Waking Up With the Duke (26 page)

Chapter 27

J
ayne could hardly believe the excitement that thrummed through her as she waited for Ainsley to arrive. A night away from the oppressive house. She needed it. She knew that she did.

She rather wished she didn’t have to wear black, but it helped to remind her to remain somber. Tonight was simply a break from the mourning. It did not remove it all together.

She was sitting in the parlor attempting not to appear anxious when she heard the rap on the front door. Her butler was soon standing in the doorway. “His Grace, the Duke of Ainsley.”

He bowed out and Ainsley strode in, so dashing in his swallow-tailed coat that it very nearly took her breath. He’d worn similar clothing last night, but for some reason he appeared even more handsome now. Lest he decide to try to kiss her on the cheek, she lowered her veil.

“I daresay, you didn’t have to go to so much bother for dinner with me,” she said as she walked over to him.

He extended his arm. “No bother.”

She placed her hand on his arm and allowed him to escort her from the house. “I’ve actually been looking forward to this,” she confessed.

“As have I.”

He handed her up into the coach. As she settled onto her seat, he took his place opposite her. The coach lantern was lit, allowing her to see him clearly. She was surprised that he’d not chosen to sit beside her. The last time they journeyed alone in his coach, they’d been so close that a shadow could not have squeezed between them.

As the coach rattled over the cobblestones, she felt compelled to fill the silence. “The air seems to be less cloying tonight.”

“It’s better in the country.”

“Do you not like the city, then?”

“It serves a purpose, but I must confess that when I’m married I shall come to London as little as possible. I prefer the outdoor activities offered by the countryside.”

It was no doubt the reason he was so fit and that his skin was so bronzed.

“What is your favorite sport?” she asked.

“Swimming. I recently had a small pool built at Grantwood. If you come to visit, I shall teach you how to swim.”

She imagined the slickness of their wet bodies, gliding over each other. “Right now, I would no doubt sink straightaway to the bottom.”

He grinned. “I doubt it.”

Although the curtains were drawn on the coach and she couldn’t see the passing buildings, it did seem that they’d been traveling for some time now. “I didn’t think your residence was so far.”

“We’ll dine at my residence, but I have a little surprise planned first.”

She’d had far too many surprises of late. “And what would that be?”

“If I tell you, it won’t be a surprise.”

“This was not what we agreed to.”

“Trust me, Jayne. I believe you’ll enjoy what I have in mind.”

She became aware of the clatter of more vehicles and Ainsley’s coach slowing. “We’re in the thick of it.”

“You may peer out if you like,” he said.

She considered it. “I shall wait.”

Eventually the coach rolled to a stop. A footman opened the door and Ainsley disembarked before handing her down. They were in an alleyway, but still she recognized the building.

“Covent Garden? Are you mad?”

“It’s closed to the public tonight.”

“Then why are we here?”

He smiled broadly. “Because it’s open to us.”

“I’m in mourning. I can’t be entertained.”

“You shan’t be. The actors are atrocious, from what I hear.” Taking her hand, he led her toward the steps and a back door, where he knocked.

It opened and a wizened man peered out. “Your Grace!”

“Mr. Smith.”

“This way, sir.”

They went through back hallways and up two flights of stairs to a private box. Mr. Smith immediately left them. Jayne eased down to a plush chair. “Is this the royal box?”

“No, it’s mine,” Ainsley said as he joined her.

“How did you manage this?”

“Fairly easily.”

“It can’t have been easy.”

“Let’s just say that I’m a man of influence and leave it at that, shall we?”

A man of influence, of wealth, of generosity. A modest man. She’d been so afraid to trust the feelings she had developed for him during the month they were at Blackmoor. Could it be that she had seen the real man there?

Lights lit the stage.

The curtains were drawn back. Jayne leaned forward and allowed the actors to transport her to fair Verona.

H
e’d considered paying the actors to perform a comedy. He was certain she needed some laughter, but in the end he’d decided that she needed to shed some tears. He’d had a devil of a time leaving her this morning.

He focused on her now. She was giving rapt attention to the performance, almost as though she was on stage with them. Her eyes had been filled with excitement when he arrived at the residence. It had done his heart good. The exorbitant amount he was paying for private use of the theater was money well spent.

Theirs had been an unusual courtship, which began last November—even though he’d not realized it was courtship at the time. Courting her now was a bit more difficult because of all the social mores that insisted she be in seclusion.

As the star-crossed lovers were mourned, he saw the tears begin to trickle down her cheeks. He wanted to wipe them away himself, but tonight he intended to be only a friend. So he handed her his handkerchief and watched as she delicately patted her face.

And then a heart-wrenching sob broke free. He moved in, wrapping his arms around her, turning her into his chest, holding her near. He knew her sorrow had nothing to do with the performance. She was weeping now for all she’d lost and all that faced her.

“I hate this,” she said. “I hate that I’m all weepy.”

“You’ve earned the right to cry.”

Straightening, she eased back. “It makes me feel weak.”

“You’re hardly weak.”

He could see her studying his features, and he wondered where her thoughts wandered.

Taking a last swipe at her tears, she squared her shoulders. “I suppose we should be off.”

“Are you ready for dinner, then?”

“I’m actually quite famished.”

D
inner took place in Ainsley’s garden, with candles flickering on the small round table, while the gas lamps sent out a soft glow. She could smell the roses, and from time to time she caught a hint of his fragrance.

“You’ve gone to a great deal of bother,” she said.

“Not I. My servants. And I pay them well enough to do it.”

These were not the servants at Blackmoor. They had no notion that she’d spent an illicit month with Ainsley, that they’d shared dinners aplenty.

“Do you wonder what they’re thinking?” she asked.

“Whatever it is, they’ll keep it to themselves.”

“You trust so easily.”

“And you no longer do.”

He was right. She’d thought she understood the state of her life, only to discover that much was not as she’d thought. “I’m trying.”

She realized her words were true. She didn’t want to view him through a veil of distrust.

“Have you seen Miss Brown of late?” she asked.

“Yesterday. She and the girls are well.”

“I don’t understand her. I don’t believe I could settle for so little.”

“Sometimes little is better than nothing at all.”

She studied him for a moment, remembering his heartfelt declaration as she was exiting the coach after leaving the cottage. She could not deny that their time together had created an intimate bond between them, but she was at a loss regarding how to characterize what she felt toward him. She wondered if his words had been merely spurred by the moment, or if they had burst forth from the depths of his soul. She said, “You felt that way at Blackmoor.”

“I was grateful for the days we had together. And the nights, of course.”

Sometimes it was difficult to separate the days from the nights. Near the end, they’d all simply run together.

“I wonder if she’ll ever marry.”

“If she does, it’ll be by choice. Unlike my mother after her first marriage, Miss Brown is well cared for. Will you ever marry?”

She gave a start at his question and decided a topic change was in order. “I don’t know. I hear from the ladies that Lady Louisa Mercer is betrothed.”

“It seems walking down the stairs with her did not harm her reputation in the least.”

She smiled at the memory. “She was smitten with you.”

“But I was not with her. She was far too young. I prefer my women seasoned.”

She widened her eyes. “You make them sound like a course during the meal.”

“It’s not that far off. I like them with a bit of spice to them. I always liked that you were not afraid to speak your mind.”

“I was rather tart with you on occasion, as I recall.”

“You can be so again, Jayne. Never fear telling me what you are thinking or feeling.”

“At this moment, Ainsley, I’m little more than confused. I’ve enjoyed tonight. And yet I feel guilty about it.”

“You shouldn’t. You’ve been a perfect lady and I’ve been a boring gentleman.”

“You’re never dull.” Realizing that her plate was now empty, she settled back. “I don’t believe I can eat another bite. You have a marvelous cook. I can’t remember the last time I ate so much. Rather vulgar of me.”

He didn’t respond. Merely watched her over his wineglass, a satisfied smile on his face.

“Next Season, I shall be able to attend balls. Will you dance with me then?”

“I can dance with you tonight.” He stood up and was pulling out her chair before she knew what he was about.

She considered objecting, but who was to see?

Taking her in his arms, he began to hum “Greensleeves” as he swept her over the grass. She heard the laughter, startled to realize it was hers. She felt young again, the way she’d felt on the carousel. How was it that he could make her feel without care and with so little effort?

A fog had begun to roll in and very little moonlight outlined him. But the light from the gas lamps lining the path wove around them. Shadow and light. Shadow and light. Always he was watching her, his gaze never wavering. He held her securely, as though he would never let her go.

Within his arms, she didn’t feel ungainly. She didn’t feel that she wore widow weeds. It was as though she wore the most lavish of ball gowns. He did that to her. Allowed her to imagine a life other than one she led. When she was with him, she felt as though she lived in a fantasy. It wasn’t real; it couldn’t last, no matter how much they wished otherwise.

Still, for tonight, she could almost forget all the troubles that waited outside her door.

Chapter 28

“I
fear I may have done something very bad.”

Studying Miss Brown as she sat in a chair in front of his desk, wringing her hands with such ferocity that he was surprised her skin didn’t peel away, Ainsley might have reminded her that it wasn’t the first time she’d engaged in naughty behavior—but then he was hardly in a position to cast stones. “Miss Brown, it is not my intention to serve as your conscience, but rather to simply ensure that you and your daughters do not go without.”

She gnawed on her lower lip until he feared that she’d draw blood. Obviously she wished to unburden her soul.

“Would you like me to fetch a man of the cloth, so you might confess your sins?”

With tears welling in her eyes, she shook her head. “You’ve been so good me, Your Grace. I simply wasn’t thinking is all.”

“I assure you, my dear woman, that you are not the first to have done something without thought and then to later regret it. I daresay I’ve regretted things that I’ve done with a great deal of thought.”

She almost smiled at that. He saw it in the twitch of her mouth.

“It’s just that Mr. Seymour took me off guard with his questions. I wasn’t expecting something so personal.”

Everything within Ainsley stilled. “Mr. Ralph Seymour?”

“Yes, Your Grace. Wally’s cousin. The one who would inherit if . . . well, if Lady Walfort wasn’t with child.”

“And what, pray tell, did he ask of you?”

“If Lord Walfort had”—more hand wringing, more lip worrying—“bedded me since his accident.”

“To which you replied?”

“I said he hadn’t.” She leaned forward to emphasize the truth of her words. “Because he hadn’t.”

Of course he hadn’t.

“But then, well, my pride spoke up. I didn’t want him thinking the fault rested with me so I told him that Wally couldn’t . . . that he was broken. I told him how he cried. I shouldn’t have done that. I know that now. Mr. Seymour looked so triumphant, so pleased, and I wondered why he would care. And then I thought to myself, ‘Silly girl, he wants the titles,’ and so I thought I should come tell you straightaway.”

It had been a week since he’d danced in the garden with Jayne. Sometimes he thought about asking for her hand in marriage before the babe was born. He did not want his child to have to fight for his place in society, a place that was not rightfully his. This latest news certainly didn’t help the situation. “When was this?”

“Two days ago.”

Not so straightaway.

He rose to his feet. “Thank you, Miss Brown, for coming forward with the information. I shall have a word with Mr. Seymour and see that he doesn’t bother you again.”

“He asked if I’d be willing to say it in the courts. I don’t want to do that, Your Grace. I don’t want to stand in the dock and tell everyone about my life with his lordship. But he said I might have to. I might be forced to.”

“I wouldn’t worry about it overmuch. Gentlemen often say a lot of things that don’t come to pass.”

“Wally did,” she said wistfully. “Said he’d marry me one day. But then he married someone else, and it was too late for me. By then I loved him. And then there were my girls to consider. Who would favor a woman with two bastard children?”

“Walfort did, and you shall continue to be provided for. You mustn’t worry over it, and you must always come to me when matters such as this arise.”

“I will, I promise. I’m just so grateful for all you do for me.”

She began to wax on poetically, but he didn’t have time to let her ramble. He escorted her to the hallway, then turned her over to the footman to see her out. Closing the door behind him, he walked to the window and stared out.

Action needed to be taken and it needed to be taken quickly. For all their sakes.

A
s much as Ainsley disliked the way Cousin Ralph was going about things, he had to admit that he’d certainly managed to put the color back into Jayne’s cheeks. She was pacing her parlor when he arrived. His intent had been to merely ensure that Ralph hadn’t come to call. And he hadn’t.

But Lady Inwood, an overflowing fountain of gossip, had.

“He’s apparently questioning whether this child could be Walfort’s and he’s making no secret of the fact that he doesn’t believe it could be.”

“It isn’t,” Ainsley reminded her.

She stuttered to a stop. Sank into a chair. “This is just bloody awful.”

In long strides he crossed the room, knelt before her and took her hands. “The best way for me to protect you and the child is with my name. Marry me, Jayne. Let me claim the child as mine.”

“This is not how things were supposed to be.”

“No, but they are the way that they are. Walfort is not here to dispute Ralph’s claims. You and I know the truth of the situation . . . as does Miss Brown.”

Her eyes widened slightly. “He’s spoken to her, hasn’t he?”

“Yes. He’s going to make a stink of things. If we knew this was a girl, the entire matter would be moot. But if it’s a boy . . .” He stood up, moved over to the fireplace. No fire burned; he wasn’t cold. But he needed the distance. “Everything changed with Walfort’s passing. Everything. I want to claim this child as mine—whether it is a boy or a girl. If you set your course on insisting this babe is Walfort’s, you will place Miss Brown in a difficult position. Her word against yours.”

“I would be believed.”

Jayne’s station in life, her position as Walfort’s widow, gave her some currency, but would it be enough?

“In all likelihood, but why set yourself on this path when there is no need? Marry me, Jayne. Let me provide you with a safe haven from gossip and recognize this child as mine.”

She rose from the chair and began to pace. “This is absurd. Walfort is barely gone. Tongues will wag if we marry straightaway without a period of mourning. If you recognize this child, people will have confirmation that I was not faithful. The last remaining vestiges of my reputation will become tattered.”

“Better tongues wag now than when this child is born. As for your mourning period, I understand that you need this time. We will have a chaste marriage while you grieve.”

She stopped her pacing and rubbed her brow. “I feel as though I’m jumping from the pan into the fire.”

Tears welled in her eyes, and he cursed Walfort.

“You are known far and wide as a remarkable lover,” she said, “and you are extremely talented at being discreet. I do not want another marriage as I had before.”

“I know that his actions hurt you . . . dreadfully. I understand that you view me as guilty by association. But I swear to you that if you marry me, I will never take another woman to my bed.”

“Walfort gave the same vows before God.”

Damnation but he’d had enough. “I am not Walfort,” he ground out through clenched teeth. “And that child is not his. I’ll be damned if I’m going to allow it to be brought into this world and have to fight for what is not even rightfully his.”

“Allow?” Unfortunately, he could see in her eyes that he’d sparked her anger. “How dare you! You went into this arrangement perfectly willing to give up your child—”

“No! I was never willing, Jayne. It has always torn at me that this child would not know I was his father. But I shoved my own needs and desires aside because of guilt. Guilt as it turns out that I might not have even deserved.”

He stopped, trying to rein in his temper. Too soon. It was too soon to tell her everything. He seriously doubted that she would return his feelings in full measure.

“Jayne, this child should not suffer because of wrongs I was striving to make right.”

She lifted her chin in stubbornness. “And it won’t. Walfort claimed this child as his in his will. Mr. Ralph Seymour can rant all he wants. It will not change what will be recognized by law.”

“What is recognized by law is not always what is recognized by Society.”

“Walfort . . . before he died, I promised him this child would be known as his. While he was far from perfect in life, I do not wish to make a fool of him in death. You will stand behind that claim, won’t you?”

Never in his life had he ever betrayed a woman’s trust in him. He never spoke of his lovers. When he took a woman into his arms, she became his to protect: her reputation and her heart. He could do no less for Jayne. But what she asked of him, he hated with every fiber of his being. Still he nodded. “Yes.”

B
last her for being so damned stubborn!

Sitting before the fireplace in his library, Ainsley drank his whiskey and cursed Walfort for actions he’d taken that caused Jayne to doubt her appeal, her judgment, her desires. He felt as though he was engaged in a war he had no idea if he could win. She was mourning the loss of so much—more than her husband. All she’d believed about her marriage had been torn asunder. Why would she trust him now when he’d known it was all a farce and held the truth from her?

He should have told her, but then she’d have thought he did it to achieve his own ends.

Now he wanted her more than he’d ever wanted anything, and he wasn’t quite certain how to acquire her.

It didn’t help matters that she was struggling with her loyalty to Walfort. Yes, they’d all made promises, but they could not have foreseen that everything would unravel with Walfort’s passing.

“A
insley’s worried about you,” Tessa said, sipping tea in Jayne’s parlor. She’d arrived only a few minutes earlier, and Jayne knew immediately by her mien that the purpose to her visit had little to do with simple kindness. “He can be quite protective of those he cares for. Irritated Westcliffe no end when he was a lad because Ainsley was so much younger, but he was always seeing to things, making sure all was well.”

“He has no need to worry about me. I’m not his responsibility.”

“Perhaps not. But a small part of you—the part that grows inside you—is, is it not?”

Jayne felt her stomach drop. “I suppose I should not be surprised that you know everything.”

Tessa gave her a gentle smile. “Not everything, but enough.”

“Does everyone know, do you think?”

“By everyone I assume you mean within the family. No. Leo knows, of course, but then Leo knows everything. You would think that an artist would only look at the shell, but he has the ability to search much deeper. I believe that’s the reason his portraits are so magnificent. Of course, I’m also biased. Be that as it may, others may begin to believe Ralph Seymour’s claims in time. Who is to say? But if I have raised my sons to be anything, it is to be accepting. Westcliffe and Stephen both chose their wives well, and they share the same willingness not to judge. However, my dear, I must be very honest with you.”

She set her teacup aside and held Jayne’s gaze. “I know what it is to have a son and to keep from him the truth about who truly sired him. It is an unbearable burden. I also know that Ainsley is a man of honor, whose loyalties are now torn. It will only worsen for him once this child is born. Mourning be damned, I say. Give this child its true father.”

“You assume much, Your Grace.”

“I know, m’dear. But know you will have the houses of Westcliffe, Lyons, and Ainsley behind you. They are a formidable trio, my sons. Few in London are willing to incur their disfavor. Or mine, for that matter.”

“It is barely a month since Walfort’s passing. People will gossip—”

“They gossip anyway.”

Long after she left, Jayne sat in the parlor and stared at nothing, her thoughts drifting back to a night when she’d traded all she believed in for a chance to hold something she treasured.

As though sensing its mother’s distress, the child within her kicked. Once. Twice. Thrice. It did not carry Walfort’s blood. In her selfishness to want a child, she’d accepted Walfort’s excuses and justifications in the event this child was a boy, but now they were not so easy to live with. If this child was a boy, would it be fair to deny him a dukedom? Would it be fair to expose him to Ralph’s accusations? What had seemed so simple then seemed so complicated now. Doors had closed and opportunities had opened. She felt lost, at a crossroads, not knowing which path to take.