Strathmere's Bride (9 page)

“These are shockingly good,” Jareth said, holding the paper figure up and turning it about. “You made these yourself? You must have some talent at sketching, Miss Chloe.”

“It is a hobby, but not only good for recreation. It is an excellent method of acclimating the girls to proper dress requirements for the various social occasions they will be expected to attend when they are older.” She hoped she sounded convincing.

He shrugged, picking up the riding habit she had sketched quickly and cut out for the doll. “Quite amazing. Of course, this sort of talent is always incomprehensible to those of us who cannot draw a straight line.”

She smiled and returned to her task. “Did you have a particular reason for visiting us today, your grace?”

“Ah, yes.” He sat back in his chair and smiled in turn at each of the three faces peering intently in his direction. “I recalled something I thought the children would be interested in. Something about
pirates.”

There was a leaden silence after this grand announcement. As it stretched on, the pleasure evident on his handsome features waned. “I was given to understand you liked pirate stories.”

Coming out of her shock, Chloe said in a rush, “Oh, we do. That is, the children adore them. Do not be afraid they will become frightened. I can attest to the fact that they are quite bloodthirsty. Go ahead.”

“Well,” he said with anticipation, “I was thinking about our talk last time, and realized that I had indeed met a buccaneer, a man of questionable reputation
who was later tried and hanged for his crimes.”

“What happened?” Rebeccah demanded. Bless her curiosity, for it forced her to overcome her awe.

“I was on the docks one day, overseeing the loading of a particularly valuable shipment of home furnishings.”

Chloe exclaimed, “Oh, my goodness, did he steal them right out from under your chin?”

Jareth bit his cheeks. “I believe the expression would be ‘my nose.’ And no, he did not. He walked past me, brushing against my shoulder and not apologizing for it. Rather, he looked accusingly at me and seemed to consider for a moment whether or not to take exception to my rudeness at having been standing in a spot through which he wished to walk. When he went on his way, the fellow I was standing with, my partner, Mr. Burke, said, ‘Do you know who that was?’ and I answered I did not. He told me then that the fellow was a well-known privateer whose thin disguise of legality was known by all to be false. His reputation was fierce, and only a few short months after our altercation, he was caught and tried, whereupon he was found guilty and sentenced to hang.”

Dead silence. It stretched onward, yawning into discomfort as Chloe struggled to find some suitable reply.

Unfortunately, Rebeccah beat her to it. Even worse, she was honest. “That was it? He brushed up against you on a dock?” Her disappointment was palpable.

Chloe shot him an apologetic smile and interjected her person in between the two of them. “I told you
they were bloodthirsty. Nothing short of someone losing their head will satisfy them.”

He was disappointed his grand tale had not been more of a success. Chloe almost felt sorry for him. He was lost when it came to all of this business with the children, but she so appreciated his trying.

“Speaking of boats,” she said, casting her young charge a leading look, “Rebeccah has been learning a bit about them.”

“Ships,” he corrected in a flat voice.

“Pardon me?”

“Not boats. Ships.”

“Ah,
trs biĦn.
Yes, ships. We learned, your grace, that
ships
maneuver using the stars as guides.” She looked to Rebeccah and widened her eyes.

“It is called navigation,” Jareth explained.

“The con-sell-a-shun called ass-a minor is the Big Dipper,” Rebeccah blurted.

Chloe let out her breath in relief.

Jareth looked down at his niece, puzzled. “Pardon me?”

Panic and confusion marred her hopeful face. Chloe laid a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “It is Ursa Major,
ma petite.
Is it not wonderful, your grace, that she has learned so quickly? She wanted to know all about the things that you like, so I showed her some books on the stars.
Immédiatement,
she loved it, too.”

His eyebrows came down, but his look was more one of guardedness than displeasure. Then she saw his Adam’s apple bob with a hard swallow and she knew it was pure emotion on his face, as if he was touched that the children would wish to please him.

Or perhaps he just couldn’t fathom that she would want to.

“It’s the Big Dipper,” Rebeccah repeated with a wide-eyed stare of earnestness. “It looks like a giant spoon in the sky.”

Jareth nodded solemnly. “I have seen it. And it does look exactly so. Have you ever viewed it through a telescope?”

Rebeccah was unflustered by the question. “A telescope is an in-stru-ment used to see stars,” she recited, flicking a quick glance at Chloe, who beamed back at her with pride.

“Just so,” Jareth agreed. “And I have one—several, actually. Would you like to see it sometime?”

“But it has to be dark outside. I go to bed when it is dark outside.”

“Yes, it is best to use it at night. Perhaps some evening when you have behaved particularly well and are deserving of a reward, and
if
Miss Chloe feels it is acceptable to part from your bedtime routine, I could show you one of my telescopes. We could look for Ursa Major.”

Her head bobbed enthusiastically. “Yes, I would like to see it. Very much, thank you.”

She was so solemn, her small features relaxing for the first time in the presence of her uncle, that Chloe felt a pang of joy threaten to bubble up from somewhere inside her chest. She pressed her hand over the aching spot and blinked back the tears welling in her eyes. Rebeccah looked to her and broke into a large, brilliant smile. “Did you hear that, Miss Chloe?”

“I did, indeed,” she answered. “Now go and gather up the paper dolls for me.”

Usually, such a request would be met with an argument, but Rebeccah’s good mood buoyed her contentious nature. “Yes, Miss Chloe,” she cried gaily, and skipped off.

Chloe looked to Jareth, her smile trembling with emotion. “Thank you, so much.”

He seemed genuinely surprised. “What did I do, Miss Chloe?”

“Your kindness to Rebeccah. She needs so much. The attention you just showed her, well, it meant a great deal to her.”

“But it was such a small thing,” he said dismissively. “Rather, I should be thanking you. I take it you encouraged her fledgling interest.”

He stood smiling at her, a smile that warmed his eyes. They were a soft, deep brown, fathomless and beautiful with the heavy fringe of black lashes surrounding them. She felt warm, all of the sudden, and acutely self-conscious.

A small voice inside her—her conscience, she supposed—argued this was bad. Bad to be aware of the duke as a man, bad to be noticing how beautiful were his eyes, bad to be having these giddy tremors shooting through her nerves like tiny jolts of lightning within her body. She was not naive about men and women. Her mother had not believed in the impractical sheltering of female children and had argued that ignorance was dangerous, as many girls were unprepared for the feelings that developed when they became attracted to a man, and it often led to trouble.

Not that Mama had been wrong, but no amount of discussion on the topic prepared Chloe for the actuality. Feelings were…so…very…
powerful.

If he felt it, as well, he gave no indication. After
a moment, he said, “Thank you, Miss Chloe, I have had a lovely time.”

“Thank you, your grace,” she managed to reply, though her throat felt dry and her voice sounded so faint and wispy, surely he would notice and know her shameful thoughts.

He didn’t appear to. He paused to stare down at Sarah, who had sat so calmly during the entire exchange. A slight frown creased his forehead, and she wondered what it was that troubled him when he looked at the girl.

He seemed to shake himself out of whatever it was and cross to the door without another word or glance. When he was gone, Chloe wandered to the window. The gardens lay below. She stared at them, but didn’t see them.

Pressing her hands to her cheeks, she felt their heat against her palms. She wondered if she had been blushing and if, God forbid, he had noticed.

“Miss Chloe, can we fashion some gloves for the doll?” Rebeccah asked, once again absorbed in the day’s project.

“Yes,
chérie,
I am coming.”

L
ady Rathford had him in her sights. Jareth felt rather like a specimen on a glass slide being inspected with microscopic fervor. His natural instinct was to stare back at her with a touch of his irritation heating his gaze, but impassive was the ultimate in blue-blooded deportment.

He was getting better at it, he felt. Stilling his restlessness—how he longed to be out-of-doors, preferably near the sea!—he sat with his legs crossed and hands dangling over the carved armrests of the upholstered chair, beautifully at ease, though with everything in him he craved a yawn.

Helena was reciting a poem, a sonnet by someone or other. Probably Shakespeare. Her voice was dulcet, well modulated and expressive. Jareth needed to yawn so badly, his eyes watered.

“To this urn let those repair
That are either true or fair;
For these dead birds sigh a prayer.”

Jareth’s mother clasped her hands together and made a small gasping sound. “Oh, my dear, that was
so very lovely. Oh, Portia—” this she addressed to Lady Rathford “—your daughter’s accomplishments are legion! How well you have done with her.”

Lady Rathford’s spine appeared to elongate several inches, and she dipped her head down in an acknowledgment of the compliment. “You are kind to say so, your grace.”

“And now we have a presentation for you, as well,” the duchess said, her anxiety betrayed by the quick glance she shot to Jareth and the slight waver in her voice only he would notice. To the butler, she said, “Summon my granddaughters, Frederick.”

The servant bowed and exited. Jareth sat up, knowing the same apprehension his mother felt. It would not do to have Sarah drop onto her hindquarters and pull off her shoes and socks to play with her feet, or for Rebeccah to take the cream from one of the tarts and smear it all over the furniture. Either was liable to happen. The children were, despite their favorable impression last time he saw them, woefully undisciplined.

“I cannot take all the credit for Helena’s accomplishments,” Lady Rathford was saying with inflated pride. “She had an excellent tutor. The woman was very stern, exacting at all times, and so Helena always performed her best. Miss Clavermore was in full agreement with our philosophies. A perfectionist at every turn, she never allowed Helena’s efforts to flag, not for one moment.”

Jareth felt a hardness in the pit of his stomach at her words. He looked at Helena with pity in his heart, but she was stone-faced with only the slightest trace of a smile on her exquisite mouth.

Of course, one must always look pleasant, even in repose.

“Miss Chloe, Lady Rebeccah and Lady Sarah,” Frederick announced. Lady Rathford fell blessedly silent. Jareth braced himself and turned.

Before him stood two young ladies, dressed as miniature princesses in stiff crinolines and with satin bows cinching their waists, and a very docile-looking young woman with her hair neatly pulled back in a tight, unflattering chignon. But Miss Chloe’s eyes sparkled, almost dancing with pleasure as she came into the room, her two charges in hand. She paused in front of him, kicking her foot behind her and dropping into a respectable curtsy. To his amazement, the girls did the same.

“Your grace,” she murmured.

The transformation was fascinating. She still moved like a dancer, she still buzzed with a vitality that was both intangible and undeniable, but to all intents and purposes, she was blamelessly comported. Good heavens, she was nearly unrecognizable!

When the children were presented to the Rathfords, each stepped forward and smiled at Lady Rathford and Helena in turn. Rebeccah even gifted Lady Helena with a painting she had done herself, explaining that it was of flowers and she hoped that Lady Helena liked flowers.

Helena smiled and told the child she did indeed love flowers and would treasure the painting.

Altogether a rewarding exchange, Jareth noted with satisfaction. Chloe hovered in the corner, clearly the puppeteer. The girls looked to her for signals, which she gave with little nods and almost imperceptible
hand movements. Jareth saw she had cleverly positioned herself behind his mother, so the duchess remained ignorant of the machinations, taking full pride in her granddaughters’ exemplary behavior.

“Why, your grace, your family is charming,” Lady Rathford declared. “What a pleasure to see children so well behaved.”

Jareth’s mother glowed. “They are darlings.”

Lady Rathford addressed Rebeccah. “Do you enjoy music, child?”

“I like to sing. We sing songs in the nursery. Would you like to hear one?”

The older woman seemed to find this delightful. “I would indeed.”

Rebeccah, who apparently thrived on having an audience attend her, performed several children’s rhymes.

From the corner of his eye, Jareth saw Chloe silently clap her hands twice as if to applaud Rebeccah’s efforts.

“Wonderful,” Lady Rathford declared. “What other things do you like to do, my dear?”

“I like to dig in the dirt,” Rebeccah proclaimed.

The room went silent.

Lady Rathford blinked rapidly, her right hand coming up to toy with the frothy lace at her throat. “Pardon me?”

Chloe stepped out of the shadows. “She said she likes to sing in church.”

Lady Rathford was immensely relieved, although how she could have believed such a feeble excuse, Jareth couldn’t fathom. “Oh! Oh dear! Of course.
Would you like to share one of your favorite songs—”

“I believe we should have our next song from Helena,” Jareth interjected. “The children have yet to hear her wonderful voice, and it would be such a treat for them.”

It was exactly the correct diversion. Far more interested in her own daughter’s talents, Lady Rathford quickly agreed with the idea. Helena complied with a soft hymn that kept the children spellbound. When she was finished, Chloe suggested that perhaps the children had stayed long enough, and the duchess readily assented.

Far later, after the Rathfords had taken their leave amid a flurry of compliments, when Jareth and his mother were sitting in the drawing room, Jareth said, “The children did quite well today.”

“Yes.” The duchess sounded distinctly relieved. “I hardly dared hope it would go so well.”

“Miss Chloe did a fine job preparing them, did she not?”

His mother gave him a look he remembered well. It used to cow him when he was a boy. As a man, it gave him pause, and he wondered what he had said to win such blistering disapproval.

“Perhaps in the future she will counsel them to dispense with the merits of mucking around in the dirt.” The words were spit with vituperative emphasis.

Jareth countered, “Yet it was Miss Chloe who eased the situation.”

The duchess’s eyes narrowed. “Are you defending her, Strathmere?”

Jareth made a harsh sound, meant to be a short
laugh. “Hardly.” Yet his mind was betraying him, dwelling on how her presence had filled the room with energy. Even with the distance she kept, he felt her, sensed her intensity, her desire to please, her desperation that the children shine. And they had. She had made it happen against all odds.

His mother didn’t answer. They fell into silence until he took his leave and retired to his chamber.

In her little room off the nursery, Chloe fingered the paper doll she had made that day.

She had a flair, that she knew, for drawing. The doll was a good facsimile. So was the gown she wore. Chloe had bared the shoulders, capping them in a swath that draped softly with large rosettes at the neckline. In pale mint-green—colored by borrowing Rebeccah’s water paints—it was befitting any debutante.

The kind of dress Lady Helena would wear, Chloe thought. Unhooking the paper dress, she placed the pieces in the wooden box where Rebeccah had determined the treasures would be held for safekeeping.

Rising, Chloe brought it back into the nursery and returned to her room. She paced a bit, arms wrapped around herself to ward off the chill.

Lady Helena Rathford was the perfect mate for the duke. Beautiful, poised, accomplished, she was everything Chloe was not.

What an idiot she had been to even think of the duke for a moment as anything other than what he was—the man who employed her. No more. Never more. He was worlds above her, his life was beyond hers. All this she understood and accepted. What she
couldn’t reconcile was the new experience of wanting it to be different.

Sighing, she laced her fingers through her thick brown hair and lifted it, then let it fall in a silky cascade. She wasn’t making any sense, not even to herself. It was as if she saw the duke as two people. The
real
duke, trapped inside, was the one with the soft eyes, the haunted features, the awkward pauses and unsure silences, as if something were within, tugging at him, fighting the
other,
who was, as she thought of him, The Duke. Capital letters, no other explanation needed.

Lady Helena was perfect for The Duke. But oh, what a dismal trap for the real man.

There were ghosts in the garden that night. Jareth watched them. Even the lure of the clear night—a star-filled sky and a waning moon—could not distract him.

They were mere memories, but somehow alive and real m the darkness around him, so real he could almost touch them. He could hear them, he could see them. The images filled his head, his internal vision, and took him back…

Himself. And Charles. How many years ago? In this garden that had been his refuge and where Charles would run whenever his tutor allowed him any time to himself.

A great sadness welled up inside Jareth. As a boy, he hadn’t understood the import of the events around him, but as a man full grown, a man now in the position of duke and with all of the responsibility that had, at that long-ago time, rested on Charles’s boyishly
slight shoulders, he knew better how it had been for his eldest brother, and he felt Charles’s grief.

It was his own now.

As Jareth was now finding out, the yoke of the dukedom was unavoidable.

The garden, shrouded in the welcome press of night, came back to him as the shades of memory faded away, into the past again.

Emotion left him trembling a bit. His hand sought the back of the wrought-iron bench he knew to be about somewhere. There, he found it and sank down.

A few deep breaths to clear his head, his heart, and he looked up. The lights at the back of the house were yellow squares, a mocking symmetry that the garden mimicked with its carefully laid-out paths and clipped hedges. The drawing room was still occupied. Its gas lamps still burned. Upstairs, in the nursery—oh, he could remember looking out those windows on rainy afternoons down upon his garden—a weak light burned.

He thought of Chloe. It was strange, but he wanted to see her—a dull yearning. If she would walk past the window just now, it would be enough.

Why this would occur to him didn’t bear examination. He just sat with the wanting for a while. He gave up after an hour, feeling a bit of a lingering ache as he headed inside.

It was a lonely night.