Waking Up With the Duke (24 page)

“Miss Brown, I believe my husband wishes to have a moment with you. I will leave you in privacy.”

She was almost to the door when the woman exclaimed, “Oh, Wally!” and the girls—brown-haired, brown-eyed, his eyes—were racing past her crying, “Papa! Papa!”

She stepped into the hallway, well aware of Ainsley behind her. She greeted the physician, forcing words through a throat that refused to work properly. “We shall give them a few moments,” she said to the doctor, “and then you may examine the marquess. If you’ll be so kind as to excuse me, I’m in dire need of some air.”

“Of course, my lady.”

She could barely see the stairs through the tears that had gathered. She felt Ainsley wrap his hand around her arm.

“Careful,” he cautioned.

She gave him leave to guide her down the stairs and escort her into the garden. She broke free of his hold as soon as she was on a familiar path. “How long have you known about his ‘jewels’?”

He hesitated before saying somberly, “As long as they have been with him.”

She refused to ask exactly how long that was, but it seemed she was not yet ready to stop tormenting herself completely. “The smallest girl. How old is she?”

“Jayne—”

“I can guess but I’d rather know for sure.”

“She recently turned three.”

“If I had not lost my first child, he—or she—would be a little over three now. So he was seeing that woman while I was with child.”

“Jayne, don’t torment yourself.”

“Was he with Miss Brown the night of the accident?”

“Jayne, nothing is to be gained—”

She spun around to confront him. She could see the agony of the truth on his face, in his eyes. But she had to hear the words. “Was . . . he?”

He hesitated and the muscle in his cheek ticked before he replied, “Yes.”

She dug her fingernails into her palms, needing the discomfort so she could force back the tears. “So you were both not only drinking and gambling—as you told me—but fornicating as well.”

“Yes.”

“I thought he loved me. Or at least had a care for me.” She wound her arms around her chest. “Oh, it hurts so bad.”

He reached for her, and she stepped back.

“Do not touch me. You knew. You knew he did not honor his vows. Why did you not tell me?”

“No good would have come of you knowing the truth. It would have only made you miserable.” He shrugged. “And he could no longer be unfaithful. He does love you, Jayne.”

“But not enough. And you, by holding silent, you condoned his actions. My God, with your reputation with the ladies, you no doubt celebrated his poor behavior. Women are nothing to you.”

“That’s not true. You—”

“I don’t wish to hear it. Your excuses, your poetic words, your sweet gestures. They are all designed with one goal in mind. I fell for them. I allowed you and my husband to convince me that a situation existed where vows mattered not at all. Everything, everything was a lie.”

She walked away from him, needing time alone. He must have sensed what she required, because he did not follow. She retreated to the bench where she’d wept so often after Walfort’s accident. Before she wept for all he lost, all the dreams shattered by the accident. Now she wept because he had betrayed her and their vows. With Ainsley’s help, he convinced her to betray herself and
her
vows. Vows that she now understood had only ever meant anything to her.

It hurt. It hurt so terribly badly. More so, because Ainsley had been complicit in the deceptions. She had trusted him with her body, her dreams, and a portion of her heart. And he had known, always known, that everything she treasured was a lie.

D
r. Roberts had examined Walfort and declared him beyond help. Ainsley had arranged for him to return home then. Walfort’s own physician would be seeing to his remaining needs.

In spite of Walfort’s revelations that afternoon, Ainsley’s chest ached as he leaned against the bedpost and studied his sleeping friend. He’d told Jayne that he could keep vigil for a while to give her a bit of a reprieve. Miss Brown was putting the girls to bed.

Jayne had strolled through the garden for more than an hour. Ainsley had wanted to stay with her but he sensed that she wanted to be as far from him as possible. Discovering that Walfort had a mistress was a horrible blow. He’d seen the devastation on her face when he revealed what the jewels were. Then he’d seen the stoicism with which she greeted the woman. Her courage, her strength, her determination—never in his life had he admired a woman more.

Jayne was correct. With his silence, he had condoned Walfort’s actions all those years ago. Why had he not beaten him to a pulp back then? Why had he not fought to make him realize that his greatest treasure was his wife?

Walfort’s eyes fluttered open, and Ainsley said, “You lied.”

Walfort stared at him.

“About the reins. Taking them from me.”

“No.”

“Why would you let me believe all these years that my reckless handling of the horses resulted in the accident?”

“Because, my friend, guilt is a very valuable currency, and I needed to ensure you watched over my jewels.”

“I would have watched over them regardless,” he said.

“I had to ensure it, old boy.”

He didn’t want to broach the subject, it was none of his concern, but suspicions lurked and he was disappointed enough with Walfort at that moment to pry. “The girls knew who you were.”

“Naturally.”

“How? When did you see them?”

Walfort rolled his head to the side, gazed toward the windows, and Ainsley wondered if he sought to escape.

“When, Walfort?”

“When I would go to Harrogate for the waters. Maddie and the girls would meet me there.”

“Jayne deserved much better.”

“And now she will have it. I will not be in the way.”

Ainsley felt as though he’d been bludgeoned. All the fury dissipated. He moved closer so his friend could see the earnestness in his eyes. “Dammit, Walfort, I don’t want her, not like this. For all your faults, I have always loved you as a brother.”

“You were always the better man. I thought if I were in your company often enough that you’d rub off on me. I pray to God that I did not rub off on you.”

“Fight this thing, blast you. You can defeat it.”

Walfort shook his head. “No, I can’t.” He motioned Ainsley nearer. “See after Jayne and the child. It will be difficult for them. And promise me that you will take care of my jewels. See that they are provided for. Find them suitable husbands.”

“You are a manipulator to the end, aren’t you?”

Walfort gave him a weary smile. “I shall take that as your assent.”

At that moment Walfort appeared at peace as he drifted off to sleep. Ainsley cursed him to perdition, but he knew he would fulfill these latest requests.

J
ayne sat in a chair beside the bed, her hand curled around one of Walfort’s. He was fevered, muttering in his sleep. Every now and then he would mumble “Maddie.” Or Elizabeth. Or Mary.

She despised the way that she waited for him to utter her name. It was only one syllable, for Christ’s sake. It required only one movement of his jaw. She couldn’t help but believe that her entire marriage had been a farce. Perhaps her entire life. She wanted to rail against him, pound her fists into his chest; she wanted him to live so she could reconcile her emotions, so she could discover why she’d not been enough.

In spite of it all, she didn’t wish death upon him. She knew now that he wasn’t hers. He never had been. How could she have been such a fool?

The babe rolled from one side of her stomach to another, as though sensing her stress and striving to bring her comfort. He was such an active bugger. He would be active, like his father. Now he would grow up knowing no father. Not the one who had intended to claim him or the one who had given him life.

“I want to thank you for your kindness to me and my girls,” Miss Brown said.

Jayne glanced over to the other side of the bed, where the woman was sitting on its edge, gently mopping Walfort’s brow.

“Not all wives would be as accepting of a mistress,” she continued.

“He asked for you,” Jayne said with as little emotion as she could muster. “I must assume he cares for you.”

“I met him in a bookshop. The book I wanted was on a shelf I could not reach, so he retrieved it for me. Our hands touched, and it fostered a spark between us that I cannot explain. We walked to a nearby park and talked for hours.”

Jayne didn’t want to hear this, she didn’t care, and yet she was morbidly interested. Why not dig the knife more deeply into her heart? “What did you talk of?” she asked.

Miss Brown released a small laugh. “I can’t remember now. We always had something to talk about. I probably should not say, but . . . I visited here while you were away on holiday. The girls and I.”

Jayne didn’t want to contemplate that he’d arranged her leaving for Blackmoor so as to provide an opportunity to be with Miss Brown. But all of his actions were suspect now. Still, she heard herself say, “I’m glad.”

Miss Brown looked at her, her eyes blinking in confusion.

“I would not have wanted him to be lonely while I was gone,” Jayne explained. “Especially as now it seems he hasn’t much more time to be here.”

“He always spoke so highly of you. I thought I should have been jealous that he had such deep feelings for you as well. But he would not have tolerated that. The jealousy. I knew I would like you before I met you. Under other circumstances perhaps we’d have been friends. Or not. My father was a clergyman. He did not approve of my choices. I’ve not seen him in years. He doesn’t even know he has granddaughters.”

So many choices that led to such sadness. Jayne wondered if they were all worth it. Walfort had been an adulterer, and he made an adulterer of her. Yet as the babe kicked once more, she knew she could not regret her sins. She’d made the decision expecting Walfort to live to a ripe old age. He’d made his proposal expecting the same.

Walfort opened his eyes and smiled softly at her. “Jayne.”

At last, her name on his lips. She squeezed his hand. “Would you like some water?”

“No.” He rolled his head to the side and smiled lovingly at Miss Brown. With so little effort, he communicated so much, and Jayne wondered if she’d ever really known him. “I need a private moment with my wife.”

“Of course, my darling.” Miss Brown kissed him on the cheek before leaving the room.

“Do you hate me so very much?” he asked when she was gone.

Slowly, she shook her head, knowing she should fight back the tears but suspecting they were more honest than any words she could speak. “Why, Walfort, why?”

“We cannot control our hearts, Jayne.”

“But we can control our actions.” She gave her head a brisk shake. “My apologies. I do not wish to torment you.”

“Strange,” he rasped. “I felt so guilty because I had children and you did not. I thought if I could arrange for you to have a child, then . . . the guilt would ease. Yet instead I leave you to raise it on your own. Even when I strive to be thoughtful, I’m a complete cad.”

She had no response.

“I was an unfaithful bastard,” he continued. “I love Madeline, but she is a commoner. I needed your dowry and I enjoyed your company. It shames me to say it . . . but I did not begin to love you until after the accident. Your loyalty and faith humbled me. You made me a better man than I was, made me wish I had been a better man before. Ainsley is that better man. He always has been.”

She wrapped both her hands around his and held his gaze. “In spite of all the revelations that have come about today . . . I still love you.”

He closed his eyes on a sigh. “Then I shall die a most fortunate man.”

Chapter 25

D
eath came in the hushed stillness of dawn.

With hardly a word spoken, they journeyed to London where Walfort was to be laid to rest. While Ainsley had a servant escort Miss Brown and her girls to their London home, he accompanied Jayne to Walfort’s residence. Once there, mourning cards were sent out, and soon the ladies of society descended like ravenous ravens to flutter around Jayne. He knew they sought only to comfort her, but it was a task he would have preferred had been reserved for himself.

But since their encounter in the garden, she’d not spoken to him except when necessary. She was incredibly formal, unnaturally stoic. He’d heard Miss Brown sobbing uncontrollably after Walfort’s passing but had yet to see Jayne shed a tear. And that worried him.

Still, Ainsley admired Jayne’s dedication to ensuring that Walfort’s funeral was one befitting his title and station. The glass-sided hearse and four, carrying the mahogany casket, traveled slowly through the people-lined streets on its way to St. Paul’s, where Walfort would be entombed. Walfort’s riderless horse plodded along behind it. With shutters drawn, a dozen black carriages that housed the male members of the family and close friends followed. Black ostrich plumes fluttered in the slight breeze.

Following the interment, the gentlemen returned to the residence. Adhering to the custom that ladies not attend funerals, the society matrons waited with Jayne in the front parlor. As Ainsley passed by on his way to taking the gentlemen to the library for libations, he caught sight of Jayne with women sitting around her, his mother holding her hand. Her pale pallor concerned him. He wanted to lift her into his arms and carry her upstairs to her bedchamber, away from the madness.

Instead he pushed forth to the library, where footmen had already begun pouring drinks for the guests. When all had a glass in hand, Ainsley lifted his and an expectant hush filled the room.

“To Walfort. He was courageous in all things, met all of life’s challenges head on. You will be missed, old friend.”

“Hear! Hear!”

As Ainsley downed the whiskey, Lord Sheffield said, “At least we can all be assured that there will be fox hunting when we join him. I daresay, he’ll see to it that all is put to rights in that regard.”

Another toast followed, more whiskey was swallowed, and quiet conversation and laughter ensued as the gentlemen began to reminisce about Walfort. Ainsley wandered over to where Westcliffe and Stephen were talking. Now that he knew the truth of their parentage, it amazed him that he’d not suspected before. Westcliffe was dark-haired, like his sire, and Stephen was blond, fair as a summer afternoon. Westcliffe’s eyes were brown, almost black, and Stephen’s were blue.

“The arrangements for Walfort were nicely done,” Stephen said quietly.

Ainsley nodded, distracted by the gentleman he’d spotted nearby talking with Lord Sheffield. “Do my eyes deceive me or is that my cousin Ralph Seymour talking with Sheffield?”

Both his brothers looked discreetly in the direction Ainsley had indicated. “I’d say so, yes,” Westcliffe murmured. “He’s next in line for Walfort’s title, isn’t he?”

“Quite. Does he look to be a man going mad with syphilis?”

Westcliffe and Stephen both looked at him as though he were the one going mad. Had Walfort lied about that as well? Damn him! The man was turning out to be a master manipulator.

“Think I’ll have a word.” But getting there meant running the gauntlet of those who wished to offer their condolences. It was no secret that he and Walfort had been close. So he graciously acknowledged the kind words that were spoken as he wended his way toward his target. He wasn’t quite there when he heard Sheffield say, “ . . . bated breath to discover if Lady Walfort will deliver a son.”

“I don’t know if the courts will care one way or the other. My cousin was paralyzed. If he got her with child I’ll eat my hat.”

“Shall I fetch it for you?” Ainsley asked.

Ralph jerked around so quickly that the whiskey in his glass nearly sloshed over the sides. “Cousin. You’re not on the branch of the tree that’s in line for the title so perhaps you’ve not given it any thought.”

“But it’s obvious you have. If you’re wise, you’ll hold your tongue on the matter.”

“Is that a threat?”

“It’s a promise. Lady Walfort has suffered enough during the past few years and she deeply mourns the passing of her husband.”

“That does not mean he got her with a child. I’ve heard rumors that you danced with her, that you were seen walking alone with her in the garden.”

“As a favor to Walfort, I attended her where he could not.”

“Does that include her bed?”

His fist shot up so fast that the pain was ricocheting from his knuckles to his shoulder before he even realized he’d delivered the blow to Ralph’s chin. His cousin dropped to the floor with an unceremonious thud. Completely out. He wasn’t going to get up any time soon.

Westcliffe and Stephen were instantly at Ainsley’s side.

“Looks as though Cousin Ralph has had a bit too much to drink,” Westcliffe said, signaling for two footmen. “Get him to his carriage.”

Ainsley looked over to see Sheffield grinning like a loon.

“At long last, I’ll have a nonboring tale to tell,” he said triumphantly.

“I’d keep it to yourself, Sheffield,” Ainsley warned.

“Of course, old boy.” But he was fairly bouncing on the balls of his feet as he shouldered his way through the men who’d gathered around at the commotion.

“Apologies,” he said to the gentlemen. “I could not let an insult to Walfort go unchallenged. Drink up.”

Westcliffe took Ainsley’s arm and led him to a distant corner of the room, Stephen following in their wake.

“What the devil was that all about?” Westcliffe asked once they were away from prying ears.

“He questioned the legitimacy of Jayne’s child.”

“You must know everyone’s questioning it.”

“It doesn’t matter. She was with child when Walfort died. The courts will recognize it as his.”

His words were spoken with too much vehemence. Both of his brothers were studying him as though only seeing him for the first time.

“It’s none of my concern—” Westcliffe began.

“No, it’s not,” Ainsley assured him.

“Good Christ, is it yours?” Westcliffe asked, his lips barely moving.

“It’s Jayne’s.”

He left his brothers staring after him. In the length of a single heartbeat everything had changed.

“Y
ou are so fortunate to be with child,” Lady Inwood said. “You should pray for a son. Then you will not be dependent upon Ralph Seymour’s mercies.”

Sitting in a corner of the parlor, surrounded by ladies, Jayne felt as though there was absolutely no air to breathe.

“Ainsley has certainly been a godsend, hasn’t he?” Lady Sheffield asked. “He’s handled so many of the arrangements.”

Was it her imagination that she heard insinuations in their voices? Why could they not leave her in peace?

“Will you return to Herndon Hall now?” someone asked, a voice she didn’t recognize.

“No, no, you must remain in London,” Lady Inwood insisted. “To be a widow and with child? You need us to see you through it.”

Jayne was somewhat relieved to see the Duchess of Ainsley step forward. Although she had relinquished the title when she married Leo, she was still addressed as such and shown the deference that came with holding the title for so long. “I believe,” the duchess said, “that what Lady Walfort needs is to do what is best for her. She also requires rest. Surely it is past time for all you dear ladies to take your leave.”

She began ushering them from the room, but each circled back to give Jayne one last message of condolence and reassurance that they could be called upon if needed. In the entry hallway they were soon joined by their husbands. Then finally, at last, silence.

Jayne saw the shoes first, black and polished to a shine. Slowly, her gaze traveled over the black trousers, the black waistcoat and jacket, until it settled on green eyes.

“A bloody awful day,” Ainsley said.

She drew comfort from the words, words she’d wanted to say. “Yes.”

“My mother, Leo, and I will stay here through the night in case there is anything you need.”

“That’s not necessary. I shall be alone in all the days to come. I might as well begin getting used to it.”

“Not tonight. You need to eat, Jayne.”

“I have no appetite.”

“The babe does.”

She placed her hand against her side. “I think people are gossiping. They don’t believe it’s his. And now he’s not here to convince them. Rather bad timing, that.”

“It doesn’t matter what others think or believe. It only matters what you want.”

Only she didn’t know.

He had food brought to her on a tray. While she ate, he told her about the grandeur of the funeral procession, all the people lining the streets. Walfort had gone out in style. She thought he would have been pleased. In spite of all the revelations at the end of his life, she had cared for him too long not to do right by him in the end.

After she’d eaten as much as she could stomach, she allowed the duchess to escort her to her bedchamber, where a bath was prepared. She wanted to be alone, but the duchess remained, talking constantly of nonsensical things as though she felt a need to fill the hovering silence.

Once she was in her nightdress, Jayne strolled to the nursery that she’d begun furnishing for the first time she was with child. Sitting in the rocker, she was finally, at long last, alone with her sorrow.

I
n the library, Ainsley looked up as his mother walked into the room and went to the table holding several decanters. She poured herself a brandy and sat in a chair across from him, one beside Leo, who was keeping Ainsley company—even if it entailed little more than drinking with him.

“How is she?” he asked.

“I’m most worried about her. She’s presently sitting in the nursery and rocking. But all afternoon and evening, she does not weep nor wail. It’s not natural. It cannot be healthy for the child.”

His stomach clenched. He couldn’t bear the thought of Jayne going through another loss such as that. Would she even survive it? He stood. “I’ll speak with her.”

He took two steps before his mother spoke up again. “Ainsley?”

Stopping, he glanced back at her. He knew the sorrow on her face had nothing to do with the mourning of Walfort.

“Have you considered, my son, that you should marry the girl?”

Far too many times to count.

“It’s customary for a wife to mourn for two years,” he reminded her.

“A year would suffice, but in this instance . . . she carries your child, Ainsley. Marry her and claim it.”

“The terms of our arrangement were that this child would be Jayne’s and Walfort’s.”

“Forgive my indelicacy but he is dead.”

“It does not change the fact that he boasted to all of London that he sired this child. His passing complicated matters. I cannot deny that. But it does not relieve me of my promise not to claim this child.”

“Must you be so blasted noble? It grows wearisome.”

“I took everything from him, Mother. I will not take what was to be his child. Besides I doubt Jayne would have me.”

“She never struck me as a fool.”

He almost smiled at the clipped edge that accompanied her words. In her eyes, her sons could do no wrong. He wondered if Jayne would feel the same about hers. He suspected she would. With only a nod, he left his mother then, knowing she would not follow.

It was strange to walk through the somber residence, to compare it with the joviality that abounded at Herndon Hall the last time he was there for the fox hunt. Death brought a pall over everything. It didn’t help matters that none of the clocks released a single tick or tock—having been stopped at the hour of Walfort’s passing—and all the mirrors were draped in black crepe. He made his way up the stairs to the nursery.

At the door, he hesitated. It was closed. He should knock, but if he announced himself, she might not invite him in. With a deep sigh, he opened the door. The room was dark, save for a single lamp that burned low. He heard the heartrending weeping, and it took him a moment to locate her. She was sitting on the floor, pressed in a distant corner, her face buried in her hands, her rounded shoulders shaking with the force of her sobs. His courageous Jayne, alone with her sorrow. She would not succumb in front of his mother. But at least she was able to grieve in private.

He considered leaving, but he could no more abandon her now than he could cease to breathe. Quietly, he moved over to her and crouched, his knees popping to announce his arrival.

As though only just noticing his presence, she began to roughly swipe at her cheeks. “Please go away, Ainsley.”

He grabbed her wrists to still her actions, and she jerked free. “Please leave me in peace.”

“Are you in peace, Jayne? It hardly sounds like it. I know you mourn him—”