Nightingale (11 page)

The girl afforded him only an icy glance before directing her frown back toward the window. “Your Grace. I am not a pet to heel at your call or whistle or the snap of your fingers.”

He obviously struggled to subdue a smile. “I apologize, Miss Blair, for offending your sensibilities. My mother and I would consider it an honor if you would walk with us.”

She stood and stepped to his side. “Your graceful apology is graciously accepted, Your Grace.” She smiled at her permutations of his title. Her tone deepened. “What do you think you are doing on your feet?”

He placed a firm hand on her shoulder. “Walking upright, as a man should. Now turn around, you mouthy wench, and lead us out into the sunshine.”

The dowager released his arm. “I have things to check in the kitchen.” Without waiting for leave, she turned and departed quickly.

Jessica wanted to pursue his casual observation. “How do you know the sun is shining, Your Grace?”

“I can hear it in your voice, in the lightness of your step. You love the out-of-doors. I can feel you straining at your bit, like a filly, eager to be turned out to romp. Are you not that impatient foal?”

“Yes I am, Your Grace.” She led him toward the front door a footman opened as they approached.

“Then why were you sitting there in the corner, glumly studying the day instead of venturing out?”

“Concerns, Your Grace. I have concerns.”

His hand on her shoulder drifted up to her nape, which was bare above the scooping neckline of her muslin day dress, one of Martha’s. Like his mother, Jessica had a scent of her own. At the moment, her fragrance suggested she had been in the kitchen near the stove when morning tea was steeping, the stables where she’d absorbed the aroma of hay and horses, and in the garden where she had garnered the scent of roses, pine, and honeysuckle.

“What concerns, Jessica?” His fingers brushed her soft flesh, following the curve of her swanlike neck. Her hair, tied back, brushed his hand. He wrapped the abundance around a fist and gave it a teasing yank before losing his fingers in the baby-fine coils. He pulled tendrils to his nostrils and inhaled.

Aware of his playful hand studying her, Jessica rolled a shoulder to interrupt its wandering.

“I need to go home, Your Grace.”

He froze and held a moment.

“Just for a day or two to see that things are set right,” she added. She heard the catch in his voice as his expression darkened.

“I thought we had an agreement.”

“Yes. We have. Of course, but this is my third day away. I must see to my mother, make sure she has food to eat, someone to check on her every day.”

He inhaled. “I am lost every moment you are out of my … ” He stopped short of saying ‘out of my sight.’ “I cannot allow you to go.” He hesitated. “What I mean is, I do not want you to go.”

“I will be gone a day and a half. Two at the outside. You may discover, during that time, you’ve made a fool’s agreement.” She was baiting him. “If you change your mind, however, you must forfeit the reward anyway, as agreed.”

He chuckled and the frown wrinkles smoothed from his forehead. “I have no doubt, Jessica Blair, that you are a vexation to every grocer and tradesman in Welter, harrying and dealing with the finesse of a seasoned monger. Is that an apt assumption?”

She bit her lips together and snickered away the question without answering.

• • •

Neighbors, tenants, two families from London who were staying at their country homes nearby, called that day, distracting the duke from his infirmity. Although Devlin felt as if they were there to gawk and satisfy their curiosity and gather gossip, he greeted them hospitably. Knowing the keep’s layout as he did, it was fairly easy to move about, often making visitors forget his affliction.

When the ten-year-old daughter of a prominent noble family slid a chair away from its place in front of the hearth, however, Devlin bumped it rather decisively and fell back a step before he regained his balance.

Noticing the child’s look of satisfaction, Jessica grew more watchful. She skillfully maneuvered Devlin around subsequent obstacles, annoyed that the little girl’s parents seemed oblivious to the child’s continuing, intentional mischief.

• • •

Devlin insisted Jessica travel to Welter in his private coach, in spite of her objections that his shiny black carriage with the ducal coat of arms would draw too much attention.

To her surprise, the giant called Bear was assigned to drive her. Devlin spoke to the man intently, as well as to Figg, assigned as footman, then summoned six outriders to issue them their instructions.

From what Jessica could overhear, the duke charged each one individually and jointly with Jessica’s safety, ordering that each defend her with his life, if need be. He promised handsome rewards for their returning her safely and at top speed to Gull’s Way.

The escort took his words to heart, allaying his concern that she make the trip to her home and back in safety. And with speed. He directed them to begin well before daylight the next morning and to have her back within his walls before midnight.

• • •

No longer wearing the bandage around his head, Devlin was present in the early morning darkness, using a cane to feel his way into the kitchen to prod the cooks to hurry with packing food for the travelers’ journey.

“There is no reason I cannot go along,” he said more than once, concluding by telling Jessica, “Wait while I dress. I’m going.”

Jessica held silent while he worried aloud, but spoke up with his new pronouncement. “You are healing nicely, Your Grace. The jostling carriage might set your recovery back. Such a hurried trip would sap your strength, even if it did no other damage.”

Standing in the roadway, he lifted vivid blue eyes to address her as she came down the stairs. She had never seen both of his eyes open and would have sworn at that moment that he could see her. However, those eyes did not follow as she silently descended several more steps. His gaze continued where her voice had been.

“This coach bears the ducal crest and I am the duke. If I say I am going, no yardarm of a girl is going to deny me.”

She recognized his annoyance and his frustration. She lowered her voice to conciliatory. “Then I will not go … this way.”

As her voice became quieter, his volume increased. “What do you mean by that?”

“I mean, I can make this day-long trip in the comfort of your carriage with food you have provided, and your trusted men watching after me, or I can strike out for home alone and on foot.

“I am not a servant in this house, nor subject myself to your fits of temper. If my responsibilities are going to add to your injuries, I must go and not cause you additional hardship.”

Devlin opened his mouth, but stopped before any sound emerged. He paused, then said, “I don’t like your threatening me, chit.”

“Chit, am I?” She noted the quick glance that passed between Bear and Figg, but would not be distracted. You call me chit, implying I am as insignificant as a stray cat, or a minstrel to entertain you with foolish antics.”

Her words came faster as their volume rose. “I am an intelligent woman with valid thoughts and opinions. Even a scullery maid can be concerned about her significance in the universe.”

As she spoke, she tossed the hood back off her head, slipped the tie on her new, custom-made, ermine-lined pelisse, raked that garment from her shoulders and dropped it in a heap on the steps.

“I don’t want your fine clothes or your generosity, with conditions. I will go where I will, when I will, with or without your leave.” She practically spat the last word as she rolled the soft kid gloves he’d given her from her hands.

Attempting to move toward her, Devlin stumbled on the first step but kept his feet as he climbed swiftly, groping, guiding by the sound of her voice.

His tone became a purr as he approached. “No, no. Nightingale. Dear, precious creature. This show of ferocity is not necessary. You are not normally given to tantrums. Does my concern for your well-being offend you so deeply as all that?”

His flailing resulted in his grabbing one of her hands. His face stiffened. “Where are your gloves? It’s too cold for you to be out in the early morning chill without your gloves.” He groped up her arm to find she had no wrap. “Go back into the house at once. It is a brisk morning and you have need of both your pelisse and your gloves. What were you thinking coming out without proper attire? I personally ordered your cloak cut down from a favorite of my own. The cloak is woven wool and silk, the collar ermine. I had it made to keep you warm on this journey.”

Her anger mitigated by his words and his concern, Jessica grew quiet. Her own mother had never shown such regard.

She looked to the dowager framed in the doorway. The older woman’s gaze shifted from Jessica to soften with approval as it settled on her son.

The dowager then exchanged a pleasant, knowing glance with Bear. Jessica had thought the dowager did not like the giant. She needed to ask someone about the puzzling looks between those two.

“Will you let me go alone, as we planned?” Jessica asked as Devlin rubbed her chilled hands briskly between his huge, warm ones.

“Of course. Nightingale.” He released her hand. “I was merely concerned. You are precious beyond price to me.”

She thought herself an ungrateful wretch. “Thank you, Your Grace.” She lifted her free hand to stroke his face. He caught the hand and pressed his lips to her palm.

“Now, where is your wrap, my darling little hen wit?”

She giggled. “Spreading the stairs beneath our feet.”

His eyes were the color of sapphires, so brilliantly blue that it was hard to imagine they were sightless.

“While you were throwing your tantrum, you were tossing your clothing, casting my gifts at your feet like a spoiled young royal?”

Jessica hummed an affirmative, “Un-huh.”

Devlin obviously tried to acquire an annoyed, fatherly expression, but he suddenly erupted instead, chuckling first, then shouting laughter into the early morning chill. “Temper, was it? It is as if we truly are related, Nightingale.”

Henry, watching from the doorway, scurried down the steps to retrieve Jessica’s cape, gave it a shake, and held it while she slid her arms into the sleeves. He then swept up the gloves and held each while she fitted her hands into them, her giggles burbling along with the duke’s rumbling laughter.

“Are you laughing at me, Your Grace?” There was a cool warning in her tone that only fueled his mirth. He threw his head back to laugh toward the heavens. Henry steadied the duke who rocked precariously on the steps.

Devlin caught the back of Jessica’s hooded head. “No, little cuckoo, I am laughing at myself. I find my own behavior absurd. I am the lord of this fine estate and of lands stretching beyond the horizon in every direction. I am temporarily incapacitated by an injury inflicted by ruffians, but the more serious blow has come from you. I have been felled by a slender girl whose primary resource is her own mettle.”

She sputtered, but he waved a hand to prevent her interruption.

“To complicate matters, I adore you, quite hopelessly, even as you vex my soul.” He sobered. “Truly, if you were older, I would defy my birthright, the Queen, the empire itself, and marry you simply for the joy you bring to my staid, orderly existence.”

Nonsense, she reminded herself.

“This will be an endless day for me, here, without you, Nightingale.”

“I prefer that name to the others which you call me, my lord: cuckoo, gosling, hen wit, chit.”

“And I prefer that you call me Devlin, yet you refuse to do so. Perhaps one preference will prompt the other … chit. Now, take very good care of my eyes, since we are sharing yours for the present.”

“Yes, Your Grace. I mean, Devlin.”

“I will be in this same spot, waiting on these steps when you return, Nightingale.”

“There’s no need of that.”

“You are my eyes, darling. What else can I look forward to, if not to seeing you?”

Jessica had never been complimented, catered to, never been so lavishly fed, quartered or attired. Pampered. It was the kind of treatment any woman would adjust to too easily, and Jessica knew a woman reared as she had been was even more vulnerable.

Away from this place, five hundred pounds was a vast sum, but it would not buy, even in her world, the homage she received here, in house and out, nor the joy of the dowager’s constant approval.

Jessica had known the responsibility for care and feeding of her own mother since she was twelve. Her mother accepted her service as due, but it was never enough. Jessica supposed it was natural to bask in the dowager’s approval. She had never known such appreciation before.

The problem, of course, was this wonderful life depended on Devlin’s remaining blind, and she didn’t want that. When his sight returned, he would no longer require her eyes, or her presence. Truly he did not require either of those now, surrounded as he was by a household of family and servants willing to do what little she did for him.

• • •

The coach clattered along the road, its six outriders ranging, two ahead and four behind, as its occupant pondered. She was lulled almost to a stupor when a commotion outside brought the coach to an abrupt halt.

An all-too-familiar voice shouted, “Jessica, my darling wife, step out here into the morning and explain yerself.”

“John,” she whispered. As if things were not complicated enough, John Lout had arrived to further confound her. An odd recurring thought again darted through her mind. Never was a man so aptly named as John Lout.

Although he sometimes appeared at inconvenient times, like today, John once had arrived at a most fortuitous time. At that event, Jessica had been desperately glad to see him.

Thinking, she threw off her gloves and the pelisse and opened the carriage door to find her betrothed and three other equally shabby riders, one astride a burro. “Yes, John, I am here, and it’s glad I am to see you.”

She poked her head out first, and then moved onto the step, clinging to the carriage door. “How do you happen to be out here so early?”