danger. I helped him when he caught some of the hard lessons. If I didn’t keep them from happening, I was there to pick up the pieces after.”

“Like what?”

He appeared to approve the question. “Devlin broke his arm riding a waterfall that dropped fifty feet to feed the Longrine River.”

“How old was he then?”

“I believe he was twelve, or nearly so.”

“Did he cry?”

“Nah. He was trying to be a man by then. It took more than a broken arm to make him cry.”

“How was it repaired?”

“I didn’t bother the duke with it right off. I took the boy straight away to Dr. Brussel. He set the bone mending before nightfall. The excitement was past before we told the duke and duchess.”

“Did you like all three boys?”

“God’s truth, I loved each one for being just who he was, but it was Devlin who was turned more to my ways.”

“Were you devastated when Rothchild died?”

He looked surprised. “Of course. We all was ruined for a time. Soon after, the old duke talked to me about how it was even more important that I watch closer after Devlin.”

“And …. ?” she began but stopped as Bear glanced at the sun and interrupted.

“Here now, we need to get going.”

They had a long way to go, yet she wanted to learn more of Devlin as a boy. As they walked back to the coach, she prodded Bear again. “Was Devlin more careful after his brother died?”

“No. If anything, he was more daring.”

“How do you mean?”

“Not long after Roth died, Devlin intentionally offended the Black Tartan at the gaming tables. Tartan would have killed him for sure.”

“You prevented that?”

“I drugged his drink.”

“The Tartan’s?”

“Devlin’s.”

“Oh.”

Acknowledging her surprise, Bear’s laugh rumbled. “The new heir to the title made quite a spectacle of hisself, sliding out of his chair and into a heap under the table. Dropped near a whole room full of drunken gamblers to their knees, rolling with laughter and bawdy talk about a boy with a mouth big enough to bait the Tartan being yet too green to hold his liquor.” Bear hesitated. “I don’t recall that I ever confessed that particular deed. I can’t say I ever planned to. I’d just as soon you didn’t mention it.”

Jessica smiled, pleased that she and Bear shared a confidence. “Was he ever sickly?”

“Devlin? Nah. When he was, I nursed ’im through it, and through those heartbreaks a young man is bound to tumble into from time to time.”

She felt as if a rock had hit the bottom of her stomach. “When he was in love?”

“Not that he ever was what you might consider in love, but he was a fair one to fall into infatuations easy enough.”

“Have there been many women in his life?”

“He’s had his share. He’s a handsome fella’. Also, a’ course, being rich as he is and with a title and property and all. Well, them’s the sorts of things that draws the ladies like bears to honey.”

“You don’t think he has been in love?”

“No.” He eyed her oddly. “Not before now, anyhow. Most of the ladies in polite society disappoint him when they turn out to be less than the ideal woman an impressionable young man dreams up in his own mind.”

They reached the coach door.

“Did he ever make a fool of himself over a woman?”

“Once, maybe. It came down to a duel. It had been a duel that killed Roth, a’ course. I was not gonna let that happen to the old duke’s family again. I sent word to the prefect of police who was at the site waiting for the participants when we arrived.

“That policeman give the opponents a lecture. Told ’em about horrible diseases in his jail. He made promises, said he had no forbearance with young men with nothing better to do than challenge one another to duels. He said if they wanted to fight, they should buy theirselves a commission and go into the military. So that’s what Devlin did.”

“He did?”

Bear opened the coach door, caught the back of Jessica’s elbow and rather firmly directed her inside.

“I went along, a’ course. Our soldiering was cut short when the duchess sent word the old duke was dying. We went home in a hurry.” He slammed the coach door. “Just as this party is gonna do right now.”

• • •

The Twelfth Duke of Fornay paced the library. Instead of calming him, his mother’s reading quietly in the chair near the window irritated him. Out of habit, he looked toward her and was soothed by the silhouette of her profile against the sunlight streaming behind her.

He stopped mid-stride.

It was the miracle he had sought. He could see. Not details, but shapes. Outlines of furnishings and his mother’s form. The joyous shout nearly erupted before he thought. What changes might this miracle cause? He needed to put this into perspective before he shared it.

He should be jubilant. And he was, but if his sight had returned, he would no longer need Jessica’s. He was not prepared to lose her — not yet. He wanted her near. Not just for her eyes.

As he pondered, a cloud blotted the sun. He lost the visual images and was once again blind.

The glimpse raised possibilities and, along with them, angst he did not expect. Return of his sight certainly presented new possibilities. He needed to harvest the benefits Nightingale provided — her exuberance, her optimism, her bright good cheer. The dowager was attached to the child as well. The entire household reflected her influence.

There were positive aspects for Jessica as well. He and the dowager could provide advantages for such a bright girl, establish her a place in society. Make a decent match for her.

Using his cane, Devlin fumbled his way back to his chair and sat heavily.

His returning eyesight presented a whole new realm of possibilities, not all of them pleasant.

True to his word, Devlin was pacing the steps of his great house as the coach bearing the ducal crest returned. It was nearing midnight and Jessica was exhausted but unable to sleep, excited by her return to Gull’s Way. It seemed as if she had been gone for days instead of hours.

She doubted he would be waiting as he had said, yet she recognized the figure on the steps. He stood like a statue, bent slightly, both hands clasped on the cane in front of him.

Jessica threw open the coach door before the conveyance stopped and leaped. Her feet flying, disregarding pride and petticoats, she bolted over the graveled drive and bounded up the stairs.

Grinning, the duke tossed his cane to the side, opened his arms and braced himself. She leaped and he caught her up entirely, wrapping his arms all the way around her.

Then was the moment she had waited for, perhaps all her life. She was home for, surely, in all the world, this was where she belonged. It was a ridiculous thought, yet she embraced him, pressing her suddenly tear-dampened face to his jaw. She breathed in the familiar scent of him, and felt the tickle of his well-trimmed beard. Home at last.

As he touched his lips to her cool cheek, the rumbling in his chest brought her to her senses. She wriggled, but he did not immediately release her. Instead, he twisted so that her breasts scrubbed his chest. In her excitement, she had revealed what she had been determined to keep secret.

The man thought her a child. That first night, riding Sweetness, he had run his hands over her shoulders, trailed them down her arms, had even fitted her hips snugly between his legs as she sat the saddle before him. In spite of that intimacy, he considered her an infant. He disregarded her initial claims that she was a grown woman, capable of experiencing the sensuous responses any woman might to such a man.

Holding her closely in this unguarded moment, he would be aware of her prominent breasts, which she had been able to keep from his sightless scrutiny. In spite of her earlier declarations, Jessica thought it better he not realize her maturity just yet.

Heated by a blush, embarrassed by the joy of luxuriating for those brief moments in his arms, Jessica wriggled until she broke free. Devlin seemed reluctant to yield his hold.