Nightingale (7 page)

The duchess bit her lips. “He hopes the blindness is temporary. He said Devlin’s eyesight can return in a blink, or it may return slowly, over time.”

Jessica immediately adopted the woman’s hope. “The condition probably will not be permanent. I’ve heard of that, temporary loss of sight after a severe blow to the head. Haven’t you? Such injuries usually heal, with time and rest.” She paused. Her words had come in a rush without allowing time for a response. Jessica wanted what she said to be true. She didn’t want to entertain the other, bleak possibility. In truth, she had never heard of such a positive end, but nurtured hope that the duchess had. “Don’t they?”

The duchess nodded, but looked distressed as she stared at the figured carpeting covering the floor at the side of the tub. She pivoted, crossed her arms and paced several steps without speaking, then said, “I have summoned his brother from London. Lattimore is a bright, cheerful influence, in spite of the fact he never lights anywhere long. Devlin may have need of Lattie’s positive attitude.”

Her eyes met Jessica’s. “Oh, my dear, I did not mean to imply that you have been in any way remiss. It was wonderful of you to find and return Devlin to us. We appreciate your trouble and your dedication in seeing him safely home.”

Jessica smiled. “I am not offended, Your Grace. As I am sure your son told you, I must leave immediately. My mother depends on me and I have other responsibilities as well.” She saw no need to mention her hens, their care and feeding or the mucking out of their pens. A peer of the realm certainly had no need of information like that.

The duchess looked alarmed. “Oh my dear girl, you cannot possibly leave until you are properly rewarded.”

The water was cooling around her. Although Jessica wanted to stay and continue enjoying the delicate fragrance of the soap, she felt obliged to forfeit the tub to provide what comfort she could to her hostess.

As she gathered herself and prepared to stand, however, the duchess called out. “Sophie, fetch the kettle to warm this water. And prepare the rinse kettles, as well.”

Turning back to Jessica, the dowager said, “Stay just where you are, darling. You haven’t yet had full benefit of the bath you so heroically earned.” She hesitated, studying Jessica’s dark, tangled hair. “Would you allow me to suds your hair for you?”

Stunned at the suggestion, Jessica didn’t answer immediately, but ceased her effort to quit the tub.

“I’ll do it,” Odessa offered, suddenly reappearing from the far corner of the chamber where she had stood silently, allowing the two ladies uninterrupted conversation.

The duchess seemed to have attached her mind to the idea. “I had only three sons,” she said, regarding Jessica’s dark, abundant curls. “They, of course, had nurses and governesses, while I traveled with their father much of the time.” Her thoughts seemed to wander, before her eyes focused again on Jessica. “I would consider it a privilege to wash your hair for you, Jess.”

The dowager adopted the abbreviated form of her name others sometimes insisted on using, against her mother’s wishes.

With that, Lady Anne Miracle, the Dowager Duchess of Fornay, dropped to her knees, pushed up the sleeves of her gold brocade morning dress and grabbed the round cake of scented soap.

After looking in on a sleeping Devlin, Jessica spent the morning in a sort of stupor — her thinking dulled perhaps by her lack of sleep — waiting for the duke to rouse.

She paced to the broad windows of her chamber that looked out over grassy lots separated by fences. Sweetness grazed in one by the cart trail, the road the serving ladies indicated led to Welter. She should leave, but she wanted to see Devlin one more time, and then she would be away.

Turning from the window, Jessica eyed the full-length mirror, embarrassed to see herself entirely from top to toe. She moved closer to inspect her reflection in greater detail, gathered the length of her dress and pulled it up, little at a time, afraid of shocking herself with saucy revelations. She had never seen herself — not all of her, anyway. She felt vain admiring her reflection so brazenly, yet her appearance came as a pleasant surprise. She was more proportionate, more attractive, than she had imagined.

Twisting, she attempted to view the exposed backs of her legs and hips. After much repositioning and lengthy study, she smiled into the reflection of her own face.

She dropped her skirts and tugged the scooping neckline off of one shoulder for further inspection. Biting her lips at her own audacity and surprised by her lack of modesty, she squirmed to unfasten the dress and pull it down to expose the chemise. Nervously, she slid the undergarment down to examine her full, rounded breasts. She cupped and examined each one from several angles, blushing and smiling at her own effrontery.

Her curiosity sated, Jessica readjusted her clothing and promised herself that, if she ever undressed in a room alone, assured of complete privacy, in front of such a mirror, she would take full, unrestricted views of her person.

She needed to be getting home as soon as she saw the duke and said her good-byes.

Thoughts of that meeting and their conversation were interrupted by a commotion downstairs, like earlier ones that urged her out of her room to steal a look below.

More callers, like those who had besieged the house through the morning, bearing gifts and food and inquiring after the duke. Jessica watched the comings and goings undetected. The visitors made her realize the duke was well known and, obviously well enough, admired … maybe even loved.

Slipping downstairs, careful to avoid straggling visitors, staff, and family members, she marveled at the solarium, which might be a ballroom, if there were not already another vast chamber so designated. She stood in awe at the door to the great library that boasted four ladders extending to shelves high overhead.

When Patterson, the majordomo, caught her sometime later standing at the door of a small salon, she started and apologized.

“You are welcome to enjoy this room, as well as any others,” he said. “This salon is for entertaining small groups of ladies making social calls. It is probably where you will entertain your guests.”

She smiled at the idea of her friends calling upon her here. Penny Anderson would probably swoon dead away if she were escorted into such a chamber.

“And the duke’s gentlemen friends? Where does he entertain them?”

Patterson indicated she should follow and led her to another salon near the library on the other side of the entry. “This is the duke’s study and his office where he meets with businessmen from time to time.”

“Where does he entertain his female callers?”

Patterson frowned. “He does not have female callers here, my lady.”

She lowered her voice. “Will you tell me something of the older son, then, and how Devlin came to acquire the title? Was there bad blood among the three?”

“No, my lady.” The man’s face softened. “Master Rothchild, the eldest, was devoted to duty. He did things properly and well, groomed as he was from birth to be a duke.”

Hoping this reminiscing might take a while, Jessica settled lightly on a window seat, prepared to listen.

“Master Rothchild was mortally injured in a duel over the reputation of Lady Jane Sequest, a woman who, it is said, maintains a list of men who died defending her honor. She added two names to her list that morning. Master Roth’s opponent died, gasping for air around the ball lodged in his throat. The dying man’s shot went through Roth’s liver and pierced a kidney.”

The old servant seemed to age, diminishing as his shoulders slumped with the memory. While Jessica did not like seeing his distress, she thought speaking of the death of a loved one sometimes aided the handling of one’s grief. Also, she was curious about how the elder son’s demise affected the family.

“The damage to either organ would have been fatal,” Patterson continued, as if he were alone. “A London physician told us it scarcely mattered which failed first. The family returned to Gull’s Way, the ancestral home.”

Suddenly, he glanced into her face and regarded Jessica earnestly, as if concerned that she understand the import of his words. “Master Roth spent his final days in excruciating pain, not only his, but his family’s.

“Until then, Devlin — that is, His Grace — had been the lighthearted middle son. He was a better scholar than Master Roth. Of course, he did not have the pressure that weighted Master Roth’s efforts.

“As Master Roth lay dying, Devlin grew solemn as he anticipated a role he felt ill-prepared to take up. His father assured him, but the old duke’s grief had himself tied in knots. He loved each of his sons equally, but he had not considered his second son might acquire the title.”

Patterson paused and Jessica patted the cushion beside her. He eased onto the far end of the window seat. A glint of tears seeped from the corners of his eyes.

“Of course, Devlin had the intelligence and the courage to assume the responsibilities,” she suggested, to waylay his sadness and keep him talking.

“You may be assured of that, Miss. He is, after all, a Miracle. Blood will tell.”

“What of Lattimore? Did he share the family’s grief?”

Patterson regarded her with what looked like annoyance. “Certainly, Miss, although Master Lattie was only thirteen at the time.”

Quiet for a moment, Patterson smiled slightly at what seemed a bittersweet memory. “It was the youngest who said, ‘At least a fatal injury, rather than instantaneous death, provided time for us to say farewell, and to adjust.’”

“Did his experience make his brothers more aware of the dangers in duels and other ridiculous gestures?”

Patterson gave her a wry smile. “No. Rather than making the young masters more cautious, Roth’s passing made life the most intriguing gamble of all. His Grace, particularly, tossed life’s dice fiercely, daring fate to take up his often-flung gauntlet.

“Eventually, Master Lattie, too, followed the pattern set by both of his elder brothers.”

Patterson stood abruptly. “Please forgive me, Miss. I don’t know what possessed me to confide this family’s private concerns. I generally am not given to gossip.”

Rising to her feet as well, Jessica smiled. “You are a discreet man, Mr. Patterson. You only disclosed as much as you thought proper and only to one you recognized as a friend who admires this family, though not nearly as much as you, nor for nearly so long. Thank you, Mr. Patterson, for trusting me. I will reward your trust with my own discretion.”

He stiffened and regarded her down the length of his rather imperial nose. “You may address me simply as Patterson.”

“That does not seem respectful, Mr. Patterson, what with the difference in our ages. Not unless, of course, you will consent to call me by my Christian name. I hereby give you permission — insist, even — that you call me Jessica.”

His forehead wrinkled as his eyebrows arched.

“I am a scullery maid, sir, not a lady,” she said quietly.

He snorted a half laugh. “I shall not mention your former position to a living soul, Miss, and I would advise you not to do so either.”

“All right, it will be our secret. Now that we have shared such intimacies, will you call me by my name?”

Again, he appeared to think before his brow smoothed. “If I do, then you must call me by my Christian name as well. Tims.”

She offered a well-scrubbed hand. Smiling broadly, he took it, sealing their bargain. Odessa, the housekeeper, chose that moment to exit the library, almost running into them both.

“Say, now, what’s going on ’ere?” she asked.

Patterson’s face resumed its closed expression. “Were you eavesdropping?”

Odessa looked as if she might burst before a glance at Jessica cut her anger. She regarded Patterson with a sympathetic smile. “This one,” she indicated Jessica, “undermines a person’s natural reticence.”

Patterson drew a breath, and then exhaled as if surrendering. “That is an astute observation, Odessa. Now, kindly act as the lady’s guide and show her the rest of the house?” He put emphasis on the word ‘lady.’ Jessica flashed him a conspiratorial smile as he abruptly turned and abandoned them.

Odessa giggled. “You do have a way with you, child.”

“I am no child, Odessa.”

“So you keep reminding us.” Odessa nudged Jessica’s arm and led her toward another set of double doors. The older woman babbled, spewing information as she guided Jessica through dining rooms — one large, one small — and into the kitchen, a vast space Jessica decided needed to be as large as it was if only to accommodate the number of staff in and out.

The kitchen contained cabinets and countertops, cook stoves, basins beneath pumps that brought water directly into the house, and a long trestle table flanked by equally long benches. Chairs graced either end.

Jessica left the kitchen as activity began with preparations for the noon meal.

• • •

She was his amulet, his charm, the spindly child with the long legs, tiny waist, and bony shoulders. He could almost feel again the warmth of her small, round bottom situated comfortably between his thighs. He was amazed by his mother’s interest in and approval of the child. Of course, the dowager was partial to the female offspring of her friends and even staff. Maybe she felt inadequate at having produced only sons, a feat which pleased his father.

His father, the eleventh Duke of Fornay, had been dead more than three years now. Some said he died of a broken heart after the loss of his eldest son.

Devlin didn’t believe that.

Propped in his bed, bathed, comfortably drifting in and out of sleep, the nobleman smiled recalling his brothers and their youthful exuberance, how they pleased their father, each in his own way. They were none of the three alike, not in looks or dispositions or talents.

After Roth’s death and before the old duke’s passing, Devlin dedicated himself to enjoying life. He bought and raced horses, invested in and worked aboard cargo ships, dallied with well-bred ladies, all riskier than putting money on a gaming table. No chance was too great, no stakes too high.