Authors: Jane Goodger

Tags: #Fiction, #Romance, #General, #Historical

When a Duke Says I Do (8 page)

BOOK: When a Duke Says I Do

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Then she laid her head on his shoulder, as if it were something she did every day. He looked down at the top of her head, at the messy part down the middle, and wished he had the strength of character to push her away. But her head resting on his shoulder felt so completely right that he couldn’t bear to send her away. Not just yet. He could behave, he didn’t have to think carnal thoughts, he could ignore the sudden tightening in his groin at the sound of her deep, contented sigh.

“See?” she said, lifting her head and looking up at him. “We can be friends.”

She looked so beautiful in that moment, her lips parted slightly, her moss-green eyes completely guileless. “Can friends kiss?” he asked, just to tease, and her eyes widened, then narrowed.

“No. They cannot,” she said firmly, but he caught her smile as she lowered her head. She tucked her arm beneath his and held his hand. He moved his thumb against the silky softness of her hand, not able to stop the simple caress.

“I do believe friends can kiss,” he said, staring at their joined hands.

“Not if they wish to remain
only
friends,” Elsie pointed out with maddening logic.

“All right,” he said, giving in for the moment. “I’ve told you about my painful childhood. Now you must divulge something about yourself.”

“I’ve already told you everything. My life has been rather boring up to this point. You know about my sister, my mother’s death, my little sister Mary. I have no secrets,” she said, then added, just for total honesty. “I do have one secret.”

“One, I take it, that you are not going to divulge.”

“Not until the day you tell me who you really are.”

Chapter 8

Elsie awoke wonderfully rested, feeling safe and warm... and snuggling against a very large, warm, male body. Her head was tucked beneath his arm, which lay draped down her side, ending at the swell of her hips where his hand curved around her curves. She really ought to be horrified, but instead she smiled. The sun was just hinting at rising and she had gotten a full night’s rest.

“Alexander?” she whispered, not wanting to startle him. “We fell asleep.”

He jerked suddenly, then slowly relaxed. “It’s still early, sweetheart,” he muttered. “Go back to sleep.”

“Alexander, I really should return to my rooms. I find the idea of being ruined not quite to my liking.”

Alexander’s eyes came fully open, and he sat up abruptly, nearly pushing Elsie from her seat. He rubbed his hands over his face briskly. “Good morning,” he grumbled.

“Good morning, sir.” She stood up, then bent over and kissed his cheek, laughing when he scowled at her.

“Must you always be so infernally happy? Do you realize the fix we’d each be in if someone had come in here and found us sleeping together?”

Elsie refused to let him ruin her fine mood. She was wonderfully happy and well-rested and nothing was going to make her angry, not even this ill-mannered man. It didn’t matter if he was right. “I slept wonderfully in the arms of my best friend. Now why on earth should I be anything but ecstatically happy?”

“You are dotty,” he said darkly, but with a hint of humor.

“You needn’t worry. I hardly think my father would force us to marry,” she said and wished immediately that she could call her words back. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.”

“You sounded like a snob,” he said, and though his tone was light, she thought she sensed an underlying anger.

“Something I am not,” she said. “I am simply being pragmatic.”

“Then there is nothing to keep us from our attraction.”

She was slightly outraged. “Nothing but God and my morals.”

He shook his head and laughed. “Do you truly think God is up in heaven looking down upon you and judging your every move, your every thought?”

“I hope not,” she said in a small, mortified voice. “I’m afraid He would find me severely flawed.” She grinned again, erasing any dark thought from his brain. “I’ll wish you good day, sir, and see you tonight?”

Elsie thought he would say no, but he nodded instead and her smile grew ever wider. “I shall ask you about the asylum. I confess I’m very curious about your time there.” With that, she fairly skipped from the room, as if they were nothing more than friends, as if he hadn’t lain awake for at least an hour, savoring the feel of her in his arms before weariness finally let him sleep.

“You are distracted today,
mon fils
,” Monsieur Desmarais said, looking curiously over at Alexander. “That is the tenth time you have checked your watch. Do you have an appointment later? Perhaps with one of the maids?”

Alexander could feel his cheeks burn, and he shook his head. He was a man in his third decade, and he could still blush from a bit of teasing. Impatient with himself, he bent and examined a section of the mural’s border. He liked to put a bit of whimsy into his paintings, little hidden objects or animals that most people wouldn’t even notice. He’d put a fairy in this one, a tiny little wood pixie fluttering above a ladybug. He doubted anyone would ever notice her or her interesting resemblance to the daughter of the house, but he didn’t do this for anyone but himself.

“The red head, I am thinking. She is the one who makes the excuses to come in ten times a day. Oui? She is a pretty thing and if I were a younger man...” he said wistfully. Then Monsieur chuckled, enjoying his teasing. “It has been a while, non?”

Alexander gave him a dark look, which only caused Monsieur to laugh even harder.

“It is not good for a man, you know, to not use the gifts God has given us.” Alexander smiled, and Monsieur seemed satisfied enough with that reaction to stop the teasing.

He silently chastised himself for being so transparent. The hours seemed to drag by, only because he knew he would see her again, talk to her, hold her hand. And maybe he would sneak a kiss. Or two.

She wanted to know about the asylum, and he would tell her.

Wickshire Asylum had been a small, private institution tucked away in the Cotswold Hills. It was a place where the wealthy placed their unwanted children, those deficient creatures they had little use for. It was considered a better alternative than to simply lock such nuisances away, which was what so many people had done in years past. The staff was caring and kind and did their best to teach the children a skill that they might someday use to improve their lot in life. While some of the children could not communicate in any way, many were happy and affectionate and thought themselves part of a large and unique family.

Alexander, however, did not. He was very afraid and very alone, having been cast out of a place he loved in the midst of a terrible turmoil. He wanted nothing more than to return home where his mother would be there to lay a gentle hand on his head and kiss his cheek and tell him none of what had happened had been his fault. He had a small room to himself, a window to peer out of, but nothing else. There were no books, no tutors, and he was so very frightened, he didn’t utter a sound at all. Not one. Not even when he cried.

He’d been in the home for nearly a month when one of the doctors took a particular interest in him. He was in the main parlor, a place with a large fire crackling merrily, where the best behaved of the children were allowed to socialize in the evenings before bed. Alexander hated it. He hated that they had tried to make it homey, hated that everyone smiled at him as if he were an imbecile. He would have broken something if there had been anything to break. But the shelves and tabletops had been cleared of anything that would harm the more clumsy of the children.

So he sat sullenly staring at the fireplace, not even bothering to look up when he heard a strange squeaking sound, though it took a great deal of tenacity not to when the other children gave out happy shouts and ran toward whatever it was making such a racket.

And then he heard it. The piano, played rather inexpertly, by a young doctor. Dr. Stelton banged away, making Alexander wince, but drawing him to the shabby old instrument. The doctor looked up, smiling, and asked Alexander if he would like to make the same noise.

For the first time, the smallest hint of a smile touched his lips, and he nodded solemnly. With a great flourish, Dr. Stelton stood up and offered the stool to Alexander, who felt, for the first time in weeks, that he might not die of grief.

He played his favorite Mozart sonata, stunning the doctor and drawing all the adults who worked in the asylum into the room. He hardly noticed, for his eyes were closed and his mind was lost in the music. When he finished, the room was filled with onlookers who gave him a rousing round of applause.

That night, Dr. Stelton went to his room, tucking him in and making him feel, if not loved, then worthy of kindness. He would never forget what the doctor had said that night.

“You don’t belong here, Alexander, do you?”

He shook his head, warmth spreading through his skinny little body and causing tears to prick at his eyes.

“Well, sir, I shall endeavor to fix that.”

Four weeks later, he was secreted out of the asylum and introduced to the famous muralist, Monsieur Desmarais, who as it happened, was about to move to Italy. It would be years before he returned to England, years that turned Alexander from a young boy to a young man.

Alexander was completely lost in his thoughts, staring without focus at his woodland fairy, and did not hear Monsieur come up next to him.

“A little nymph, non? She is charming, mon fils, but I fear you spend too much time on these little details.” Then he shook his hand in front of him, as if to erase his words. “Non.
Non
,” he bellowed. “Do not listen to this old man. You are a master, and now I am the assistant, and you are a far better painter than I ever was.”

Alexander frowned fiercely and shook his head, making Monsieur laugh aloud. “You protect me too well, mon fils.”

Then he pulled out a flask and took a deep drink from it, letting out a sigh of satisfaction. Monsieur did not always drink, but the pain of his rheumatism was often unbearable and the brandy he favored cut that pain a bit. He would often fall asleep in one corner as Alexander worked, waking up only if someone knocked on the ballroom door. Monsieur had laid down strict rules to all that no one was allowed to enter the room without permission.

They stopped for the day, Alexander rousing his old friend from a drunken sleep by gently nudging his shoulder. Then he helped him stand, putting an arm around Monsieur until he was steady enough to walk to their cottage. Even when drunk, Monsieur cared about their project, and he looked over the mural with a satisfied nod. “You did well today,” he said, as he always did. There was a time when Monsieur would praise Alexander, then point out some flaw, but the older man had stopped doing that years ago.

They walked together to the small cottage once used by the gamekeeper. It held just two tiny bedrooms and another main room. Every night at seven o’clock, a footman would arrive with their nightly meal and the two would eat silently and companionably. And then, Monsieur would take out a cigar and his flask and within one to two hours, would be sound asleep, leaving Alexander alone with little to do. When he was still a boy, Monsieur would teach him the classics, as well as any mathematics he remembered from his own schooling. Alexander had been a voracious reader, finding solace in the written word. And, of course, on those occasions when they were in an empty home, he would find a piano and play until his fingers ached.

At eight o’clock, Monsieur was already abed, their meal cleared away, and Alexander was left alone with his thoughts, which of late always turned to Elsie.

“You seem unusually happy tonight,” Lord Huntington said, gazing fondly at his daughter. They were dining in their cozy breakfast room, as they always did, forgoing the much grander formal dining hall. The etched-glass gaslight sconces cast the room in a cheery glow, but Elsie kept on her mother’s tradition of lighting tapers for added elegance.

“I am happy,” Elsie said, thinking of Alexander and smiling down at her plate of roasted pheasant.

Her father wiped his brow with a handkerchief. It was stuffy in the room, for the day had been unusually warm and sticky, even for August, and Elsie considered blowing out the candles, which only made the room seem hotter.

“I am about to make you even happier. While you were out wandering the grounds, I received an invitation to a ball today from Lord Browning. Miss Olivia’s birthday, as it happens and her first real ball. A come out of sorts.”

“Olivia is sixteen already?” Elsie said, slightly shocked. Olivia had always seemed like a small girl, it was hard to believe she was coming out and would be in Town for the Season husband-hunting. It made Elsie feel rather ancient.

“Yes, and apparently quite the young lady. Lord Browning has already had an offer for her, but he’s waiting until she’s a bit older and had at least one Season. He does indulge that girl.”

“He reminds me of another father I know,” Elsie said, smiling at her father, who gave her a rather sheepish grin.

“Yes, well, I’m glad you’re all settled on Hathwaite. Lord Browning was beside himself with worry about his daughter’s future. But, Olivia is a lovely girl and will no doubt attract much attention on the marriage mart.”

Elsie’s smile faded slightly. “Yes, it is lovely to have it all settled.”

Her father paused and set down his fork. “You are unhappy, my dear?”

“Oh, no. No, not at all. Perhaps there are times when I wish my life was not so mapped out for me, but Lord Hathwaite is a perfect gentleman and I’m sure we will suit.”

“Then what is wrong? Two minutes ago you seemed to glow from happiness, but I do believe I put out that light when I mentioned Hathwaite.”

Elsie looked down at her plate, wishing she hadn’t revealed her true feelings. “Please don’t worry, Father.” She pushed a small, boiled potato with her fork, a frown marring her face. “I just wonder sometimes. What if I had fallen in love with someone else during my Season?”

“We have a marriage contract, my dear.”

Elsie forced a smile. “Yes, of course, but what if I’d fallen madly in love with someone else? Would you have permitted me to marry that person?”

“Let’s just thank God you did not,” he said with a frustrating note of finality. But Elsie would not be deterred.

“Father,” Elsie said with a bit of exasperation. “Please answer my question.”

Lord Huntington gave his daughter a sharp look. “Have you fallen in love with someone?”

Elsie laughed. “No. Of course not. I was simply wondering. That’s all.”

“Good, my dear, because we do have the contract, you see.”

BOOK: When a Duke Says I Do

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