Strathmere's Bride (10 page)

G
erald arrived, and with him the first hard blows of winter. He made his entrance at Strathmere with profuse exclamations over the harshness of the clime, shaking the cold rain off his greatcoat and stamping his muddy boots.

The duchess hurried him into the library, although a cozy fire was already dancing a lıvely jig in the fireplace in the parlor. She argued that it would be much cozier. At first Jareth was puzzled by this breach of convention until he saw the mud flaking off Gerald’s soles onto the old worn carpet. The carpet in the parlor was a plush Persian, purchased only last year, but the library one was old and in need of replacement anyway. Jareth chuckled at his mother’s cleverness as he poured out a generous snifter full of brandy for his cousin.

“Everyone is heading to Italy and France,” Gerald grumbled as he inched his chair closer to the fire. “What I’m doing here in the north of England at this time of year, I haven’t the slightest idea.”

The duchess smiled, not lifting her eyes from her crochet. “It is because you are so selfless. You think
of how we have missed you, and deny yourself the pleasures with which others consume themselves.”

A bland smile graced Gerald’s ruddy face. “Aunt Charlotte, you are too flattering. However, I regret to disabuse you of the notion of my virtue. It is completely selfish of me to come and visit with my favorite aunt.” His watery blue eyes slipped to Jareth, who was standing by the window. “And cousin.”

Jareth turned to him and answered with a small nod.

Gerald had changed. His body was loose and thickened considerably with the years, and his face held the telltale look of a man too fond of drink. Red, large-pored skin, a bulbous nose, the tiny veins visible all gave away his penchant for spirits. His languid ennui bespoke of the dissolute life-style to which he must have become accustomed in London. He had run with the affluent young bucks, that much Jareth knew from his frequent visits to town. He used to arrange to have dinner with his cousin, but they had drifted apart and the points of common interest became harder to find. The dinners became less and less frequent, which was a relief—for both of them, Jareth suspected.

But his mother’s perceptions were anchored in the past, in a time when they had all been companions. She smiled at her nephew now. “We do so love your visits. Do we not, Strathmere?”

“That we do,” Jareth agreed without much enthusıasm.

“Strathmere. Seems odd to call you that. It must take some getting used to, eh?” Gerald swirled his brandy about in its snifter, studying it absently.

Jareth looked at him sharply, but Gerald refused to meet his eye. He kept staring into his glass.

After a moment, Jareth answered. “It grows on you.”

“On me? Not on me, dear cousin.
You
are the duke. I am merely a poor relation.”

“Of course he is the duke,” the duchess interjected smoothly. Her brow was slightly creased m confusion. “And you, sirrah, are a most
treasured
relation. You are being so silly, Gerald.”

He lowered his face to his glass. “Yes, Aunt, I am indeed.”

She laughed as if to indicate that all was settled satisfactorily. “Tell us what you have been doing in London all this time. You naughty boy, you never write.”

Jareth couldn’t keep his peace. “When I saw you last, you were busy at the various gaming halls in the city. Are you still at it?”

“What?” the duchess gasped. “Surely not. Gerald?”

“Fell in with bad company, Auntie, I confess it. Played too much, too hard and for far too much money. The wages of sin.” He paused, tucking his thick chin into his chest. “It is not easy for a man like me—with limited means—to keep up with his betters.”

Jareth raised a brow. “Trouble?”

Gerald squinted at him. “I don’t suppose you’d understand. You never went in for gambling, did you?”

“My dear fellow, I gambled very heavily in my past. My entire quarterly allowance, as a matter of fact. Sunk every dime into a business with one ship
my partner had won in a card game and knew how to sail, but that was about it. Neither one of us was educated in commerce.” He felt the swell of pride building inside him. How exciting it had been to build Burke and Hunt Shipping from nothing into a small empire. “So, yes, I am familiar with the art of putting one’s life-style on the line.”

“It is not the same thing.” Gerald threw back his brandy and wiped his hand crudely across his mouth. “It is a pestilence inside me. I can’t stop thinking about it. It rules me, makes me sick, yet I crave it.”

“Oh, surely you exaggerate!” the duchess declared, her tone indicating that the messy little confession was to be dropped.

Jareth felt a stab of pity as he watched his cousin. Gerald gave a single, silent laugh and rose to fill his glass again. “Of course I am. I acquired a taste for the dramatic in London, Auntie. Comes from rubbing elbows with all those court dandies and their gossiping ladies.”

The duchess sniffed. “Well, it is not amusing, Gerald. Really, to discuss something so
common.
Do remember yourself in the future.”

A new voice cut into the tensions of the room, just a small gasp, a barely breathed, “Oh!” Recognizing it, Jareth snapped his head up to see it was indeed Chloe, looking apologetic and a bit frightened, standing in the doorway.

“Excusez-moi,”
she declared, backing up. “I came for something to read to the children. I did not know anyone was in here.”

Jareth made to move forward—not even giving it any thought—when his mother’s voice sounded sharply. “My dear, your manners are atrocious! Have
you never been taught to knock before entering a room?”

Chloe kept her chin up, yet managed not to look defiant. “The fire was laid in the parlor earlier. I merely assumed you would be entertaining your guest there. I see I was mistaken. I apologize for disturbing you.”

“No,” Jareth said, finding his voice. “It is no imposition. What book were you looking for?”

“It is not important. I shall come back later.”

“I shall get it for you now if you like.” He tried his most winning smile. “It will save you a trip.”

“I…” She was indecisive. “It was one of the astronomy books you told Rebeccah she could see. May I borrow it to read to her?”

“Yes, yes, of course. I believe I have one that would be suitable for your purposes.”

He went to the shelf and began to search for the volume. She was trying so hard to bring the children and him together, fueling theır interest in his hobbies.

“Still stargazing, Jareth?” Gerald threw out the question.

His mother’s voice behind him sounded almost shrill. “You knew about that?”

“Certainly. Jareth can be a damnable boor when he gets talking about the equilibrium and solace and other such phenomenon.”

“That is absurd,” Jareth replied as his eyes scanned titles. “Those terms have nothing to do with astronomy.”

“Oh, whatever,” Gerald sighed.

“I hope you are not boring Lady Helena with talk of such trivialities,” the duchess said. “You cannot
expect a lady of such quality of breeding to be tolerant of unconventional interests.”

He found it. That first volume that had sparked his interest as a boy. Cradling the well-worn leather in his palm, he turned to Chloe, locking eyes with her stormy ones. He had a strange thought. It occurred to him just then that a man could get lost in those eyes. They held such pity, such understanding, and something within him surged to life.

He held out the book, taking a step forward. She held out her hand, moving toward him. Her eyes wouldn’t let him go.

Without shifting his gaze, he said to his mother, “What would you have me say in conversation instead, then? Regale the fascinating details of the new lace from Brussels? Perhaps the merits of curling tongs used on dampened hair versus dry?”

Chloe touched the book, taking its weight from him. Somewhere else in the room, in the universe, his mother huffed, “Oh, really!”

“Start with that one,” Jareth said softly.

It was she who broke eye contact, glancing to his mother. He watched her narrowed gaze, the almost imperceptible hardening of her features.

She was angry at his mother on his behalf.

It made him smile, genuinely pleased. She said, “Thank you, your grace. I regret to have disturbed you.”

“It was a pleasure,” he replied. And he meant it.

She turned, leaving quickly. He was aware of a wish to follow, envying her the ability to quit this room.

In the ensuing silence, Gerald’s voice sounded large and loud.
“Who
was that?”

His mother didn’t answer, so Jareth turned to face his cousin. “Miss Chloe, my nieces’ governess.”

Gerald was sharp, at least sharp enough to be watching Jareth closely. “That accent…is she French?”

“Yes.”

He curled his lip. “Never trust a frog.”

“Gerald!” the duchess scolded, but it was a halfhearted reprimand.

“Chloe Pesserat is my late sister-in-law’s relative. Her cousin. She came to tend the children several months before Bethany and Charles were killed and has been gracious enough to remain in order to avoid undo trauma to the children.”

“Pretty thing,” Gerald said. “Moves like a dancer.” His grin was lascivious, meant to convey to Jareth just how appealing he found the French governess. Jareth sensed immediately that he was being baited.

“Do you think so?” he replied with a barely stifled yawn. He shoved his hands into his pockets to hide the white-knuckled fists from his cousin’s too observant glances. “I always thought her rather plain.”

“And plenty of trouble,” his mother added. “We are planning to get rid of her just as soon as Jareth— as soon as the situation is resolved.”

Jareth could scarcely believe his mother’s blunder. Two, in fact. First, his name. Second, the “situation” that needed to be “resolved” was his unmarried state. How uncouth of her to mention her master plan so baldly. So, Chloe would stay on until Helena came to live at Strathmere after their wedding and then the
responsibility of his nieces would be handled, naturally, by his new wife.

The new Duchess of Strathmere.

It was hard to pinpoint exactly why the plan didn’t appeal to him. It made sense. Indeed, he was convinced of Helena’s competence and had no doubts she would do an excellent job with the girls.

But she couldn’t heal them. That he knew. This his mother didn’t care about. He did. However, mindful of Gerald’s perked ears, he kept his opinion to himself.

“Do you still like to hunt, Jareth?” Gerald asked.

“It was Charles who loved it, not I,” Jareth replied without rancor.

“Ah, yes, I recall that now. Well, do you hunt at all? With the weather turning now, it is the most excellent season for deer. That is the only thing I missed about the country—”

“No.”

“Pardon me?”

“No deer are to be hunted in my parks.”

His mother scoffed. “Surely, dear, you don’t mean to say—”

“I mean,” he began, his voice lowering with sternness, “that no deer are to be killed on Strathmere lands.
My
lands. I am well within my rights to make such a rule. Is that clear?”

Silence. His mother’s face was pure shock, something he had never seen before. It was the sight of it that brought on the realization of how coarsely he had just behaved.

Gerald murmured some excuse, quickly drained the remainder of his glass and placed it on a teakwood table before exiting the room quickly.

The duchess looked away with a sharp twist of her head, her face as stony as any statue’s.

Regret washed over him. Taking a step forward, he placed a hand on his mother’s thin shoulder. It felt bony and slight. She didn’t recoil, didn’t react at all to his touch.

“Forgive me,” he murmured.

“I have given Gerald his old room,” she said. “Do ask Mrs. Hennicot to check and see if he is comfortable.”

And so Jareth knew his request was in vain. The transgression was already forgotten, but would never, never be forgiven.

Gerald took to quail shooting instead. Jareth accompanied him a few times, but, as he told his cousin in the library, the hunt was not one of his interests. The immense paperwork associated with overseeing the duchy provided an adequate excuse to avoid further outings, and a very real one. Visits from solicitors began in earnest now that more than a few months had passed since his brother’s death and they thought, he supposed, that his mourning had lessened, at least enough for him to transact business.

He thought often of the past. At times, he longed to go back. He missed his old life. He wanted it again, wanted to be the man he once was.

Colin Burke corresponded regularly, and Jareth always looked forward to his letters, despite the fact that they were somewhat painful to read. Through them, Jareth was kept abreast of the happenings at Burke and Hunt Shipping. In addition, there was the matter of a young redhead of insurpassable beauty by the name of Serena Cameron, whom Jareth had
met and liked very much. She was keeping his friend heavily occupied, it seemed. Between the lines of Colin’s terse mention of her, Jareth recognized a burgeoning affection that didn’t surprise him at all.

He had his own courtship, however, which he saw to dutifully. Helena visited, and he and his mother dined at Rathford Manor as often as possible.

As for Chloe, she was much in his thoughts. He saw her with the children sometimes and at night in the garden. He would be working in the library in the evenings, hunched over his desk, when he would get the urge to stretch his legs. Going to the window, he would wait. Wrapped in a great cloak and moving in those gorgeous, sweeping motions that were hers alone, she would come.

A strange, urgent longing began to grow within him as the days wore on. It seemed the more he steeped in his isolation, the stronger the need grew.

But what exactly that need was, he couldn’t say.

Restless, he roamed the house, wishing the weather were pleasant enough to ride. He needed exercise, he needed the outdoors. The roiling confusion of his thoughts consumed him.

It wasn’t until he was on the threshold of the nursery that he realized where he was. His mind had wandered while his feet had moved, bringing him here, of all places. But he found it was a pleasant discovery. The door was slightly ajar and he pushed it in.