The Valentine Legacy (16 page)

James waved his hand through the air again. Then he jerked his fingers through his hair, standing it on end. “I keep getting off the track here, and the good Lord knows I've rehearsed everything I was going to say to you over and over again the past seven weeks. Now I can't keep everything straight, and it's all your fault for being so damned different. I was expecting you to be you, not this female I couldn't have imagined even existing. Are you even wearing stockings?”

Without hesitation, Jessie lifted the beautiful yellow silk skirts and petticoat to show him pale yellow silk stockings.

His eyes crossed. “Pull your dress back down. A simple yes would have sufficed. You don't know how to behave. You're as much a lady as the Duchess is a gin-soaked sinner in Soho. Now, why the hell did you run away, Jessie? Yes, that was the first question I'd planned to ask you. Thank God I finally remembered it. Why, Jessie?”

“It's a stupid question. You know very well I ran away because I was ruined. Everyone knew that. Glenda paid me three hundred dollars to leave. She also promised to give me some gowns and a cloak, but she didn't. She thought I was going to Aunt Dorothy in New York, but I didn't.”

“Yes, that is what Glenda tearfully announced to all. She said you knew you'd disgraced yourself and thus had left, not wanting to bring more shame upon your family. I never thought you'd go to Aunt Dorothy. That old besom is more a terror than my dear mother. You're an idiot, Jessie, but I've never believed you were stupid. I immediately went to the docks and found out what ships had sailed for England. The
Flying Buttress
had sailed the morning you'd disappeared. One of the dockhands remembered you, seen you race a number of times. He told me you were all garbed in your trousers, trying to look like a man, but not fooling anyone. Damn you, Jessie, you didn't even bother to leave me a note. You didn't even leave your father a note. You just packed your damned breeches and left. I told Oliver I was coming over to England to get you. He told me he wanted you back. I don't know why he would, but he does.”

“Papa might want me back, but Glenda is right. No one else does.”

“That's nonsense and not true. By the time we get back to Baltimore, no one will even remember that you were lying on top of me, your hands all over my face, your mouth not an inch above mine.”

“Actually, Master James,” Sampson said, moving just a bit closer to Jessie, “Mr. Spears, Mr. Badger, Maggie, and
I have discussed this thoroughly and it is our opinion that Jessie won't ever be accepted again back in the Colonies. At least not in her current condition.”

“I would agree with that. Just look at her. This current condition of hers would bring her countless propositions. Men would lose all sense just looking at her.”

That, if Jessie wasn't mistaken, in no way resembled an insult. “What sort of propositions?”

“Be quiet, Jessie. Sampson, go away. At least back up three steps. I'm not going to strangle her—not yet, anyway. Thank you. Now, Jessie, this was the most foolish thing you've ever done. Wait, I remember in one race you wanted to beat me so badly you refused to take the longer way around. You tried to jump your horse over a tree that had been uprooted the night before in a storm, but your horse didn't make it and you went flying into a ditch filled with water.”

“Yes, I was riding Abel. I remember you laughed until your belly must have ached. I remember you stopped your horse, didn't even finish the race, and just stood at the edge of that damned ditch and looked at me and laughed and laughed.”

He remembered too being so scared he'd nearly lost his breakfast until he'd seen her floundering in at least three feet of water, looking like a drowned sheepdog, her red hair all plastered over her face, with nothing broken. Only then had the laughter bubbled out of him. Only then. He grunted.

“But it's done, James. I'm here and now you're here and I want to know why you're here.”

“I don't care what your father says, what anyone else says. I'm not responsible for ruining you, Jessie.”

“Of course you aren't. I told everyone that, including my father.”

“That doesn't matter to him. He's made me feel guiltier than hell. I had no choice but to follow you here and fetch
you back home. I had to leave Marathon, I had to leave Alice, who I hope will keep herself away from Mortimer Hackey, I had to leave Connie. All for you, Jessie, you damned female, who just happened to shoot Mortimer Hackey in the foot and fall on top of me.”

“I saved your life, James. I also saved you from Glenda.”

“That's true, but it doesn't matter. What matters is that I hadn't planned to come to England before the end of the year, and now I'm here. Just to fetch you back home.”

“I'm not going home. Nothing's changed, James, nothing at all. I can't go back.”

“We all agreed, Master James,” Sampson said. “She can't go back in her current condition. As I said before, all of us have discussed this thoroughly and agree on this.”

“That's right, James. Nobody wants me back except that man who tried to take liberties with my person.”

He banged his fist against the wall and yelled at her, “You will do as I bloody well tell you!”

“Cease your ranting. You have no authority over me.”

“Think of me as taking your father's place. He wants you home. I am his emissary.”

“Ha. Forget it, James. I will do as I please, and what I please to do is remain here. I'm employed now. I have a job and important responsibilities. Don't you dare sneer at me, James Wyndham.”

“Is that so? And just what do you do?”

“I'm Charles's nurse and Anthony's horse nanny.”

“Oh my God, it's worse than I thought. Listen, Jessie, Charles has a nurse. He probably has three nurses. He probably has three nannies waiting in the wings. Anthony has his father and mother and Lambkin and every other stable lad to teach him all about horses. Marcus and the Duchess are letting you do this because they feel sorry for you. It's beyond absurd, and it won't continue.”

Sampson cleared his throat. “Master James,” he said quietly.

James slowly turned to see the Duchess and Marcus standing in the entrance hall, staring at him.

“Welcome home, James,” Marcus said, and strode to him. He hugged him, then pushed him back. “You look like bloody hell. Haven't you slept at all? You're as thin as a stick. Worried about Jessie all these weeks, huh? Well, she's safe and sound. And beautiful. Just look at her.”

“Thank you, Marcus, for all your observations. Hello, Duchess. I'm sorry to interrupt your party, but I came directly here, thinking the brat would be here and here she is, only she doesn't look like herself. Why did you let her paint herself like a hussy and dress like a London courtesan? She couldn't even keep her skirts down. She had to show me her stockings, which are far too enticing for her to wear.”

“James, dear,” the Duchess said in that perfectly modulated voice of hers, “we're delighted you're here. We've all been expecting you, but I do counsel you to moderate your tongue. Jessie looks exquisite. She looks more lovely than any other lady here. We do not feel sorry for her. She's right. Her jobs are very important to the boys and thus to us.”

“Ha.”

“Damn you, James. What's wrong with you?”

“Jessie, you keep out of this. Oh, the hell with it. You're all right. I'm going home to Candlethorpe.”

“Not until you've had your dinner, Master James. It's a two-hour ride to Candlethorpe. You'll remain here tonight. Mrs. Emory is already preparing the Blue Gusset bedchamber for you. Come into the kitchen. Badger is waiting for you. Duchess, my lord, Jessie, go back to the party. I will deal with Master James.”

*   *   *

Jessie danced until three o'clock in the morning.

“I fancy I'm very good now,” she said, smiling up at Marcus as he whirled her around in the last waltz.

“Yes, you are.” He yawned. “You're also too young for me, Jessie. You've frazzled me. Even the Duchess is sitting over there looking like a beautiful wilted rose. I think we'll wait until tomorrow before we begin your lessons in the various country dances. Sampson likes to play country dances on the pianoforte.”

Jessie climbed into bed thirty minutes later, after having pulled all the pins out of her hair. It felt good to have her hair loose. The pins had stuck into her scalp. She'd taken off her slippers just after midnight, toeing them beneath a chair. She'd ruined her beautiful stockings, but it had been worth it. With her two pounds a week, she could afford to repay the Duchess. She dreamed of James. This time it wasn't that terrifying dream about that horrible-smelling dead man who opened his mouth and accused her of stealing his treasure, a dream she'd had four times in the last several months. No, in this dream, James wasn't angry with her. Actually, he was far from angry. He was pressing her hard against him, kissing her, and his mouth was wet, very wet, and hot.

She awoke to find Anthony's small spaniel, Damper, sitting on her, his nose pressed against hers, licking her chin and her mouth.

She shoved him off, laughing and wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “You miserable loving little lout! Did Anthony slip you into my bedchamber?”

“No, I did.”

J
AMES LOOKED SPLENDID
, all windblown from riding, his buff leather breeches fitting him as tightly as Maggie's York tan leather gloves. His hair was lighter than it had been when she'd left Baltimore, all streaked with different shades of blond, and longer than it should be and really quite lovely, as were his green eyes, a green much more green than hers, deeper and darker and more pure.

“What the devil are you staring at?”

It didn't occur to her to lie to him. “You. You look very nice. I like all the different shades of blond in your hair.”

She belatedly pulled the covers over her chest and pushed herself up in bed.

That gave him pause, but not much. “You still don't look the way I'm used to seeing you. Your hair is wild around your face, all tumbled about like you've had a lover in your bed, instead of pulled back so tightly your eyes look slitted.” He stepped farther into the bedchamber, nudging Damper out the door with the toe of his black boot. “I've been riding with Marcus. You wore him out, he said, dancing his shoes off until he begged for mercy. He said you learned quickly, that you dance nearly as well as the Duchess. I didn't believe him, of course. It's time you got out of bed. It's nearly ten in the morning. I'm going to Candlethorpe. Would you like to come with me?”

“You're asking me to come to your English home?” she
said slowly, so excited it was difficult to keep her voice steady, but she wanted to be certain she'd heard him correctly. She didn't want him to know she was ready to throw off the covers and dance if he'd indeed asked her to his home.

“Yes, come with me. I don't trust you here without me. You just might tear off again to escape me.”

“Oh.” She didn't leap out of bed.

“How long will it take you to dress?”

“An hour.”

“An hour? The old Jessie could be out of bed and in her trousers in ten minutes.”

“You prefer the old Jessie?”

“Yes. No. I don't care. Just hurry.”

“A moment, James. I'm an employed person now. I must ask the Duchess if I could have a day to myself.”

“Actually, the Duchess suggested you accompany me to Candlethorpe. She said you'd been spending too much time with the children and she feared for your sanity. Hurry up.”

He strode from her bedchamber, leaving her sitting up in her bed, wishing he'd left out all he'd said. A simple nod would have sufficed. She sighed as she pulled the bell cord.

It was closer to an hour and a half before Jessie came out of her bedchamber to see that elegant tall personage waiting for her, a smile on his face.

“Good morning,” he said as he offered her his arm. “I understand you were a great success at the party last night. The earl and the Duchess said you sparkled and laughed.”

She sighed. “That was last night. Have you seen James this morning, sir?”

“Oh yes. I was with him at breakfast early this morning. He was still full from stuffing himself with Mr. Badger's delicious late dinner, thus he was just fiddling with his porridge and sipping black coffee. He demanded to know what was going on here.”

“What did you tell him, sir?”

“I told him that you were now a part of this household, that you were a young lady of excellent parts.”

“He laughed, didn't he? Or cursed? That's more like James. He curses very fluently, every bit as well as the earl when Clancy bit him on Wednesday.”

“As I recall, he just grunted.”

“Then the Duchess told him to take me to Candlethorpe,” she said, looking briefly at a portrait of a long-ago Countess of Chase, who wore a massive white wig on her head decorated with three birds of undetermined species and a full-size nest.

“Spears, what the devil are you doing with Jessie?”

“I'm her lady's gentleman.”

Jessie whirled around to face him. “You're Spears?
The Spears?
”

“I have that personal honor,” Spears said, and gave her a slight bow.

“You promise you're not an earl or a duke?”

James shouted up to them, “Spears, did you tell her to take over an hour to make herself look like a trollop? Just look at her. That riding habit belongs to the Duchess—I recognize it. It looks ridiculous on Jessie. She's American, a hoyden. She doesn't wear such stylish—”

“I believe, James,” Spears said in his very firm voice, even as he continued to guide Jessie down the wide staircase, “that at the end of your verbal trail you will step off a cliff that will drop you directly into your grave.”

James chewed on his lower lip. He cursed, then said with a sigh, “Perhaps you're right. What is this, Jessie? You didn't know this was Spears?”

“No. I thought he was a visiting earl or duke who felt sorry for me and helped me get around here.” She lowered her voice and giggled. “We've got to cease meeting like this, James—at the foot of the staircase.”

“Now you're sounding like a twit schoolgirl. That was a titter, and it came from you. You need to get home quickly, Jessie, before you become someone entirely different.”

“I would say, James,” Spears said as he released Jessie's arm at the bottom of the staircase and patted her gloved hand, “that Jessie is a woman who adapts well to her surroundings. Now, she must have her breakfast.”

“But James wants to leave, Spears, and—”

“Your breakfast, Jessie.”

“Yes, Spears.”

 

Candlethorpe was a snug property, much smaller than Marathon, yet it looked as impressive and solid as the rolling surrounding hills. It looked as if it belonged exactly where it was, almost as if the stone and wood had long before blended into the landscape, becoming one with it. The house was at least two hundred years old, square, three stories high, red brick, not overly large, ah, but the stable was freshly painted, long and low, and very modern with fenced paddocks on each side of it. There were oak and elm trees all over, many of them so ancient-looking Jessie thought they'd probably been there in the Roman times.

“James, were the Romans here in Yorkshire?”

“Yes they were. There's quite a pretty village called Aldborough that was really a Roman city. Not much has been done to it, but there are two quite excellent mosaic pavements. Perhaps in the future they will find more. Why do you ask?”

“The trees. They look so old, they were probably here with the Roman centurions. It's very romantic, don't you think?”

James heard a horse whinny loudly and grinned. “That's Bellini, the most beautiful Arab I've ever seen in my life. Marcus gave him to me last year. He's already sired two fillies and three stallions. Come see him, Jessie.”

Bellini was as black as a coal bin and surely as intelligent as James, Jessie told him as she patted the magnificent stallion's black nose. “He's a sweetheart.”

“All the mares think so. Last winter, just before I came back to Baltimore, a mare from the Rothermere stud jumped poor Bellini. She kicked one of my stable lads badly when he tried to pull her off.”

“You're making that up.”

“No, no. Come meet everyone.”

She met his head stable lad, Sigmund, who had come to James from Croft's stud just twenty miles away, a stud famous for its Byerley Turk blood.

“Stop drooling, Jessie,” James said as he watched her pat every single horse, feed each one a carrot she'd snatched up from the bucket outside the stable, and tell them how very lucky they were.

“It's hard,” she said, turning to smile at him. James froze. He didn't make a single move, utter a single noise. There was a shaft of sunlight coming over her shoulder from the open stable door, framing her hair, making the redness of it glisten like a sunset on the west coast of Ireland where James had visited a racing friend. She was smiling at him, and that hair of hers, in a simple braid, somehow looked different. He realized that it was looser, that there were myriad lazy curls framing her face. He turned away. He didn't like this at all.

“This is Caliper, an old fellow who's seen more changes than any other stallion in Yorkshire.”

Caliper got two carrots and more pats from Jessie than he deserved.

“Come to the house now.”

It was obvious to Jessie that the Duchess had overseen turning the inside of Candlethorpe into a livable dwelling. She wished she could tell James that she, Jessie, could do wonders with Marathon, if only . . . well, enough of that.

She shook her head and ran her hand over the top of a chair that was covered with lovely dark blue brocade. Very new dark blue brocade. There were two Aubusson carpets on the floor of the drawing room and several groupings of settees and chairs. There were several landscapes on the walls, but unlike Chase Park, there were no family portraits. The walls were freshly painted, a pale yellow, making the drawing room light and airy.

She met Mrs. Catsdoor and her son, Harlow, who took care of Candlethorpe when James was gone.

She met Mr. Goodbody, the gardener, and his undergardener, Carlos, who'd washed ashore off Scarsborough some five years before. He was from Spain, he told everyone in his broken English. He never gave any details.

“The gardens are beautiful,” Jessie said as she stepped out the wide French doors that gave onto the east lawn, not even a fraction of the size of Chase Park, but quite lovely in high summer, hydrangeas, roses, hyacinths, daisies, all blooming madly. “The Duchess insisted,” James said.

“You sound almost embarrassed. Isn't it manly to admire beauty?”

“The Duchess adores flowers. I let her have her way,” James said, ignoring her question. He turned to face her. “Which do you prefer—Candlethorpe or Marathon?”

“I'd like to own both. Each is special in its own way. You won't sell either one of them, will you, James?”

“Not unless I go bankrupt. Would you like some lemonade?”

“What I'd really like is to ride Bellini.”

He grinned down at her. “Perhaps on your next visit. He's a devil, though he acts charming enough when he wants to. Are you wearing stockings with that sinful riding outfit, Jessie?”

She didn't hesitate, just pulled up her riding skirt to show
him pristine white stockings that disappeared into her black riding boots.

“The Duchess must be going bankrupt clothing you.” He was frowning—why, she didn't understand. She thought it was a jest, nothing more, yet James had lost his sense of humor.

“No she's not. I'm paid two pounds a week. I plan to shop tomorrow and pay her back.”

“Two pounds a week? What riches. She pays you the money to pay her back. Come now, you know you can't remain at Chase Park until you're old and doddering.”

She walked away from him to touch the petals of a deep red rose. “I know,” she said, not looking at him. She leaned down and inhaled deeply.

“What are you going to do?”

She turned now and stared up at the man she'd loved since she was fourteen years old. It had been hero-worship then, yes, she knew that now. James had been a god to her, perfect in all ways, a splendid being who occasionally smiled upon her, yelled at her, recognized that she needed a kind word sometimes and gave it freely. But then she'd grown up and seen that he was a man, not a god, but oddly enough her feelings for him had just grown stronger, more abiding. They had changed into something very deep, as deep as the Ft. Point reservoir.

But it didn't matter. James still looked at her as if she were fourteen years old, or a trollop in her new finery. No, it didn't matter.

“I think I will work for the Duchess and the earl for several years. I will save all my money. Then I will come home and buy my own stud. I will race horses and I will win.”

He didn't laugh. She was surprised that he didn't. She was also thankful. She didn't think she could have borne it had he laughed. Nor did he sound remotely condescending
as he said, “That will require a lot of money, Jessie. Two pounds a week is about forty dollars a month. In two years, if you saved every pence, you'd still have less than a thousand dollars.”

“I know that. It will be enough. My father will surely sell me several stallions and mares at a cheap price. All I need is a start. I can grow and succeed just as you have.”

He looked away from her then toward the rich-leafed maple trees that climbed up a rolling hill. “I had more help than you know, Jessie. I married a girl with a large dowry. I had a great deal more than a thousand dollars to start up the stud here. In fact, Alicia's father gave us Candlethorpe as a wedding present. So you see, Marathon had the chance to succeed just because I had ample funds to begin the stud here, and ample funds to lose money that first two years.”

“How much money, James?”

“Alicia's dowry was nearly twenty thousand pounds.”

Jessie did a fast calculation. “Goodness, James, that's much more than a hundred thousand dollars, that's almost—”