The Rusticated Duchess (28 page)

“I’m not,” he stopped her, his fingers tightening about hers. “Lennox is his guardian, and he is Lennox’s heir. That is cast in stone, as well as the understandable and expected course that Alden Swenson will continue the guardianship if Eynon inherits before he comes of age.”

Gloria blinked. Clare knew her brother-in-law well enough to refer to him by his first name? She’d never even met him. Alden had lived in Amsterdam and travelled over Europe for the last five years, managing Lennox’s interests on the Continent, since well before her come-out.

“He might have a guardian and a grandfather, Gloria, but he needs a father, too—and not the sort you had, or even the sort March and Alden had. I want a written guarantee from Lennox, as part of any marriage settlement, that defines your rights as a mother, and your access and your time with him. Now, he’s small and uninteresting to Lennox, but he will grow to a lad who is, by the nature of his age, vulnerable and easily influenced. Those are the times when you will want him to have honourable gentlemen in his life to emulate, and Lennox’s history of stashing his sons away at Eynon Castle for the summers is not going to provide any sort of discipline or sophistication to your son, even though it’s an important place in his future that he should know and love.”

Tears formed in Gloria’s eyes, but Clare did not look away. “Will you be able to cede me enough authority to be a father to him, Glory?”

She shivered, her mind racing. “What sort of authority?” she whispered.

Clare lifted her, set her beside him. “Do you know how to raise boys?” he asked conversationally, snuggling her against his side and scraping a glove down her nose. “Your brother was still in the nursery, wasn’t he?”

Gloria caught her breath. It was a fair question, she forced herself to admit. Wouldn’t Lennox decide about Eynon’s schooling, arrange for tutors, and so on? But Lennox was an old man, and Gloria knew from March’s bitter commentary on the subject that her late husband had hated the duke for essentially abandoning his sons at Eynon Castle under the supervision of tutors and making a life in London. She forced herself to nod.

“A boy, especially one who is invested with the powers of a high-born, wealthy lord, needs adult men to be examples. I’m not talking about servants or nurses, but gentlemen.”

“Is that why you re-defined Brody’s role today?” she asked abruptly.

Clare was quiet. “Yes,” he finally admitted. “When Lennox was a child, a young man had nurses and perhaps a groom until he went to school. I did. March did. But not anymore. Those going up to Eton for the first time have been raised and taught by educated young men, with perhaps a nurse through the night. Eventually, Eynon will need such a tutor, and when that day comes, it would be shameful for him to suddenly believe that Jenson is no more than a servant. He may teach him about fishing and riding, rather than Latin, but Jenson should most definitely remain an influential figure in his everyday life, until Eynon is grown.”

Gloria was quiet. Once again, Clare had taken on an uncertainty between them and faced it directly. One by one, he was breaking down her reservations, demonstrating how a life together could be accomplished without destroying her soul. He’d promised her the freedom to manage her own money. He’d promised her the right to refuse the intimate nature of their relationship, and respected it since she’d made it clear on the yacht that she would not risk another child. He’d promised to work with Lennox to accommodate her desire to keep Eynon with her, when others would be more interested in making another man’s son invisible if not absent.

Gloria sighed and smiled. “I’d like that,” she answered.

Chapter Eighteen

That evening it was James who organised the large party of servants and guards that accompanied the lord, the lady and the infant into various rooms, while Gloria paced one of the chambers with Eynon sobbing on her shoulder.

“Poor child didn’t nap at all this afternoon,” Mrs Pitcher almost bemoaned. “We’ve been feeding him the goat’s milk, you know. I’m wondering if these heathenish goats in Scotland give milk that upset his digestion.”

Gloria looked at her in shock. Mrs Pitcher had never complained about, well, anything, and it was true that they relied wholly on goats’ milk to feed Eynon since she’d weaned him in January. It was also true that this was his first experience with the milk of any goat but the one at Blessing Cottage.

“I’ll have the damn thing shipped over from Ireland then,” Clare said from the doorway. “Or Lady Gloria can hire a wet nurse in Norham of her choosing.”

Gloria’s eyes swung to him as he passed into the room, Brody close behind. She hadn’t had a wet nurse for Eynon because it would have brought a stranger Lennox hadn’t approved into the household, and one with a great deal of influence over the nursery, at that. But if she were married to Clare, of course, there would likely be an entire herd of goats to milk from.

But it was truly Brody who drew her attention. After only a day, Gloria could see the difference in how Brody held his head and stood, his arms no longer crossed in front of him like a bruiser, but resting his hands casually on his hips for a moment as he surveyed the tired women. Brody wasn’t precisely elegant, she realised, but he was comfortable with the transformation. It was almost as if he knew it was his natural form. He didn’t seem at all out of place beside Clare. Rather than a servant, he seemed like a poor relation or a gently-born secretary.

Clare smiled at her, but then Brody was taking the baby and cradling him as expertly as both of the older women could, despite his perfectly tied neckcloth and riding boots.

“I’ll pace about with him while you two eat,” Brody said firmly to the older women. Mrs Pitcher looked ready to object, but Mrs Sinclair nodded and grasped her arm.

“You need to keep up your strength,” Mrs Sinclair advised the nurse. “We have one more long day tomorrow.”

“Yes,” Clare agreed, his eyes on Gloria. “We have a long day tomorrow, but we’ll end it at Norham.”

She smiled at him. It was a natural smile, offered before she even realised, but she didn’t take it away because his eyes lit up in return.

He held out his arm and she took it, wondering if he’d be so outrageous as to lead her directly out of Jenson and Eynon’s chamber and into her and Clare’s, or if he had other plans.

“The room across the corridor is set up as a private parlour and dining room for us,” he murmured. “Come, I have news.”

She turned abruptly in his direction but he shook his head and smiled a bit. “Come,” he said again, and she went beside him with an alacrity that brought to mind wifely obedience, wondering all the while why she did so and why it pleased her to see his satisfaction.

He told her the news from Norham Castle while they ate. Colman had arrived in Jedburgh even as the household had been settling, and was already in his bed. “Poor bugger didn’t realise how hard riding for three days straight was going to be,” Clare observed unsympathetically.

Gloria hmphed behind her napkin.

“He’ll ride up top with our driver tomorrow,” Clare added, then provided her with an update. Watchmen had been set and patrols organised from the footmen and menservants and watermen and grooms who populated the castle, and the villagers alerted to watch for strangers, but so far none had been sighted.

The castle steward had read Clare’s letter and immediately called in the housekeeper, who assigned a troupe of maids to clean and freshen the marchioness’ apartment. Clare was simply thankful Sarah had never occupied the marchioness’s apartment there, alleviating any difficulty Clare might have had witnessing Gloria take Sarah’s place. The apartment, he informed her, was rather shabby and had not been renovated since his parents’ marriage. “No doubt you shall take one look at the rooms and proceed directly through to my own chamber, where the furniture and the company are much more convivial.”

Gloria set aside her cutlery and looked at him curiously. “You did not renovate it for your wife?”

Clare blinked, wanting to be offended by her directness. Instead he found himself rather relieved that she was not baulking at occupying the rooms intended for her.

He crooked a smile. “During our marriage, we spent an entire three weeks at Norham Castle. My father spent a great deal of time there then, going down to London only for Parliament, and I came merely to inspect the estate books. Sarah’s family is in Ireland and we primarily resided there. You, of course, will want to refurbish the rooms as soon as may be, and have my full support in the matter. No doubt my father will advise you to do the same to the duchess’s apartment.”

Gloria smiled and allowed that she would be glad to settle into one place for more than a night at a time.

Another set of maids had been set to scour and freshen the nursery, and to make it as welcoming as possible. Clare had a dim memory of Arwyn wanting to set fire to the furniture on the day he’d been moved out of it and into a room near Clare’s in the family wing. He silently prayed the eight years or so that it had gone unused had not permanently etched the smell of stale smoke into the walls and rugs.

Colman had delivered a particular missive to the Norham rector, and a brief note from him assured them both that he waited but for the convenience of his lord.

Gloria’s lips pursed at that notion.

He then put aside the billets and concentrated on telling Gloria about Norham Castle, and how it sat above the River Tweed, with its gardens set inside the walls and all the way to the river, where he and Arwyn had a comfortable shade tree beneath which they liked to fish. He told her he planned to bring a wicker fainting chair down to their retreat, so that she could join him when she wished without risking grass stains on her gowns. She laughed and denied any interest in fishing, and added that black did not lend itself to grass stains.

He looked her over intently and proposed commissioning a painting of her disposed as an unclothed odalisque in that place, and she flushed so colourfully that he laughed with delight and proceeded to describe other settings in which he would like her memorialised, until Gloria begged him to please change the subject before she sank beneath the table in embarrassment.

Keeping her discomfited by the discussion, they finished dining together without arguing about fronting the altar. But, by the time the meal ended, Clare was uncomfortable and aching with arousal. He hadn’t been bluffing—he’d love nothing more than to have Gloria’s glowing sensuality captured with oil and canvas, though he couldn’t foresee wanting another man to see her in such a state. It was, he pondered, one reason why artistically gifted women should be encouraged to paint. He’d have to research possibilities before seriously putting the proposal to Gloria.

Clare commandeered Gloria’s waist firmly and guided her into the corridor. The door to Jenson and Eynon’s chamber was shut, and Clare easily turned her to the side, and pushed open the next set of panels.

It was a delightful room, with a fire already laid in the hearth and Astrid waiting patiently for her mistress. “That’s all, we shan’t be needing you or James until it is time to wash and dress in the morning,” Clare said, ignoring Gloria’s surprised gasp.

Astrid merely dipped a curtsy and left the room while Gloria’s mouth fell open. “Now who,” she asked peevishly, “is supposed to help me prepare for bed?”

Clare gave her a wolfish grin. “I am.”

So he did. He picked apart the coronet of braided hair that had been pinned to her head and brushed it diligently. He poked his head into the corridor and ordered her washing water. He turned down the blankets on the bed and placed warming bricks between the sheets. He carefully unbuttoned the back of the gown she was unable to remove herself. He took out the spoilt water after she washed. He fetched fresh water for the morning when she frowned fiercely and waved him out of the room, stomping her foot when he hesitated. And all the while, he caressed the places where her pale skin gleamed in the light and used his lips affectionately at every encounter.

Gloria pursed her lips as she watched him, but her body responded readily to the brush of his hands over her shoulders, to his fingers rubbing the sore muscles at her neck, to his gentle but hot kisses in the palm of her hand. His eyes soaked up the sight of her in a dressing gown and a black chemise. He filled his hands with her golden hair before standing behind her and thoroughly brushing it, taking the time to fully detangle it and pull the brush through her locks until they shone. Even after she wound it in a heavy bun on the very top of her head and covered it with a black lace cap, he brushed kisses over her temples until he carried her to the bed and sat her on the side of it.

“I don’t see why you can’t leave it loose,” he objected, tracing the lace thoughtfully. He much preferred her hair tumbling down over her shoulders and spread out beneath her.

“Because I can’t wash it in the morning. I won’t be able to wash it until we reach Norham,” Gloria explained.

Sighing heavily, Clare slipped her out of the dressing gown and knelt at her feet, cradling her ankles and fondling the arch of her soles before lifting her feet and sliding them beneath the sheets. “Curl up. I’ll join you shortly,” he said, tucking the blankets about her.

His own ablutions took only a very few moments, and he returned to the bed blatantly naked, an erection very apparent despite the dim light and the single candle in his hand. He snuffed it and joined her in the bed, waiting for the moment she turned to him.

He felt her caution, the hand on her chest, even as she warned, “You promised.”

“Do you trust me?” he asked again, reaching out for her.

A slight pause followed, but then she whispered the fateful affirmative. Clare jerked her towards him, and she landed against him. It was heaven on earth, his angel within his arms in the soft haven of a bed, so he set about convincing her of it as well.

The first kiss was scorching. It had been too long, Clare thought, since he’d had her. His muscles, already tight with suppressed desire, nearly cramped at the lust rolling down his spine.