Strathmere's Bride (16 page)

Jareth was not at all certain what had just happened. He walked to his library, carrying with him a cup of tea and setting it on the mahogany desk. Admittedly, he was bemused by the extraordinary conversation. Nearly every conversation with Chloe was extraordinary, however, so he eventually shrugged it off and settled in to look over his master plan for the duchy.

It felt good to have put the weight of his new position in a more comfortable place. He would have more control over his own life, more say in how and when his duties were carried out, and would take charge of the demands that had been tearing at him ever since he arrived home.

Yes, decidedly, he was satisfied. He had studiously applied himself to learning the enterprises that traditionally backed the family fortune. Now he considered it was about time he advanced his other interests. In an effort to tailor his investments to suit his expertise, he began to draw up a plan. He was going to take the duchy in a whole new direction.

He was tired of his mother manipulating his social life, as well. He vowed his passivity in this regard would end. He had no objection to Helena Rathford as his future wife, but no longer would he be moved about like a pawn by the two matrons.

Toward those ends, he suggested a small luncheon party after dinner that evening.

“Whom would you like to invite?” Charlotte Hunt asked, her skirts rustling as she hurried over to her desk in the drawing room and sat down. Pulling out the quill pen, she touched the feather to her lips. “Besides the Rathfords, I think the Bemores…and the Carlesons!” Twisting to her son, she frowned. “Do you remember Herbert Carleson from when you were a boy?”

“I thought him a prıg. Do not invite them.”

“But they are of good family and it would be—”

“I shall give you the list and you may write the invitations.”

The duchess didn’t like this, judging by her expression. Surprisingly she kept her counsel.

He pressed on. “And I wish the children to attend. Perhaps Lady Helena could be persuaded to sing. The children should enjoy that.”

His mother was instantly on the alert. “Oh, Strathmere, you aren’t thinking of having that dreadful Frenchwoman there, as well? She shall disgrace us all.”

“Miss Chloe is the children’s governess. Make certain to invite her. She is also a relative, and so the family tie must not be overlooked.”

Pressing her lips together, the duchess scratched down Chloe’s name.

As it happened, Chloe was not at all happy to attend.

In fact, she wished most profoundly to stay as far away from Jareth Hunt, Duke of Strathmere, as she could get—friendship be damned!

When the housekeeper told her of the invitation with a mixture of excitement and envy, Chloe could only think of how she would have to sit in attendance as Jareth paid court to the stunning Helena Rathford.

“No,” she told Mrs. Hennicot politely, “please extend my regrets to his grace. While I appreciate his courtesy in remembering me, I do not think it my place.”

Mrs. Hennicot was utterly shocked that she would decline such a grand invitation, and left with a bemused expression. No doubt she would simply put it down to the strange things “that odd Frenchwoman” was apt to do. Even though Chloe was well liked among the staff, she knew they found her…well, eccentric, perhaps.

However, the matter of the luncheon would not
stay settled in her brain. She thought about what it would be like to be there. She remembered when he had muttered under his breath that their kiss had meant “everything” to him. What had he meant by that? And he didn’t love Helena, he had told her so, and he had intimated that it was she, Chloe, whom he would choose if he were free.

Sitting in the great oak rocker while the children played at her feet, she mulled over the strange conversation. The knowledge of his admitted desire lingered in her heart, spreading an excited heat throughout her body and starting crazy thoughts to whirl about in her head. What if…?

Catching herself up, she shook off the musing. What foolishness was this that she was toying with? He was a duke and nothing would change that fact, and as such he was as far and as unreachable as the stars he so dearly loved to watch and study. There was no place in his world for a woman like her.

She would have to accept it.

But as he himself had noted, Chloe was never any good at limitations. They seemed mere challenges to her. And as much as the sensible part of her cautioned against it—and yes, there was a part, albeit a very small one, that did think sensibly—her mind began to wander once again as marvelous possibilities and fantasies captivated her attention.

It wasn’t until much later, in the dead of night after she had been awakened by Rebeccah’s cries and was rocking her and soothing her as she did every night, that she decided she would go to the luncheon after all. As terrified as she was to face Lady Helena, to see her rival’s perfection and witness the admiration it drew, she knew she must be there.

And she would make her presence known.

W
hen the afternoon arrived, Chloe sat at the small table in her room and propped a hand mirror upon it. Knowing she would be hopelessly outdone by Lady Helena, she considered what to do. She could hardly go in to a formal luncheon in one of her everyday dresses and with her brown tresses in a simple braid. Having no talent at hair, she struggled to wrap the weighty mass into a twist on top of her head. She used up all her pins and it still wobbled threateningly, so she improvised with a brooch that used to be her mother’s. It was simple enough for day wear, and it looked good fastened in the gleaming mass. Not too elegant, but charming, she decided.

Even if she possessed cosmetics, she would, no doubt, be abysmal at applying them, so she contented herself with biting her lips. Her excitement did the rest. Her eyes glowed back at her from the glass and her cheeks were flame-kissed. She sighed to note a few loose tendrils coming out already from the tidy chignon to curl about her face. No matter, it was the best she could do.

The dress she chose was a deep cobalt, a gift from
her cousin. Bethany had given her many dresses, unable to wear them again after each season, lest she become the target of gossip as to her husband’s penury. Chloe had a closetful to choose from, but the color of this one made it the best choice. The cut was a modest décolletage with lace trim and very plain otherwise. Although Chloe was not fashionconscious in the least, she did know when something looked good on her, and this did.

When finished, she felt as if she had been toiling for hours. Her efforts were worth it, she surmised, when she was greeted by a chorus of gasps as she swept into the nursery.

“Oh, Chloe, you look beautiful,” Bette declared.

Chloe knew she was not beautiful, but the compliment warmed her just the same.

The girls looked like confections in pink satin and cream lace, matching gowns that suited neither of them. The duchess had ordered them made. The two of them stared at Chloe, looking uncomfortable but excited at the same time.

“Miss Chloe, you look lovely,” Rebeccah breathed.

“Thank you,” Chloe replied, and took a child in each hand, heading down the stairs with confidence.

Confidence that fizzled as soon as she crossed the threshold of the drawing room.

Across from her, close to Jareth’s elbow, Lady Helena looked delicious in a cream gown and perfectly coiffed hair. She was attending to Jareth, her profile noble and so damned…perfect.

“There they are!” the duchess exclaimed. Her smile was a parody. Her eyes darted her disapproval at Chloe’s tardiness.

“Hello,
Grand-mère,
” Rebeccah said, dipping a small curtsy. Sarah came up behind her sister and bobbed prettily.

“Oh, Charlotte, I tell you, those children are charming,” Lady Rathford purred. Angling a doubtful glance at Chloe, she asked, “And who do we have here?”

Chloe heard the countess introduce her, but her eyes were caught as Jareth turned from where he stood in the corner with Helena and another man. He noticed her and froze, his eyes sweeping over her, and she thought perhaps she needed to sit down because she very much doubted her knees would hold her upright for long.

“Chloe!” the duchess demanded.

“Yes!” Chloe squeaked as she snapped back to attention. The two matrons were glaring at her. Realizing she had just been presented to Lady Rathford, she extended her hand as a man would do. “Pleased to meet you.”

Lady Rathford merely stared down at Chloe’s extended hand, a look of confusion and horror on her face. One would think she’d never seen a hand before, Chloe mused, then realized what she had done. She snatched her hand back to her side.

“You must excuse Miss Chloe, Lady Rathford.” It was Jareth’s voice. He had come up behind her, offering an enchanting smile to his nieces. Sarah wiggled her fingers at him, smiling broadly. Rebeccah’s greeting was shy.

Returning his attention to the adults, he explained, “Miss Chloe is from the Loire Valley in France. You may have heard of it. It was a favorite region of the novelist, Balzac.”

This impressed Lady Rathford, Chloe saw.

Jareth continued, “The traditions from her home may seem strange, but we have learned not only to accept them but appreciate her particular brand of delightful charm.”

Turning to Chloe, he smiled a smile to melt her stockings and held out his hand. Dumbfounded, Chloe shook it, bare skin touching.

She stood speared by his dark eyes, those beautiful eyes. She remembered his words, whispering along her spine, chilling her and warming her at the same time.
If we were two people in different sorts of lives, it would be utterly different matter.

A dulcet voice cut in. “Hello.” It was Helena.

The thrilling reaction coursing through her body was doused as quickly as a pinched candle flame. Her hand was still in Jareth’s, so she pulled it free. Did she imagine the momentary grasp before he released it, as if he was loath to let it go?

Helena looked at Jareth curiously. Polite, she held out her hand. “We have met before.”

Chloe had no choice but to take Helena’s outstretched hand. “I remember. It is lovely to see you again, Lady Helena.”

She smiled and Chloe’s heart plummeted. It was so brilliant a smile,
she
was brilliant, sparkling with beauty and so very poised, with Chloe standing across from her feeling like a mud-covered farmer at a London ball.

“How kind of you,” Helena replied, her smile deepening. She looked down at the children. “And I remember these two beautiful ladies, as well.”

Rebeccah curtsied again, elbowing Sarah when she was slow to follow her example. The tot bobbed
sloppily, but the children were nonetheless the delight of the onlookers.

“May I take them to meet Father?” Helena asked, addressing Jareth. “He adores children.”

“Yes, of course,” Jareth answered, his eyes straying back to Chloe. When Helena had gone, he spoke in a low tone. “You look very different today, Miss Chloe.”

The compliment pleased her. She replied impishly, “I thought I was to call you Jareth and you were to call me just plain Chloe—like friends.”

“But we are not alone, are we?”

“No one can hear.”

“Nevertheless, I cannot call you plain Chloe, not anymore.” His gaze was hot. She felt every inch of his body pulsing with energy, breaching the gap between them, reaching out to her. His eyelids came down, hovering over his eyes so that they looked lazy and languid and altogether too deliriously appealing. Self-consciously, she darted a look about to see if anyone was watching.

Her eyes collided with the searıng disapproval blazing m the duchess’s stare.

Chloe swallowed hard. “I believe I shall go see to the children.”

“I wish to introduce you to—”

“
Non.
They may be frightened among so many strangers. Perhaps later…” The flimsy excuse didn’t fool him, she thought as she made her way across the room.

Of course it didn’t, but Jareth was grateful for it just the same. She was the wise one today, exercising the restraint he had preached but was finding an enormous amount of difficulty in executing.

How could he be blamed, he argued to himself, when she showed up this afternoon looking like
that.

It was difficult to say what
that
was. She was no beauty, in the sense of Helena’s great gift. Rather she was a pretty girl, always a bit undone, rather sloppy and on the whole appearing a bit mussed. Today, however, she was…what
was
it about her?

She was tidier, that was certain, although her hair was looser than what was the fashion and a few wisps had fought their way free to caress her cheeks and brow. The effect was utterly enchanting, however. And when contrasted with Helena’s tight curls, far more interesting. Her gown was stunning, perfectly suited to the occasion, if more elaborate than what he was used to seeing her wear. Perhaps the color changed her, or maybe it was her eyes, which seemed to sparkle today, or her mouth…

A tightening in his loins alerted Jareth that his musings had best be reserved for another time. Another, less public time.

The bell rang for the meal and Jareth ushered his guests into the hallway. A cold, bitter hardness curled in his chest when he saw his cousin had Chloe’s arm. He tried to shake off the feeling as he turned to Helena, but his control was nearly shattered when he heard her laughter behind him and Gerald’s voice sounding low and confidential.

In the hallway, they proceeded down the corridor. Everyone paired off except for his mother, who trailed along, still chatting with Lady Rathford. Goodness, Jareth thought, those two never ceased. They were as thick as thieves.

“Your grace!” a voice called from the direction of the front door.

Jareth turned to see his footman trying to restrain a burly man. “What is this?” he demanded.

“A word, your grace, I beg of you,” the man replied, looking nervously at the other guests as they filed out of the parlor and gathered in a sort of circle behind Jareth.

By his side, Jareth felt Helena stiffen, heard a sharp, low gasp. He dashed a glance to see her pale as snow, her finely boned hand pressed to bloodless lips.

He looked back to the man, about to demand he leave, when he saw the man’s gaze fasten on something behind Jareth. A voice rasped, “Get him out of here!” Footsteps sounded as a quartet of manservants came rushing into the room, and the man broke away from the footman who had been attempting to hold him.

“Get him out!” Jareth ordered. “Gerald, take our guests to the dining room.”

Gerald was quick to get himself, and incidentally the others, out of harm’s way.

The man gave the footman a mighty shove and bolted through the door, disappearing ın a flash. The servants, whose timely arrival had been, Jareth supposed, the reason for the man’s flight, paused. “Should we go after him, sir?” one asked.

Jareth shook his head. “Lock the door and check the others. We have guests to see to.” He turned to join the others, his brain disturbed by something he hadn’t quite been able to put his finger on…something that still disturbed him…

He laid his hand on the knob of the scarred oak door to the dining room and was about to turn it
when he stopped and whirled and shouted to the disbanding servants. “No! Go after him!”

They were confused for a moment at this change of orders. Jareth roared, “Get him, now!”

Snapping out of their befuddlement, they charged out of the house in a thunder of footsteps.

Jareth stood in the midst of the hall, his heart banging wildly against his ribs. The ring. It hadn’t registered at first. When the man had been struggling with his footman, it had caught the light from the chandelier and flashed for an instant.

The man who attacked him in the garden had a ring.

He gathered his composure quickly, mindful of his houseful of guests. When he entered the dining room moments later, he did so with an easy stride and a reassuring smile.

“Strathmere, what m heavens was that all about?” his mother demanded from her seat. She looked at him as if he were personally responsible for the interruption.

Everyone was just sitting there, waiting for his explanation. His eyes touched Chloe’s, noting her concern and her wise stare, which always seemed to see too much.

“Some drunkard who wished to make complaint about his wages. It seemed Garfledger Tavern has raised their prices, and he wants a similar increase to help keep him flush.”

This sparked a chorus of knowing grumbles among his guests. Dissatisfied tenants were a familiar nuisance among the wealthy landowners. The conversation took off from there as the first course was served.

Chloe was in the garden, lost in thought.

The luncheon earlier that day had been an abysmal failure as far as she was concerned.

The duchess had been in her element, gloating over her granddaughters in a way that set Chloe’s teeth on edge. The woman didn’t see or speak to them for weeks, sometimes months on end, yet she played the doting
grand-mère
when others were looking on to applaud the girls’ adorableness and excellent manners.

That, at least, had gone well. The girls had behaved beautifully. Even Rebeccah had been charming and polite. The frequent glances to her uncle told Chloe that the girl was interested in his approval, and perhaps it was the desire for his admiration that kept her normally exuberant behavior in check.

Lady and Lord Rathford were particularly taken with the children, insisting that Jareth and his mother bring them with them the next time they visited Rathford Manor.

They had all gaped at Chloe when she interrupted their plans. “I am sorry, that will be impossible. The children do not like travel.”

Lady Rathford had looked at her as if she were an insect. A particularly horrible one. “Young lady, I believe the children shall manage nicely. The appointments on the ducal coach are excellent and comfortable in the extreme.”

“They mustn’t ride in the ducal coach,” Chloe stated, looking to Jareth. Surely he understood the significance of this.

“I have a small pony trap that they might find amusing,” he said.

“I do not think—”

He had cut her off. “It will be good for the children to have an outing.”

“But—”

“Miss Pesserat,” the duchess had intervened. Her tone was as brittle as a crusting of ice. “My son and I are perfectly aware of the circumstances under which the children’s fears have been formed, but the physician was quite specific upon his last visit. There has been no improvement.”

Casting a nervous look at her charges, Chloe had said urgently, “Your grace, please!”

The duchess waved off the plea. Of course, the children’s feelings were not to be considered. Her granddaughters barely existed to her, only in a functional way, and then only occasionally.

Chloe saw Rebeccah’s sharp eyes taking everything in, her brow creased in worry.

That was when Helena roused herself to contribute. “I shall ride over, and the duke and I can take them with us. It shall be fun. You girls would enjoy that, wouldn’t you? We shall sing songs and play similes. Have you ever played? It is a word game, and…” The sentence trailed off. Chloe presumed she had just recollected that Sarah did not speak.