Strathmere's Bride (7 page)

After ten minutes, he gave up, reasoning that the little minx had made up the whole thing to devil him. But when he hoisted the telescope onto his shoulder and carried it back into the house, he was still chuckling.

“S
o what did your papa say?” Mary asked.

“Hmm?” Chloe was watching the clouds, her mind lost in other matters. Namely, that it was Thursday, and an outing with the children had not been “approved.” She thought that perhaps she was being a bit absurd to worry so. Surely, the duke wouldn’t mind them stepping into the small walled yard off the kitchen—he himself had suggested it once as a play area.

Except he had also said that Thursday they were to remain indoors. It had been his expressly stated wish.

Command.

She tossed the thought off with a flick of her hair. “Papa? Oh, his letter,
oui.
He has a new love, I think. He is letting me know little by little to see if I object.”

“Do you? Who is it?”

“A widow who lives in our village. I like her, and I want Papa to have someone to love.” She paused, considering this. “
Non.
He will never love like he
did Mama. That was a beautiful love, the kind that comes only once in a life.”

“My mother and da fight every day. But still, I think they love each other,” Mary said. “What was it like to have parents who were so happy all the time?”

Chloe looked surprised. “I didn’t say they were happy all the time. I know they were not always in agreement. When they fought, there were large arguments with yelling and stomping and banging, but afterward there were hugs and tears and kisses and so much joy. They loved each other, and so when they were unhappy, they found their way back together.”

“Oh,” Mary said with a protracted sigh. “So beautiful. Do you think…?” Her question trailed off as her hands wrung the starched apron on her lap.

She didn’t say it, but Chloe knew what she was about to ask. She had asked herself the same question countless times.
Is such a love possible for me?

It was what every girl asked herself, yearned for, hoped for. Papa told her there would be such a love for her. Someday. He told her to wait and listen to her heart, and she would know it when it came. Of course, he had been dismally inept at describing “it.” He said it was peaceful and restless and hungry and completely satisfying all at the same time. Then he had colored a deep, ruddy red and pressed his lips together, patting her hand and refusing to say more.

Similarly, the conversation with Mary dwindled into silence. After a while, Mary said, “I completely forgot! I heard something very interesting the other day. About the duke.”

Chloe clamped an iron will over the instinctive reaction of rabid interest. “The duke?”

As if cued by the confidential tones of the adults’ voices, Rebeccah’s head came up. She and Sarah were digging in a dirt pit. They had constructed a fairly decent tower and were working on its twin. Sarah’s little tongue jutted out from between her lips as she concentrated on piling up shovelfuls of earth, but Rebeccah looked like a rabbit who sensed a hunter nearby—alert and all ears.

“Come,” Chloe said, tugging Mary toward the hedgerow bordering the kitchen garden, where they would not be heard.

Mary cast a worried glance behind them at the two children covered in filth. “Aren’t you concerned the duke will be angry when he sees them like that?”

“The duke and his mother are visiting friends. We have hours before they are due to return.” Waving her hand airily in the air, Chloe spoke with confidence. “The children shall have their baths and be safe in the nursery before the carriage even turns up the drive. Now, tell me what is your huge secret?”

Mary darted a glance at the children. Rebeccah had gone back to her digging. “It is wrong to gossip, I know.”

“Gossip? We never gossip.”

Mary was vexed. “But I should not carry tales.”

“Well, is it unkind?”

Mary thought for a moment. “Not at all.”

“Good, then it is not gossip. So, tell me.”

This satisfied Mary, who sat forward eagerly. “I was talking to one of the grooms and he said old Jarvis was once head groom and he knew the duke and his brother from when they were boys. He was
telling him—my friend, that is—that he remembers the duke as a delightful lad, and everyone loved him.”

Chloe scowled. “Why is that such a huge secret? The duke was once human. Surprising,
oui,
but hardly something to shock.”

Mary shook her head. “No, no. That is not the amazing thing. Jarvis said that once the duke—the old duke, Charles, that is, the elder brother—well, they were out on the lake in a boat and the boat capsized and Master Jareth—the duke, the new duke, I mean—”

“I know who you mean! Now, what happened?”

“Master Jareth saved his brother and Jarvis came upon them on the bank, sopping wet and bawling like a pair of babes, and Charles—the duke—was saying how he wished Master Jareth hadn’t done it. He kept saying, ‘Why didn’t you just let me drown? I hate it.’”

Chloe’s eyes opened as wide as they could go. “Why was he saying that?”

“Jarvis told my…
the groom
that Charles hated being duke. His mother always kept him inside, studying his lessons and talking with the solicitors, and he and Master Jareth, they loved to be outdoors. Master Jareth—I mean the duke—was even allowed to play with the village children on occasion, though no one ever forgot who he was for a moment. The two brothers were as close as two boys ever could be. They looked out for one another, but it was the younger son protecting the elder. The more experienced brother sheltering the poor young duke, who was put on such a tight rein.”

The words were true, Chloe recognized that in an
instant. The something unnamable she had known about Jareth Hunt, Duke of Strathmere, was the boy he had been, still inside him somewhere, staring out of those large, soulful eyes with all the sadness of the world. The boy who had frolicked with village children and saved a brother who would, at that time, rather have died because the burden of being duke was too unbearable.

Poor Charles, to feel such despair so young. “How horrifying he wished to die,” Chloe said, surprised to find tears of sympathy for the youth she had known as a man. Charles had been a good husband to her cousin, a good father, a good son and a good duke. He had seemed, all the times that she had seen him, as if it were all part of his nature, as easy as breathing, to wield the power and serve the obligation that came with his station. Who would have guessed at what cost such competence had been gained?

“Jarvis told us…that is, told the groom who told me—”

“Wait one moment, Mary,” Chloe said with a delicate lift of her brows. “Why do you seem determined to hide from me that you have a man?”

Mary stared back, horrified. “I…” Her shoulders sagged. “You won’t tell, will you?”

“Of course I shall not if you forbid it, but I cannot understand why you should wish to keep it a secret.”

Mary wrung her work-roughened hands as she fretted. “The duke saw us, you see, down by the stables. That is how Jarvis came to tell us the tale. You see, my man, Danıel, he was one of the village boys who used to play with his grace, and we got to talking about him after he…well, he
saw
us.”

“He saw you?” Chloe repeated. “Saw you what? What were you doing?” Horrified at the possibilities, she held her breath.

“It was a stupid thing to do. I don’t know what got into us, but we were…well, we were very…um,
close.
Do you know what I mean?” Her color deepened to an alarming crimson. “We were…kissing.”

Chloe closed her eyes and sighed impatiently. “
Oui, oui,
you were kissing. Now go on, what did he do?”

“He was very angry. He threatened to dismiss us if he ever saw us doing such a thing and…”

Mary’s voice trailed off as her eyes took on a distant glaze. Her mouth fell open and began to work, as if she were desperately attempting to communicate but found herself unable. Instead, she lifted a trembling hand to point at the gate. Chloe turned, knowing the impossible was somehow true. Knowing he would be standing there.

And, of course, he was. Equally predictable, he was frowning severely.

Chloe stood. “Go, Mary,” she said under her breath. Louder, she said, “Thank you, Mary. Go directly to Cook with my answer that, yes, we shall be late to tea as the children need to wash.”

His coal eyes flickered to the children, and he visibly winced at the dirt-smudged pair. Mary scampered off, and Chloe stood alone against the duke.

“Miss Chloe—” he began, grinding out the words through gritted teeth.

“Yes, I know.” She sighed fatalistically. “I shall tidy up the children and meet you in the library directly for my dressing-down.”

* * *

He was waiting, standing in front of the hearth and staring at the portrait over the mantel. It was of some long-ago Hunt, Chloe had no idea whom. He looked quite serious, with a long, angular face and a straight mouth set in a sober expression that was most severe. Although the present duke was far more handsome than his ancestor, was younger and possessed softer features, Chloe would wager a month’s wages the man with his back to her wore a look on his face that matched the dour visage in the painting.

Jareth turned, and she saw she was correct. She blew out a long breath and mentally braced herself.

His tone was quiet. “Please have a seat, Miss Chloe.”

“Yes, your grace.”

If ever there was a time to play the docile servant, it was now. She sat and clasped her hands on her lap, but her back was so straight it didn’t touch the carved back of the chair at all. Her breath hitched, catching in her throat. She made herself look up, not down at the nervous fingers squeezing one another among the folds of her dress.

His dark eyes were on her, inscrutable, intense. She met his gaze head-on, though it took everything in her to do it.

“About today—” She bit off her explanation when he held up a well-manicured hand. The long, tapered fingers were sun-browned, she noticed in a moment of surreal awareness, and very strong looking. Hands used to hard work, not the hands of a duke.

When he spoke, his voice was so controlled and quiet, she had to strain to hear it. “Did I perhaps not
make myself clear when we last spoke regarding the children’s outings?”

“No.”

He gave a slight incline of his head. “Did I not indicate to you that I wished the children to stay indoors today?”

“Yes, you did, your grace.”

“And is there any time, any time whatsoever, when I would approve the children—” his jaw worked as he visibly struggled with the next words “‘—wallowing in the
dirt?
”

She tried a weak smile that turned into something more akin to a grimace. “No.” To her horror, her voice squeaked.

“Thank you, Miss Chloe, for I feared that perhaps my sanity was failing me. I knew I had specified in clear language what my wishes were regarding Rebeccah and Sarah’s excursions out-of-doors—
what
they were to be,
when
and
how
they were to be conducted. I was even given to understand you were m compliance with these wishes.”

She knew she should sit quietly and wait him out, but she couldn’t help herself. “Your grace, if I may—”

“No!” he thundered, his eyes blazing as he brought his left hand slashing through the air. Chloe sat back with a little squeak.

He seemed no less surprised than she. He angled his head down and away from her, peering intently at some point on the Aubusson carpet to his left, or perhaps beyond it, until he could speak again. “No, Miss Chloe, you may not.”

“I only wished to apologize.”

He gave her a hard stare. “And should I expect
you mean that, or is this another of your convenient shows of capitulation meant to appease me, which, I have learned, are as sincere as crocodile tears?”

“I am no liar,
monsieur.
” It was said with dignity.

“I am glad to know it. I would like to hear an explanation.”

“What do you wish me to explain?”

“I want to know
why
you disregarded my wishes and took the children outside and allowed them to roll in filth like common waifs in the streets of London?”

Her mouth opened and the words spilled out before her brain even registered the impulse. “Did you never enjoy the play of children less noble than yourself?”

It was unconscionable, really, to use the snippet of gossip Mary had related so relentlessly against him, but the way it stymied him brought a thrill to her heart, and it drowned out the pangs of her conscience.

When he was silent, she asked again, “Did you never play as the commoners do? Or was it always lofty pursuits? Geometry and finance and classical literature?”

“I fail to understand,” he said at last, “how this
questioning of me
relates to your giving me an explanation. Please address the topic, Miss Chloe, and avoid straying into one of your delightful tangents, which always seem to conveniently divert attention from the matter at hand.”

He was lending no quarter. “I merely wished to know if you could understand the intention behind what I admit was my disobedience. I did go deliberately against your wishes. I regret that. I have no
real explanation except that I think having the children indoors all day in such fine weather as this, with winter fast approaching, is criminal. I believe they need diversion, especially at this time in their lives.”

“And I have stated that they need stringent routine, to bring structure and security to this particularly difficult time.”

“With all respect, your grace, I do not know how you would be aware of what Rebeccah and Sarah need. You know them not at all.”

“This is a conversation we have had before. They are children. And they are the children of a duke. They need instruction and discipline. That is final,
mademoiselle.
”

Quietly, wearily, she said, “No, your grace, they do not.”

“I trust I am in a better position to determine what my nieces’ needs are than you.”

“No, your grace, you are not. I know them. You do not. I am very sorry for the message. It gives me no pleasure to tell you that you have no idea what is best for those two little girls. It is a harsh truth, but there it is.”

“And I suppose you are well versed in child rearing. What philosophies do you espouse, Miss Chloe, that advocate thorough soaking in storms and then allowing children to grovel in muck?”