The Rusticated Duchess (17 page)

Gloria felt shock hit her, the questions slamming into her. “Her father?” she gasped. Gloria and Abigail’s parentage was still a mystery to the sisters—Johna had consistently refused to answer their questions, saying only that she had loved all of their sires, and had been simply grateful that Lennox had never been lost to her, as the others had been. “What do you know about her father?” The question was sharp and suspicious.

Clare chuckled, and caressed her stiff lips with a thumb. “She is of Blessing blood, angel.”

Gloria’s eyes widened and her muscles jerked in shock.

“Alex Blessing was first cousin to my father, Glory,” Clare went on gently. “It was Colonel Alex Blessing who inherited this cottage from his parents and, upon his death, left it and all of his estate to the Hanover trust for Johna and her children. Your uncles have kept the secret for years to protect you all from Winchester, but I understand that’s a moot point now. My father says, however, that Alex died years before you came along”

Gloria nodded, her mind rushing forwards. Abigail would want to know—had every right to know—but she couldn’t think of that now. She drew a deep breath, bracing herself for calm. “And my mother?” she asked.

“She looked down her nose at Winchester’s interrogator, told him he was a fool, and proceeded to enumerate the reasons why you wouldn’t have told her where you were headed.”

Gloria blinked, then smiled a bit.

“Afterward, the barrister asked her where she was living, and she sniffed and said Lennox House. He asked her why, so your mother looked at him like he was an idiot again, and asked him how his wife would react if he’d married his daughters to a social outcast, a drunken sot and man known to prefer young girls to grown-up ones. Then she calmly stated that she refused to spend another night under such a man’s roof, and that you—with Lennox’s permission—had kindly offered her a home. How could she refuse?”

A chuckle rose in Gloria’s chest and she let it out. “That’s my family,” she told him.

He stared back at her, quiet for a moment, and said softly, “It’s no less than I would expect from any Blessing female.”

Gloria blinked. She stared at him, wide-eyed, barely able to think. Blessing female?

“My father has kept his distance from your family to protect your mother, but he’s kept in touch with Hanover, keeping a quiet watch on your mother and her children,” Clare explained. “He wrote that Alex loved your mother unreservedly for decades, and only his lack of prospects kept him from offering for her when she was young. By the time he returned to England, a colonel with a respectable living, your mother was married to Winchester. Nevertheless, she was devoted to Alex for years, until his death.”

Gloria’s heart hammered in her chest. “They’ve outed us all as bastards, then,” she whispered. “To all of London.”

“The purpose is to defeat Winchester’s suit. Claiming you are not Winchester’s daughter is part of the fight to defeat Winchester’s case. But as long as Winchester proclaims you are his daughters, you are. He has to legally disown you to truly destroy his case.”

“We wanted to protect our mother,” Gloria said in a low voice. Clare had loosened his hold on her, so she stood and paced across the room, staring out of the window. “Abigail doesn’t know who—I should tell her. I shall tell her. Mother would never say, but thinking back to the moment my uncles suggested Blessing Cottage—and Lennox’s reaction—I suspect Lennox is well aware of the players in this drama. Why wouldn’t he tell us?”

“I don’t know, Gloria,” Clare told her gently. She felt him approach her from behind, sliding his hands around her waist to cradle her against his chest. “Blessing is buried here, in the Castle graveyard. Quite the war hero, he was, but at the end, he worked in London for the quartermasters. He contracted a fever at the Soldiers’ Home while calling on the invalids, but he lived at Hanover House with your uncle and his family. I imagine that eased the way for he and your mother.” Clare stepped away, but she remained at the window as he poured them both a glass of wine. “I’d be happy to have Meriden and your sister visit when I am in residence—I’ll invite them.”

Strolling to her side, he handed her the glass and watched as she sipped the rich vintage. And she wondered.

Would he still want her? Gloria pondered the question. She was no longer the village witch, or an unsuspecting mistress caught with child. She’d redeemed her reputation with Clare, only to have him discover her greatest secret.

“You haven’t agreed,” he said eventually.

She raised a brow in his direction.

“I want you and your household in the Castle,” he said again.

Gloria considered the proposition for another moment then sighed. “We’re going to Italy,” she finally returned. “I have the papers for Eynon and myself, Lennox has money for us in Europe, Meriden has his mother waiting to receive us.”

“No,” Clare answered, almost hoarse. “Absolutely not. You’ll be safe here, with me.”

“This isn’t about you, Clare. It’s not about our liaison. It’s about keeping my son near me, and keeping away from Winchester.”

“My name is Jeremy.”

She turned, bumping him, surprised when his glass was knocked against her shoulder. It tipped, spilling onto her black walking dress before Clare jerked it away, placing it on the windowsill so that he could grasp her. “I apologise,” he grimaced.

Gloria stared at him for a half-second, until from the depths of her heart she laughed. She laughed, heartily.

Chapter Twelve

Clare’s eyes widened as the bright smile transformed Gloria’s elegant face into the angel he’d seen in his dreams.

“Jeremy,” he murmured absently again, his mind racing. He ignored the red wine that would seep into her dress—it was black anyway, and if she threw away the worn, warm gown, no one would notice but him.

Gloria paused long enough to wrinkle her nose at him in question.

“My name, it’s Jeremy,” he said. The laugh had erased any doubt he might have had. She wasn’t going to Italy. She was going home—at least, she was going to Killard Castle.

He slid his arms around her waist, watching as she calmly set her wineglass next to his. Tugging her closer to his body, he pressed a hand to her cheek so he could force her head to the side and capture her lips in his.

To his relief, she accepted the caress, opening her mouth so he could explore.

Abruptly, he swung her up in his arms, held her tightly and made for the door.

Naturally, she struggled. Clare had known she would. “Hush,” he decreed, holding her more tightly against his chest.

“Ha! You can’t take me out of here—” she began, but then her eyes widened and she gasped as Clare kneed open the door to the foyer and Colman opened the front door to allow him through.

“Where are you—what is—” Gloria sputtered, looking over her shoulder to see Colman following placidly—
permissively—
behind them.

“I’m taking you to the Castle,” Clare explained, in case she hadn’t already guessed.

“N-no—” she objected.

“You refuse to protect yourself, so I will do it. Your household agrees with me, incidentally.” Clare strode up the path, pleased to see his carriage waiting. The horses were cold, but they only had a short trot home and would recover easily. Jamie Seton and Clare’s coachman were ready, and Seton threw open the door so that Clare could climb in, still clutching Gloria firmly in his arms.

“This is an outrage!” Gloria finally managed, kicking him in the thigh as he settled into the seat.

“I made the arrangements with your staff even before you returned this morning. Your Mrs Sinclair will be sending your things along later today and will come up when the cottage has been closed up. Eynon, with Jenson and Mrs Pitcher, will arrive in time for the child to be put down for the night. They delay only because my staff is cleaning the nursery. Colman is coming with us—he’s hopped up on the back.”

“If you think for one minute that I’ll share your bed,” Gloria fumed, freeing an arm and throwing a sharp punch into his abdomen that hurt enough for Clare to grunt, “let me assure you that I’ll rot in hell first.”

Clare knew his eyes burned as much as his body, but Gloria would hardly notice. Her fury was arousing, but he was a smart man and realised she wasn’t likely to respond to his arousal with anything more than a mocking laugh. So he ignored the lust growing in his groin and added, “Astrid will be up this afternoon with your trunks. She’ll serve as your personal maid in the Castle as I’ve no need for more housemaids. You will, of course, need one even if you spend the bulk of your days in the nursery or hiding in your rooms. Mr Pitcher will be returning your coach and four tomorrow to the livery in Strangford before joining the Castle household. Matthew will remain at the cottage as caretaker.”

“You bloody ass!” She twisted and tried to hit him in the gut again. “How dare you—”

“That’s enough, Gloria Jane,” he erupted. Inwardly promising that he’d keep his temper apparently wasn’t going to work when she was in a temper. “Stop this foolishness right now.”

Gloria froze, sitting up to stare at him. “You had no right to take over, to subvert my household, to interfere!”

Furious as well, Clare had to tighten his forearms until his muscles were nearly too stiff to respond. “You had no right to put your son and those loyal people who serve you at risk simply because of your stubborn desire to not accept help when it’s damn well offered.”

Gloria drew a deep breath, prepared to lambast him. He could see it in her face, feel it in the air as she drew on the energy around her to deliver her message with the full force of her anger.

The carriage stopped.

It really was a very short distance between Blessing Cottage and Killard Castle. Clare let out a breath of relief when Gloria snapped shut her mouth and glared at him in mutiny. He was silent, lifting Gloria into his arms when Colman threw open the door.

Bowing to inner wisdom, despite an admittedly primal urge to keep her against his chest, Clare set Gloria on her feet beside the carriage and offered her his arm.

To his amusement, she looked up to see if Whitaker was opening the front door before she slid her arm inside his.

“You could try to run back to the cottage from here,” he growled against her ear. “But I’d just come after you again. In any event, we’re closing the castle gates to keep undesirable visitors outside the walls. The gate is manned to monitor who comes in and out.”

“So I really am a prisoner,” she returned in a low, bitter whisper.

“You’ll have your own suite of rooms. Sitting room, bedchamber, bathing chamber, dressing room. Certainly more to your station than a tiny bedchamber in a barely habitable old cottage.”

“That cottage is perfectly appropriate, and suitable for the children of your own lineage,” she returned, even as she smiled for the butler.

“I am pleased to hear that you will be staying with us, my lady.” The man bowed, then stood stiffly while he tried not to show how pleased he was. Clare knew what Whitaker and the rest of the household hoped, but he would not give them any sort of indication about where this relationship with Gloria was headed. He didn’t
know
where the future with Gloria was headed, and he certainly had no intention of advertising his intentions when her response was more likely to be a bottle of wine thrown at his head.

“The nursery and your rooms are being prepared. If there’s anything you desire, please do let us know.”

“Of course, Mr Whitaker.” Gloria’s expressive face was already concealed behind a cool, formal mask. Clare frowned. “And are there appropriate facilities for the rest of my household?”

Whitaker preened. It was the only word Clare could think to describe it. “Your Mr Jenson has a room in the nursery, as do Mr and Mrs Pitcher,” he assured her. “Mrs Sinclair will have a chamber and sitting room in the servants’ wing. We have more than adequate space. Most of our staff reside beyond the Castle walls.”

“Excellent,” Gloria returned. She removed her arm from Clare’s and added, “And now, if you’d please take me on a visit of the nursery and my own rooms, I should like to see where my son will be staying before I rest.”

Clare considered but let her go. He had plenty of time, and he knew her well. He could wait.

Gloria requested a lunch tray in her room. Clare actually laughed when he saw Mrs O’Hara and Whitaker negotiating it up the stairs from the kitchen, and asked them to take her a bottle of wine with his compliments. When they brought it back down the main stairs sometime later past his open study door, Clare grinned again because the wine bottle was conspicuously empty.

Then he strolled upstairs, greeted Colman who sat in a chair outside her door, and retreated to his own apartment.

Killard Castle was an ancient keep, built and rebuilt over centuries of active war, with its occupants constantly preparing or prepared for battle. When he was the duke, Clare would occupy rooms at the far end of the gallery, with a matching suite for his duchess connected to it through a discreet pocket door.

But Clare was not the duke, only his heir. Since attaining adulthood, he had used the chambers intended for the heir. They were comfortable and had accommodated him—and for those few idyllic years, Sarah—easily.

But they were not all they seemed.

At one time, it had been imperative to include escape routes for those of importance in the Castle. Carpenters and stonemasons had provided ways for the Blessing family to flee. The duke and duchess had a steep, narrow and secret staircase accessible from the massive fireplace that was built into the wall between their bedchambers, and had at one time provided the passage through which the duke and duchess might visit each other. It led down into the natural rock below the dungeons and into a secret cove opposite the harbour where, once upon a time, there would have been a private launch at the ready that the duke could have piloted himself. The passageway still worked, though Killard Castle no longer had a boat at the ready awaiting the escape of the duke and his family.